New place

  We've officially been in our new apartment for almost a month. We LOVE it. To compare it to the old place would be like going from dating George Costanza to Don Draper. There's tons of sunlight, all hardwood floors. It's gorgeous. It reminds me of a bungalow in California. Of course, there are some first world inconveniences. We haven't had cable or internet this whole time. I owed a ton of money to comcast. After paying it off, our scheduled hook up date got pushed back. Most of the time, we were fine. I read three books this month. Viggo has occupied himself playing with toys and using his imagination. However, it's getting to us. We could hear our neighbor downstairs watching Doctor Who. It was like a sirens call. I wanted to beg him to let us watch it with him even though I hadn't met him, yet. We've resorted to DVDs. I've thirsted for something to watch so much that I've watched the awful Transformers movie twice. At night, we've been watching season three of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. Viggo loves the shit out of it. Maybe not the best show for a ten year old to watch. I learned this the other day when he asked what an abortion is. Horrified, I asked why he wanted to know. He replied, "That's what Charlie's mom had." He's also taken to fake cussing. Saying things like "holy sit" and "son of a bench". The era of Sunny is coming to an end. 

  I've taken to taking showers. Anyone that knows me knows I panic in the shower. Water gets in my eyes and it immediately see dragons in my head and freak out. Don't ask me why. But, our water pressure here is little to nil. I tried washing my hair in the sink, like usual. The pipes started making this screaming noise. I'm too old and stiff to maneveur washing it in the bathtub. Plus, my hair looks like Jerry's did in the episode of Seinfeld when his water pressure changed. (Yes, my second Seinfeld reference. If you don't like it, shut it.)

  The other bad thing is Viggo has to walk home from school. Baffling, because there's a school literally a few blocks away. However, they changed the districts and he now goes to a school not quite a mile away. I get him to school but he has to walk home. I immediately called him when he got home his first day. He told me he had to "take a lot of risks" walking.  

  "First, the was no crossing guard. Then, there were 15 bees and I had to cross the street. I had to take an alternate route because some man was mowing the grass, getting it all over the sidewalk. I didnt want to get my shoes dirty and I didn't want to disturb him by asking him to stop so I took another route." 

  Luckily, he's fine on his walks and enjoys school. He's made two friends named Thomas. One lives on our street & they have a lot in common. He's Thomas Fry or "Fryguy" as Viggo has nicknamed him. 

  Life is very good. We're very happy. Tomorrow, we're finally getting cable and internet. My friend, Mark, bought us a totally kickass tv. We're going to be living the life of Riley. For the first time, in a long time, we're both very happy. 

Happy to be moving

  We finally got a place of our own and we're moving this weekend. It's been well over a year since I last lived on my own. I'm not going to miss this place at all. This past week has been such a shit show here. 

  Last weekend, I packed the majority of our belongings. I worked all week and knew it was the only time to pack. So, I don't know if that confused my roommate, Steve, or what because the next day, the new roommate started moving her stuff in. At first, I thought she was just bringing a few things early. Then, Viggo noticed there was a moving truck outside. Plus, she brought her hamsters. 

Yes, hamsters. To quote myself "Oh, I had those when I was little." Anyway, they left before I could clarify what was going in. I texted ole brainiac and reminded him that I wasn't leaving until next weekend. He claimed he knew, but then acting mad at me. I let it be a learning lesson for my child- that's what too much pot does to your brain. Our whole apartment looks like it's out of an episode of Hoarders. The new girl has been sleeping on the couch all week, keeping weird hours. I came home at three in the afternoon and she was asleep on the couch, shielding her eyes from the sunlight like a vampire. 

  Then, things turned flat out three ringed circus. Vasily, Viggo & I were in my room one day. We hear a knock at the door. It's the landlord. He's trying to sell the  house. With him were an Asian family ( complete with child and grandmother) and a random American lady. The landlord is foreign, Russian we came to find out. At one time, under this tiny roof were two Russians, three Americans, four Asians and two hamsters. It's a small world on crack. The Barnum & Bailey circus theme should've been playing. The best part was no one could understand anyone else's accents. I asked Vasily to see if the landlord was Russian. They started conversing in their native language. It was adorable. He even had a horrendous cough like him. I envision the landlord as the little old man who lives in Vasily's soul. In a weird way, it made me fall in love with him all over again.   

