Red Dress Photoshoot

Here are a sampling of the photos from my red dress photo shoot. My wonderful photographer, Trisha Fisher from Trisha Fisher Photography. It was a beautiful early spring day and I was so glad that Trisha welcomed Zac at my photoshoot.

My red dress was lovingly donated as part of the Red Dress Project (I'm not sure if she wants to be named here). The dress has already been advertised and will soon be passed on to another woman to continue the cycle of empowerment, beauty, and mystery. The basic premise of the project is: sometimes you just have to wear a red dress for no reason, just to be, for one minute or one hour, the embodiment of the person you want to be.

The day of my red dress shoot, I was definitely challenged. My friend Seven and I had a brutal fight and we stormed off the phone swearing we were never going to talk again. I was fighting back tears when I put on the dress, which had been described to me as "a stretchy size 12". Well, it was looser than the first time I tried it on, but basically very, very tight. It also had skinny straps, so I decided to wear a short-sleeve black sweater. Then to stave off any feelings of being in drag, I decided to wear my casual Merrill shoes, which I'm pretty sure Trisha frowned at when she saw. I ended up taking most of my photographs bare foot.

Zac was there the whole time, usually playing on the wooden bridges and pavilions, constantly asking, "Is it my turn to take a picture". He forced me not to take myself too seriously, especially since my hurt was still hurting from the fight I had had just minutes before putting on the dress.

Did I feel powerful, beautiful, and sexy? Did I feel like I was celebrating losing 50lbs? Yes and No. The old insecurities still plague me. Most of the photos I'm looking up because I was sensitive about my double chin. In every photo, I ask myself, "How do my arms look in that? They don't look too big do they?" But it was fun. It was fun being with Zac at a park in the late afternoon. It was fun playing with all the props that Trisha had brought in her huge duffel bag. It was fun when she would take a photo and be so happy with the result that she would show me with this knowing smile in her eyes.

I don't want the back story of the photos ruin the photos themselves. They are beautiful and have more to do with my talented photographer than me. Some of the photos thought, where I'm looking directly into the camera lens, belies some of the strength in my eyes that has come from seven years of trial. Seven years of living as a single Mom, struggling in my career, getting a masters degree, trying to make a life for myself. That shows in my eyes.

Then in contrast, there are the pictures with Zac. The pictures where I look so happy and Zac is so happy and we are such a family. It's he and I, taking on the world and we love each other so much. 6 1/2 has been such a good age. I'm so lucky to have Zac, even when his love for me astounds me, I've tried to never take it for granted. Even when I was sick and thought he would get over the loss of me and be better off with another family, I knew, deep down, that the love we share was and still is a powerful force.

He's silly and funny and charmed Trisha with his jokes about the evolution of dinosaurs. Man I love that kid and I'm so happy he got to celebrate the red dress with me.

Six cc's and full of vigor

After the drama of the last post, I have very little dramatic news to announce. Six cc's is...shockingly normal. Not "I can eat a bacon double cheeseburger with a large french fry" normal (and all of you with a stomach that can hold a full 6 cups of food, spend a little time tonight thanking the sweet Lord that you can enjoy not one, but TWO cheeseburgers simultaneously). I'm more like, "I just ate some sweet and sour soup and a couple of beef kabobs and I don't feel like I'm going to die". THAT kind of normal.

In other, perhaps more exciting news beyond my gastrointestinal track, I finally had my red dress photo shoot. I'm waiting on confirmation from my wonderful photographer to see if I can use her name here. Until then, if you are anywhere in the Houston area, I would highly recommend her. Just e-mail me or send me a message on Facebook and I'll send over her info. At the photo shoot, I ran out of steam before she did AND she brought a duffel bag full of props. I held things. I hid behind things. She had towels at the ready for when I had to sit down on slightly damp grass next to a river. The woman thought of everything. Then there's the part where she kept saying, "You look like a model" and murmuring to herself, "Beautiful". There's that part. There is also the part where she made Zac kiss me approximately 20 times while exclaiming, "That's so great! Keep doing that Zac!" so he did and we both giggled.

I'll write more about the experience when I get the photos in a couple of weeks.

Until then, I'm neck-deep in GLBT volunteering and I'm not sure I can see the white light at the end of the tunnel. Delegate you say? Why, I would if I knew where to start. Delegating might be new favorite word. Delegate. Delegate. Delegate. Yes, it does feel good.

Not quite as good as that egg roll I just ate, but you can't have everything.

No, I Didn't Use Cocaine

and I should probably that specify that I don't currently, nor have I ever, used cocaine. But, man, the questionnaire I completed tonight made me feel like maybe I did and just didn't remember it. You see, if you hang out with Zac for any length of time, you notice some...how do I put this...oddities in his speech. He stutters over words that start with "s" and he sometimes takes giant pauses and rolls his eyes so far up into his head like he's trying to forcibly eject a word from his brain.

