The Stitch Witch

A little update

So, as I've mentioned to some friends in 'real' (read non interwebs) life, back in November I had this brilliant idea to register for full time classes just days before I accepted a promotion. The promotion kicked in December 5 but in a lazy way: training my replacement on site. Easy peasy.

On January 2, I became a free range crafter (which sounds way cooler than my real job title) and was set loose in a store that needed a trainer and some operational guidance. Translation: 1/3 of the staff doesn't know what they're doing, 1/3 of the staff knows what they're doing but refuses to do it for a variety of self absorbed and absurd reasons, and 1/3 of the staff just doesn't show up on a regular basis. It's pretty hectic and there are a lot of 12 hour days but there are weekends off, something that's pretty uncommon in retail, and the novelty of that hasn't worn off yet.

 And then, on January 9, classes started.

Holy gee. Color me stretched to the max. Sometime, I forget how arrogant I can be and then I decide to do something like what I'm attempting now and it all comes back to me with astonishing clarity: occasionally, my ego smothers all commonsense and clearly there were decisions made in that oxygen deprived state. Back in my mid-twenties, this particular mental deficiency led to what I fondly refer to as the year that almost killed me: I accepted a promotion to bookstore manager, got married, got pregnant, bought a house at a foreclosure auction, became a landlord, sold the old Saab, bought a less old Saab, moved, renovated an apartment while 8 months pregnant, sold the old pickup truck, bought a new pickup truck, took to landscaping with a chainsaw to work off some hormonally induced hostility (ok, that last bit really wasn't stressful but it was fun), gave birth to the world's colickiest baby, went back to work full time, transferred to a different bookstore, remained calm the day my then husband called me at work to announce that he'd quit his day job so he could start a business... Interestly, while I can list the sequence of events, I can't recall much detail about the year. Or the year after for that matter.

I'm not quite that busy...not quite, though it felt a little close for the first two weeks. These days, I'm better equipped for stretching things a bit, though sleep seems more important than it did 15 years ago.  Conveniently, the myriad sticky, frustrating, and sometimes just downright wierd situations that crop up at this store are perfect discussion material for the class I'm taking on human relations in organizations. This week, I need to choose a HR research paper topic and a little piece of the brain is fairly shrieking in protest that we haven't written a research paper since high school and auuuuuuuuughhhhhhh!

Dear Brain: Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt.  If I may remind you, that last paper we wrote was on the effects of radioactive fallout and we had to pretend to nuke England. Ok, we didn't have to nuke England but it's an island and that was convenient for our purposes. Now, what could possibly be less fun than that? Besides a paper on TQM/Process Imporvement? Exactly my point, now lighten up. Love, Erica

Exhaustion induced silliness aside, this is possibly the most fun I've had in years.  I feel stretched and it's fun. Of course, my eating habits have gone right to hell (might have something to do with eating breakfast and dinner in the car) so I rejoined Weight Watchers online and commited to 1 hour/week with a personal trainer for the next 8 weeks (plus additional work out time during the week, obviously. Having the trainer keeps me honest while I'm getting back into the habit of looking after me. If I don't work out between appointments, I don't progess.

We'll see how it goes.

Mindfullness

After the sheer nuttiness of the past few years, I thought I'd keep the resolution simple this year: mindfullness. Spend enough time constantly stressed and it's easy to get out of the habit of focusing on the here and now and instead have a brain that's constantly scrambling off in 17 directions simultaneously.

In my brief quest for this mindfullness thing, I spend a lot of time thinking about it instead of what I'm doing (go ahead, giggle. I won't take it personally). Thinking about one thing at a time is an improvement for me, even if it means an idea remains theoretical for a little while before it's actually applied to life. So, tonight, I was busy contemplating mindfullness while cooking dinner and what it meant and maybe I should buy another book on it though I already have that one book and it's pretty good do I really need another and maybe this mindfullness thing'd be easier if I just laid off the caffeine my brain might slow down and I'm almost out of coffee so it wouldn't be that hard to quit and what's that awful smell?

Smell?

