I Need A Sign To Let Me Know You're Here

I thought J could use some cheering up after his whole ordeal with his mother, so Katherine and I fixed him a big meal and then the five of us watched a movie. Nothing too major, but fun; Robbie had terrible gas and kept farting horribly, hence the picture a few posts ago. We went to bed early that night, and J and HB were off to work yesterday morning by quarter to seven.
Yesterday was a pretty quiet day for me. My housework is either already done or too big and daunting a job to tackle (like the basement, or that closet upstairs... awful) so I mostly just hung out drinking tea, reading and generally lounging. When the boys got home, J announced that he was going to his girlfriend's house for the night so that he could work at his grandparents' house today. HB told him that was too bad, and produced a borrowed Wii - and J loves to play the Wii, don't you know. J called and tried to cancel with his little girlfriend, which caused an enormous argument. She came and got him, and he never even got to turn the game on.
"Man, having a girlfriend sucks," J remarked moodily as he watched Jill pull into our driveway.
HB laughed rather mockingly at him and put his hand on my ass. "Yep - but having a boyfriend is da bomb," he leered. "No flowers, no stuffed animals, no anniversary ordeals - 'cause he likes all the same stuff you do and he's always just as horny as you."
"Nice," J said sourly. "You know that's my dad you're ass-groping."
HB blushed, but still grinned at winked at J. They're getting along so well these days.
We played the Wii all afternoon and on through the night until 1:30 this morning. HB and I mostly like the bowling, and Robbie likes golf and boxing. By the time we quit, I was so tired I thought I might just fall down, and I know HB was really feeling it when I woke him up this morning. It's too cold and raining too hard for them to work on the construction site today, so I have him all to myself for a little while. You know I love that.
I will close with my wishes for today: I wish that D would either come to her senses or take a long walk on a short pier; I wish that this damn weather would improve from normal-for-April to normal-for-late-May; I wish that Duff would call me so I could make some money; and, most of all, I wish (and hope, and would pray if I thought it would help) that the little kids didn't see their mother acting that crazy, and that they don't know what's going on with her and me and J. I wish (and hope and pray) for that last one most of all.

Title lyric from "Calling All Angels" by Train.

I Hate To Look Into Those Eyes And See An Ounce Of Pain

Yesterday afternoon, while it poured down cold rain here in the Big Woods, J left the construction job site where he and HB are working. He wanted to take HB's SUV, but since he was going to see his mother - and HB is familiar with D's penchant for stealing and/or trashing the vehicles of people she doesn't like - HB gently vetoed that idea. Not to be discouraged, J got one of the guys working there to drive him the thirty five odd miles from the job site to his mother's house. Now, I should probably interject that I had no idea that J was doing this, as it's germane to the plot. He wanted to talk to her about me, although that's as specific as he'll get.
Instead of a calm discussion, he and his mother had an absolutely surreal fight. He would never strike her, but she evidently feels no such compunction, and at the high point of the fight - actually on her front lawn by that point - she threatened him with a butcher knife. I only know this because one of her neighbors witnessed it and was more than willing to gossip. J finally gave up on her and just turned around and walked.
When I say walked, I mean from one town to the next - a distance of about fifteen miles over back country roads. On foot. There's no cell phone reception out there, and most of the people who live on those roads are Amish, hence no land lines. With no other choice, he walked to the closest place he knew - his girlfriend's house. I still can't believe he did that, but I can believe that he did it because he had no other choice.
It seems that D is thoroughly pissed that I got to talk to the kids on the phone. I have a feeling that J wanted the kids to come and visit us here at the house, and that got the ball rolling, but the straw that broke J's back in that argument was money. She was screaming that she doesn't get enough and will never be able to get more. At least, that's what the neighbors report.
I wish he hadn't done that. I wish she hadn't done that. I wish I'd known. I wish I wish I wish... But like my grandmother (the aspiring poet) always said, 'wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.' Poetry aside, I think she was onto something there.
I'm so tired of all this crap. D makes me want to just call Duff and let him do whatever he wants to her. Seriously.

