Decisions, decisions

If anyone happens to come across this post in the next couple of weeks, I need your advice. I've never been shy about proclaiming my love and admiration for rocker Rick Springfield (appearing on four episodes of Showtime's Californication this fall!). But I have never mentioned my affinity for KISS (BTW, have you seen Family Jewels on A&E - awesome), which, like Rick, has been a part of my life since childhood; and while I would probably never fly to Vegas just to see them, I would happily drive to Birmingham to take Monkey to his first KISS concert. Bonus for me since it's been well over a decade since I've been to one of their concerts. He's already said how much he would like to see them, and I would love to be able to introduce him to the madness. Which is exactly what I was planning to do in October when they appear in what looks to be a really good venue with great seats all around. But today I learned that Rick will be playing in Montgomery on the same night! What to do, what to do?!

Some facts to consider: Monkey and I are seeing Rick play in a couple of weeks in Tennessee, and KISS does play in Atlanta two nights after the Birmingham show, but I think I'd prefer the Birmingham venue (looks to be a little more intimate with better views from the cheaper seats). I also hate driving in downtown Atlanta, but at least I have been to that venue before, and I really hate driving in unfamiliar territory (which is what Birmingham is for me, even though I've been there a thousand times), especially at night. Also important to note - there are no other southern dates on Rick's touring calendar for the moment. Of course, that could change at any time, but there are no guarantees, and I'd hate to miss what could be my last chance to see his show for several months.

So, Blogosphere, what do I do? No need to comment on my irrational obsession with Rick. That's already been well-established and nothing will change it, so let's move on. Saturday night with Rick or KISS? Which would you choose?

There Is a Light

It is faint, but I can see it. Exactly one week from today, I will be through with this Master's program! Of course, that is dependent on me getting A LOT of work done this weekend, so I really shouldn't be counting those chickens just yet. But it amazes me that one year ago, I was just starting down this long and exhausting road. Last year at this time we had a class with some people who were finishing, and it seemed so far away for us. They were telling us how lucky we were to be taking certain classes first and getting them out of the way. This month, our English class has some people who are just starting down this same road. Another person from my cohort and I were telling them the same thing we were being told last year. Talk about your deja vu.

It's been non-stop since last June. It's gone by really quickly and really slowly, if that makes any sense. Always some assignment hanging over my head. A million other things going on at the same time. So many things to think about. So many things to do. I'm not sure I'm going to know what to do next school year when I don't have my own homework assignments to complete. Starting next month, I'll be able to read books of my own choosing again. I won't even know where to start.

Next up: Specialist's degree. Someday.

Some good news for a change

Looking over this dusty blog I realized I've been really depressing lately. Not wanting to be Debbie Downer all the time, I think I should point out some good things that are going on in my life. Between work, school, and the separation, there's admittedly not a ton of stuff to giggle about, but there are moments.

For instance, Monkey just turned 9! How that happened, I have no idea. One day he was a babe asleep in my arms, and before I knew it he was leading his friends to a laser tag victory at his 9th birthday party. It's been a tough year for him, but I am so proud of how well he's been managing it. Not every day is a great one, but for the most part, he's adjusting to the separation better than I could have expected. While he wishes this whole divorce thing wasn't happening, he knows that things are more peaceful here now, and he likes that. He's been talking to a counselor at school, and that's helped a lot. It's a relief to know that he has an objective third party that he feels comfortable opening up to. His grades have been fantastic through this whole thing, when he certainly had cause to let his schoolwork slide. He even exceeded the standards on several areas of that all-important-but-not-really state test the kids have to take. And this was the year that he was really nervous about it because the geniuses here use the third grade reading test to determine if kids go to the fourth grade or not. Because everyone knows that one test taken on one day should be the determining factor there; the work they've done all year really doesn't mean anything, after all. Oops, sorry. Off the soapbox and back to the bragging. Last year, it was a struggle to get him to read and do his homework, but this year...okay, it's still sometimes a struggle to get him to read, but it's not as bad as it was last year. And he doesn't fight the homework nearly as much as he used to. He's shown a lot more responsibility about remembering what he needs to do and getting it done. I really couldn't ask for a better kid. I'm so looking forward to this summer. I'm going to try and take him for his first horseback ride and whitewater rafting trip. Can't wait.

