Multifaceted Mama

In just a moment,…
It is amazing how much the outcome of a single moment could potentially change your entire life.  Yesterday, I was in the local Price Chopper, picking up a few things, doing my usual Domestic Goddess duties.  My cell rang and it was Corey.  He was calling to tell me that his brakes had pretty much failed at a stop light, not 100% failure, but close enough.  I stopped hearing him after “my brakes failed at a red light”!  I am pretty sure my heart grasped itself and fell over in a faint.  I stopped hearing the noise of the store for a moment and I pretty much had a nervous breakdown.  When I finally regained my sanity, I got the story.  He had been stopping at a red light and, at first, the brakes wouldn’t fully engage.  They weren’t a complete failure, but it was enough to stop HIS heart.  It was enough to completely stop mine!!  He is perfectly fine and so is the car, but it could have been so different.  That single moment could have turned out so differently, irrevocably changing all of our lives.  It scares me to think about that.  As a soldier’s wife and a former soldier, the thought of losing him is always in the back of my mind with the constant deployments.  But you don’t ever really think about that sort of that thing at home, away from the front.  That single moment worked out okay this time, but it scared the hell out of me.  ♥

And the stress goes on,…
So, in checking my online bank account this morning, I discovered yet another erroneous charge.  This time it appears to be at least a reputable company, $213.99 to Microsoft, paid by one of our cards.  The only problem is that neither Corey nor I purchased anything from Microsoft for a very long time.  Years even.  If then, since everything we need we got bundled!!  So I called the bank and arranged for them to give us our provisional credit, pending investigation.  I have to go in tomorrow morning and sign the paperwork.  This is about the 4th time in a year, the 6th in the last 18 months.  Needless to say, I am pretty sick of it!  This only started a couple years ago, after being notified that my information was among that stolen from Veteran’s Affairs.  I have not only had erroneous charges to my bank account itself, I have had them through PayPal, too.  My old Yahoo email was hacked at the same time, since they were linked.  Even my World of Warcraft account was hacked!  Horror of horrors!  I even got a pretty nasty virus right about the same time.  Enough is enough already, ykwim?!  We are a military family, for Goddess’ sake!  Not exactly flush with the funds, ya know?!  And like I need more stress!!

Good times,…

Mood: grateful  Weather: partly cloudy, high of 74°  TV: The Today Show

Setting the scene,…
It all began early one morning about 2 weeks ago.  The youngest three children had headed out the door to their big yellowish-orange limousine bus, off to further their educations.  Ashley and Donovan, being too cool for the mode of transportation of the younger social set, had left in the far cooler wheels of Ashley’s boy toy, Dan.  I was alone, alone with the peace, the quiet, the coffee, and Facebook.  There was a sudden “whoosh” of sound, emanating from the end of the hall at the other end of the palace apartment. Little did I know at that precise moment what the impact of that sound would mean in the coming days weeks,…

What the “whoosh”?
I lept from my chair and tore down the hall. About 6 feet from the master bath door, I stopped abruptly, shocked at the scene before me. My ceiling outside the bathroom was raining pouring. Just seconds into the flood and it was flowing over my flip flops and feet as I stood, rooted in place. Finally, I was able to move again and I dove through a wall of water into my bathroom and flicked on the light. The storm was raging in that room, pouring from the ceiling in a dozen places. I was instantly qualified to be a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest and my formerly cute hair looked like a drowning rat stuck on my head. Splashing as I did, I whirled about and ran down the hall and out the front door. Skipping steps, I tore up the stairs to the door of the apartment above. She opened the door, I told her that her bathroom was causing my apartment to be in need of an ark. She unthinkingly slammed the door in face, in a tear to reach her own bathroom. This would have been fine,… if I hadn’t been taking a step in as she slammed it, causing my nose to become an inadvertant door stop. Lovely. I told her to turn off the water and call the maintenance people and I returned to the floodlands below.

Two hours later, and lots of drama, the flood finally ebbed. It was at this point that the maintenance guy Wayne and I noticed something disturbing, especially since we were both soaked. The water pouring through the ceiling,… was not clean. Yes, it was poop and pee infested water. And we were covered in it. I fought the urge to vomit, but really,… what difference would it have made at this point? By the time the water was wet-vac’d upstairs, the water was wading depth in my bathroom. It had flowed about 6′ into the bedrooms on either side of the bathroom and another 12′ down the hall. When you walked,… there was a lovely squelching sound and the disgusting water flowed over your feet. Delightful. At this point, my husband got permission to leave work and come home, knowing this was going to get worse. He was right.