To put in polite terms, Zac has speech dysflucenices that have persisted longer than they should. It's all cute when a three year-old says the Earth is the "Earf", but it's a little more troubling when a six year-old says "the" a lot like "fuh".

Zac's therapist was actually the one that brought it to my attention that maybe I would want to look into Zac's speech problems with his school. He said a speech problem wasn't going to help him keep and make friends anytime soon and I actually agreed with him for the first time. So, I set the Special Education wheel a'rollin and I feel a little like I've just been run over by a train. Zac was diagnosed as in need of testing. He was sent home with a packet of materials tonight for me to fill out. Here are a list of incredibly detailed questions they asked (just a small sample, really. The questionnaire was over five pages long, 10 point font):

• My highest educational status
• Who has legal custody of Zac
• Place of residence of parent that lives in the home (hahahaha....oh wait, that one isn't supposed to be a joke. Can I say the general VT/NH area with a smattering of "I don't know. He evades the law"? Wait, no, I can't. The box isn't big enough. Sigh)
• Problems during pregnancy with child? Weight gain? Medications (dosage and frequency), Persistent emotional stress and/or anxiety (wait, is this one another joke? Of course, I checked the box! Why do you even have to ask?)
• How long labor was? Was it natural, induced, were forceps used? Was their a C-section? (and then I started wondering..how long was my labor? Was it 30 or 36 hours? Yes, I was induced and yes, I had a c-section.)
• What age did the child complete bowel training? Bladder training?
• Did your child show any delays in gross motor development, such as sitting, crawling, walking, and dressing? (oh jeez, I think this deserves its own post)
• List of serious accidents, operations, and hospitalizations?
• Frequent ear infections? Persistent sore throat? Headaches? Tubes in ears? (God, those were a rough three years. Yes, yes, yes, and yes)
• Has disciplining the child been strict? lenient? (how do I answer that? I wrote in "kind of")
• How does the child spend leisure time?
• Is there any unusual family circumstance, crises, or trauma that may be affecting your child? (What's the sad part is Zac's family circumstance isn't particularly unusual anymore. He just doesn't have a father).

Then I felt lonely and sad. I want to talk to someone about Zac because right now, I'm convinced that my Zoloft use during my pregnancy, regular bouts of emotional stress inutero, and complete non-relationship with the FOB have caused my child to stutter. I'm really to blame here, right? I'm such a girl.
Zac's tucked away in bed and my cat is getting drunk from the heat that my cable box is putting off. Right now, I'm just holding tight to the knowledge that I've never used cocaine, whether before, during, or after my pregnancy. I have that, at least.

Zachary 6.5

I find myself not writing about the reason I started this blog: Zac. The days fly by in waves of "time to get up", "No, you can't watch another show," "have you fed the dog?" and "I told you NOT to put all your shampoo in the bath water. I don't care if you like the bubbles". You see, I'm the Sunday-Thursday parent. My parents watch him from Friday afternoon after school to Sunday at 3pm. I would like to blame this arrangement on my MBA, but I would be dishonest if I didn't admit that it started well before I spent two years getting my degree.

Being the Sunday through Thursday parent comes with a certain amount of responsibility. I'm the  "take-no-prisoners-you-will-get-in-bed-or-you-will-not-see-a-computer-for-three-days" parent. But Zac makes it easy to parent, even when I have to be a hardass. We went to one of his classmates' parties today and I realized raising Zac is a little like raising a male version of myself as a child. We went to Jumping Jungle, a local indoor fun house filled with bouncy air houses. After 45 minutes of ear piercing screams, balls, and running like a madman, Zac came down and sat in my lap. First, he did the classic kid thing of asking for money for the arcades (no) and if he could use my phone to play Angry Birds (no). Then he complained about how bored he was. "It's boring to just run around and scream," he complained. I told him the rest of his friends were having fun and maybe he should try it.

Then Zac looked under the air hockey table and found a beaten up game of Sorry. In the middle of the party, he pulled out the pieces and I looked over and saw this:

and I thought...he's just...me. I'm raising a nerd, and a gamer, and a book reader because I was once all those things. We both read every night before bed and my biggest threat to him is that I won't read another chapter in one of his books if he misbehaves.

He's just the best kid. He's funny, thoughtful, and smart as hell. When he asked me when kids would stop being mean to him for his lackluster social skills, I bluntly told him, "college" because I don't know how to raise a social kid because I'm not a social parent. So, he and are stuck together. Slowly making our way in the world. Learning and growing at each turn. I guess that's the benefit of both being nerds: if we can't figure something out, we can always google it.

