wicked witch

The state of affairs, and babies don't need toys

Well, it's 9:50 and Griffin is sitting in his play station (a quilt on the ground with a husband pillow to lean against and lots of toys) busily investigating my travel hairbrush. $25 singing dog? Eh. Box of differently shaped and colored blocks? Pass. Freebie travel hairbrush that I tossed backwards into his carseat as he was screaming in traffic one day? WIN.

He also really likes the travel wipes container. I should just stop buying toys altogether.

So I went to the doctor the other day. Because I'm on crazy drugs I've had a med check in every 4-6 weeks since my pregnancy, because of the risk of postpartum depression. For the first time I didn't have a positive things to report--I've had trouble sleeping, and just generally been struggling. Sure, my body is wiggly and my life is very baby-centered, but so is every new mom's. It should not be consuming my life, and it was. Lying awake in bed every night thinking horrible violent thoughts for four hours was the cherry on the sundae of postpartum suck.

Since I've been casually told that I probably have ADHD before, and I've been struggling to lose weight (I lost half of it by giving birth, and then...nothing), my doctor decided to try something kooky: Ritalin. We upped my morning dose of Cymbalta just in case the Ritalin triggered some more anxiety, and I got a prescription for a sleeping pill just in case. (I haven't needed it yet.)


Within an hour of taking the first delicious little white pill my thoughts cleared. My mind just quieted. Things fell into place. THE HEAVENS OPENED UP AND I SAW GOD, PEOPLE. And I am never going back.

As far as I'm concerned, Ritalin is a miracle drug. I have not felt this good since I was a child. I am not afraid to speak or socialize. I'm accomplishing things I set out to do. When bad things happen, I don't blame myself and spiral blackly inwards. My husband told me he feels like he's seeing the real me, the me he always knew was there somewhere. This is weird, but I feel the same. Like the real me has finally been unwrapped from this horrible cocoon of anxiety and fear. Who knew that speed could do that?

So, that's where we stand. I'm starting my new life as a speed chomping maniac, and Griffin is STILL AWAKE. I have dire predictions for tomorrow's grumpiness factor. Stay tuned!
wicked witch

Griffin Patrick


What, I haven't posted in months, years, possibly decades? Here, look, a baby.

Misdirection? Changing subjects? Who, me? You must be mistaken. OMG, it's a brother and a baby!

We got married too, since I last posted. We scrapped EVERYTHING and went to the courthouse and then a steakhouse and it was WONDERFUL and AWESOME and MADE OF WIN. But you do not get pictures of that because I do not really like them. Also I don't know where they are. MOAR BABY!

Baby was 8lbs 11.6 oz, 20.25" long, and had a 36" head--the biggest our nurse had ever helped deliver, in fact, AND I AM HOLDING A GRUDGE.* I still managed to give birth in a tub of water with absolutely no pain meds. I am HARDCORE and AWESOME.**

(No, we do not have pictures of this. You do not want to see pictures of a naked lady in a tub of blood (there was some tearing action), and if you do I do not want to know about it.)

We do have xrays, however; baby was born with one hand. We've seen lots of doctors and the general consensus is that he'll be right handed.

Ok, ok. They also said that there's nothing else wrong with him and I didn't cause it by eating blue cheese or stealing sips of my husband's beer. It just happened. That really helped me. It really helped Scott that these doctors were the same guys who treated this dude

who pitched a no hitter for the Yankees. We're forgiving him for the Yankees thing, considering. Griffin's clearly never going to be a Yankees' fan.

My company laid me off during my pregnancy, so I do not have a job. I am ok with that. I'm enjoying taking pictures of this guy with my phone's crappy camera.

I'm also thinking I'll try to start editing and maybe writing freelance, maybe even trying to actually do the whole blog for money thing. What do you think, have I got it in me to post regularly?

I choose to interpret that as support.

*Not really.
**Seriously though? I don't understand how women with epidurals do it. My friends who've had them says it still hurts with the epidural, and I couldn't stay on my back for the space of a single contraction, much less the entire labor. Anyway, transition was the only part that made me want pain meds, and by the time you're in transition it's really too late.
wicked witch

Dun dun dun.