From the moment Wayne entered the Poop Storm fallout area, he had been trying to get ahold of Slum Lord, conveniently out of the office and in a meeting. Apparently, he was incapable of answering his phone, calling us back or figuring out from the sheer number of calls that there was some sense of urgency. The Storm broke out at 0730 and it was 1630 before the a$$hole Slum Lord managed to return the calls. By this time, the fallout area had been wet-vac’d at least 4 times and was still flooded in standing poop water. Good times. And the maintenance guy is severely limited in what he can do without authorization. So it sat all flippin’ day, a hot day, with a couple of somewhat ineffective industrial fans to feebly attempt to dry out the mess beneath the carpets. By 1630, my hellhole apartment smelled like the ass end of a camel,… times 10 to the 10^th power. It was evident to anyone with a working brain cell that the carpets in the bedrooms and the hall would have to be removed, but Slum Lord felt that neither Wayne or I had the capability of realizing that so refused to let it be removed without His Say So. At 1730, His Royal Pain in the Ass showed up, declared it a loss. Well, no shit. Really? We basically wasted 10 hours that could have been spent fixing the damn mess. Now, mind you, not only was the smell overpowering and the mess unreal, but there was the added problem of the fact that I am thoroughly, completely, and totally allergic to mold and mildew. And having this kind of standing water in the carpets, the walls, the ceilings is not a good thing for my overall well-being when combine with heat and low venthilation. By the time, Slum Lord made his Royal Decree, I was fighting the Vomit Monster.

It was decided that both back bedrooms and the hall would have to have the carpets ripped up and replaced, as well as the floors in both bathrooms. Delightful. On top of all that, he decreed that Wayne would be there at 0800 the next morning to tear up the carpets. Mind you, it was almost 1800 at this point. That meant we had 14 hours to totally move EVERYTHING out of both bedrooms and both bathrooms,… all while trying to live there AND with the nasty carpets still in place. We ended up with the big stuff in the empty apartment across the hall, and small stuff in the other bedrooms and the living room. It was like living in hell until the carpet and linoleum people were supposed to arrive Monday morning.

Which didn’t happen. No, instead they showed up at 1630. And my muscle Corey had had to take that day off, too, presumably to help me move the furniture back in. So my time to use him have his help was quickly running out since he had to be back at work the next day. But, as was to be expected,… things continued to go downhill. In order to install the lineoleum, the toilets had to be removed. When they did, the bolts holding them to the walls broke, rendering the toilets (very old models) virtually incapable of being reinstalled. So Wayne headed to the Toilet Showroom (or just the local hardware store) and purchased two new thrones. And that wasn’t the end. In one of the bathrooms, the discovered that the wall behind the throne was rotted out,… the result of the 4 (yes, 4) floods I have experienced since moving into this place. So, even once the floor was done, the new throne could not be put in place until it was fixed,… the next day. So I ended up with a toilet in the tub. Very helpful.

However, the smell didn’t go away. Slum Lord wouldn’t allow the ceiling in the master bath to be pulled down and replaced as it should have been. So instead he made Wayne replace the now shorted out vent fan and decided that would work. NOT!! And then the real fun began. Mold and mildew began to form on the ceiling at an alarming rate, spreading across the ceiling like it was fire. I would clean and clean and spray with mold and mildew killer and within hours it was back,… in full force. I haven’t been able to be in there for more than 5 minutes without fighting the Vomit Monster. The Slum Lord’s attitude? Oh, well. He could care less. Wonderful. So my husband took the bull by the balls and “powerfully” insisted that it be fixed. So, Slum Lord agreed,… and then did nothing about it. Until I ran into Wayne yesterday and he took up the crusade in the absence of the hubs. Now I have no ceiling, it has been sprayed with anti-bad stuff that is making me stoned as hell. Tomorrow I shall have a new ceiling, it will be mudded and plastered and painted, as will my entire bathroom. About friggin’ time. I ♥ Wayne.

And there ends,… we hope, the Poop Storm of 2010.

Since my last post, I have pretty much dropped trying to put on a happy face when I don’t feel it.  I don’t know if it is going to help much in the long run, but my change in attitude has definately been noticed by just about everyone in the house.  I can’t count the number of times Corey or even one of the kids has asked me if I am okay, simply because I don’t smile as much and I am so quiet.  But I don’t have enough in me anymore to pretend that everything is peachy.  Sad though it may be, it is amazing how much energy is spent in pretending, energy I just don’t have anymore.  And what is the point of pretending anyway?  The only reason I did was because I usually feel like I have to walk on eggshells around Corey and even the kids sometimes just to avoid even more pain, conflict, and drama.  All it really did was allow everyone around me to further trivialize and dismiss my feelings.  But I deserve more than that and I guess I finally realized that if I don’t give myself more than that than why should they?  So no more pretending, no more dismissing my feelings.  I am still pretty miserable, but I feel so much stronger in some ways.