Title lyric from "Sweet Child O'Mine" by Guns'N'Roses.

Such A Happy Time

Robbie announces that he farted.

Title lyric from "Our House" by Madness.

Time, It Goes So Fast

I was all done being crusty yesterday after my nap. The little pain in my side was better, but not gone. It's still there, but I intend to ignore it until it goes away.
J spent most of the day away at Jill's house; Amber spent most of the day at her mother's, even though it was her birthday; Robbie took Brad, Jeff and Katherine fishing and didn't come back until dark. When I woke up from my nap and realized that it was just me and HB there alone, I felt guilty for leaving him at loose ends that way. Imagine my surprise when I emerged from the bedroom and found that he'd made a very creditable lunch and washed his own dishes.
We took his very tasty pasta salad and sandwiches up in the woods and ate them on a blanket in a little clearing surrounded by late apple blossoms. The food was good, although he'd come up with a bottle of wine from somewhere that made my stomach feel all acidy in about two sips. I palmed a Tums from my pocket and acted like I was belching because I'd eaten so much. He really did try so hard. Still, it was cold; for spring, the weather has been dark and chilly and wet even more than usual, and when the first drops of rain started spattering us we ran for home.
In the afternoon I did some dishes and some laundry and made a stab at cleaning our bedroom, mostly just to keep myself busy. J came back just as I was making his very favorite cookies in the world, and as usual he was pissed off because he'd argued with Jill. I practiced keeping my mouth shut, and was rewarded when J came and put the phone in my hands.
It was my three little kids. My middlest daughter, Jennifer, called and put them on because their mother was out of the house somewhere. I got to talk to all three of them for almost half an hour, and even though it brings how much I miss them right to the front of my mind where I can't dodge or forget it, talking to them was utterly wonderful. They chattered very happily to me, and even though they told me that their mother still flat-out refuses to let them see me I urged them not to stop asking. J and Amber haven't stopped, either, and I can only hope that over time water wears away the stone.
Of course, I could probably just give in to Duff and take some much more direct and satisfying action... and after I hung up the phone and went to lie down it was all I could think about. How badly I miss them. How badly I want her to pay for what she's done to me. How easy it would be to just tell those guys to do what they're gonna do and let me know about it afterward. I'm not used to thwarting my own burning desires that way (obviously) and the conflict made me utterly, completely, arguing-with-myself-out-loud crazy.
Then HB came in and put his arms around me. He held me, but his face had this far-away quality that was new. I came out of it enough to ask him if he was okay, and when he put me off with short placating answers I pushed my agony over the kids back in that place in my heart and mind where it cuts me every day and focused on him.
Turns out that his father had a job lined up for HB back in the city, and that his father is so angry over HB working as a mason and bricklayer for a local contractor that he cancelled HB's car insurance. HB got a letter from the state saying that he has to provide proof of insurance within thirty days or have his registration suspended. I thought that was a pretty mean trick, but I don't really have a leg to stand on when it comes to criticizing his father. If I were that guy, I think I'd've had somebody break my kneecaps by now, you know?
So I comforted him, and he comforted me, and then when Amber came home we had a birthday party. That got sort of raucous towards ten, and I went to bed. This morning when I got up Amber was in the big bedroom upstairs with Ricky, and I know that's gonna be a whole new truckload of heartache. Still, it was sort of cute to see them both come down all rumpled and blushing to breakfast. Ricky says I make the best pancakes he's ever tasted, and he works in the local pancake house franchise. He's so sweet.
Now they're all gone to work except Robbie, who sleeps til noon, and Brad, who wanted to shoot hoops this morning but came in after just five minutes with his teeth chattering and his nipples poking through his woefully inadequate tank top like pointy little ice cubes. I guess it's cold out there.
I think I'll have another cup of tea and start my day.

Title lyric from "Manic Monday" by the Bangles.

What Do We Do With Our Lives?