In other good news, the yearbook is done and distributed. It was my first year as adviser, and I survived. The kids did a great job on the book. So great, in fact, that our publisher was showing it and some of her other clients' books to a principal in a neighboring county, and he kept ours to use as an example for his adviser and staff. A nice compliment indeed. My senior staff members taught me well and showed me that the future is in good hands. I was lucky to work with some of the brightest, most responsible, most talented young people at our school. They truly are going to change the world for the better. Next year's staff has big shoes to fill. We got off to a rough start, but when we found our footing, things really clicked. It was hard work but so much fun thanks to the kids. And they wrote the sweetest things on the editor's page and in my book when they signed it. Those are the moments that make teaching worthwhile.

Another warm fuzzy from teaching came this morning when a former student brought me a gift. At our school, it's a tradition for seniors to "buy" ceiling tiles from their favorite teachers' rooms and paint them before they graduate. They pay two dollars to put a memory, a picture, a quote, something to remember them by. It's part of their legacy to the school and the teacher. One of my kids from a couple of years ago painted a tile for me commemorating my love for Rick Springfield. He blew up one of my Rick photos to put on it and painted things like "VIP Seats" and "You Rock" on it. It's awesome. It's going to look so great on my ceiling next year. And it's nice to know that sometimes the kids really do see you as a person instead of an automaton that recharges overnight in the lockers and is stored with the other automatons in the gymnasium over the summer.

Speaking of summer, our last shining beacon of good news has to do with the Master's program I've been in for the past year. Only one more month to go!!! I'll actually have about three or four weeks of summer this year. And my paycheck should be a little nicer come fall. Which is good, because I would love to take Monkey back to Disney in the next year if possible. I think we could both use a little magic.

Just because I thought it was over...doesn't mean it's over

Well, soon-to-be-ex-dh finally left. After weeks...months of telling me that he didn't know when he was going to leave, didn't know where he could go, what he could afford, or if he would even leave, he moved out. On April Fool's Day. Naturally, he was considerate enough to tell me of his impending move a few weeks in advance so that I could be ready for that day when all the bills would be mine, so that I could make sure any valuables I wanted to keep were safely in my possession, and most importantly, so we could prepare our son for the biggest change in his young life. Oh wait, that's what a considerate person would do, and we're talking about STBEDH here. (You know, that acronym is not working for me and the whole thing is too cumbersome to type over and over again. Let's just stick with Jackass for now.) No, Jackass is not the most considerate person in the world. If he were, I might not be in this situation in the first place. Jackass lets me know he's moving out on the day he's leaving by sending me a text message while I'm sitting at H&R Block trying to get my taxes done. (Although I would learn later that he was nice enough to leave a note on the kitchen table telling me that this was not an April Fool's Day joke. What a guy.) While I'm sending him text messages, asking him to please let us use the married - filing jointly option instead of married - filing separately because that's a sucker's bet and we were both going to lose out on some much needed credits by filing separately, he's packing up his stuff (and some of mine and some of Monkey's) and moving out. Instead of responding to my tax questions, he sends me a text letting me know that by the time I get home, he'll be gone. This, a week or so after telling me he's going to therapy and asking me half-heartedly if I want to go to with him. This, a week or so after telling me that he didn't know when he would be able to move out.

He wanted me to have Monkey call him as soon as I picked him up from school, and I didn't realize until much later that it was probably so he could make sure he was gone before I got home. He told Monkey on the phone that he moved out and was living in a new house and didn't that sound cool? When we got home, Monkey realized that some of his toys were missing. Since Jackass bought them, he decided that he should be able to take them so that Monkey could play with them at his new house. Fine, I can understand that, but shouldn't the kid get to decide for himself what toys he wants to take? And who the hell gave Jackass permission to take things my mother bought for this house, not to mention the expensive crystal vase my father gave to me? I know I shouldn't be upset over material things. There are much more important matters to consider in all this, after all. But it's the principle of the thing. He left when he knew I wouldn't be able to see what he was taking. He took things that he knew I would be mad about. He has the nerve now to say that I saw him packing. Not quite true.