The smell brings us to tonight's lesson on mindfullness: if you fail to notice that the sweater you're wearing is on fire, you're not being mindful.

 I know, newsflash, eh?

 Another thing: if you're going spend your cooking time thinking about mindfullness instead of practicing it, wear wool. That way, when you finally gather the wits enough to yank your hand knitted irish wool sweater clad arm out of the burner, the fire will extinguish immediately. It's like magic.

Clearly wool was invented for absented minded fools.

Of course I'm fine, though the left arm's a bit hairless and the kids think I'm an idiot. I've sworn off thinking while cooking at least until I master multitasking.

Hello 2012

"I do think New Year's resolutions can't technically be expected to begin on New Year's Day, don't you?  Since, because it's an extension of New Year's Eve, smokers are already on a smoking roll and cannot be expected to stop abruptly on the stroke of midnight with so much nicotine in the system.  Also dieting on New Year's Day isn't a good idea as you can't eat rationally but really need to be free to consume whatever is necessary, moment by moment, in order to ease your hangover.  I think it would be much more sensible if resolutions began generally on January the second."  ~Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones's Diary

Personally, I always find starting something on a Monday works better for me. And this years, the first falls on a Sunday and Sundays are for sleeping in and slothfulness. Monday it is, then.

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you're familiar with the angst of the past 2 years. And if you just stumbled across me for the first time, do yourself a favor and skip over 2009 and 2010. It was a miserable couple of years and most of the sporadic posts reflect a struggling, frustrated, and unhappy woman. I'm not deleting a word; it's my history and I'm leaving it out there but it's tedious and repetitive reading.

Life turned the corner sometime in September; being the superstitious sort, I've hesitated to say anything and instead have held my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. It hasn't. And I've wised up and started breathing before I turned very blue :) We can, officially, start moving on. How about that.

Monday, work begins in a new location- same company, different position. I was promoted 5 weeks ago. The commute's a little longer but brings me within a stone's throw of Boston, a city I have an irrational love for. Possibly I'm well on the way to becoming a sentimental fool. It's rather enjoyable. 

In addition, we can afford to move out of my parent's house this year. 

Classes start in 9 days.  Classes for me. Textbooks are coming.

The kids are thriving.

For all of this, I am grateful. Happy New Year.

October was interesting month.

After several years of thumbing his nose at me, the law, his family, his children, and pretty much anyone else who follows the basic tenets of society, the X was arrested on a warrant that I'd requested.

I'm beginning to understand why the government tends to fall back on tax related charges when going after mobsters and other hard to catch bad guys. It's pretty concrete. Failure to pay child support is pretty cut and dry, even if one has the chutzpah to try and explain to the judge that the ex-wife had received her half of the equity in the house and therefore one shouldn't have to pay child support for one's 4 children 8 years after the equity payout.

Really. I did pick a winner, ladies. Of all the marvelous possibilities I've considered for the second half of my life, matchmaker is definitely not among them.

While the X spent most of November in jail, we were free of multiple daily phone calls, random packages and 'gifts' being left on the doorstep or on my car, the delightful situation of the X repeatedly 'running out of gas' in front of the house as he 'happened' to be driving by, myriad custody order violations that the police repeatedly informed me they couldn't help with but I could request a hearing in front of a judge, the endless irrational emails contesting EVERYTHING. Or as a family member of his said: "At least when he's in jail, you'll have a break from the harrassment".

Indeed. Because low grade harrassment can drag on for quite sometime before the authorities might consider taking it seriously. Failure to support one's children, though, that gets their attention. 

 In NH, the bail requested for a child support contempt capias goes directly to pay off some of the child support arrearages. At the hearing, the nonpaying parent's given an opportunity to make some phone calls for the express purpose of hounding friends and family for enough money to stay out of jail. "Hey, can you loan me $3,500 so I don't go to jail today? Why? I'm waaaaay behind on child support and your posting bail helps me catch up on my child support obligations and has the added benefit of providing food and clothing for my children. C'mon, it's the holidays, support someone else's family."  