I miss blogging every day like I  used to, but it just doesn’t happen.  It is certainly not for lack of trying because I open the damn thing every day with every intention of blogging.  I just can’t come with a single thing to blog about that is even remotely interesting.  My life bores even me.  It is always the same routine, the same drama, and the sameness is killing me.  I am thoroughly miserable and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.  Situations and life pretty much have me stuck where I am and there is no way around that.  But sometimes it is the little things that can make a world of difference, and yet no one in this house seems to care enough to even try.  The constant crap is so draining that there are days when I wake up hating life before anyone else is even awake.  I HATE feeling like that, but I am not everyone’s doormat, despite what they may think.  But do they expect me to always be Miss Merry Sunshine when they talk to me like I am crap?  But how can I expect the kids to be respectful when they hear the way their father speaks to me?  It’s like everyone around him has to be perfect all the time, perfect by his definition which is by and large unattainable and pretty much unrealistic.  Last night was a perfect example.  Scott had spilled some water on the floor and Corey told him to dry it up.  Fine.  He grabbed a kitchen towel and did it, and started to put the dirty towel back on the fridge.  Well, Corey snapped his head off over it, and the kid totally didn’t deserve it.  Okay, gross, but everyone has a bonehead moment, right?  Goddess knows I do, and so does Corey.  Pick your battles.  It wasn’t like the kid was being bad; he made a friggin’ mistake in a distracted moment.  Let it go.  A little while later, Corey came out of the hallway yelling at Scott for leaving a pile of soaking wet laundry on top of the dryer instead of putting it into the empty washer or the laundry basket.  Doesn’t give the kid a chance to speak, doesn’t ask why, just jumps all over him.  Well, the pile of soaking wet clothes (thanks to a water war outside!) was on top of the dryer because I told the kid to put them there.  I told Corey that, and he pops out with “I didn’t think you would tell him to do that”, in the snotties, most condescending voice possible.  Like I was an idiot who wasn’t smart enough to do things right.  He was all pissed off because they had dripped on the floor.  Whatever.  It’s water, and since when does he clean up shit around here, anyway?!  Besides, it would have been nice if he asked why I had told him to do that if it was such a big issue for him, rather than get snotty about it.  And there was a reason.  I didn’t want Scott to put them in the laundry basket because I didn’t want the other clothes to get wet and sit all night like that and get mildewy, which I certainly don’t need more of around here.  Our laundry baskets are mesh-sided fabric bags that hand on a rack in the hall.  It isn’t all that well ventihilated there, plus, being fabric, it would have not only soaked the other clothes and the basket and dripped onto the new rug.  And he couldn’t put them in the washer because there had been stuff in the washer waiting to go in the dryer.  So Scott did exactly what I had told him to do.

We are not his soldiers, and I am certainly not a child, so I am pretty damn tired of being talked to like I am.  The moods and the impatience and the complete inability to take responsibility for how he behaves is ridiculous.  I can’t win, and neither can anyone else around him.  Pretty much every time I bring up his ridiculously snotty tone of voice, he refuses to even consider that perhaps he is being even unintentionaly snotty.  Instead, it is blamed on me, my stress, whatever.  Well, here’s a news flash.  I’m stressed,… BECAUSE OF HOW I AM BEING TREATED IN THIS FAMILY!!  And not everything is my fault simply because I am a girl and because I am stressed.  Some of it could be just because you are being a moody jackass, because, Goddess knows, you aren’t known for that.  <insert massive sarcasm here>  I mean, when he is in a decent mood, even HE jokes about his bitchiness and impatience.  So is it really outside of the realm of possibility that he could just be being a dick to me?

You know, I do EVERYTHING for this family; 100% of the responsibility for making sure everyone has what they need and for doing everything that needs to be done for the functioning of this family is on me.  I don’t work outside of them home, but I also don’t get paid and I don’t get days off.  I am everyone’s bitch.  At the drop of a hat, I am there to do whatever someone needs.  So I guess I don’t feel like it is too much to ask to be treated like a real live human being by my husband AND my kids.

Frankly, I am at my wit’s end.  I have been fighting this battle for too long, and I am getting to the point where I feel nothing but anger and resentment sometimes.  I think it is pretty clear that I just don’t really matter much to him, not really.  I have made it pretty damn clear how I feel about things, and what I need to change.  There ARE two people in this marriage, so it really shouldn’t be all about him and nothing about me.  100% of my life revolves around him and the kids, so I think I deserve something.  And the fact that I am miserable doesn’t seem to matter?  I guess that is pretty telling, huh?

