The Pilver

…applied for jobs I am completely unqualified for.  Why?  my current place of business is only temporary as they nearly shut down between September and April.

I also applied for jobs of which I am very capable.  I do believe that until I secure a position with hours and salary that I approve, I will respond to every Craig’s List  ad in the near future.  Interviews are fun, somewhat like acting I imagine.  And hopefully, soon, I will act as though I can proficiently run quick books and fake being knowledgeable in the construction industry.

As we were driving to the store today to get the requisite birthday cake…for a website…The Max asked me, “What is the Pilver about?”

“It’s mostly about you.”  I responded.

“Oh, yeah right mom!” He sassed back at me.

Someday he is going to know.

Three years.  For three years I have been typing nonsense and sometimes emotional feelings on the internet.  Each year I feel as though I go through more in my personal life and begin sharing less.  This year I had more heartbreak and love than any other in my life before.  I gained more and I lost more.  Somehow I finally feel as though THIS year things are going to become stable and non-nomatic, something I have wished for since I was fifteen years old.

That sounds like a lot of boring blogs.  But I am still going to write.  Not because I will have fascinating stories, not because I think people are reading this, but because it’s pretty cool to look back over everything I’ve written and see where I have been.  Very rarely do I read over my old posts, but when I do I usually end up wasting a few hours and crying my eyes dry. I also think, “I should really spend more time editing.”

Well, I got the cake.  Unlike the previous years, I forgot a candle.  Whoops.

To those of you who read and comment, THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Here’s links to the previous years:

First Birthday

Second Birthday

Months before The Max and I left Minnesota, he begged me to start a farmville account on my facebook page.  Reluctantly I did, and within a week I was hooked.  I wanted to build the biggest farm with the best buildings and the most coins and crops.   I didn’t want  The Max to touch my game because I wanted to make sure I had the greatest yield and bought only the best items. It shocked me that I thought it was a good time, because for a long time I hated all the farmville posts in the facebook feed.  I despised them.  But I became one of the followers.

Now, I don’t have internet speed great enough to click on the darn plots over and over.  (There was a whole lot of clicking in farmville.)  I don’t miss that.  Also, I have a real farm.  I hobby farm, if you will.  I work about 30-35 hours a week at the restaurant.  And I work on the farm more than that. It’s very hard.  It’s also a blast.

I have been meaning to do a garden blog for some time now, with pictures showing the status of the crops.  Well, I am a bit too late to show everything.  We are already eating plenty of veggies that were in seed packets a few months ago.

I don’t miss farmville.  It’s more fun to harvest real crops.  Except in farmville I had a tractor.  I don’t have one now, and it would sure make things easier.

I never in my life imagined I would want a tractor.

Thanks for the laughs rainbow hiker guy!

While reading a news site on the internet, I came across some sort of scandal regarding a new product called Candwich.  I skimmed over the article, because I needed to see where I could buy and experience a sandwich from a can first hand.  Turns out I cannot.   The product has not even been released yet.  I can’ tell you anything about the scandal, as I was bored of it before I found anything out.

Bottom line:  Candwich, don’t break any more laws.  Turn over a new leaf.  I need to hear the sound it makes when I open one of you.  I’m putting it on my non-existent until now bucket list.

It’s been nearly five months since Max and I picked up our lives and relocated to Washington state.   This was not a random place we chose blindly, Max was born here.  My parents and siblings live here.  Also, Max’s father lives here.

Max’s dad and I split when he was one year old.  The divorce papers stated that we would share our son, though I held sole custody.    Despite what the arrangements were on paper, Max’s dad was in no condition to raise a child, and I was his only active parent.  Until now.

Two to three days every week, Max is with his father.  He lives two and a half hours from here and we meet in the middle at an espresso shop and trade my child like bought goods, except I hug my son more tightly that I would a package.

I hate this.  I thought it might get easier, but it has become so paralyzingly difficult to not hear my son’s voice non-stop.  There is nothing natural about not fully raising your child as a mother.  I am overwhelmed with guilt every time he leaves and the guilt mounts hour by hour until I burst into tears and drive my car to where I have cell service so I can talk to him.

For almost eight years it was me and The Max and nobody else.  Now, it doesn’t matter if I am surrounded by a million friends I feel insanely lonely when he is gone.  Weird thing is I have never been a clingy mom.  When Max is around, we do fun things together and have special activities we share, but most of the time we are just around each other.  Sometimes, if he is too hyper and I need a break I tell him I get a Mommy time-out where I get ten minutes to sit in quiet.

Now, while I am certainly happy that Max’s dad is doing well and capable of now knowing his son, I still want my child here as opposed to there.  I never had a baby with the intent of giving him away two days a week.   But there is no happy medium for that.  Some days I am tempted to make the five hour drive round trip so I can take Max to the park for a half-hour or just read him a story in bed.  Some day I probably will, especially if the pain of this sharing arrangement continues to grow.

I had the opportunity to get the heck out of town this weekend.  I had the 4th of July off of work, and we went camping the night before and the night of the holiday.    On our way to the wilderness we stopped at a family member’s house, who had a cute and really skinny dog roaming around.   Turns out the neighbors had rescued it from the middle of the woods.  I commented on how I should take her home, and left it at that.  The next day as we stopped by the same family member’s home, the neighbors asked if we wanted to take the dog.

So, though I inherited a dog when I moved here to Washington, I know have my first dog.  She’s remarkably obedient, for a supposed stray.  I wanted to name her Blanche after Rue McClanahan’s character in the Golden Girls.  But I was outvoted.   So her name is Anoka Rose.  Anoka for the city I just moved from and Rose after Betty White’s character on the GG.

I like her.  She’s sweet.  She also tore up all the trash bags in the carport.  Soon she will be sweet and less of a slob.

That is all.

I was a HUUUUUGE fan of Mr Rogers when I was a kid.   I could take or leave Sesame Street, but I needed a bubble opera and The Trolley and I wanted his stoplight and his fish.  Oh, I cherished that show.  The intro song was fine and all, but I just loved the end.

Are you down? Are your parents getting a divorce?  Does the bully at Pre-School beat you up?  No biggie.  Song this little ditty, you will cheer up!

Today, I sing it because I want to stay home and plant flowers, but I have to go to work.