Don't Hide the Rum.

Surviving the madness of the immigrating check-in with one out of date passport.

It is a test of mental stamina.

A purchase of a one way flight out of the USA for a future date, TA - Mrs. S - you are a treasured friend, saved the sanity at the beginning of the trip. As if it wasn't stressful enough to leave many loved ones behind, and return to a country I haven't lived in for nearly a decade, with three kids and now single. The ick lived on as we barely made our flight. Come to find out the ticket counter-people had been communicating about us with the flight crew. The drinks trolley lady stopped by and delivered little blessed beverages for me VERY shortly after take off, reassuring me that all would be well now.

Los Angeles is a different story. It is long, it is ugly. The children and I survived it, however, we will avoid it like the plague from here on out. We will fly through San Fran. I like it better anyway. I have shamed myself from ever returning to LA. We all cried our way through missing our flight, and trying to sort out the new flights to Houston with the two cats. The cats cried too. It was pitiful, I can never go back through there. I am blaming it on the stress of the last three years that finally all leaked out my eyes on that hideously long day.

So no. Don't hide the rum. I am certain pirates were onto something. It is medicinal.

I'm back.

For years I let it slip away, I let someone other than me dictate life.

I gave away control for the greater good or so I thought.

So last night I went out for dinner with a friend who is a guy. He is not married to any of my friends, or anybody else for that matter, we are in similar places in life, both having survived hideous marraiges. Survival of the fittest if you are a darwinist. Bloody strong if you're not. So it's not going anywhere other than friendship, I am leaving the country in a week. But that said. Nice to go out. Very nice to sit across a table from a handsome bloke. Share a meal. Talk and laugh. Extend a friendship that has nothing to do with your previous life. Good for the soul, well that might be a stretch, but surely good for the confidence.

Pleasant to realize that after all the years of being controlled that you can happily make well thought out decisions that are in fact good for you. Nobody gets hurt. There are plenty of situations to laugh about. Not bad.
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The house has turned to bedlam. If I had to stay longer than a week, I'd end up in a padded cell with my daily delivery of medicated bliss. There are piles, piles, piles. Piles of clothes to be given away to various people. Piles of books to take down to the second hand book seller. Piles of summer clothes to be packed in a suitcase to take on the plane. Piles of winter clothes to wear so we don't freeze before we depart, why we need record breaking lows the week before departure is a funny Murphy-like irony. Piles of winter clothes to be shipped because after 14-18 weeks when the boat arrives with our stuff we might want those warm clothes. Piles of ski, snorkle and camp gear to be shipped. Piles of photos, arkwork and kids trophy's to be shipped. Yikes. If I was ruthless we would take nothing other than what we could carry on the plane. BUT - there is often one, I don't want my babies to forget the time we lived here, maybe the icky bits where their father turned into a board weilding control freak, we can forget that bit, but the rest, our lovely friends and great sport and beaches we visited we need to remember, so the piles, while they might make me nuts, will be fine in the end.
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3 sleeps til I get my babies back.

6 sleeps til we leave the country.

how many sleeps before we're settled again? It is going to be a fun, crazy time.

Too much control, really.

Tossing out is good for the soul.

3 boxes have thrived under our bed for years. Mass dust bunny production. Whole communities of allergens have spawned there within the box neighborhood. The boxes are now vanquished. It was a hard battle, a war fought for the greater good, that being the miserly skimping of shipping unwanted items 8000 miles across the ocean. It is a worthy war. I have not needed the items in the boxes, they've been sorted and stacked for years, and things have come and gone from the boxes. But today was the armageddon of boxes. I tossed the boxes with all their contents n the bin. Lest I, in a weak moment, decide that no, I really need that t-shirt from 1988.
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As people go, he has control issues. I knew by the grip on the incoming mail, the locking up of the paperwork that runs a household, the insane interest in anything that could possibly be purchased for the house. Thank goodness it didn't start out that way, and we had quite a few great years, not to mention the 3 best human beings on the planet. And at least I know without a shadow of a doubt what caused the downfall into madness - religious zealous fanaticism. They are constant, and I'll be glad to board a plane with the babies in 8 days.

BUT - there has to be one,

Nothing made me laugh so hard as realising his control issues extended to fixed artwork. We have for the last 5 years had a framed needlework hung above the window over our sink. He'll be damned if that frame comes down, apparently, it's a hell and purgatory for him, because he hasn't just hung it on a nail, he's hammered the wire into the wall with a staple into the dent between the v-j-boards. That sucker was NEVER EVER coming down or gonna move. I guess if you can't control those around you, transfer some of that vengence onto the innocent decorative objects around the house. Lock down your staples Australia, cultman is going to be on the loose!

mr. inspection - he's obviously misled.

His highness of all thoughts of self-importance continues to believe there are some directions he is allowed to give. He is wrong. This is where the losing the collossal court battle must start to rub, for him anyway. The property bit was signed off on over a month ago. If there was any negotiations to be done, they are to happen BEFORE you sign the final document. His Highness of all things small should have thought of the house inspection prior to the signing of all the legal documents thanks. No I don't have to let you IN the house, why?

Oh, I'm going to go with the 3rd grade response of "because the federal judge said so."

I signed a legal document stating I'd leave the house in the condition it came to me in. Nothing like covering your bum. The house is eighty years old. I could invite a band of rogue possums in and legally I'd be covered. Really though I have 2wks to pack 9 yrs, 3 kids and 2 cats worth of stuff, not to mention the going aways and morning teas, and girls nights out to celebrate being free of the bastard, why would I waste one more second of my life on messing up his precious house. I got the kids and I get to leave the country.

an inspection? go smoke it.