If yesterday was a good day, then today is shaping up as a bad one.
I have tried to step down my involvement in the business, and that pissed Duff off. He was quite happy with the extra revenue I was bringing him at very little risk to him personally, and losing a good percentage of that was not the way to keep him quite happy. So he showed up here very late last night, after midnight (for some crazy reason he thinks that's less suspicious) and gave me a very hard time. I tried to explain - the kids were getting tired of it, I don't want to attract too much attention, plus little factors like market saturation and diminishing returns - but Duff is an intuitive person, not a planner or a logical reasoner. He told me, as he constantly tells me, that he feels it in his gut that now is the time to act, and that we have attracted no attention or observation.
I disagreed. He responded with a ten minute tantrum that got so loud Brad and Robbie both came running from bed - they're all sleeping here at the moment - with weapons ready. Duff at least approved of their response, and after I'd sent them back to bed I managed to make him see reason to at least some small degree.
The problem was and is that all of this caution and good sense is costing me a huge amount of money - to the point where I am scraping by, perpetually broke again. The kids don't like this either, and seem to expect me to pull some magical new source of revenue directly out of my ass. That's why I let Duff lay some different product on me and why I moved it this morning in small amounts - which pissed the kids off yet again. So now I have the money to pay bills again tomorrow, and HB and J are sulking in respective bedrooms and Amber has gone to her mother's. She even tried to give me back the five grand I gave her to go to California to visit her sister (my stepdaughter from my first marriage) Brandi Rose. I just can't fucking win, you know?
On top of all this domestic bliss is the small gnawing pain in my left side. I have grown adept at recognizing the location and feel of my own innards, and I still can't pinpoint where this one's coming from. It feels like the bite of some small poisonous insect, a wasp or a spider or a blackfly crawling around in there and biting. It feels like stress and despair, to be frank about it. I don't like the way it feels, and if it doesn't stop soon I'm going to my stash of pain pills and taking a walloping dose of morphine. That won't make anybody else happy either, but at least I won't care.
On top of it all, the weather here seems to match my mood so exactly in its movements and tone that I've toyed with the paranoid fantasy that I'm somehow causing it. Right now it's about fifty degrees, drizzling cold rain. The ground mist is still lingering under the treetrunks of the woods behind the house. Last night it thundered and flashed impressively, but this morning is just the cold wet aftermath. Despite the explosive growth of everything green the world outside my window still suggests weeds growing around discarded garbage in an abandoned lot. Cheerful, right?
So now I'm going to go back to bed, and if HB gives me grief he's going to go lie down on the futon by himself in short order. If it still hurts in a bit I will take some pills.
Today may be bad, but as Scarlett said, tomorrow is another day.

Title lyric from "We Don't Need Another Hero" by Tina Turner.