  Tonight, it's quiet. I'm contemplating all the things I won't miss- Steve's 45 minute showers when I need to get ready for work, how he unplugs all the kitchen appliances, including my coffee pot as I'm waiting for it to brew and mostly seeing him shirtless. You know, back hair. Not a fan . Most of all, I won't miss the caricature of himself that he has framed in the bathroom. 

I may or may not have eaten ants this week

  This week has been a horror show in many ways. One of them is the fact that I may or may not have ingested some live ants. This was not a Bizarre Foods episode or even a dare. It was pure Erin stupidity.
  My child likes to leave bits of candy or cookies around and then wonders why he sees ants. The last time was due to two gumballs sitting in a dish where I keep my keys. Even though I disposed of most of them, there are a few rogue ants roaming around. One night, I was watching something on the computer and decided to munch on some Godiva candy my boyfriend had bought me. They were individually wrapped, hard toffee candies covered in chocolate, sealed in a large bag. Safe, right? I ate one. Delicious. Then, another. Something compelled me to glance at the third candy before I popped it into my mouth. It was covered in ants. Horrified, I dropped it. Did I just eat ants? Were ants on the first two that I ate? Hmm, that last one did seem extra crunchy. I didn't really want to know whether I did or didn't. It's like when you think you hit something with your car. Do you really want to go back and see that you've killed a raccoon or cat? Shit, no.
  The week has also been fraught with gross bodily fluids. Viggo has had three nosebleeds. I still have this sinus infection. So, phlegm reigns supreme over my ear, nose and throat area. Today, I got to clean shit off of the side of a toilet. If you shit on the side of a public toilet, you should go straight to hell. Not even a glimpse of the pearly gates. I'd like to think there's a special place in hell for public shitters.
  This sinus infection has been plaguing me for literally a month. Yesterday, it hit it's pinnacle. I was fevered and sweating. My entire top row of teeth ached miserably. I wanted to cry. Instead, I thought of the pioneers. This is what I always do when I'm sick. I think "What did the pioneers do before modern medicine? How did they handle sickness?" Think about it, a bad cold is nothing much to us, but to people long ago, it could have been a death sentence. If Pa is rocking a month long sinus infection, complete with dog sled cough and fever, then Ma is considering her options. Did people have back burners for their relationships? For any who don't know, a back burner is someone you keep in touch with in case your current relationship goes sour. Then, you have your back burner to move up to the front burner, a.k.a. your bedroom. Did Ma keep extra friendly with neighbor Fred in case Pa would get lost hunting? I was barely keeping it together with lots of Aleve and hot tea with honey. HOW DID THE PIONEERS DO IT?! I don't know why I go to pioneers. I'm sure people previous to them had it ten times worse. I should really be thinking about those living earlier. Black plague is nothing to sneeze at. I guess because the pioneers were on the cusp of what was to become modern medicine, it seems very sad to me. So close, yet so far away. If I don't think of pioneers, I think of the Hobbits. Yes, they suffered. One particular hard time at the dentist, I subdued my pain by thinking of their pain. They didn't even have shoes! Just their hairy feet. My pain meant nothing compared to their plight. Yes, I know some people think of Jesus in these cases. I don't. I think of the poor hobbits, trying their hardest to fight an impossible battle against evil and their rough journey. I guess whatever gets you through rough times.

Ten years ago

  I can recall exactly where I was ten years ago today. I was in a Wal-Mart parking lot, eight months pregnant and unable to control my bladder. 

  The day was normal. I went to work at the bookstore, then went to dinner with my husband, Bob, at Cracker Barrel. The whole day was spent agonizing over my bladder problems. In the last month of pregnancy, you're warned that you may have issues with bladder control and leakage. Well, I was having that in spades. It started the night before and got progressively worse. To the point that I was wearing a pee pad-like contraption in my pants. Imagining life in that state for the next month was a horrorshow.  

  After dinner, we looked at cribs at Wal-Mart. It was our last month to prepare. We just had the baby shower and were preparing to get the major things like crib and car seat soon. We watched some fireworks from the lot and headed home. 

  That's when I noticed the blood when I peed.  

  "Bob, we'd better go to the hospital?" 

  "Well, if you think it can't wait until morning."

Yes, this is literally what he said. This man hated going to the doctor more than I did. He also thought I was an hypochondriac throughout our entire relationship. In reality, I was just a sickly person. I once threw up 23 times in one day before he believed I really had the flu. At my insistence, we went to the emergency room. 