Pockets

Cleaning out children's bedrooms when they are not present is a completely different experience.

One of my boys has a habit of putting treasures in his pockets. Now when he was in Grade 1 the kids did a large project studying the waste and saving of water in everyday practices. It was done solely at school during classtime. We live in drought stricken Queensland so there is a purpose to the study of water usage at age 6. The education department figures if nothing else if your little grade 1'er is badgering you every time you turn on a tap for a year eventually you'll change the water use practices. They are right. It makes washing up and cleaning clothes covert activities. Back to my second son. He has since grade 1 been very particular about cleaning his clothes, they have to be really dirty for to put them in the wash on his own. So concequently I have to occassionally search and rescue the clothes needing a wash from his drawers. Now the kids have been with their dad 8 days now. I have gotten around to the sorting making a collossal mess stage of the getting the house ready for the packers in a week and a half. I was not all that suprized to clean out said sons drawers this morning and find shorts, they did not look dirty by the way, but upon trying to fold them I found TREASURE! A grey plastic medieval knight (like the little green army guys but from Roman times), a red plastic bicycle with rolling wheels, a royal blue pipe cleaner, and a napkin from COLD ROCK ice cream - unused. Now I remember the day he stashed these treasures, we don't go to Cold ROck very often. It was a great day! What fun to find. I am promising myself not to grimace the next time some of these little treasures go through the wash and I open the lid on the machine to see miniscule bits of white flecks all through the wash, because today my heart sang remembering. Now my other son, he refuses to wear shorts with pockets, he's the one I'll need to keep close tabs on in teenagehood, he's already aware of not leaving any incriminating evidence. Yikes.

Playing with Fire?

It's my dad's birthday! I hope he ate chocolate cake for breakfast! You really need to on your birthday, in the interest of world peace and harmony.
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I have managed to organize a shipping company, an animal transport carrier, and collect all the records we will need to have upon our return to the USA. But still it doesn't feel lke I've done enough. The departure date is looming, like the sweaty build up of a summer storm, 16 days and hell or high water we are boarding that plane.

I hate packing. I loathe packing. It is tempting to just leave it all in the house that his hideousness wanted so badly. Knowing my babies will return here in 6 months time for a visit keeps me from doing just that. Again it's not about him, it is about what is best for them. They do not need to return to the house where we lived for so long as a family and see it as we left it. They do not deserve that heartache, and that is exactly what he would do to them. I know because when we came back last July after 7 months away, that is what we walked into. It's not healthy. I wish he would think of that. It is as likely as world peace but I can still hope for it while not holdng my breath. Most likely he'll stay trapped forever in the misery of his cult believing he is doing God's work all they while he's lost the most precious of treasures.
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Rugby players ears warrant enough notice to prevent my sons from ever playing that game.
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It is a mix of the two.

I can still remember the dread, my belly seeming to drop outside my body when the babysitter yelled at my sister and I. I had never seen him do much of anything other than sit at the table , push his glasses back up his nose and study those books. I was in love, the books, in my seven year old mind, books that big, with their sturdy hard backs that looked like they'd been read over and over and over again, had to hold some fabulous wonderful stories. The horrible words he yelled while his neck turned red. We had heard those words at school. "there's a tornado coming!" I remember running to the bathroom, feeling like my belly was back there somewhere in the living room with an entire bag of the valetines love heart candy rotting in it.

The tingling in my hands, the fluttering of my heart in my chest, the warm flushing of my face as his lips headed for mine, the thrill racing through my teenage mind.

The dread and the thrill, the pendulum swings with alarming rapidity between the two. Flirting after divorce.

Final being the KEY word.

Final orders. Did he not understand? When you go to court, the JUDGE makes FINAL orders.

Final meaning that's it, no going back, it's all over smokey. He's the federal Judge what he says goes! It doesn't matter that you the lowley husband who took me to court don't like his decision, since you took it to the realm of the courts to decide - HE GETS THE LAST SAY!!!! There is no more negotiating, if he says we're allowed to return to the USA with or without you, he means it. So we will go. You can play all the games you want, you bugger, but that is all they are is games. And in three weeks, the babies and I will get on a plane and leave and return and make a new home an ocean away.

The shipping quote is more than all 4 international plane tickets, the cats cargo ticket/vet check/etc., and the amount you plan on spending at Duty Free, it's not a good sign.

Leftover birthday cake should be a food group all it's own, with the recommended daily allowance intake being advocated for breakfast.

Packing requires LOTS of cake. It's a well known law.

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I will miss the way Australians pronounce kno-W-n. They just love that W.

I already miss Tallebugerra Beach. Beauty.
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I am looking forward to CLIMATE CONTROL. More the opportunity to use it if I choose not to get frostbite on my skinny little fingers as they type. Queenslanders are fabulous in summer where their height from the ground helps them to remain cool and comfortable and breezy. Not so much in winter, where inside the house is significantly colder than the outside temperature.

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Happy 4th of July!!!!!!!!! I should be shooting the breeze, playing cards and drinking beer with my family at the lake. Instead I am 8000 miles from home packing a house and worrying about my babies. I'll spend the evening post soccer training, running down to Southbank to have dinner and catch a movie with another friend who is going through an impossible situation. I'll have a glass of wine instead of a beer, there will be no cards, but the company will be fantastic and the food delicious - the evening very fun, but possibly not as loud as the lake.

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