We Got So Much To Share

Today is a slow day. J worked earlier in the day, and then went to Jill's house to see her. He mentioned to me the other day that he had noticed that none of his other little friends liked Jill. I said nothing - I even chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from making any sort of face. Of course, when he didn't get a rise out of me, he flat out asked me, did I like her? I tried to sidestep the question, but I ended up admitting that she wasn't my favorite person in the world. That made him unhappy, so most of this morning he sulked. If he finds my voodoo dolls and realizes that she got more pins than anybody but his mother I'm gonna be in real trouble, people.
HB, on the other hand, made me feel pretty good just a little earlier. He went out with J and Robbie and a few of our other friends to Duff's place early last night, and when they came back they had no less than four rabbits already neatly skinned and 'dressed,' as we say around here. You know, with all the guts and whatnot already gone. I stuck two in freezer bags and cooked the other two on the grill out back with some local morels that Robbie and I found, and it was really, really good. Lately I have this really uncomfortable craving for meat that gets so bad I find myself wondering just how hard it is to butcher a cow and just how easy it would be to just walk up over the hill and rustle one from the beef farm back there. They have so many that by the time they noticed we'd've eaten the evidence, you know? Anyway, the rabbit was very nice and tender and not too 'gamey' tasting, especially when I served it with fresh parsley sprigs and mint jelly. J started out grousing that it sounded weird and gross and why hadn't I just stewed one like last time, then had one bit and proceeded to eat almost one entire rabbit by himself with half a jar of jelly and garlic mashed potatoes. I'll say one thing for those boys, they both have healthy appetites.
Oh, and that's what I started out talking about - being happy with just being alone with HB today. I fed him another rabbit just the same way I made them last night, and he ate lying down the same way J usually does. Afterward he belched mightily and patted my thigh.
"I must be weird," he told me.
"Why is that?" I really wanted to know.
"Because this is so great," he said. He lit a cigarette and leaned back; then, keeping the cig in his mouth he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and scooted them off in one easy movement. Then he put one hand on his full tummy and pulled the cigarette away with the other. "I had a hot bath this morning, complete with fresh towels. I had a big breakfast, and then I rode a four wheeler and dug a thirty foot ditch. When I got home, I got a hot shower, more fresh towels, a gourmet meal and a foot rub."
I probably looked a little confused. "I didn't rub your feet."
He wiggled one of his feet at me - they're pretty big. "But you're gonna now, right?"
So I did, and he went through exaggerated orgasms complete with moans and sighs.
"You are the absolute best, you know that?" he asked me, pointing at me with his first two fingers, a smoking cigarette between them shooting out little smoke rings as he gestured. "You are the absolute best. Sky's the limit."
That made me grin like a little kid all over again. It also made me realize that I really do feel a lot better these days. Not back to 100%, still having dizzy spells and bad days and the at-least-once-a-day nausea, but so much better than before. So very much better.

Title lyric from "Do You Wanna Touch?" by Joan Jett And The Blackhearts.

I'm Too Sexy For My Hat

Robbie still makes me laugh.

Title lyric from "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred.

Am I Alive Or Thoughts That Drift Away?

J and HB have landed themselves construction jobs. Every morning at 7 AM they leave for the site and don't return until 5 PM. When they get home, they are tired, aching, dirty and extremely cranky.
I have been a husband before - in fact, for most of my adult life. Now I am a wife. I am well enough to clean, cook and do laundry, always provided that I take it easy. And, because I'm who I am, I am not just Mr. Mom trying to get by. No, I must be superwife.
Take this morning, for example. I got the boys up at quarter to six. I'd been up since at least five (I hardly ever sleep a normal schedule anymore), and I had: a) hot towels fresh from the dryer for their showers, b) pancakes, cereal and energy drinks for breakfast and c) clean work clothes and bag lunches all laid out. They watched the morning news while they slopped up their cereal and pancakes, then I collected kisses at the door. After that there were clothes and dishes to be washed, the rug in me and HB's room to vacuum and supper to plan. I napped for a little while this afternoon, trying to keep one ear out for the mailman so I could mail out a letter. Too bad I conked out completely and missed him.
Then they were back about twenty minutes ago, and it was time for supper: pasta and meatballs, garlic bread, plus frozen Snickers bars for dessert. Mmmm, nutritious. Robbie arrived around four thirty and watched me whirl around the kitchen with amused patience. While I was fixing J's spaghetti, though, he stopped me.
"Do you always do it that way?" he asked me.
I looked down at the plate. J likes his pasta a certain way: when the noodles are cooked al dente, I add them back to the pot with just a little butter and grease from the meatballs and heat it up again, then while it's super hot I put it on the plate and smother it with parmesan followed by a big ladleful of sauce and meatballs, then grated mozzarella on top.
"This is how J likes it," I answered rather blankly. "He complains if I don't do it that way."
"Fuck him if he complains," Robbie suggested cheerfully. "You treat him like a spoiled toddler anyway."
I didn't answer this, as I was busy with HB's plate: HB likes his pasta and sauce already mixed in the pan with a small mound of parmesan and mozzarella mixed on top. When his was done, I put them both on my big silver serving tray and added a plate of garlic bread, one big glass of iced tea (J) and one big glass of Kool-Aid (HB) and a serving dish of cauliflower and cheese with bacon. Side by side, the two plates looked like two entirely different meals instead of subtle variations on the same dish.
"You do shit like that all the time for them," Robbie observed, drawing meditatively on his cigarette. "It's sweet and all, but kinda fucked up."
"'Sweet but fucked up?'" I quoted. "I think that's what's known as 'the human condition.'" I gathered up the tray and staggered into the living room. They boys watched me approach with impatient admiration. I served out their plates, drinks and silverware and tried at all times to keep my hands and feet away from their mouths while they ate - they could probably take a finger without meaning it. Robbie had a little dish of pasta too, and for a few minutes the room resounded with the smacking of lips and the slurping of noodles.
Finally J leaned back (he eats lying down, please don't ask me why, I think it's a genetically Italian thing) and belched hugely. "Too bad Jill isn't coming over," he told me as I gathered up his dirty dishes. "The only way to top that meal would be to get laid."
"Sounds good to me," HB leered, and put his hand on my ass even as he added his dishes to the pile on my tray.
"The fuck if you two are, at least right now," J said commandingly. "Dad, go roll one and get your ass back here. I wanna watch that movie."
"But I have dishes to do," I protested, though not very strongly.
Robbie swatted my ass agreeably and gave me his dish. "I think the man gave you an order," he told me.
I tousled his hair with one hand - the other was propping the tray against my hip - and then bent down to whisper in his ear. "I love you, Robbie," I whispered to him. "And if you ever, ever dare touch my ass like that again, I swear I'll shoot you like a rabid dog."
"Don't be whispering sweet nothings to my guy, Robbie," HB joked.
"Yeah, Robbie, let him get the dishes in the sink so we can start the movie," J ordered. "Dad, get a move on."
I groused good-naturedly as I took the dishes to the kitchen, but I don't really mind. They took pretty good care of me while I was sick, and somehow that's brought us all together. Somehow, all the pieces are beginning to fit together - we're becoming a family.