Suburbia

Ok, ok, if you want to get technical, I lived in the suburbs of Houston well before I moved out to 500 Leagues Under the Sea, shortened to "500 Leagues". I live in a part of Houston named after a lake, which is a little confusing because there is both the lake and the sea here. Anyways. I lived in an apartment for three years before purchasing the house-where-the-A/C-and-cable-doesn't-work in 500 Leagues. There is just something different about living in an apartment. In the apartment, it was rare to have two parents living in the same home, unless it was in mega families with five or more kids (and really? I don't even know how you fit five kids into a two-bedroom apartment. Now that I think about it, that probably explains why my neighbors were always out on the dime-sized patio playing acoustic guitar and drinking beer. It doesn't explain why their cousin from Mexico/Columbia/Guatemala/ok,-I'm an asshole because I never asked moved out onto the patio and made international phone calls on his cell all day and night).

Jeez, where was I? Right, the apartment. It's just different in a house. All the kids here have two parents and most families have two incomes. The kids here are just different - or I'll be honest, maybe I'm just more sensitive. It's a little unclear from Zac's story if the neighborhood kids were teasing him because he doesn't live with his FOB or if they were just being silly, but one six year-old made a joke about New Hampshire being New Hamster and it ended up with Zac running home, crying.

There are so many angles of this story that I tried to tackle with Zac. The first issue was to give him some ideas how to answer kids when they ask where his Dad lives. I told him to just say that his Dad doesn't live with him. That seems normal, right? Like, "I see my Dad on weekends" is way more socially acceptable to six year-olds than, "I met my Dad once when I was six months-old and he lives in New Hampshire." Apparently, New Hampshire, as a state, can be easily transformed into "New Hamster", which is the best thing any first grader has ever said in terms of humor and wit.

Second issue: not every kid is going to know as many states as Zac, or read as well, or do square root mathematics, or whatever else Zac can do that astounds me. My talk with Zac went something along these lines:

Me: "Look. You're really smart. Not every kid is going to be as smart as you are. I was really smart when I was your age and I had a hard time."

Him: "Had a hard time with what?"

Me: "Making friends. It didn't get better into college."

Him: "What!?! Even in high school it didn't get better! What about middle school?"

Me: "Nope, definitely not middle school"

Him: "I can't believe that I'll go to two whole schools without smart people."

Me: "There will be other smart kids in high school, but there will also be some other not-smart ones"

Him: "But there are smart people in college, right?"

Me: "Right"

----and my parents were worried about starting a Section 529 College Savings Plan! Ha. Little did they know the indoctrination that a gifted only child of a nerd can receive. Nevertheless, he's going to have to quickly learn that while he can read chapter books now, his two little feet didn't leave the Earth under his own willpower until he was 2 1/2. He didn't even learn how to walk until 17 months. Sports and physical motion have never been his strong suit. We all have advantages and disadvantages.

Now I'm off to go figure out how I can torture the neighborhood boys. New Hamster, my ass.

Clicker!

Since I went on and on about Clicker in my last post, I thought I'd give you some more details about him. I should also probably mention that he doesn't read my blog, so I have free reign to write whatever I'd like about him. Sweet!

So, Clicker and I met off a website around April 2010 (we think - the exact date is a little fuzzy). I was attracted to his intelligence, confidence, and sweetness. He was a bit awkward in our initial phone calls, but he volunteered to drive down to meet me from Huntsville, TX. We got along great and started dating seriously after our second or third date. I had to get used to the fact that he was 2 1/2 years younger than me and he had to get used to the idea of dating a single Mom.

I think he met Zac fairly early on in our relationship. He was....how can I say this politely? A bit standoffish with Zac. He didn't want Zac getting too close to him and he didn't want to get too close to Zac. He thought the best way to avoid this was to not make any direct eye contact or indirect touching with Zac. Zac didn't care. Zac is a little like a cat. The more you try and avoid him the more he will put his butt in your face and swirl around your leg while you are trying to walk. If I don't tell you soon, remind me to tell you the story of Zac meeting the guy that helped me get my current job (and is now my parents' broker).

Anyways, back to Clicker. He knows more about cars, guns, computers, and video games than anyone I know. That doesn't sound like it would be attractive to me, but damn, being able to change my fuel pump over one hot, summer weekend is sexier than shit, even if he made me sit out there and randomly hand him tools. I'm fine with the guns as long as I don't see them and occasionally I like to quiz him during movies to tell me the manufacturer and caliber of the gun on the screen. I think he and I would make a kick ass team at Trivial Pursuit. Although he's a gun advocate, he's a liberal Democratic from a liberal family. He named himself Clicker from his time as a photojournalist with three newspapers. He takes amazing photos, which I'll post a couple of.

Basically, he's a great friend. We've been dating for about nine months and he's gotten much closer to Zac. He let Zac sit on his lap as he showed Zac how to play a car racing game on PS3. It was very sweet. Zac waits to pounce (I mean hug) him as he walks through the door and Clicker reads to him at night before I tuck Zac into bed.

