I am with the Government. I am here to help.

So today, one of my employees (who also happens to be a friend) walks into my office regarding a tax withholding question.  It is my job to explain the leave and earning statement so I ask him to take a seat.  He says that it is not a question for him, but for a friend in the department.  I said I could answer general questions, but nothing specific for the person unless he or she wanted to bring in the right paperwork, but yes, I was willing to help.

This is what I got instead:  How could a woman who is married  to a man who was previously married and is in arrears in his child support make it so the government would not take their tax return to pay the debt?

It was all I could do not to take the baseball bat I keep under my desk out and smashing the employee’s head in.

Yeah, I said it.  I wanted to kill him.  I kept it together, but only just barely.  I told him that no, I could not help someone figure out how to defraud the District Attorneys’ Office out of the legally mandated way to collect due child support.  I told him that no, I did not know how to have the employee change her withholding so that none of “her” money would be considered in their joint tax return.  I told him that no, I could not recommend a good tax attorney or accountant, and that no, the tax center here could not help.

I gave him the brochure to the Employee Assistance Plan, and the links to the online pay site to share with the employee who did not come in.  Then, I asked him to close my office door.

***(Disclaimer:  Most of the serious profanity happened in my head.  Some slipped out, I am not saying which, but some did. The intent was loud and clear though.)***

I asked him if he knew if the other employee knew her husband had a child and was not paying his child support? (She does.)  I asked him if she knew that she, as his wife, was responsible for the debt if they filed joint tax returns? (She knows.)  I asked him if she was stupid to stay married to the husband? (He said “Probably, but she loves him.”)  I was angry, and let him know that while I can support a woman’s right to be with whatever prick they chose to be with, fucking with his kids from a former marriage was a total douche bag thing to do.  What the hell was she thinking when she whined about her tax return being seized?  What the fuck was she doing to get herself involved with, much less marrying  a guy who doesn’t care about his past responsibilities?  Why the fuck didn’t she pay, or make him pay, the child support all along?

My friend tried to defend her, saying she was a good person, the guy was being screwed in the custody, that they were poor… blah blah blah.  I wouldn’t have any of it.  I said that custody and support have nothing to do with each other, that children still need to eat.  I said that burying your head in the sand as you stand by and watch your man screw over his own children  makes you just as much of a worthless piece of shit.  I said that if she was doing nothing for his children and their tax return got taken, then good, they deserved it.  Fuck them.  I also asked him why it mattered to him at all.

This was about the time that the movie plot happened, and the phone rang, saving me from having to hurt him, and him having to lie about where he got his injuries.  I had been rolling the baseball bat around with my foot during the whole conversation.  I came back to my professional voice and when he stepped out of my office while I was on the phone I asked him to keep the door open.

About 15 minutes later I get an email from him apologizing for asking me about it.  I apologized for anything I said that was rude, and told him to please give the paperwork I had previously given him to his co-worker.  He wrote back and said he had already, and thanked me for the information.  We had lunch two hours later, and it was fine.  He got it, I got it, our friendship intact without apologies about stupid people.  The burrito was delicious. He paid my tab.

I know exactly why this whole thing angered me.  If you have read my blog you will know, too.  What I didn’t know until I started writing all this down is how strongly I feel about it.  My next step, I just realized, is that now I have to figure out what to do about it.  Simply being a woman who might periodically stand her ground, to a person who’s friendship quells the fire I was feeling, will not be enough.  Not in the long term.  So having now told the story, I will have to do something about it.  Damn.  Just when I think my life is on a smoother than usual path, the stupid path-less-traveled shows up.  More work.

Time to research agencies looking for people to help them empower women and children  even more.  I am soliciting mentors.  Any takers?

A little blogging on the side...

I am completely amazed (in that good kind of way) by my friends with blogs.

I have a friend who has been blogging for about 7 years. It is a family commentary, social connection kinda blog, with happy pictures of the kids and dogs. I don't go to the page often. Not that I don't want to hear about the kids and dog (I do, and I like the Christmas card newsletter once a year). It is more that it is a lot of exactly-the-same. The same trip to the pumpkin patch. The same kids on the swings. The same family portrait in front of the fire. Yes, there are the blogs about the dirt-mess that the kids created while hunting for lightning bugs. Yes, there are the blogs about inspirational bible passages. Yes, there are even blogs about volunteer efforts and good deeds. I am periodically inspired, but not enough to read it all the time. I don't have a life that is that routine, that captured in pictures, that similar to all the other once a year letters I have read. I suppose that shows happiness, and I can appreciate the need to have that spill over into the virtual world. I just can't do it.