Tonight we are going out to dinner. We've been a little strapped since the flood, but we've paid rent for the month and I just got a paycheck. So we're going to relax for a night and eat delicious food that someone else prepares.

At dinner we are going to tell Zeke that his mother had three sons after she had him, and gave them up for adoption. Tomorrow morning we are going to a park to meet the middle child, Chris, who just turned three.

Annie is a drug addict. She is currently in recovery and has been since November of last year, but she was addicted to various substances for quite awhile before that. She is also very good at hiding pregnancies. Scott found out about the first two pregnancies post-Zeke from a social worker after the children were born; while he and Annie were separated the divorce was not yet legal, and he had to sign paperwork affirming that he was not the father though he was married to the mother. By the time the third child came around he recognized the signs despite her efforts to conceal the pregnancy. Also, as this was her fourth full-term pregnancy she just got too big to effectively hide anymore.

It is not possible that Scott is the father of any of these babies, by the way. Not a single one of her children shares a father. Such is the life of a drug addict.

About a year ago Scott received an email from Marilyn, the adoptive mother of one of Chris, the second child Annie had birthed after Zeke (ie, her third overall). She and her husband believed in open adoption and were wondering if we would be interested in fostering a relationship between the boys. We were, but for us the timing was rather bad. Zeke was just starting to stabilize after a rough patch due to his mother's absence from his life, and Chris's adoption was not yet final (due to the fact that Annie ignored all court dates and papers). We just weren't ready to introduce anything else into his life that could stir things up. He needed peace and stability.

But Zeke is much more stable now. So, it's time to tell him. We think this is the best way to do it; we do not like keeping such secrets for him and fostering mistrust and feelings of betrayal. We also think that it would be easier for him to accept this sort of thing now, before teenage hormones and angst set in. It's going to be rough though. Zeke has a fear of abandonment--birthed of course from the fact that his mother very much abandoned him in favor of drugs--and we do not know what sort of fears or behavior this new information will set off. We've warned the school and requested an appointment for him with the school counselor. I'm not sure what else to do. There's just not much information out there aimed at bio-siblings, as I think they're called.

Any advice you might have would be appreciated.
wicked witch

Later he argued that it was technically possible for his stuffed animals to come alive and eat him.

"I wish I had hair like you, Quinn. I like grey."


I have about four white (not grey!) wisps at one temple. (Would have had them at both temples except my best friend freaked and yanked out the side closest to her a few weeks ago.) There are two or three more scattered in the rest of my hair. I'm 24, dammit. My nearly-sixty-year-old father has the same hair as me and is still only salt-n-peppery, with the emphasis on the latter. This should not be happening.

In other news, I apologize for disappearing! I didn't write for awhile because I was busy, and then I didn't write because I felt bad for not writing for so long. Oy.
wicked witch

Headache or house?


Dad called today; we officially have a hold on the place and date we want for the wedding. If we want it. Dad also officially offered us a deal: we can have the wedding, which he will pay for, or we can have a sizeable down payment on a house. Or, we can have a very small, informal wedding, and a smaller chunk of change towards a house. We have ten days to decide.

Is it small of me to say that I really wish he had officially made this offer nine months ago?

Extra things to consider:
  • I have an anxiety disorder. Getting up in front of people both terrifies and allures me.
  • I may have found the perfect dress, which happens to be relatively inexpensive.
  • Zeke has been looking forward to a wedding.
  • Scott did not have a wedding his first time around.
  • I'm not into big fusses.
  • Mom will go bonkers when I tell her this, and will disown me if I have the wedding at my father and stepmother's house.
I think I am having an aneurysm.
wicked witch

Holy therapy, Batman!

I am marrying Superman. Scott was just downstairs doing laundry (while watching baseball--best. husband. evar.). He came upstairs to get a drink, and found me freaking out as I cleaned the guinea pig cage (which is usually his job). I freak out at him for a few minutes, during which time he unearths that I go nutty out about changing the guinea pig cage because back when I was thirteen I think I killed my hedgehog by not feeding her for three days while we were moving. But wait! After talking to me for ten minutes, he discovers that I wasn't responsible for killing her, my mother was, because I couldn't drive and my mother refused to either bring her with us at the beginning or return to feed her.

