Hope Radio

On Friday, I was informed after the kids had been with their Dad for an hour or so that they were at a new address. A permanent one. It seems my ex-husband has a brand new home in a brand new neighborhood. This certified letter notice from him showed up in our mailbox the following day. This does not bode well. I predict it will have something to do with the money he says I owe him for bills on the old house. Which I do. Bills he wanted me to pay when I no longer had access to the house. Which I didn't. The house he thought he should put new locks on while I was still moving. which he did. and the house, without my name on the title. It got left off  without my knowledge all those years ago. Which he did know about. I told Stoic we were moving when we had begun our move. I also told him that it would take some time because I was working and couldn't take off. He wasn't driving, yet and the  house wasn't due him until July. I didn't feel compel

Like my creative title?  Yeah well, deal. That's as much brain power as I plan on allocating. I think that is my problem. I am poorly skilled at brain power allocation. I give what needs more not enough, and what I can't control, way too much. ok. I take full responsibility. My thoughts are scattered. I'm parked at my neighborhood beach bar watching people making asses of themselves, oh but in a fun way. Knight is at home sleeping and getting mentally suited up for work and his soon to be ex-wife's well manipulated counseling session. Can you say lamb to slaughter? We went on a walk on the seawall where we had a stilted conversation about how BSC (that's what I call her. A prize to whoever gets the acronym.)is gearing up to assume the role of proctologist where his divorce maneuverings are concerned. He hates when I predict what is about to happen. I know he does, because I used to hate it when people less myopic told me as I finished my divorce. I'm torn

I'm hosting a party for my 14 year old. A sleepover after his 8th grade dance. They are still up. It's 3:43 am. Happy Mother's Day to me! Nothing like 8 teenagers in the house, writing phallic symbols on the first one asleep, eating everything in sight and clearing up what "tea baggging" means. I love my kids. I love that we are five blocks from the Gulf. I'm kinda pleased with myself for managing to keep them in their school, they are getting a great stepdad and they have friends I like and don't mind having over at 3 am. Happy Mommy's Day to all the other mommies. If anyone has advice on how my son gets the penis my other son helped his friends drew on his cheek, hit me up. I've already warned the perpetrator that Penis Face gets ten minutes of mom looking the other way while he goes Taliban on 'em. Gotta protect the natural order of the Universe.

I wrote a reply to my ex. I did it in bullet points. Yep, since he is brain injured  I always did this thing where I try to make my comms readable for him or to be read to him since his family often writes his texts and emails. Even when I'm finally fed up with taking the high road and fire off the inevitable "I've had a ration of your BS this last year, leave. me. alone" email, Leave it to me to organize it by number with boldfaced keywords. *blink blink* We have had this ridiculously acrimonious divorce. Cop cars are kicked and pummeled. Drivebys ensue. Home gets raided by inlaws. Money is stolen. Accusations involving mental health , sexual appetites general levels of integrity and character, all get hurled like wads of soggy toilet paper And I'm still putting his email in bullet points for readability. Laughing... OMIGOSH.. I'm a dork.

I got an email last night which kept me up most of the rest of the night. It was from my ex-husband. Well...sort of. With the stroke he suffered last April which demolished the left hemisphere of his brain, he still has trouble with language, judgement, impulse control and emotions, (ironic since I referred to him as Stoic pre-stroke) along with physical impairments to his right side. I think hatred fuels his recovery process, but that's just me. No. It's not. It's more than me. It's safe to assume that the angry litany of accusations and judgements fired off last night probably fuels a more general, collective hatred maintained by his family. This midwestern, taciturn, German farming stock of a family apparently and finally succumbed to their need for self expression since I know by the word choices and his mental limitations that this email's composition was a group effort. This email probably went through several drafts and fired its way back and forth t

I'm offline on Facebook for a while. Divorce reasons on Knight's end. And I have a tendency to shoot my mouth off first and then think better of it later. That makes for some car wreck kind of entertainment, true enough, but way too tempting when I'm already trying to keep from punching people in the neck while suffering from the mental promiscuity that I do. Yep. Mental promiscuity. No better place than Blogger for that. :) Well...and it's best for the kids and it forces me to write more. Which is good for me, I mean. It may or may not be good for you, depending on where you are on the Give a Rat's Ass About What Hope Says Continuum. FB made it easier, like fast food writing, if you will. Blogger requires a few more brain cells. I know some folks have followed me over here. I know that now that I'm not anonymous anymore, that the people who I was anonymous because of might find me, too. Whoa. That was NOT a grammatically or syntactically

I officially have a job next year on this campus. I just came back from signing the contract. It's a be careful what you wish for situation. THIS IS A HARD JOB. This is the hardest job I have ever had. Which sort of fits the whole take it up the ass, do everything the hard way, roll snake eyes everytime kind of year I had last year. meh sokay. I'm a junior high school teacher by trade, looks like I am going to second grade. Ever play whack-a-mole at Chuck E. Cheese? It's like that only louder, less organized and sometimes the moles throw stuff at you, question your birth legitimacy and play with lighters in the bathroom. I teach in the 'hood. I don't mean that disparagingly. Our community has many socio-economically disadvantaged kiddos. I like a lot of aspects about that. It feels like it is where I am supposed to be. Did I mention it is a really hard job? Good. Because it is. These seven and eight year olds could bring a Marine to