I have another friend who just writes just poetry. Okay, not exactly *writes*. Sometimes the blog is just other people's poetry. Sometimes it is my friends’. Often it is awful. Periodically it is good. Rarely is it stellar. But the fact that it is out there is the part that impresses me. It is my friend’s expression. I love that. If I was going to write poetry, I suppose this would be my blog exactly. I don't write poetry. I write fiction. I also write a blog that I don't care if anyone reads. If I wrote poetry, I would want people to read it, and I guess that is why this friend posts the poetry to the blog. But since I don't, and I can't wrap my brain around the flowy or edgy or meaningful prose, I don't read it often.

I have a friend who has a blog all about fitness. It includes graphs and charts and links and advise and some calorie-counting-eat-this-not-that-protien-power-all-vegan-yoga-guru stuff. I have been there once in the last six months. Like my gym membership, I have let it lapse.

I have a friend with a world travel blog. I am too jealous to read it most of the time. I like the pictures.

I know a person who started out with a simple home-ec-how-to blog years ago. It was friendly, sweet, inspired. It was before Pinterest, but had a collection of links and recipes and likes. It was fun to look through and see what I could do in my bathroom or kitchen, and what was inspiring others as well. I stopped reading it the day the first ad went up.

I have one friend who puts herself out there in a way that scares and inspires me. She is able to say the work "fuck" better than anyone I have ever met. She even wrote a blog about that very topic. I love that she is fearless in a way I am not. I read her blog, both her new one and her old one, whenever I can. I am a fan. She is living her life in a fast lane, take no prisoners, no holds barred way that leaves me breathless. I want to be her. I also don't. Her writing is beautiful, and raw. It is scorched and edgy. If is flawless and in your face, and makes no apologies. I find both humor and sadness in her blatant honesty. I love that she is real, and I could have drinks with her. I will read what she writes. It makes me think.

So I wonder what my place is in the world of blogs? I don't think I will ever add advertisement to my sidelines, so if you are reading this now, rest assured I will not be bombarding your viewing screen with cat food ads or vacation planning services. I don't think I will ever care how many people are actually reading the blog, so don't expect a hit counter any time soon. I don't write poetry, so that is not likely to come up either. What I am creating for my place is a bit of both laziness and necessity.  This blog, to date, has been a place to vent my frustrations, share my happiness, energize my mind, and enrich my soul.  I hope I do not bore people who do read it, but mostly I hope that the stuff I have locked up in my head that keeps me from my real life has a place to be.  Sometimes quietly, often loudly, always with my truth. 

So keep reading.  Maybe something will inspire you to start your own.  Let me know, and I will stop by sometimes.

 

Guardrail Gratitude

I got another "I am human" moment to add to my list.

Last night, I ate terrible spaghetti, and even worse salad, all in the name of fundraising for my son's baseball league. I am not really complaining about the food here, it is always awful and I enjoy it anyway. I am even glad I went because it is sort of a yearly ritual that lets me see friends and be silly. I kinda love it. Here is the kicker for me though: my children's father and the woman he is currently married to decided that this would be a good time to be supportive and family oriented. Barf.

Now up here on my high road, I can be supportive of their decision to help fund youth sports. It is a public event, and well, they can spend their money and time anyway they want to. I can even be grateful that he shows up at all to anything involving my children, and don't hold any grudges at all about his/their participation. But, with that said, the phrase "Oh Hell NO, I am not fucking sitting with them!" passed through my head. Even when they sat with my parents. Even when they tried to hold my place in line. Even when my children sat with them. I mean, it was his visitation night, he purchased their dinner, and the kids sitting with him was exactly what I expected. Did that mean I had to sit with them, and play nice? In my mind I don't think so.

So I didn't. I didn't sit with my parents. I didn't sit with my kids. I sat, instead, with my friends and fellow baseball parents, many of whom I had known for years, even some since childhood. I had a great time, laughing, joking, catching up. It was fun. I paid absolutely no attention to my ex, his wife, or, consequently, my parents and children for about an hour. It was fine.

What happened on the way home is my "less-than-super-mom" moment. My daughter said she didn't eat dinner. I was surprised since I had seen her in line to get food, had seen her sit down with the same plate of food in front of her, and had watched as she threw her plate in the garbage. I asked her why? She said she waited for me to come sit next to her and everyone, and that when I didn't she didn't eat. I told her, with a soft tone at first, that I was not going to come sit with her dad and his wife, ever, and that I was fine that she did, and she could have eaten her dinner without me. She wanted to know why I wouldn't come sit with them, since she (the wife) was not being mean right then. This is when I lost it. I said that I can't pretend and play nice with a woman who called me a fucking worthless bitch in front of my kids, and then told me I deserved to have my baby die in a follow up email.