But that's not really what's bothering me anymore. I mean, it does still piss me off, but I do realize that it does me no good to be upset about those things, so I've tried to let it go. Tonight something really weird happened. I thought I was used to him not being here. It was a relief to not have him here. I've had the locks changed as well as the code to the garage door openers. I've slept better in the last few weeks than I have in the last several months. No more worrying that he was going to barge in to whatever room I was in and ignore my pleas to leave me alone by saying that he could go in any room he wanted to because it was his house and if I didn't like it, that was too bad. No more panicking that he would fly into one of his blind rages because he didn't like what my attorney put into the latest draft of the settlement agreement. It's been peaceful. It's been calm. It's been safe. Then without any warning, the old panic came back tonight. Over something so innocuous it made me realize that I'm not doing nearly as well with all this as I thought. Monkey was running into my room and banged into the door, causing a ruckus that I haven't heard since Jackass was here. The old fear came rushing back and for a fleeting, unreasonable moment, I thought he was back. That he had somehow gotten past the new locks and was coming in to accuse me of who knows what and yell at me for God knows what again. My heart raced and I could feel the blood rushing from my face. I felt sick to my stomach. All of this in the two seconds it took Monkey to make one loud noise running into a door.

Getting my life back in order is going to take a lot longer than I thought.

Lightning Strikes Twice, Then Thrice

Rick Springfield played the Wildhorse Saloon in Nashville this Valentine's weekend. I took my favorite date, Monkey, to both shows. This weekend marked his 9th and 10th Rick shows. He has really gotten to be a big fan, especially since Rick pulled him up on stage almost one year ago to the day at the Wildhorse to sing "Don't Talk to Strangers." That was a surreal moment. It's a bit that Rick does at every show that allows kids in the venue, but I really never thought it would happen to Monk. It's just not my luck. But apparently, it is Monkey's luck. My luck came into play when we forgot our camera to the show last year when he got on stage. Luckily, Rick fans are the best at taking pictures of other people's kids in case parents don't get the shot. Several people were nice enough to send us lots of pictures to remember that moment.

Which was a good thing because it was a moment that I was sure would never happen again. It just doesn't happen twice, does it? Yes. Yes, it does. Thanks to the Wildhorse now selling reserved seats for Rick's shows, we were right up front for Friday's show. Almost as soon as Rick came out, he spotted Monk and made a beeline toward him to give him a big smile. A few songs later, he personally handed Monk the guitar pick he had been using. Whoa! I wondered if he recognized Monkey from the soundcheck we did a year and a half ago, or from last year's show when he brought him up to sing. Rick always says he never remembers names but always remembers faces, so I thought it was possible. In case he did remember Monkey, I really didn't expect him to bring him up on stage to sing again. It was someone else's turn, after all. But maybe there weren't any other kids close to the stage, or maybe he really felt drawn to Monk that night, because when it came time to bring a kid up, he came straight to Monkey.

After not having a camera when lightning struck the first time a year before, you'd think I'd make sure to have one later, wouldn't you? And I did have one. A brand new one that I had ordered online and just received the night before. I didn't have a chance to try it out when it arrived, but I couldn't wait to use it at the shows, especially since I had such great seats. I thought, "Finally! Now I'll get my own great shots of Rick, and not have to settle for only seeing everyone else's pictures, wishing they were my own." It was a nice thought. But, true to my luck, the camera turned out to be defective. Thankfully, those nice Rick fans were in attendance again and were good enough to take pics of Monk again and send them to me again. I really am grateful for the kindness of strangers. Without them, there are some very precious memories I would have no record of.

So instead of preserving the moment with my own camera, I got to watch as Monk sang with Rick for the second time. It was once again surreal. Monk did an awesome job, of course. As Rick brought him back to the table, he even joked with me that I should sign him up for American Idol in a couple of years. So sweet.