 Ok, the caller's never that honest. I know this after listening in on many, many such calls the morning of a show cause hearing 2 weeks ago. "Jimmy, I got most of the money I need to stay outta jail and if you lend me the last $300, I'll pay ya back tonight." Remarkable how so many non-paying parents can suddenly find the money when presented with jail.

Show cause hearings are an endless parade of lame excuses the judge refuses to suffer: "You're on welfare and are only obligated to pay $50 a month for 4 children? Do I understand that correctly? $50 a month for 4 children and you've chosen not to pay? Let's do the math: $50 divided by 4 weeks is $12.50 a week divided by 4 children is....$3.12 a child. That doesn't even buy a gallon of milk for that child and yet you've decided not to pay. There are two ways to leave this courtroom, sir. The doors in the front lead to freedom. The doors on the left go directly to Valley St (jail). You go make some phone calls and try to come up with the money you need to leave through the front doors. Otherwise you're going to jail."

Other that the dollar amount in question, the first hearing for the X played out much like that one. They all do. While waiting to be called at the second hearing, I listened to the judge berate quite a few non paying dads while they stared at the X in shackles. This time, though, the judge freed the X. Before we all get all sorts of indignant, hear me out. The judge is no nonsense former Marine who praised the fact that I'm raising 4 kids without child support or any sort of public assistance and acknowleged that I was rightfully bitter and frustrated and then pointed out that sending the X right back to jail wouldn't afford him an opportunity to pay his arrearages. And, I agree, he's right about that. So,  X was released with two weeks to meet a number of stringent conditions. If he fails to meet any of them, he goes back to jail.

 It's unfortunate we've reached this point but after spending nearly a month in jail, X's finally begun to appreciate reason. So, we'll see.

 

Hey ladies, it's been a year since my not so great lumpectomy adventure. I could leap on October bandwagon and be all sorts of serious about breast cancer awareness. Or, instead, I could share an awareness video featuring topless men (thanks to the ladies at Smart Bitches for this one). 

A little knitting

Currently on the sticks: 

Consider this a "before" picture of Paton's Piroutte in Midnight Blue Shimmer. After following the directions to knit through every other hole, it's begun to resemble a wayward acrylic hairball. When I made the store sample, I through every hole and it the result was far more appealing.

Also on the sticks, Mountain Colors 4/8 Wool (colorway already forgotten though I think it might be Alpine. Dratted lost label.) on size 3 needlesWorsted weight socks are an ideal reintroduction back into the knitterly universe. Not to mention they're eminently practical for New England. And you know, the great thing about taking an extended hiatus from knitting is having a magical moment when I'm knitting along and I can suddenly smell the wool. Ahhhhhh, wool. The Paton's is shiny and shimmery and perfect for my 13 year old daughter (though I'm also tempted to make a scarf for myself in Twilight Sparkle) but it's completely scentless. Since it's mostly acrylic, that's probably a good thing but it's the yarn equivalent of an unscented tea rose- pretty, yet it's lacking something.

Or maybe I'm just a weirdo.

 
 

September was interwebs hiatus month. Mostly. I would have told you but I was busy being elsewhere. Mostly in my head, thinking about me, something I haven't done with any sort of clarity in a ridiculously long time. Sadly, this contemplative period hasn't resulted in the cure for cancer or world peace but I'm feeling focused for the first time in forever.

Hot damn.

And you haven't missed much at Chez Stitch Witch. The kids are in school. I'm headed back to school for HR pending the delightful process known as 'verification' of my financial aid application. Humorously, the part of the government that handles FAFSA apparently isn't on speaking terms with the part that handles taxes so if you're ever randomly selected for verification, expect to spend extra postage mailing your tax return and all related schedules to They Who Verify.

An unexpected benefit to spending 2 years in court is that there is AMPLE documentation supporting my claim that the X doesn't pay child support.

Why HR? Because it's the part of my job that I enjoy most. Always have. Even when I'm looking at someone and wondering "What the fuck were you thinking?"