And then, after all of my tears were dried and I was absolved of the murder? (I swear to god, this has been weighing on my conscience for eleven years.) He returns to finish folding the laundry.

He's coming with me to therapy on Friday to tell my therapist about this, but as he says, "Dude, your mom killed your pet and told you it was your fault. That's like a fastball down the middle of the plate for a therapist."

wicked witch

I can't wait till he goes into therapy.

You know how some people hate their in-laws and do what they can to minimize contact? Today I called my fiancé's ex-wife's parents to make plans for Easter. I am awesome.

Of course, what made this necessary is not so happy. Zeke's mother, Annie (not her name), is an addict. She got into heroin through a guy she dated several years ago. Her parents finally put her in rehab around Thanksgiving, however, due to that Zeke hasn't seen her more than twice since then. And since her abusive, racist ex-boyfriend stole her phone when her parents carted her off to rehab, Zeke hasn't received many phone calls. He got one on Christmas, one on his birthday, and I think one on New Year's. In the past few months he's gotten a few more, since she moved from the inpatient program to the halfway house. But for whatever reason the calls are still few and far between.

(I'm really not sure how to do this post. I want to be able to post about Zeke's mom and how it affects me, but I don't really know how to treat it. Do I assume you know? Do I assume you don't? Blargh.)

Last night, right before bed, Zeke suddenly started crying. He missed his mom. This isn't something he does often--frankly, I can't remember the last time he did it--which is fortunate, because there's nothing Scott or I can do about it. We can't call Annie; we have no number for her and we've been led to believe there are restrictions on phone usage at her halfway house. We can't reassure him that things will get better, because this is better. All we can do is tell him we love him, and she loves him, and she's trying to get healthy again. It sucks. Parents are supposedly to be able to fix things, and we can't do a thing.

So that's why I called her parents: I wanted to fix things. (Also I've been rather afraid of her parents simply because they are my fiancé's ex-wife's parents, so it was a good challenge for myself.) We don't have contact information for Annie but they do, and I was hoping that they could call Annie and tell her that Zeke really needed to hear from her. As it turns out, I was in luck: Annie is getting her first day pass on Easter, to come home to her parents' house for an overnight visit. Since she'll be staying overnight it'll be a good opportunity for Zeke to go to his grandparents' house--he can't stay alone with her, but he can stay with them while she's there. It screws with our Easter plans (though it gives us a super rare night out!), and I'm lucky my mom was gracious when I called and told her that we might have to be late or come without Zeke. But ultimately it's worth it. Zeke needs to see his mom, and we'll take whatever she can give us. I only worry about telling him too far ahead of time, while there is still time for everything to go kablooey.
wicked witch


We had friends over for dinner last night, two friends of Scott's who I have not yet gotten to know very well. When they arrived Zeke was playing outside--hello spring!--and Scott was grilling--spring! I've missed you! As it was beautiful out--god bless spring!--we all ended up standing outside on our awesome deck talking, the delicious grill smoke blowing out over our backyard.

We were still there waiting for the chicken to cook when Zeke came to get lime chips say hi. This couple hadn't seen Zeke in awhile, and were eager to see the sweet, precocious little boy they remembered.

Scott: Zeke! Can you say hi to Hannah and Reed?
Hannah: Hi Zeke! It's been a really long time since I've seen you!
All of us: ...
Quinn: Zeke, why don't you take your stinky inside and finish your homework.
Zeke: STINKY! goes inside STINKY!
Hannah: Wow, maybe we should be rethinking that kids thing...

Perhaps we should have warned them that Zeke is fully into that perform-for-adults-by-being-annoying stage.
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wicked witch


So apparently when I challenge the weather gods to dump us with snow and ice, they listen. You'd think that having a full inch of ice covering the ground would make me grimace and apologize for incurring the wrath of the weather gods. But I never pretended to be sane. Me, I thought the ice storm was fantastic. Not only could my dad, big hulking ex-linebacker that he is, walk across the ice and not break though, but his Land Rover could drive across the ice and not break through. It was awesome.

I also probably should have made this post six weeks ago. But I never pretended to be punctual, either.
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