First off. Did you vote, yet? You know, for my boobs, or someone else’s in Sarcastic Mom’s BEWBALICIOUS contest? Go forth – and keep both hands above the keyboard. Or don’t, whatevs. I’m number 17. As if you didn’t know that.
Secondly, don’t forget to leave a comment on my last post or email me for wondrous blogrollage. Trust me, I’ll do you, like you never been rolled before.
Onto the real meat of this post. The mutton, if you will. Maybe even the Beef Wellington, if you’re Latte Mommy.
Today’s level of fabulousness was enough to make me think that this whole “living optimistically and like everything will just work out, even if I don’t micro-manage and over-control everything” attitude I’ve had is the bomb, yo. Or that karma, even outside of Plurk, matters. I don’t use the word fabulous very often – it conveys (to me) a level of homosexuality I’ve never practiced. The male kind. So you know this is seriously amazing stuff.
Today, I got a lot of good news.
I met with my lawyer. My free, thanks to legal aide, lawyer. And we agreed on a course of action that might make a court battle unnecessary. One that might provide visitation and happiness for all parties, maybe even some amicability. Basically, we figured out how to proceed so that life can go back to how it was a couple of months ago, sans drinking. I just need JDawg to cooperate – and I’m thinking he will, because it will be easier and gentler on him.
Then, I went to the (dun dun duuuuuuuh) welfare office and I got approved. I am officially a welfare mom. I’m gushing with pride. Actually, I’m okay with it, knowing it’s a temporary thing and that I’ve never been in this place before – expecting a hand out.
Then I had a phone appointment with another Government office. They basically said, “OH! You have a lawyer. We’ll send you a form to give to him. That’s all we need from you.” Score. My to do list went from about 800 things to a manageable 35 or so. (I actually just considered putting a emoticon in there. Obviously, I’m too happy. And have been plurking too much.)
Later in the afternoon, they cut me a cheque that was equal to the last support payment JDawg made, and they told me how much I can expect on my regular cheque – which is in less than three weeks and will be enough for rent. Did I mention that they will also lend me a security deposit for a new place that I am only obligated to pay back in very tiny amounts, every month? And that if I need more money, they said to just come back and ask for grocery funds? Seriously. I can *kinda* see why people might not want to leave this land of welfare.
What’s so great about that? I now have more than $13 in the bank and I know I won’t have to wait until child tax benefits are paid to get more. I can start looking for places to move to, instead of packing and not knowing where I’d be storing everything if we had to stay with Stargirl or my mom.
I feel like five bazillion pounds have been lifted off of my back.
So. Life will go back to cleaning and starting packing and that’s perfectly fine with me. I still have to attend two required counseling sessions because of the type of separation I’m going through. JDawg will have to attend them as well. We have a court date on Monday and I have to email him the lawyer’s suggestions. That’s what’s on my plate now. Easy.
Things feel more…in balance.
So how did I celebrate?
I bought myself a magazine, some vanilla and lavender dryer sheets (total extravegance, since I can only use them on linens that Isobel won’t come into contact with), some nail polish remover (so I can use the one bottle of polish I own, that was bought six months ago – I haven’t opened it since painting one of Isobel’s toes four months ago, and that was the only time it’d been opened). Isobel got a gigantic triple chocolate chunk cookie from Starbucks.
The magazine is unread, my toes are naked and the laundry is unwashed – the cookie was alternatively eaten and fed to a raccoon.
What can I say? We know how to party.