The last two weeks have been insane and nonstop drama.  Let’s see, it all began with the poop storm within my apartment,… literally.  Just moments after Ashley and Donovan left for school last Friday, I heard the sudden whoosh of a large amount of water.  So I walked back towards the bathrooms, only to discover that water was pouring from the hallway ceiling and light fixture right outside the master bath, as well as from the top of the door leading to the master bedroom.  Upon further investigation.I discovered there was a deluge inside that bath, pouring from the vent inside.  Within seconds it was deep enough that I had to roll up my jeans and I was in ankle deep water.  Thank the Goddess, I was wearing a dark blue t-shirt, or it would have gotten obscene in moments, because the thing was sticking to me, soaking wet.  So, I headed upstairs to tell my neighbor that her bathroom was exploding into my house and to get her to turn off her water,… which she never did.  So she called the maintenance guy and the real fun began!  My ceiling rained for over two hours, flooding several feet into both back bedrooms, and 2/3 of the way down the hall.  The mildew began almost immediately, as it was a hot day.  Being as that I am deathy allegric to the stuff, that is NOT a good time!  Our Slum Lord gives NO authority to the maintenance guy, Wayne, so we were stuck in a giant hell hole for freakin’ HOURS until the Slum Lord returned Wayne’s repeated calls.  As the water slowed, we also realized that this was NOT clean water, but poopy water,… which I was now wearing.  In my hair.  On my clothes.  On my skin.  Lovely.  Corey came home early, not an easy feat for a soldier, since it became clear that this was not going to be good.  This all started at about 0730, and Slum Lord didn’t call in until,… wait for it,.. 1430.  And even then, he wouldn’t listen to Wayne’s recommendation that the two bedrooms, the hallway and both bathroom floors needed to be ripped up.  No, apparently he had to see it for himself.  So, we got to live in mildew, poo-infested hell until he decided he could get his lazy ass here to look at it at 1630.  Only to determine the same damn thing that Wayne had been telling him.  All those hours wasted that we could have been getting this crap fixed.  So we basically had until 0800 the next morning to completely empty 2 bedrooms, all while trying to live in the house.  The smell was overwhelming.

So, bright and early at 0800, Wayne arrived to tear up the rugs.  He had left us two huge fans the night before which definately helped with the smell, at least a little.  But even more of a help was the fact that he let us use the empty apartment across the hall for our big stuff, since these places are too small to unload rooms and still be able to live safely.  Then Corey and I got to spend the day cleaning up leftover carpet padding, major sweeping and a serious mopping of the cement subfloors with antibacterial stuff.  It was a delight.  The only upside is that it gave us a surface to be able to paint on without worrying too much about drips.  So I took advantage and Corey and painted some bookshelves candy apple red and they are now in my living room, creating shelf space in my crafty nook.  The down side was that the carpet and linoleum guy wasn’t coming until Monday morning, according to Slum Lord.  So that meant living in chaotic hell for the weekend, what fun.  But come Monday morning, we discovered the guy wasn’t coming until after lunch.  Well, “after lunch” came and went and no carpet guy.  Mind you, Corey had gotten his NCO to give him the day off to help me move the big stuff back in, so we had limited time.  So when, you might ask, did the guy finally show up?  1630!!  Yes, 4:30pm for the civilians.  One guy started with the bedrooms and the other started with the bathrooms.  They had to take out the toilets to lay the linoleum and when they did, they discovered that the walls in the OTHER bathroom were rotted out and they wouldn’t be able to replace the toilet when they were finished with the floor, so no toilet in that one until TUESDAY morning.  And if that weren’t enough, they also discovered that the tank bolts were rusted through, unable to be replaced.  So by the time we were finished, we ended up with 2 new carpets in the back 2 bedrooms, linoleum in the 2 baths, new hallway carpet and 2 new toilets.  Of course the living room and the other two bedrooms don’t match the new rug, and the playroom, kitchen, laundry room and foyer no longer match the bathrooms.  And I pay for this. 

You would think that would be enough, right?  WRONG!  That’s what you get for thinking!  The ceiling in the master bath is soaked and the smell is still overpowering, of poop AND of mildew and mold.  Wayne replace the vent with a whole new fan, filter, etc., but it isn’t helping.  On top of that, it is mildewing all across the ceiling and I can’t even take a shower without being ill.  I give up trying to deal with Slum Lord since apparently having boobs and ovaries makes you worthless, so Corey has been trying and trying to get ahold of him to fix the damn thing.  I love Wayne, but his hands are tied by the Slum Lord, so I blame him.  In a big, hateful way.  Because apparently as long as he doesn’t have to allow things to be fixed properly, I get to have the privlege of paying to live in a place that makes me ill.  <insert curse words here>

Mood: annoyed  Weather: sunny & hot, high of 92°  TV: The Today Show