Here's one of the first pictures he showed me on the website where we met:
(d'oh! No more pics of Clicker. Want to guess who asked me to take them down?)

And here are some that he took. These pictures are going to serve as my "before surgery" pictures. Clicker went with me on Zac's first day of school in August 2010 and photographed the whole drop-off:

Walking my buddy to the car. His backpack is almost as big as he is.

I'm pretty much in love with Zac's face in this picture.

That's my boy. God I love this kid and the man that took the picture.

Just a Little Late

But still very cute. I went and saw him after therapy today before I went in to work. I rubbed his back while he whispered that we needed to be quiet because all the children were sleeping. I miss him so much when we aren't together.

Happy

(and I'm told that he made this sentence by himself with the wooden letters. So very Montessori, no?)

I'm picking Zac up from his preschool in a couple of minutes and I couldn't be happier at the thought of going home with him and settling in for the night. We are going to decorate the apartment tonight for Christmas, although I was just told that Santa needs to come for ALL members of the family, not just the kids. Basically, that means that I have to buy stocking stuffers for myself, which is somehow demoralizing. I find myself walking around stores going, "Now just what would Santa get me anyways?"

At least this fight is over for now. I can relax and continue fighting every other battle that I have on my plate. More to come...

Desolate

I wish I could describe how alone I feel when I fight for child support. It's like the entire system is set up to protect the rights of parents that don't have chosen not to contribute to their child's life, either financially or emotionally. In order to proceed with a modification of our child support order, the Attorney General's Office needs to verify the FOB's income, which means that he needs to be at a job for more than six months. THEN, they need his home address to serve him with the order to appear in court. All he has to do is keep moving and changing jobs and he can get away with not paying. What's worse is that if he keeps waiting tables and making $2/hour the state will garnish only his actual paycheck, and I get $20 every other week to help raise Zac. I was told by the AG's office that in that situation, they almost never go after men because "at least they are paying something." It makes me want to scream and kick.

It just feels so wrong. It's not only that he owes me money, it's the principle behind it. In my job I write grants to provide people with the services and education they need to change their life, to make what is unfair and unjust a little better. Yet, no one fights for me. No one can. I feel invisible, ineffective, and trapped. If I give up, then I'm condoning the actions of the FOB and I can't do that. I can't do that for Zac and I can't do that for myself.

What's even more isolating is that some of my friends think that the money isn't worth the anger and sadness that it brings me to fight for it. I try to explain that: 1) The money is worth it and I don't have the luxury of not pursuing it because of my financial situation, and 2) It makes it harder when I have to defend and justify my actions. I feel even more alone. I'm sorry that five years later, I'm still talking about the FOB and how upset it makes me. I'm sorry that you have to listen. I'm sorry that I'm not financially wealthy enough and don't have enough forgiveness in my heart to not pursue him with vengeance. I just can't. Not right now at least.

I want him to know that every time he turns around, the government will be there trying to garnish his wages. Every time he files his taxes, the IRS will take everything. I want him to know that he can't apply for a passport, get a house mortgage, or apply for a credit card. But none of these things matter to the FOB. That's the hardest thing for me to know. None of it matters and I'm back to waiting and feeling so alone.

Make That to Go

"Is he coming home with us?" Zac asked me last night, on the way to the car from the restaurant.

"No, babe. He's not."

"Where is he going?"

"He's going to his house. We are going to our house."

"But I want a friend to come over. Do you know who is going to come over?"

"No. I don't. I'll try and see if someone can come over."

Zac's desire to be around other people is getting harder for me as he's getting older. He's a naturally social kid that prefers to play with other kids or be the center of an adult's attention (preferrably two or three adults if they are in a group). I feel like I can't always offer him what he wants, in terms of a playmate or companion. As much as I try to balance his needs with the chores of running a house, going to work, and taking care of myself, I'm finding that Zac is getting more vocal about being alone.

A couple of weeks ago he repeatedly asked me where his Dad was. I told him that his "Dad" (my emphasis) lived in Florida and that he wasn't part of our life right now. He didn't understand. He just kept asking, hoping each time for a different answer.

I found out later that the FOB moved from Florida back to New Hampshire. His sister told me, when I asked if she knew why I had suddenly stopped receiving child support. Since he doesn't actually pay any money to the Texas Child Support Division, his wages are garnished. When he moves, the state that he lives in can't garnish his wages and Zac and I get nothing. I haven't even spoken to the FOB in almost a year-and-a-half.

I'm not even sure what I should do at this point. I requested a review of my case after the three year waiting period, then he started paying more and never heard anything. I could try and contact him through his myspace account, which is the only way that I have to get a hold of him, but what can I possibly say to him that would make him help me in any way? All I have is anger and even that is starting to wane. Righteous indignation is hard to maintain, even when it's justified. What I have now is no easy way to explain to Zac why he's missing half of his parents and easy way to pay all my bills, especially since I quit my second job.