There's been knitting in fits and starts. During a recent daytrip to Maine, I picked up some yummy Mountain Colors 4/8 wool (for bulky socks, of course) at The Yarn Cellar. And, because of work (the She Who Crafts part as opposed to the She Who Sometimes Wonders What The Fuck They Were Thinking part) I've spent a decent amount of last month futzing around with Premiere's Starbella and Paton's Piroutte during yarn demonstrations and quick one on one knitting lessons. Both are netting-type yarns and the Piroutte's got a chenille edge and, depending on the yarn, may contain sequins or other sparkly bits. It's pretty hot stuff for the ladies who knit for craft fairs cos they can crank out a complicated looking (to the uninitiated) scarf in an hour or so with $4-$8 worth of yarn and charge $25-$30. Almost makes hand knitting profitable.

This isn't shill for netting yarns, BTW. Half the time I'm attracted to their ruffled sparkliness and rest of the time they remind me of a technicolor acrylic hairball. Talk about conflicted. 

 

(random red building in Hollis NH)

 

"If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere" Vincent Van Gogh

Possibly even in an outlet mall parking lot.

Maybe this is why I'm single

 

I haven't quite figured out how to work the 80 pound pit bull who sneaks under blankets on cold mornings into my profile. Don't know if I want to. She'd make an excellent test of someone's sense of humor.

What to do next?

Yesterday morning, as the first bits of Irene straggled in, the sky was beautiful
As was the fog, though the humidity sucked like a nuclear powered Hoover. I've got no tolerance for this tropical wave business. Frizzes the hair. Even short hair. Looks like granny pubes sprouted on my head. Meh.

So the past three weeks have been the busy business of (hopefully) wrapping up the worst of this exhusband nonsense: One show cause hearing where the ex failed to appear before the judge to satisfactorily explain why it is he doesn't feel obligated to support his kids or contribute to their expenses. Two trips to the DHHS to open a case with the division of child support enforcement (a delightful post for a future date). The ex is now only allowed supervised visitation and guess who got to try and serve him? Uh huh. He's fond of hiding when anyone comes around and his behavior's unpredictable enough that entering a building alone to look for him is just plain dumb so it was perfectly reasonable for me to resort to leaving paperwork tucked under his windshield wiper. At least the judge seemed to think so when I explained that to him under oath.

Some day when this is all done, I doubt I'll laugh but I might go dancing. Now that custody, court, and all that hoopla no longer consume every waking moment, I'm not at a loss for what to do but I've forgotten what I used to do before that time. But there was this list. Seriously. I just resurrected the long neglected 101/1001 list which was created not long before life went completely and utterly nutters. You know what? I like this list and just about everything on it still holds appeal. Sure, it was 'due' this past January but life's full of disruptions and sometimes 'to do' lists have to keep for a bit. And right now, it's a rough map to the new normalcy. Why not reinvent as cello playing Russian speaking Tango dancer?

Why, Erica, whatever is your wallet doing in the travel lane of Route 3 south?

Seriously. That's my wallet. Two thirds of it, actually. The other third had been propelled a 100 or so yards south and into the fast lane by a series of passing semis.

In order for it to be smited (or is that smote?) by a semi, I had to absent mindedly leave it lodged in the roof rack of the Subaru. If I'd realized this before it finally flew off the roof at 50 mph and hit my sister's car's bumper, which launched it across 2 lanes of late morning highway traffic, it would've been a typically frantic yet otherwise ho-hum sort of family trip.

Why settle for ho-hum? Really.

 

Dumbass goes to beach, exposes legs to sun for first time in 15 years, and forgets to reapply sunscreen

Adding insult to injury, the burns have caused my lower legs to swell to rather epic proportions and, four days after my bout of stupidity, my normally boney ankles and feet remain transformed into cankles topped with sausage toes. The particularly nasty looking blotch on my left foot is a skin graft from a childhood burn. Yes, really. I burned a skin graft that was put on top of a burn many years ago. Don't pity me...when someone is this stupid, it's best just to wince and laugh nervously.  And pass the aloe if you're feeling particularly kind.