That experience alone would have made it a perfect night. Hell, just having Rick give him the guitar pick and a huge smile would have made it great. But it wasn't over yet. This night was the perfect storm, and lightning was still in the air, ready to hit a third time. A favorite part of Rick's show is when he goes out into the audience to connect with his fans on a closer level. It's great for the fans whose seats aren't very close to the stage since they still have a chance to get that "Human Touch" from Da Man, as many of us Rick sisters call him. But when you are close to the stage, it presents a good chance to focus more on the band. They can be pretty silly when they think no one is paying attention. So whenever Rick goes crowd surfing, Monk and I like to watch the rest of the guys do their thing. That's when Matt, the bassist, motioned for Monkey to join him back on stage. I was surprised he would do that since Monkey had just been on stage, but when I asked if he was sure, he said yes. So I picked Monk back up and set him on stage. He went over to Matt who proceeded to put Monk between him and the bass, showed him how to pluck it with the pick, lowered the mic to Monk's level, and handed him a rose so he could do his own mini rose explosion. He even had him do the rock n' roll point to the fans in the upper level. It was fantastic! Rick came back on stage for the last part of the song and made a joke about it being about time he had some decent backup. :) Perfect.

Needless to say, Monkey barely got to sleep that night, he was so excited. I may have had a little trouble myself.

Is it something in the water...that I'm paying for?

Why would a man decide he wants a divorce after twelve years, say the most horrible, insulting, offensive things he can think of to his wife, demand that the divorce happen as quickly as possible, and then not leave the damn house where his wife (whom he has stated numerous times he hates) lives??? After the holidays, soon-to-be-ex-DH was threatening to go after more than half of everything (because that's what he deserved, of course) if my lawyer didn't get back to his by a certain deadline. Well, my lawyer got back to his weeks ago. Have we heard anything from his? NO. Apparently it's not imperative that he respond in a timely manner.

In the meantime, he says he can't leave the house because he has nowhere to go. When it's suggested that he get an apartment, he says he doesn't want to have to move twice. He wants to move into another house, but can't until his name is off of this one and the divorce is final. WHAT???? Why is it that every other man in America who decides he doesn't want to be married anymore manages to get the eff out of the house he shares with the person he wants nothing to do with anymore, but my soon-to-be-ex seems to be more than satisfied to stay here and give me grief whenever the mood strikes him?

Since he insists on staying, you'd think he'd feel some responsibility to pay his share of the bills, wouldn't you? Well, you'd be wrong. He's contributed some money to the dwindling joint account to cover half of the mortgage, but apparently all the rest of the bills are my responsibility since I'm the one who wants to keep the house. Oh, wait...what am I thinking? After all, he did pay for Monkey's after-school chess program, so why should he have to pay for any of the electricity, water, cable, internet, gas, etc.? Especially since he's not here for several hours a night. (The fact that he's here during the day because he works from home is completely irrelevant. I'm sure he doesn't use any of those things while he's here.) And the poor, noble soul is doing me a favor by going out every night doing who knows what with who knows whom so he can avoid sticking around here and arguing with me. Since he's being so generous, why should he pay any other bills, clean the kitchen, take out any trash, or pick up any of the crap he's left throughout the house? Why should he spend his precious Saturdays taking Monkey to birthday parties or just playing with the child so he doesn't spend the entire weekend in front of the Playstation? Honestly, I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking he's not contributing properly. Now I'm glad he ate the pork chops I bought for myself and Monkey. I know it doesn't begin to repay him for all his kindness, but it's a start.

And then he has the nerve to ask me why I'm so grumpy. Is he kidding me? Seriously? Am I being punked?

You know it's probably obsolete when...

I finally get on board with the Twitter Revolution. I'd heard about it, didn't really get it, still don't, but I'm trying it anyway. A couple of the blog writers I admire are on it, and I started following them, even though I'm not sure it can really be called "following" when I check in exactly once after signing up for it. But I'm bored AND I have homework I should be doing, so if you know me at all (which I know you don't) you know what that means (you'll just have to trust me on this one)...the procrastination gene goes into hyperdrive.

Anyway, I'm sure the fact that I'm adding the link to my Twitter page here means that tomorrow everyone will move on to some new techno-communication device. Probably one that's actually implanted into the brain right behind the eyeball so no one has to type anything - you just think it and it automatically gets sent to your followers' brains and they see the reverse image behind their eyeball so they can read it directly in their head. Wait...isn't that from Johnny Mnemonic?

Whatever. If you're so inclined, I'm Twittering over here.