I know that it's important for me to be in school, even if it makes things more financially difficult. I'm trying to find a way out of the same situation that I end up time and again with the FOB, it's just feeling hard today. I'd like a hug with a side order of responsible male role model for Zac. We could use it.

________
Edit: So it turns out that I can still be pissed off, even though it does me absolutely no good. The Writ of Withholding at the Attorney General's Office can only be enforced if they have a known, verified address for the FOB. I only know where he works. He owes $5,825 in back child support, including medical. The State of Texas would have to ask for cooperation from the State of New Hampshire to serve the FOB with an order to appear in court. At least I can still mock him: Anyone want to guess who has a public myspace page?

We Are Family

Sometimes I'm amazed at how like people in a family are. Last night my Mom and Dad came over with some presents that my extended family and the FOB's family sent to Zac for his birthday. We ordered Chinese food for dinner. When dinner came we realized that we had been given an extra order of hot and spicy chicken. The dish had jalapenos and hot peppers mixed with chicken. All of the adults took one look at the food and decided that the only way we could eat any of it was to follow it with liberal dosing of maalox and antacid. Actually, the only way we could eat it would be to surgical remove our tongues - that's how strongly we feel about spicy food, in general, and jalapenos, in particular. Zac observed this family tradition by only eating white rice, a banana, and yogurt.

While my parents and I are similar, Zac and I tend to mirror each other emotionally. He's been slipping out of bed at night and coming into my bed. If I'm awake, he'll tell me that he didn't want to be in his room anymore because he's lonely. If I'm asleep, he manages to get into bed without waking me. The next morning before I'm fully awake, I'll wonder who it was that I fell asleep next to and why I don't remember it. Honestly, it's a completely confounding experience. Like: "What the hell? Why is there something simultaneously kicking me in the small of the back and hitting me in the head? Who IS this?" By the time my eyes are open, I've usually figured out that someone hasn't broken in my apartment to spoon with me. Rather, Zac's gotten out of his room.

This morning he slept all night, but woke up early. He opened my door and climbed into bed saying, "I don't want to sleep anymore. I'm lonely. I want to see what you were doing." Me: "Ummm.....zzzzzzzz" Zac: "Can I go play? You're boring" Ok, so he actually didn't say that I was boring, but that was definitely the feeling that he gave me. Maybe I'm just projecting. All I know is that he came into my room this morning and jumped into bed. Thirty seconds later he was back in the living room, playing with the 100-piece marble toy set that ManFriend gave him.

I can certainly understand some of what Zac is going through (minus the obsession with marbles and motorized toy trucks). I have some amazing friends that I don't get to see very often, if at all. Most of my friends live outside of Texas, even after five years of living here. It doesn't help that I work in an office where I sit alone in front of a computer all day. If I didn't go to the bathroom every so often, I could probably go an entire day with only talking to two or three people. By the time that I get to my study group on Wednesdays, I'm usually bursting to have adult, in-person, interaction. I feel like a puppy that's been sitting on the patio at a sliding glass door, barely able to contain its excitement to get inside the house and lick something. That's how much I want to talk when in a group of my peers.

I don't even have time (or I'll admit it - desire) to fold my laundry, let alone go out and meet people, but I can still feel an absence in my life. when Zac tells me he's lonely, I nod and say "me too" and we hug. Our professors are taking us out for a drink after class on Friday, which I'm looking forward to. It's possible that I like I might get to see...hmmm...now I've forgotten the nickname that I gave him.....oh, that's rather embarrassing. Well, I'll just say that I might get to see a friend that got married last October and lives in a suburb on the complete opposite side of Houston on Saturday, so that should be fun. Zac will be with my parents so hopefully there will be a little less loneliness all around.

Acquiescence

Ok, ok...I'll update. Goodness! I have a new reader who actively prods me to update, which is probably good for me since I've been a slacker on my blog lately. It's hard to remember that I used to update every day. I also used to talk about vomit a lot. That might have something to do with my posting frequency. In a wonderful, wacky turn of events, I get puked on so much less now. That might lend to my overriding feeling that I don't have much to say anymore, or the time to arrange everything in the way that I want to say it. It's easier to write about ear infections, puke, and developmental milestones than about my feelings or observations.

To get out of my passive role of blog reading and into a more active role as a writer again, I've decided to combine all three of my blogs (pregnantblogger, notsopregnant, and onbeing-andliving) on a new site. I'm really excited about developing five years' worth of blogs into a cohesive site and can't wait to start working with Dee on the project. I'm leaning now to going back to notsopregnant.com, but if anyone has any feedback, I'd love to get it. Maybe I should keep onbeing-andliving? Maybe I shouldn't look backwards and create a whole new domain name? Maybe no one reads this site anymore because I post so infrequently. I'm not sure. I'm torn. For now, I've settled with just changing my blog template and switching everything from the right-hand to the left-hand side. I'm a wild and crazy blogger, I know.