Ice Cream Sunday

Ingredients for an ice cream Sunday:

7 children under one roof. With only one bathroom.

1 slightly frantic fat pit bull.

2 frazzled Grandparents packing for a 5 hour drive to Long Island with 3 of the aforementioned children.

One completely overwrought 11 year heading to Water Country. 

Add a last minute early morning driver's lesson for my 16 year old.

 Shake well. If more stress is desired, add 9:30am text from exhusband: "Did you see (Aunt) Mazel's obit?"

If suitable levels of stress have still not been achieved, wait for exhusband to send increasingly bizarre texts at 10 minute intervals:

 "I may cut some of my hair & place it in a plastic bag with her obit"

"I'm enjoying grapefruit flavored Italian ice. No corn syrup."

 "My cousin thinks she has a baker's cyst making one leg bigger than the other"

Whilst receiving (and not responding to) texts from the lunatic fringe, find Aunt Mazel's obit online, then call family meeting and break news to children that their 90 year old Aunt passed on. Three days ago. And that the wake and service start in 90 minutes. And that you have no idea why it is that their father, despite his having called 7 times in 2 days and having visitation on Saturday, would have neglected to mention that his Aunt died on Thursday.

Let ingredients rest briefly, then put on least unfavorite sweater twinset and heels for public appearance with ex's extended family. Make awkward conversation about best way to get kids and cousins together whilst simultanously avoiding topic of exhusband and silently acknowledging that the reason the girls haven't visited their cousins because they live next door to the ex.

If, at this point, the cook is seized by an inability to make any further minor decisions, turn off cell phone then proceed directly to local grocer and purchase 5 of those conveniently sized single serving containers of Haagen Das, in 5 different flavors, of course. After all, variety is the spice of life.

Meditate on flavors until happy place is located, even if it's uninhabitable at the moment. Remember to breathe. Scrape remains of day into the rubbish and plan on starting fresh in the morning.

Living in New England means we get 4 weeks of summer weather, usually not consecutively. The leaves start changing color in a few weeks.

 But before the leaves change, the world gets hot enough to melt your face off. Kinda makes me wish I'd lost those pesky pounds before it was too hot to move. Or do anything but eat ice cream. At least I"ll well insulated for fall and winter.

Once a week, after spending an hour explaining the chaos of the past 2 years to a empathetic counselor, I have ice cream. And coffee. At the same time. The ice cream's usually one scoop of chocolate and scoop of chocolate chip. The coffee doesn't matter, as long as it's good coffee.

This little ritual helps a whole lot. When I get out of the appointment, I'm ok, but usually by the time I've walked the 50 or so feet to the car, my stomach's a roiling mess. And I'm pissed. Very, very pissed. I'm not a yeller but if I do, it's sometime after an appointment and before ice cream. 2 years of pretending to be calm in the face of madness seems to have backed up on me.

Thank heavens for ice cream.

And I can't explain why the ice cream thing works, just that it does. I don't need much, just a scoop or two. Within a half hour, my stomach's unclenched and I'm a hell of a lot more reasonable.

 Interestingly, even though I'm still stress eating, my stress level's gone down enough that I only do it once a week. Therapy day, aka ice cream day. In the 3 weeks since the court case was closed, food rarely crosses my mind, except when I'm hungry. I've lost 5 pounds.

And the hearing: The ex didn't show and lost by default (this being a hazard of avoiding things we don't like: silence does imply consent)- I've been granted sole custody and decision making authority on a permanent basis. Ex wasn't there to hear this so we're waiting for the orders to arrive in the mail (the court's decidedly short staffed so it takes a month or two). Ex doesn't receive mail (Why? I don't know the reasoning, just that that's the way it is) and can be rather elusive so there's a distinct possibility he'll be served when he comes for visitation.

It's probably going to be a pint of ice cream kind of day. Maybe a half gallon.

And while I wait, there's the gym. Yoga. Long walks with the dog. And a whole lot of mental and physical decluttering. Life's been on hold for far, far too long.