Monday, March 19, 2007


Is four hundred bucks enough for five days of overnight care? Or is it too much? Fuck!

A little over a week ago my SIL told me that, no, on second thought she couldn't look after Daniel while I was in hospital, which is fine and I respect her reasons and her decision but christ on a cracker, two weeks before my scheduled surgery?! She'd offered, not accepted, offered to stay here and arrange the boy's daily daycare routine and to pick him up and look after him each night, then two weeks ago she was saying about having Daniel stay with her and her pool and her stairs to the cellar and her billions of powerpoints connected to questionable wiring, and I was all, um, SIL? My place? And she was all, it'll be FINE, and I was all wringing my hands before realising she'd realise how impossible the whole Move In With A Toddler scenario would be and then I relaxed, said the right noises and waited for her to work out the impossible logistics before coming back to the whole my place idea. Instead, she (and my brother *shakes fist at imaginarily present brother* ) decided the whole dealio was off.

They want me to tell mum so she can look after Daniel and look after me and ha ha ha, excuse me while I compose myself because that last bit? Is HILARIOUS. Seriously, I love my mum, but realistically - and I only need look to my cesarean, never mind the bowel surgery (I know! Glamorous!) from three years ago, or the lump removed six weeks prior to that, to know that I'm toast as far as care from my ma goes.

Hey! I never told you about the healing session I went to a couple of weeks ago. We all sat in a dark on the floor for two or so hours, and while my butt went completely numb, I kind of missed out on experiencing the humbling, uh, experience the others had while having a Oneness blessing daubed on their heads from five individual deekshas on the actual real birthday of the Babaganoush or whoever the inventor of this whole blissful thing is. He's some dude in India who had a school where all sorts of magical things happened and while I love this shit I have the BIGGEST...and this is another story. I knwon the word I'm thinking of but I'm so close to dementia that I can't remember it. Nor can I remember why that woman in a BMW annoyed me so much the other day, I can only remember that she did. Anyway, I love that spiritual shit but I can't help but smother giggles (on the inside) at the whole process and its followers because the hand of god reaching out the sky and touching them on their fool heads? Amuses me because I must be a non believer or something, even though I totally believe. So why do I smirk (on the inside)? Because I am a heathen non believing believer, that's why, and with that much confusion going on in my fool head, it's little wonder that I felt
none of that heart warming healing shit.

It's cynical! The missing word. Is 'cynical', and I have a cynical streak.


Wondering what that elusive word was could have kept me up all night. Still no idea about the woman in a BMW though. Rats.

So anyway, I had this healing thingummyjig and was thoroughly disillusioned because come ON god, I want my damn beatific smile and I want my stupid healing energy. Mum was sitting with Daniel at the time, which is something I give to her because truth is, I never feel comfortable leaving him in her care, not that she'd hurt him or anything but people, I don't trust her to look after me, so trusting him to look after my little boy is something I do because should for her sake as much as his. Kids need grandparents and the rest of Daniel's are dead so for better or worse, she's it. When I got home, Daniel was in bed in only a t-shirt and shorts and was wearing the same nappy he'd had on when I'd gone out. I wasn't angry, I was saddened that I was right and that I couldn't rely on mum to attend to his basic needs. I'm not sure what happened or what words were said but mum left to catch a cab and just wandered off to do so, which is something she does when she's pissed and doesn't want to talk, so I sent her a text asking her to let me know she'd got home safe and that I wasn't angry, but that I was sad about our relationsihp. Mum sent a text back saying - and I'd like input on how you'd take a message like this too, please - "if a daughter can feel sad, imagine how devastated a mother must feel". The fuck? I wasn't going to indulge in a text message conversation so I called her and to point out that she, if I talk about anything to do with me, will invariably have a worse headache, a greater depression, more anxiety, less this, more that, and that I wouldn't have my feelings dimished that way, not anymore. I assume it's her way of empathising but I'm kind of over it always being a competition that she must win. So I called her on this, vis a vis her last text message to me, and she said she meant the polar opposite of what she'd written but try as I might, which I did, I could get what she said she meant from the words she wrote.


This progressed to me positively bubbling over with a lifetime of angst which, as yuo can imagine, is a bunch of all sorts of joyous stuff. As I told mum though, I wasn't angry, I wasn't upset, but that if she wanted to be a part of Daniel's life, she'd better, and this is the upshot, not actual excerpts from the conversation, shape up and this is why.