Speaking of unbridled wildness, Zac woke up early this morning. Last night he was so afraid that he was going to oversleep and miss his birthday. Papa and I assured him yesterday that we would wake him up, and that the sun doesn't need any help rising in the morning, but it looks like he wasn't going to be taking any chances. Zac and I got up and snuggled on the couch this morning and sang "Happy Birthday" to him well before the sun made an appearance. I now have the ridiculous, "How Old Are You?" song in my head. Hopefully you now have it your head as well. Consider that my gift to you.

People always post the "I can't believe my child is XXX number of years" blogs so I'm going to try and avoid doing that. However, I would be completely remiss if I didn't somehow mention that the little being that I gestated in my body for 9 months is now 4 years old. It is crazy. Sorry. It had to be said.

Every day Zac is growing and changing. He still loves to sing and always requests a duet with me whenever we are around music. The word "request" is a bit of a misnomer. Demand is more like it. He's an almost unflappably polite child except when it comes to asking for things. Instead of, "Please may I have..." I'm much more likely to hear, "I want juice." Then he'll just like at me like, "Woman, I have a need that you must fill. Get to that." If I don't respond to a statement he makes the first time, he'll inevitably ask for it again. "Mama, I neeeeeeed juice!" Then he'll go back to looking at me with a mixture of hope and sense of entitlement. I always ask him, "How do you ask for something when you want it?" and he'll respond dutifully, "Please may I have...?", but I'm thinking that my more conciliatory method of parenting isn't getting the point across. I may have to crack down on guerrilla demands by not responding at all to statements not made in the form of a question that begin with "Please".

But that day won't be today. Today, my little man turns 4 years-old and I couldn't be prouder of the person he's becoming, even when he forgets to be ask politely. He's funny, sweet, intelligent, and an incessant talker. His steady stream of words reminds me what it's like to find joy in the mundane and amazement in the middle of a daily routine. Happy Birthday, Zac.

Tweeny

Zac will be turning 4 soon and more and more I'm realizing how much older he is getting. It's like somewhere between 3 and 4 years-old he morphed into a teenager with his own sassy comments and opinions. Here are a couple of examples:

*I went in to check on Zac at 10pm, to see if he was asleep. Not only was he not asleep, but he was sitting on his bed, playing with his flashlight. He looked up at me and asked: "What is it?" like I had turned into the annoying parent who he must tolerate. I stammered, "Uh, nothing. Go to sleep. Good night." "Good night, Mama," he sighed and focused his attention back on his flashlight.

* We've been listening to the same "Wheels on the Bus" CD that we've been listening to in the car every morning for the past eighteen months. It's always the same CD, never anything different. On the way home from work/preschool, Zac wanted to listen to the CD. I can barely stand the music in the morning, especially when Zac orders to me to, "SING!" along. There was no way that I was turning it on in the evening. I told him no and he started negotiating with me. "But I want it," he said. "No. We listen to the CD in the morning, not in the evening. I'm not turning it on." "Please". "No, Zachary," this time with a sterner tone in my voice. "I want to hear a yes from you!" he argued (in my mind I thought, "What the hell? Did he really just tell me what to say?" "No! We aren't listening to the CD." He replied with a much beleaguered, "Awww, man. I'm too sad now".

The last phrase:"I'm too sad now" is one of his favorites. I probably get told that at least 3-4 times a day. Every time I tell him no he gets sad. Fortunately, it's short-lived and within a couple of minutes he's laughing or playing with his cars again. He's still fiercely loyal to his Mama and wants me to be involved in just about everything he does. Occasionally, I wish that he had a sibling or a good friend close by that he could play with. He seems to get lonely playing by himself all the time.

Here's what I wonder, though: if he's this opinionated at almost 4 years-old, what is it going to be like when he's actually a tween? Let's just leave to the side the actual teenager years, since I've already admitted that I'm not sure what I'm going to do then. I might start hiding in my room. Avoidance is a good parenting technique, right?

Children's Festival Time

While I was working a shift at my second job, Zac and his Nana and Poppa went to the Children's Festival again this year.

You can almost see what he's going to look like as an adult in the photos. He looks so big riding the rides all by himself.

He had some help on the last one, but my Dad is crouching down in the photo. Zac got some help later on in the day from Poppa when he got too tired to walk.

Perspective

"What are you to Mama? Her baby

What are you to Nana? A big boy!

What are you to Papa? A buddy"

- My Dad and Zac

Calling him my baby started one night after the bath. I would wrap him up in a towel and carry him like a baby. He loved it. I told him that he would always be my baby, no matter how big he got. He smiled and giggled.