Title lyric from "Standing Outside A Broken Phonebooth With Money In My Hand" by Primitive Radio Gods.

'Cause Every Girl Crazy 'Bout A Sharp Dressed Man

I can't help it. Robbie just makes me laugh.

Title lyric from "Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top.

I Sit And Talk To God, And He Just Laughs At My Plans

This morning I got rid of the kids - Amber, J, HB, Andrea and Katherine - and got some details out of the way.
I have really surprised myself with some of the things I've accomplished, especially in those first weeks after the surgery when I couldn't even walk much. In a way it's sort of a shame; I find myself musing that if I'd tried to run my own (legitimate!) business much earlier in life instead of being an academic I might have been much happier, and I almost certainly would be a wealthier man today. Hindsight is 20/20, right?
Anyway, I'm moving things away from the house and changing my own role in things. I think it will protect the kids, even if it means less money in my pocket. I'm just hoping that it won't involve a lot of extra worry and planning on my part - I'm great at worrying but not so much with the planning ahead part. Of course, what I call worrying (and the kids started out calling paranoia and now call clairvoyance) has its rewards. Obsessing about things, trying to imagine every possible outcome and preparing for them no matter how unlikely has saved my ass about ten times in the last week alone. Too bad it also means that I almost never sleep.
Now that I've had my company over and my business dealings are out of the way for today I'm going to take a little nap - I was up pretty late last night, I could use one - and then after lunch I have an exercise planned with the boys. Robbie was bad yesterday - I promised not to say how, he's been punished thoroughly enough - and so today we're having a lesson in gun safety and proper handling. This will involve some skeet shooting with them and a lot of really biting sarcastic criticism on my part, not just because that's how I was taught but because I really think I'll enjoy it. Robbie, J, Amber and Brad will all be shooting, and they're really looking forward to it too. It was all I could do to talk them out of it immediately after breakfast. My grandmother started teaching Amber about guns when Amber was around six or seven, and now she's such a crack shot that I think I worry least about her. Like all the women in my mother's family, Amber can take care of herself - it's the rest of the world that better look out.
So that's my busy day, or at least my plan for it. I'm sure something else will come up in the meantime. It always does, doesn't it?

Title lyric from "Feel" by Robbie Williams.