This is really a blog post about nothing. While I set out to dedicate a blog to raising my three children, on my own, in particular my special needs son, the truth about single motherhood is that there isn’t always something to report. That’s not entirely true. There is usually something to report but it’s not always (rarely, in fact) interesting to other people. And this weekend was my alone weekend, the kids spending the two days with their Dad and giving me a welcomed break.

So while my ear crackles and pops (have I mentioned that I have Meniere’s Disease? Or so the doctor thinks? I won’t bore you with a detailed account of what exactly Meniere’s is…a simple Google search would inform you if you were bored enough. For me it means that my ear sometimes blocks up, I suffer from vertigo which is no fun at all and I take expensive little white pills to correct my balance and return the fluid in my inner ear back to where it belongs when I have a break out. I’m having a break out. Hence my half deaf state…no really, I’m half deaf…and crackling, painful ear) and the sun sets I will distract myself from missing my kids with a post about nothing.

It’s funny…I’ve been at this single parenthood thing long enough one would think I would be used to the kids leaving periodically. In actuality they were gone last weekend too, to celebrate Thanksgiving with their Dad and his huge, extended family. He took them two weekends in a row because he will be working next weekend and the following weekend will be Halloween and the kids and I want to be together for that. It’s rare that I have a break from them two weekends in a row like this and while the novelty did wear off a long time ago, I don’t stop missing them when they’re gone. We can be having the worst week together ever (and we were) and I can truly think that when Troy gets to my house I’m going to dump them in his car within minutes. I can be ready to pull my hair out at the roots, completely insane from the constant fighting and screaming but when they pull out of the driveway, I am always, ALWAYS, fighting back tears.

And while I do relish this down time (sweet, sweet SLEEP!) I miss them from the minute they leave until they’re safely back in my house. Yes, I am a nerdy Momma.

On a completely different note…you know who I love? Nicolas Cage, that’s who. My separated at birth sister, Amy (you remember her…she’s Walking With Grace, Amy), and I were talking about men on Friday night. More specifically, what we would want in a man. Amy hit the nail right on the fucking head (as usual for her) when she said she wanted a man who is stronger than her. I agreed, most enthusiastically. And while I was watching “It Could Happen To You” (guilty pleasure… something about that movie that I just love…and yes, it’s on VHS because I am that far behind technology) I realized that I wanted Nicolas Cage. That was my big epiphany this weekend. I love Nicolas Cage and until I can have him all to myself, I will settle for anything breathing.

I am NOT filling this blog post with rambling about men, I swear to Dog. Never mind the fact that I’m practically celibate at this point. Okay, okay…scratch the “practically” part. I * am * celibate. This is probably not the time for me to get really picky about what I want in a man, right? But the thing is, I can’t find one. Anywhere! I’m a reasonably attractive gal… who happens to have three kids. One of whom is special needs. Oh. Okay. That’s why…And maybe also because when I have a weekend alone, I don’t really leave the house and spend my Saturday watching old VHS movies and re-runs of the Jersey Shore (DON’T judge me! I love that show. I like to watch it in my jammies and pretend that I’m not a grenade and that the Situation or Pauly D would want me… jeepers creepers…this celibate thing has got to end…)

Onto other matters! No more celibate talk! No more man talk!

I can tell that you’re sitting there, thinking, “I can’t believe she likes the Jersey Shore! Yegads! That is the worst show on television and she actually admits to liking it!” so I’m just going to go ahead and tell you why I like it so much (not that I have to justify myself to any of you people!).

First, let me tell you a little story. A few months ago, during one of my alone weekends, I decided to rent a few movies. I was feeling a tad sorry for myself and felt like having a good cry so I decided to rent some chick flicks…more specifically, romantic movies written and directed with the intention of making the female audience cry and then fuck their boyfriends. I don’t have a boyfriend, so obviously I was just going to cry. I picked “Dear John”. It looked good and cry worthy and the dude in it was pretty darn good looking (my apologies to the actor himself since I didn’t think he was good looking enough to remember his name). So I put it on, grabbed a box of Kleenex and a bar of chocolate and settled in for the night.

Not more than a half hour through this movie and I realized it wasn’t the escape I was hoping for (those of you who have seen the film will know what I’m talking about). That’s right…the little boy who lived next door to the chick. I can’t remember the chick’s name, either but I do know that she plays the daughter of Bill Hendrikson on Big Love, one of my favourite shows. The little boy who lived next door to the chick had autism. So did the dude’s Dad. I caught it long before they actually said it and I threw my Kleenex across the room in frustration. Here I was, sitting down to escape my everyday, ready to enjoy some Hollywood magic and that kid had to be autistic!

My point? That will NEVER, ever happen on the Jersey Shore.