It was uber-cathartic, but then that feeling passed in favor of guilt, oh the guilt that plagued me the following days because really, if mum actually got what I was talking about, she'd feel like fucking hell, and if it were me in her shoes, I'd want to off myself because of it, but she's fine and dandy and I don't think any of it really sunk in anyway so that was a waste of a day's worth of guilt. Oh, I've got loads more in storage so it's not like I'm gonna run out of my guilt any time soon.


Maybe that healing thingo wasn't so stupid after all? I mean, I'd never ever have thought I'd have the balls to confront mum with that stuff before because I'm (wait for it) too scared of her not loving me anymore to criticise her in any way (I know, how fucked up am I?), and there I was, emoting all over the place, and essentially risking her not loving me any more.

Um, does anyone know where was I going with this? Because I've kind of forgotten...and I really would like some input on how you'd feel if you'd said you were sad about something and the reply you got was "well if you're sad, imagine how I must be feeling". I still think it diminishes the person in the first's feelings while making it all about the person in the second's, but maybe I'm overly sensitive to this stuff re my mum?

So, yes, my sil opted out of a plan that had been made six weeks prior for a surgery that was happening in two weeks. Shit a brick man, I had eight weeks to organise care for Daniel but didn't do it because she'd offered. So I was up the creek without the proverbial paddle, and a prior knowledge that none of the carers at daycare wanted to do it. So I begged the director to ask the staff again and at the eleventh hour, ie, yesterday, have someone staying with Daniel overnight and taking him into childcare everyday. Neither of us has any idea of what it's worth in a monetary sense though. I'm broke and will be MUCH poorer shortly as I won't be working for at least a month and will be paying for extra childcare, so while it's worth everything to me to have someone Daniel likes and who I trust taking care of him, as much as I'd like to pay her accordingly, I'm not about to donate a kidney to show my gratitude.

She gets paid a hundred bucks to look after some other kid from mid afternoon to 10am the following day, so for say, nineteen or twenty hours. Daniel will only (only?!) need care for twelve, and of those hours, he'll be asleep for at least ten, and rather than it being for only one night here and there, it's for up to five or six nights in a row, so while we've agreed on $400 (if by agreed I mean she, gingerly:$400...?, me: okay) I'm wondering if I'm paying too much, based on her regular fees. Then on the other hand, what does it matter? So I think I'm wrong to question the amount we've agreed on (if by "agreed", etc), and on the other hand, think I'm an idiot for not at least saying, gingerly "$300....?", while on the other hand, there's nothing I can do about it now, and I shouldn't even be questioning it because fercryinoutloud, it's my li'l boppy's welfare we're talking about here, when all the while I know I'm worrying about trivial shit like money because I'm really worrying about much bigger, less trivial shit.

She's a lovely girl, by the way, really sweet, and fortunatley looks nothing like Rebecca De Mornay, and has offered to bring Daniel into hospital, to pick him up at the sparrow's fart on the Monday morning I go into hospital, and to ferry him to and from daycare the following week while he's in there as I recline elegantly on a sofa at home, remote control in hand and satiated by a steady supply of really good drugs.

Speaking of remote controls, that could be a LIE, seeings as how my TV shat its stupid self the SAME WEEK summer programming gave way to such delights as Grey's Anatomy, CSI, SVU, My Name is Earl and all the other stuff I've been waiting patiently to see. I have a borrowed, portable, tiny TV that I need to stand up to change channels on and binoculars to see the screen, but it's not hooked up to anything else apart from itself so buh bye, dvds and any chance of recording the shit I want to see.

This is a situation that both sucks and blows, people. Sucks and blows. Seriously. Especially considering I'm gonna be all hand to the forehead (which is about the only part of my face that won't have been smacked around) and drifting in and out of consciousness on the sofa in a little over a week.

In other news, Daniel is teething and those bottom two molars are still screwing with his cute little self. He's asleep now but this morning has been a miserable one for him. He woke up crying and nothing, apart from being lugged around on my hip, has been able to calm him down since. It's been weeks, months even, of varying degrees of this same misery. God I hope he pushes those fuckers up sometime this week because I want to be the one to lug him around until they do. So how's about some tooth popping vibage, s'il vous all plait? It'd be much appreciated.

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