He's growing so fast now a days. With every yogurt that he drinks and canned hot dog that he eats, it almost like I can see him growing vertically. His toddler belly is getting smaller and he's outgrown almost all of the 3T clothing. He just started being able to sound out words and identify letters, which makes driving in the car with him so much more interesting. "Mama!" he shout into my right ear, "That sign says 'One Way'. Are you going the right way?" "Mmm hmmm" I would mumble while negotiating traffic. "Are you going the right way?" If I don't answer him immediately he suddenly turns into a three foot tall drill Sargent. "Can you say yes please? I want you to say yes!" "Yes, Zac. We are going the right way. I promise." "Oh, ok, good".

On Wednesday at school he helped a friend in his class who was trying to spell the word 'pig'. As his teacher recounts the story: "Zac just told her flat out, 'P-I-S doesn't spell pig. It spells Pissssss,' I had to tell him that P-I-S did indeed spell piss, but that we shouldn't use the word very often. He helped his friend find the 'g' that she needed."

I love how blunt he is. I have no idea, of course, where he gets that from. Now if I can just assure myself that I'm not forever ruining his concept of himself in relation to women, I'd be great. I don't really want him to grow up and be a big baby, you know? For now, though, I'm content for him to be my baby.

Love and Nerves

Lately Zac has been taking my breath away. The force of love that I feel for him is more than I've ever expected and ever registered before.

This morning he looked at me with his blue eyes and long eye lashes and looked so big and so fragile all at the same time. I wanted to hold his body close to mine, even though he was just asking if he could carry a puzzle to the car. He's a little person now, with his own opinions and feelings, even though he only comes up to my mid-thigh. I blinked and he grew up from a baby that didn't walk until 17 months to a toddler that asks, "Can I walk by myself, Mama? I'll be careful."

I'm amazed by him.
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I have my interview at Rice tomorrow at 3pm. It kicks off the Women's Preview Weekend of schmoozing, boozing, and networking. I'm hoping that no one looks down at my fingers and realized that I've chewed off all the skin on either sides of my nails. It's a nervous habit. A lot of those have been cropping up lately actually. I'm really hoping that I don't mess up this weekend.

Karma

I was hoping that I had a little extra karma built up so that when I threw some negative energy out into the universe (aimed squarely at the FOB), it wouldn't immediately come right back at me. As my friend Betsy used to say, "Karma has wide hips and what you send out always comes swinging back around." In my case, it came swinging back around with the flu and diagnosis of strep throat.

I knew as soon as I woke up on Saturday that I had strep. The last time I had it was my sophomore year in college when my tonsils constricted so far that I was having problems swallowing. Not surprisingly, I had a tonsillectomy at the age of 19 and not had strep throat since then. Any idea how hard it is to actually get strep when you don't have any tonsils? It's pretty hard. Doctors actually treat reoccurring strep infections with tonsillectomies. I was unlucky enough to find a way around the lack of tonsil problem and still contract group A streptococcus. I've been on penicillin for almost a week and I'm still sneezing and coughing out chest congestion.

Regardless, someone looked cute on Halloween. I actually went to a wedding right after work on Halloween so my parents took Zac trick-or-treating. The Yankee in me died a little bit when he told me that he wanted to go as a cowboy. "Cowboys say 'Yeee-Haww!'," he'd shout at me, usually while driving. So, one night at all-purpose store, we picked up a cowboy hat and vest outfit.

I was told that he had a great time. My Mom said that he would let her hold his hat, but he never once relinquished his candy. He's a very smart cowboy.

Fortunately his costume is so big that two years from now he can be a cowboy again. At the very least, he can learn to dress stylishly in a vest and jacket for kindergarten.

"Where are my feet Mom? Nana and Poppa buried my feet!! Good thing I have this candy."

Sorry for the late posting of Halloween pictures, but it's been a rough week. I'm hoping that by sometime Sunday I'll start feeling better. I have a fundraising event tomorrow morning and working at Pier 1 tomorrow night. In lieu of karma, I'd settle for some more energy.

Anger Personified

FOB,

Why did you even bother to contact me if you weren't going to respond to my e-mail? Did you think that this is a game? That you can fuck with my life when you are miserable and somehow I'll make you feel better?

I tried to be polite to you, but this isn't a game. My son and I have built a life without you. I'm dating someone that cares about Zac and I. Zac doesn't even know what a "Daddy" is, other than I call my father "Dad". One day, he might ask about where his biological father is and I'll explain that you can't contact him because you're avoiding paying for child support.

I took down the video of Zac. Don't you dare ever exploit him again to make yourself look like anything other than a deadbeat father.

If you need to contact me again, you can do it through the Texas Attorney General's Office. They will explain how you can pay the full amount of child support and they can arrange supervised visitation of Zac according to our origingal child support agreement.