My daughter was floored. My son was silent. I was pissed. So I went on a bit of a rant. I told them that I don't really care how "not mean" the ex's wife was being right then. She had already shown me who she is, and I don't want to be near her. I didn't care if she turned out to receive the Nobel Peace prize for her amazing work with the sick and homeless. I didn't care if she was angelic and nominated for sainthood. My experience of her is that she is vile and cruel. And that I never, not ever ever ever wanted to be around her, hear her, interact with her, or otherwise be in any setting where she existed. That she had crossed a line by being so vicious to me on more than one occasion that the cease and desist letter that was sent through the Domestic Violence center telling her in very plain language that I wanted her to stay out of my life forever would be my M.O. for all time. I would treat her as a non-person, not in my field of vision, non-existent and not even worthy of my sitting at a table eating crappy spaghetti, even if it meant I missed out on something.

After my rant, I cried. I did not apologize, but I did cook my daughter some dinner. I spent another half hour texting friends, ratting myself out like some catholic school-girl, seeking validation, and a little understanding. I got it, so a shout-out goes to JB and RA and BE and SC for keeping me sane.

This morning the kids and I talked, some about my emotions, and a lot about how when people in your life show you who they are, you should believe them the first time. And that it was what I had done with their dad's current wife. We talked about being fake for show, and how that doesn't really count if you are still mean behind closed doors. They "got it" immediately because they visit their dad and his wife twice a month and had seen the real side just the same. We talked about picking who you respect, and about standing up for yourself, and about not being fake yourself just to put on a show for others. Yep, I might have been angry, but I was not going to play nice just to have other people feel better. I had done that for too long, and just don't feel up for it. We laughed a lot during the conversation because, of course, all of our important conversations happen while we are half naked trying to get out the door in the morning. It is amazing the things you learn over getting dressed, packing up homework, and apparently spaghetti.

So today, I am back on my high road. Happy for a guard rail, and willing to take the hit for my momentary exit. One of my friends helped me by saying "Stay Real. The kids will find their own path." That is where I am at today. I am good with it.

A birthday of sorts: This blog turns ONE.

In just a little over 2 weeks, my blog turns ONE. A whole year of rants and raves and revelations that you may, or may not, have been reading and enjoying and sharing. I don't usually follow the counts, since I write for myself, and once in a while might have someone else read it. But today I could not resist, and I looked at the total. WOW, 1200 page views. Is that normal? What could I possibly be saying that has made 1200 people stop and at least read the title?

Here is what I have been saying from my year-out point of view:

1) Put myself out there. Take the opportunity to challenge myself, my perception of myself, and possibly other people's perception of me. I may be great. I may suck. But I own it, I am it, and I make it known. Being who I am takes some practice. Putting myself out there just gives me some accountability, even if just to myself.

2) Be fearless. Tell the truth, as I see it. I don't apologize, sentimentalize, or compartmentalize. I don't let anyone tell me that what I write is not worth the reading. I remind them they have every right to not read my stuff, and then I ignore them. I might lose some people, but they probably wouldn't be my support group anyway. I don't fear what "they" may think. They don't like it? Tough Shit. I don't write for them, and I don't lie.

3) Treat myself kindly. You know those people up there on item 2? The ones who were giving me grief for speaking my truth? Yeah, I don't want to be one of them, and I remember to give myself heaps of praise for everything, especially for putting myself out there to begin with.

4) Rant when I need to. It is totally necessary for me to let go of whatever is spinning in my head making me a little bit "touched". Maybe it is about my ex. Maybe it is about my parents. Maybe it is about my kids. Maybe it is about myself, and my lack of willpower over chocolate. Maybe it is about my world in general. Whatever it is, I need to get it out. Making that big old mess all over the place is allowed. This is my blog, and I feel free to use it for whatever the hell I need to.

5) History is all perception. I have written about my mother. I have written about my relationships with men no longer in my life. I have written about religion. I have written about my children, my wishes for them, and my fears as I have seen them. The trouble with that is that I don't don't get to decide how the history of all that makes one damn bit of difference. Ask my kids about the last year, and I am sure their history of it is very different from mine. Did they notice the supplements on the counter that helped their mom move away from depression? Did they hear me crying at night? Or did they, as I hope, just see the only mom they have being their mom, normal and weird all at the same time. Will they write a blog about it some day?

6) I am a real person. I am sexy and stupid and beautiful and silly and wonderful and mean and friendly and frail and logical and needy and lovely and shy and gregarious and evil and amazing and forgetful and studious and jealous and brilliant. I am amazing in all the different ways I can be while making huge mistakes in the process. I am okay with that.

7) I have a story to tell. I am writing this story here. It is my story of love and loss and being open to change while fighting it a the same time. I am also writing a novel (something I don't think I have admitted to in this blog until now, and yes, it is a shameless promotion for if/when it gets published). I have learned that I like my story, I like telling my story for the few (could that be 12oo? hee hee) others to read, and that I will continue to do it, so stay tuned.


So happy year ONE. Thank you for joining me on my journey.