I love that show because it’s so stupid and so far removed from anything even close to resembling my reality. It is my weekly escape. And if I ever have the chance, I will personally thank Mike the Situation and Pauly D and Vinny and Ronnie and Sammy and Jenni Jwoww and Nicole Snooki and even Angelina for giving me something ridiculous to look forward to each and every week. Drinking and fighting and drama and hook ups… nothing could be more different than what I go through every day. And for that, I thank them. Thank you Jersey Shore people!

Now that I got that off my chest…where was I?

Oh yes.

Saturday was a good day. A peaceful day that started out with my parents in the backyard with their huge truck. The thing about being half deaf is that you don’t notice these things until someone is banging on your locked door while you’re putting mascara on. Sometimes not being able to hear scares me, I admit it. For instance, someone’s car alarm was going off in the WalMart parking lot and I had to walk back to my car to see if it was mine (I have been known to hit that little red button on my keys by accident more than a few times) because I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. That and the fact that I walk like I’ve had a few beers for breakfast. My balance is for shit and I bang into walls constantly. I shouldn’t be driving but that can’t be helped until Olivia turns sixteen. Of course, at the rate Julian is going, he’ll likely be able to take a car apart by the time he’s ten so maybe he can drive me around.

But I digress…

My parents were in my backyard, covering the septic tank hole. It was an elaborate scheme they cooked up after they dug out the hole last week (I was too sick… not lazy) and decided they didn’t want to do it again next time. Watching them figure out a way to cover the hole without using the pile of dirt that had been removed would make anyone wonder if the effort was actually less than digging. The truth is, while I was watching them, I was really only thinking of how relieved I was to be fully dressed with make up on and clean hair styled reasonably well. I might be over thirty years old but I still don’t want my parents to know how late I sleep when the kids aren’t here. Pathetic? Yes. And I was a bit annoyed because they decided to use the top of my patio table to cover the contraption they built to cover the septic tank hole. I was using that table. Gr.

I spent Saturday doing nothing in particular. Watching old movies and creating bad art. I love making bad art. This weekend, I got into the oil pastels and ended up creating something that looked an awful lot like tye dye. I would post a picture of it but I don’t want anyone else to see it. That’s the thing about my art…I don’t make it to please anyone else. Just myself. My house is full of my paintings and weird creations and I love them, even if nobody else does. One of my favourite ways to spend a Saturday alone is on the living room floor with half a dozen canvases spread out all around me and a pile of paints. The lighting is shit which somehow makes the whole process better. I put on old movies that nobody will watch with me (hello! Nicolas Cage!) like nineties movies I used to watch as a teenager or Angela’s Ashes for the millionth time but with Frank McCourt’s voice over (I simply love his voice. It’s so soothing. I’ve been known to sleep on the couch with his speaking voice turned down low to put me to sleep. I didn’t know he had passed away until a few months ago. I’ve read all of his books and miss him even though I didn’t know him. There is just something really sad about a favourite author dying, isn’t there? I guess it’s knowing you’ll never read anything new by them again. I sure hope that Wally Lamb isn’t being called by the creator or feeling suicidal. That might put me over the edge…). And then I just let my hands run wild and paint whatever comes out of me without much rhyme or reason. The result is sometimes really ugly and sometimes not too bad (I have a set of three paintings in gold and black that I did a few months back and nearly every person who enters my living room comments on them. One of Julian’s workers asked me where I found them or who the artist was) but that is sort of irrelevant. I do it because I love it.

This is really why I can’t find a man, isn’t it?

Anyhoo…

The budget was really tight this weekend. Like super, super tight. As in, I returned some stuff to WalMart just so that I could have a little something (and I do mean little!) so that I wouldn’t spend the whole weekend drinking tap water and never leaving the house. My budget is often really tight, especially when it comes to kid-free entertaining mostly because I don’t like spending money on myself. So instead of sitting around and bitching and moaning because I don’t have any money, I take a twenty dollar budget and stretch the fucker to the very limits.

Hello Dollar Store!

The Dollar Store is one of my favourite places on earth. You can buy just about anything there and since the stock is ever changing, you never know what you’re going to find. I still can’t bring myself to buy actual food from there (when the ingredients aren’t listed in English, I get worried)…candy and chocolate don’t count…but everything else is fair game. So I took my twenty dollars and made it last and ended up with some new art supplies (paint and canvas and stickers and sticky mirrors) and some sticky butterflies that went up in my living room and some socks for Julian to try and some mittens for all three kids to tide them over until actual winter. I also got myself a mouse pad with Dora on it but it fucks up my mouse so that was a waste of fifty cents. They can’t all be winners, I guess.

And then there was more pastel on canvas and more bad art and more Jersey Shore. But no more Nicolas Cage. So, I need your help. I need a list of Nicolas Cage movies. If you can think of any, please list them in the comment section. And if you know Nicolas Cage…tell him I love him, okay?