Your family is welcome to continue to send Zac gifts and ask about him. I'll continue to write them back and send them pictures as often as I can. It's up to Zac as to whether or not he wants them in his life. As for you, you don't deserve anything other than a long stretch of jail time.

B

P.S. - For those with myspace accounts, feel free to add your thoughts: http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=50345082.

Topsy-Turvy

The FOB (Father of the Baby) e-mailed me yesterday, from a myspace account no less. He said that he knew he had been a complete and total shit, but that he wanted to help and that he missed Zac. He also said that talking via myspace was probably the safest way to communicate. I dissolved into confusion and anger. "How can you miss someone that you've never known?" Zac and the FOB met once when Zac was six months old. Then an immediate thought: "Is this safe for you because you are still avoiding the Attorney General's Office you shit?"

It was like falling down the rabbit's hole when I clicked over to the FOB's myspace page and read this:

"By the way...The video below of the little boy in his diaper is my son. His name is Zachary Russell, he was born July 8th 2005 in Houston, Texas which is where he lives with his mom right now. In this video he is one and a half and obviously very smart. I miss him alot, and work my job to support him."

Did I miss something? "I work my job to support him?" The FOB hasn't paid more than $20 in child support at any time in over a year. He owes close to $6,000. The video he has up is of Zac identifying his body parts. He can't be more than 18 or 19 months old, even though he's standing and sort of toddles over to the camera on his feet, so I know it's after Thanksgiving 2006.

I wanted to puke. To everyone, he looks like a doting father. What the hell does he mean, "right now" Zac is living in Houston? Zac will live in Houston until I no longer do. He's out of his mind if he believes the delusion that I'm going to move back to New Hampshire to keep Zac close to his family. The man lives in Florida anyways! Why does he care where his son lives?

I wrote him back, but my angry-yet-trying-to-be-polite tone caused all my sentences to sound like a parody of "Dick and Jane" books. "Zac is three years old now. Zac goes to preschool where I work. I work two jobs." I couldn't think of anything else that didn't denigrate down to cursing and wailing on my part. I can't even imagine what kind of help he wants to offer. He closed the door on emotional support when I was pregnant and he stopped returning my calls. He lost the ability for me to be civil towards him when he got fired from his job and didn't call and tell me that Zac no longer had health insurance. I paid over $3,000 in medical bills that year because of him. It's a pretty easy process for him to start helping financially, just send money to the AG's office. Done!

It makes me sick and what's worse is that I know he read it. He hasn't responded to it, but I know he read it. I'm not really sure what I would have to say to someone that tried to have me thrown in jail a couple of months ago, not that he knows any of that. All of this just bothers me.

Probably not coincidentally, my case at the Attorney General's Office of Texas is up for review. Cases for child support and custody are reviewed once every three years. I completed the form and sent it back in. The least I can do is take a morning off work and sit across from a case worker to try and explain why I think the Writ of Withholding should be enforced. It just makes me sick to my stomach.

Expectations

Every morning I open up my e-mail account and expect that I'll see an e-mail from Smith. It's been months and months since he's contacted me, but I still expect that I'll hear from him. It's odd really, how long an expectation can last. I've trained myself not to be disappointed when I don't see anything from him.

I wonder how my cat is doing without me. Zac and I officially moved out on Saturday into our apartment, much to the cat and the toddler's dismay. Every time we would come back to the apartment after an errand, Zac would look at me and say, "OH...we are going back THERE again?" almost like it was a question. He expected to go play at Nana and Papa's house, where there are entire television stations devoted to shows he loves that his Mom can't get with the stupid basic cable package. There are also two more adults for him and no roaches to contend with. I think the bugs bother me way more than they bother him. He hasn't even noticed them yet, but he does notice me screaming, "You will die today!" while brandishing a large can of Raid.

I don't think it's too much to expect an apartment without cockroaches. Manfriend came over yesterday and opened up a drawer to find roach droppings intermingled with the cutting knives. A roach crawled up on my hand at the exact moment I was asking him what the funny black spots were. I happened to be holding a large butcher knife at the time and almost sliced Manfriend's stomach open as I screamed, "Oh dear God! Get it off me! Get it off me!" over and over and lurched back into the dining room. Fortunately, my apartment is so small that you can be standing at the stove and hand someone a plate of food at the dining room table. It's like living inside an Ikea showroom, only with more cockroaches and less Swedish wall art. All of my dishes went into the dishwasher after the roach incident. I'm lucky that I only have four plates and two bowls, or that could have been a more time-consuming endeavor.

Tonight Zac and I are sleeping at my parents' house. I have to go to my fundraising class and Zac is getting the privilege of being the center of my parents' world once again. We've slept in our own apartment for two days and I expect that Zac will be loving every minute of attention that he can get from his Nana and Papa. I know that he'll definitely be excited by Noggin and a couple games of Candyland.