  I gimped my way in with my legs crossed to keep from peeing myself. It must've looked like a bad Axl Rose dance. I told the receptionist, "I'm having trouble with my bladder."

  He told me in a bored monotone that I was going into labor. 

  "No, no. I have another month. It's my bladder." 

  He rolled his eyes and sent me upstairs. From there I was monitored and within a short time informed that I would be giving birth that night or the next day. It wasn't my bladder. My water had broken and was slowly trickling out. Pure panic set in off both of us. We didn't have anything we needed. It was too late to call relatives back in WV to notify them of the baby coming early. 

  The rest was a long day of pain, followed by drugs for the pain. (Natural is not in my vocabulary.) Bob's dad was watching the contractions spike on the monitor. 

  "Look, Bob, she must be having a contraction. Look at that spike!" 

  I never show my pain, so I was absolutely still throughout the horrendous pain. And, luckily I didn't injure my father-in-law, haha. Eventually, I got my epidural and life was good. When it came time, I remember Bob and I holding hands and crying. We were scared and excited. The next thing I knew, the room was being transformed into the batcave. Cabinets turned into monitors. Cables and cords came from out of nowhere. I was being told to push. I laughed because I couldn't feel anything, how could I push? But, I did and out he came, red as a hot dog and peeing on the nurse. 

  Then, I heard the most dreaded sentence-" Ok, we're going to stitch you up now." This was followed by a night with an ice pack pad. That's shit you never forget. 

  Now, I have this soon to be ten year old boy. He's my best friend and my absolute reason for living. I can't get over the fact that we created him. He lived in my belly. We did one thing right. One perfect thing, in fact. Then, I cry because I remember Bob can't see him turn ten. It doesn't feel right that he misses this moment. But, it doesn't change the fact that he's gone. So, I celebrate this upcoming day with him wherever he may be. Our little guy is growing up fast, Bob. We did a great job. 

Physician, don't heal thyself

  I'm going on my third week of this sinus infection. After having another breast lump scare earlier in June, I was grateful to just be alright. Until I really screwed up my ear. When I first went to the doctor, two weeks ago, I was told my infection was behind my ear. They couldn't do anything for either of my plugged up ears. They weren't too bad, mostly annoying. Then, I decided I was going to speed things along by trying to clean out my one ear with medicine. And water. And baby oil. Basically, I'm a jackass. It started pulsating with pain and went completely clogged. The pain caused me to become the meanest person on earth. My boyfriend's stepmother went to a doctor who suggested her ear problems were caused by coffee. Of course, he thinks this is the root of my problem. Coffee, not a sinus infection. We've had plenty of back and forth discussions on the matter, always ending with my insistence that the idea is ridiculous. The other day, my ear was throbbing. He asked how I was and I let him know about my pain. He brought up the suggestion of cutting out coffee, again. He poked the bear. The bear responded by calling him "retarded". I had the empathy of Ted Bundy that day. Profuse apologies followed the next day.  
  At work, customers think I'm a snob bitch. I don't hear them approach for help. After I finally help them, they apologize for having bothered me. I feel so awful about it. Normally, I'm very nice and helpful. In an attempt to hear them well, I lean towards them with my "good ear". You know, like a ninety year old man would. It's a shitshow. One can only imagine how loud I'm speaking. I should switch my nametag to say "Gus".
  I think I've learned my lesson. Tomorrow, I'm getting this splint-like thing taken out of my ear. I'm going to let nature take its course to fix the issue.

A week without Viggo

  Viggo is going back to WV for the week to stay with family. He misses everyone and it'll be good for him, but I'm dreading it. The past two months with him have made me so happy. Living on my own has been so lonely. Sometimes I would look at his picture and cry, missing him so much. The thought that ran through my head everyday was - a mother should never be without her child. However, circumstances made that so. Being single and supporting yourself doesn't always afford everything you want, including having your child with you all the time. Luckily, moving to Pittsburgh and getting a better job has made things much better. When Bob died, I was able to find an affordable sitter for V and still be able to support us.
  I can't begin to describe how in love with this child I am. When I wake up and see him next to me, my heart soars with delight. Yeah, I creep. I watch him sleep. He looks like an angel. We talk all day about superheroes. We watch our favorite show, Mysteries At The Museum, together. Most of all, we laugh. Frankly, we both need to laugh as much as possible considering what we've been through. Of course, there are tears. He misses his dad. When he cries, I tell him "I know, Buddy" and try to reassure him that I'm doing my best to care for him. We're like two survivors, clinging to a lifeboat.
   Everyday, he tells me I'm the best mom ever. He is my light and my world. Five days without him will be an eternity. But, he needs it. He needs to play and forget all the pain of not having his father. I'm sure I'll cry everyday, but it's worth it for him to be happy. Shit, I'm crying now just thinking of it. I never knew I could love anyone this much, until I had him. That's something that should be in the baby preparation books- you're going to love something more that you ever thought possible. Mothers tell you that, but you never comprehend until you're in their place. In my heart, I always knew I'd become a mother someday. It's the most blessed thing ever bestowed to me.

