Steppin' Up

My folks are in the log cabin business. My Mother & Grandfather run the sales and building side of things and my Father does the restoration. (Please excuse all the shameless link plugging...but I want you to love log homes as much as we do, and subsequently purchase one of the beauty's and help fund my children's college educations fall in love every time you pull into your drive.)
Anyway, back to my original thought...um, what the heck was my original thought? Oh yea, Log Homes and How They're Changing My Life.

My brother and I are both going to work for my parents off & on for a while. He's gone ahead out to Oklahoma with our baby daughters while I get things sorted out here. I'll be headed back to the river on Friday (if all goes as planned), and the older Turkeys will stay here with their Dad and StepMom-ish. Yes. Here. In my home. My sanctuary. The place where no one can hurt me or give me grief. And, I've invited the enemy to sleep in my bed (ew. ew. ew. ew.) and gave them the responsibility of getting my children to school. Making sure they have their homework before they leave in the morning. Brushing their teeth!!!
One of the reasons the judge gave me custody in the odd situation we were in, was because Turkey #1 almost failed Kindergarten. (Texas doesn't require K, so we were able to sneak past the system. Because it wasn't her fault.)
She was absent or tardy more than 65 days of the school year. And by tardy, we're talking 10 or 11 in the morning. I'm sorry, but no 5 year old should be responsible for getting herself up, fed, dressed, ready & off to school without an adults help.
(I was working at a law firm with very demanding hours. Lived in a crappy area. His parents have loot and live in an exclusive neighborhood with an amazing school, so the kids stayed with him during the week)
I've had custody since then, and both kids are doing fabulous in school. (I'll brag on that in another post.)
I believe, cause I can be an optimist, that they've grown up and know better. That they'll be able to wake up long enough to get done, the things that need to be done. Then go back to sleep till the Turkeys get home from school.
We're going to try it for a week. I don't know if or how it's going to work out, but I'm preparing myself by knowing that this is a hell of a lot better than hiring some random person to care for the lives of two of my favorite people.
I know that the kids will be safe and taken care of. I know that they won't be ignored, or abused. If that means I have to let them stay in my house, use my bathroom, be together *ugh* in my bed (then burn the sheets and sanitize the mattress) and all that, then so dang be it.
But let me warn you now. If that hootchie Mama so much as scratches any of my cookery, I promise, it will be all out WAR.

My Mom wants me to be there, and that's the biggest reason I want to go. After all that this year has brought, I can be so grateful that it's brought me (literally) closer to my Mom. Instead of emails talking about our lives, we're getting to live them together. I know my parents want me to move to Oklahoma. They've both all but begged for it. They want this company to thrive because the name Heritage means more than just a brand. (I know this also sounds like shameless plugging, but it is the honest to God truth) The homes, and the company that my family is involved in are meant to be passed down from generation to generation. My parents want to be retired. They would love nothing more than to see my brother and I run the restoration side of the company. My Dad would love nothing more than to spend his days with his baby Granddaughters down by the river chasing turtles, and counting fish.
But, my kids have been in so many different schools already. Leaving Sergio, the military...that was all supposed to bring a stop to things. I promised to settle them, and I can't break a promise to my children. I have to stick it out here for a while.

Ugh. I hate being conflicted. It would be so easy to just go to my parents. Let my Mom take care of me for a while. Take a break. Enjoy the peace and quiet. Rake in the dough, and stash most of it away...

Sorry for the off topic, random, back & forth post tonight. My brain is on overload....

Solo Parenting & The Other Dad

This weekend is one of the weekends that the two oldest Turkey's spend with their Dad. One of the upsides of moving back to DF-Dub (vs. fighting it out with the X in Colorado for however long) was that they would be closer to him. Who, regardless of his inability to grow up & become an adult, is a fantastic Dad. Loves those kids with his entire being. He's a good guy. We were simply way too young (16 when we met & 19 when we had the first Turkey.) and way too different to be together. Fortunately, we were never married. Fortunately, we both agree that our kids rock. Fortunately, I have difficulties coming up with other words when my mind is stuck on fortunately.

If he and I were able to simply parent our children without his parent's guidance, we would probably have very little in the way of difficulties. But, his Mother. Oh. Lord. Help. Me.
This woman is the bane of my existence. She's the Tom to my Jerry. The Hillary to my Sarah. The, the, the.....DEVIL.

I recently bought my oldest Turkey (9) a pay as you go cell phone from AT&T. Calls to her Dad, his parents & girlfriend, me and my parents were all free. Any other calls she made were $.10 per minute. (With a fee of a dollar per day). The stipulation was that she has to pay to put minutes on it. As expected, because she's 9, once the first $15 that I put on there was gone, she didn't have the patience to save her money to get more minutes.
Cut to last week. I'm on the phone with her Dad's girlfriend. (Why? Someone please tell me why the hell I have to deal with her?) She tells me that "Nana" has bought the oldest Turkey a cell phone. Put it on her plan like everybody else in their family.
Whoa. Wha? Excuse Me? Your Kidding Me. Right?

I'd really like to give that woman a piece of my mind. The problem is this. She's got money. There is a reason that she can afford to support her 28 year old son, and his girlfriend in high style. And she can use that money just as easily to hire an attorney to take me back to court.
I don't have the funds available. Partly because, when we first went to court I stupidly asked for nothing but my children. I didn't request child support. I wanted my kids.

So, I keep my mouth shut. When they ask if they can pick the kids up 3 hours early and drop them off 2 hours late, I say, "of course." When they claim that they have a 4th of July "Tradition" even though the papers clearly state to alternate holidays, I suck it up and take the baby to my parents without the rest of my crew, then make apologies to the cousins they haven't seen in a year.
When my daughter is taught that rules are made to be broken. When my son is taught that he has a right to play video games and that I'm mean for sending him outdoors to play. When they're both told that I should feed them foods that they enjoy instead of "being selfish in the kitchen"...
I keep quiet. I smile when he brings his girlfriend to pick up my children and they take off running to jump into her arms. I laugh when my son mistakenly calls her Mom, then looks at me with a guilty expression on his face. And, I let the tears pour down my face when their car pulls out of the driveway.

When his Mother decides that she's ready for my kids to live in her house again (did I forget to mention that he still lives with his parents?), she'll pay for her son to take me back to court. She'll buy him the best attorney money can buy.
And all I'll be able to fight back with is the consistency of my parenting. Two children who are doing fantastic in school, who are well fed, groomed, and certainly loved. And, my willingness to adapt myself so that they can continue to have a healthy and vibrant relationship with their Father.

I have all of this on the brain today, because I promised Lyss that I would invite her Dad and the GF over for dinner, and am feverishly trying to figure out what to prepare to make myself look like the culinary genius that I pretend to be. I'm going to have to also figure out a way to make myself not look to be a bitter, angry, demented bitch woman because of all this drama swirling about in the shadows.

Will you help me? I have less than 2 weeks to prepare.