Life as we know it

  The last two months have been hard to describe. There is a cornucopia of emotions that I experience on a daily basis. The fact that I can be sad and happy at once is a mystery to me. When I wake up, my first thought and realization is that Bob is gone and the impact that it's had on everyone. At the same time, I see this beautiful little face lying next to mine and feel immense happiness. I haven't been this happy in six years. Living without seeing your son everyday is heartbreaking. Getting to see him everyday makes me insanely happy. So, I juggle these vastly different emotions at once. Add the feeling of stress bearing down on me like a ton of bricks. Becoming a full-time parent at the drop of a hat is terrifying. So far, it's been going very smooth. I found a wonderful woman to watch V while I'm at work. I couldn't have found a more suitable person. He loves spending time there. It's things like that which make me feel that Bob is looking out for us. I have this internal battle with my atheism and feeling like his presence is around us. I feel like he's sending me signs that he's there watching out for V. On my hope chest beside my bedroom door, I keep bobby pins and flowers that I wear in my hair. Almost everyday when I'm getting ready, I'll look down to find one flower inexplicably lying on the floor. The dish they're lying in has raised sides, so it's impossible for any to fall out by accident. And, yet, there I'll find one at my feet accompanied by a feeling of calm. How can I feel something that I'm not sure I believe in?
  In addition to my insurmountable stress, I have my mother to deal with. We haven't been speaking since she told me she didn't care if she ever saw me again. I happily obliged her request. Over the past two months, she's become increasingly more mentally unstable. My diagnosis is she's bi-polar. Considering that she isn't on medication and sometimes drinks, it's a miracle she hasn't gone off the deep end sooner. While always cordial to Viggo, she's become monstrous to me. At my last visit with her, I told her she's been emotionally abusive to me for far too long. But, she's not stupid. She realized that with losing me, she also loses Viggo. About a week after I moved him up to Pittsburgh, the police came to my door. Apparently, she had called the police and told them that I wasn't taking care of Viggo. I understand they have to check these things out, but they didn't have to be such dicks about it. The ringleader was the smart ass.
  "Is there some reason you're not letting us see your son?"
  "Well," I replied, "he's in the bathroom."
V came out all happy and oblivious (thankfully). They asked if he was ok and if anyone was hurting him. I kept saying I didn't understand why they were there.
  "We didn't just pull your name out of a hat. We got a complaint" was the answer I received.
 They saw he was more than well-cared for and left. At the time, I had no clue what was going on. Later that night, Bob's sister, Cheri, texted me to tell me she got into it with my mom. Mom called her and told her I was a "liar" and wasn't taking care of him. She declared she was going to find him and take care of him herself. Cheri, God bless her, proceeded to cuss her out and scream at her. On top of everything I'm worrying about, I really don't need this. That line that people say about God not giving you more than you can handle is bullshit. I feel like that scene in Wild At Heart where Laura Dern tells Nicolas Cage she's pregnant and he sits down and lights up four cigarettes. Eventually, I'll get it under control. Thankfully, things are working in our favor (another thing I'm convinced Bob does for us). In the future, I can get us moved into our own place and we can attempt a normal life. As normal as it can be with a boy who misses his dad and a mother who is maniacally nervous about taking care of everything. As far as my mom is concerned, she can go fuck herself. I may not have lots of money, but I'm one of the best damn mothers out there. No one cares more for this boy than I do. I'd give my life for him and I'm doing everything in my power to make him happy. And, he is happy. So, my work is paying off. That's all that matters. We're a hell of a team. I hate our circumstances, but I love that we're together all the time. Seeing his happy face is the best thing on earth.