When Can I Catch a Break?

So my squatter of a tenant has turned into the 'single, white female' variety. I don't recall much of that movie but I know there was somebody cray-crazy on it. And yup, the person residing under my roof has a lot in common with her.

Tomorrow is the deadline for her to vacate the premises. Supposedly her and her boyfriend found a house sitting gig and she's moving out. Only she isn't. Tonight I get a text from her. She needs more time, her boyfriend filed a restraining order against her and she has no place to go. Uh, say what? A restraining order? I don't even care what the hell that's all about, I just know that she has to get out. Now I'm worried for my kids that we have this psycho living with us that doesn't understand how much of her welcome she's worn out. Every word she speaks is a lie and I can not have her stay here any longer. And yet, according to the State Police officer that I talked to, I have to go through an eviction process to get her out. But it's my house and she just stays in one room and I think she's a risk to my kids. Doesn't matter. Well, isn't that fucking wonderful. 

I told the squatter that she still needs to be out tomorrow and she says she will if I help her move and oh yeah, I need to scour the apartment listings with her to help her find a place. Apparently I'm now the mother of a 32-year old slow witted dimwit. Good times. 

Since we've already established that she's a liar, liar, pants on fire, I'm betting that tomorrow will not see her closing my door for the last time. And if I kick her out, the lovely police officer stated that I would then be the one brought up on charges. I love the American legal system. If she kills me in my sleep, I'm going to haunt that police officer and whisper in her ear, 'I told you so.' *

* I don't really think the squatter is dangerous. I think she's lazy and stupid and wants someone to take care of everything for her. Sooner or later she'll get the memo that I never signed up for the position of her caretaker and she's on her own. 

Update:  

Putting my research skills to good use once again, I found the following state statute - 

A rental arrangement whereby a person rents to another individual one or more rooms in his or her personal residence that includes the shared use of any of the common living spaces, such as the living room, kitchen, or bathroom, may be terminated by either party by providing actual notice to the other of the date the rental agreement shall terminate, which shall be at least 15 days after the date of actual notice if the rent is payable monthly and at least seven days after the date of actual notice if the rent is payable weekly.

I called the State Police officer and informed her of this statute and she said it sounds like this would be in my favor. Well, since tomorrow is day 16 since I gave squatter the written notice to vacate I would say that this is ironclad. (I had given her verbal notice and notice via text back in early December.) The officer said 'well, it's a civil matter and we don't get much training in this.' 

I said that's what the statute says and if she doesn't vacate my house then she will be trespassing, correct? The officer said 'yes and that's when we get involved.' Well, I'll be calling the police tomorrow then if she doesn't leave and the police will cite this to her and tell her she must leave, correct? The officer said we would probably have to get the state attorney involved but yes. 

Notice to all the squatters out there - don't fuck with a mother who thinks her children are being put at risk. I will research til my fingers fall off to prove that I'm in the right and you need to GET.THE.FUCK.OUT. 

You Will Be You Again... Hang in There Betrayed Spouses...

Is there anybody still out there now that I'm not spouting venom? Healing after divorce is so damn boring isn't it? I do still have the ex's eulogy penned for when I speak at his funeral. I'll be out on a day trip from prison for murdering him of course.

Just kidding! I no longer think much about him. Except when it's his weekend to have the kids and then I'm just damned annoyed that I have to give them up for a few days. He's an asshat but he's no longer my asshat so silver linings, baby....

For anybody out there who just got their heart trounced on and thinks OMG, how can I get through this? Let me tell you, you will get through it. And you will be all the better for getting a cheating douchebag asshat out of your life. And eventually it will no longer define you and you will be you again. YUP, it's possible, hang in there. You WILL be YOU again. Or maybe I should say, you will be a better version of YOU.

Divorce changes you, there's no doubt about that. I'm a meaner bitchier version of myself. Some may say I was always a bitch but I would disagree. I used to be nice once upon a time. Now I'm a jaded pessimistic untrusting bitch. And you know what? I like this version of me so much better. I feel strong and I don't give a shit what anyone thinks of me. I am woman, hear me ROAR.

My kids are front and center in my life now. And the damn dogs. Including the pissing machine of a puppy that we adopted. He's become housebroken in just a few short weeks. Housebroken meaning that he only goes pee inside the house of course. If he goes pee outside, it's just an accident. Last night he peed a huge puddle on the stairs. I didn't see it until I stepped in it and after cursing my wet sock, I said, 'I don't know how one puppy can possibly pee so much.'

My daughter said, 'I don't know either but let's not let it get the best of us.'

Fucking HI-LAR-IOUS my daughter is. God, I love that kid. Now every time I wipe up a puddle of urine flowing across my maple floor (approximately 247 times a day), I repeat to myself,  'Let's not let it get the best of us.'

'I'm Going to Help You Get Through This'

'I'm going to help you get through this'. Words spoken by the gastrointestinal specialist that my daughter saw last week for her constipation and bowel issues. Finally someone who takes the problem seriously and sees the trauma that my daughter has to live with when she can't control her own body. Both my daughter and I sobbed when the doctor stated those words right after my daughter had another accident during the exam. She was sitting clad in my long underwear because she had gone through the two changes of clothes that she had brought with her. All the medicine that she had taken over the last few days had kicked in. Unfortunately the floodgates opened right during the exam that the doctor was conducting but hey, what's a little (a lot) of bodily fluid to a doctor?

Is my daughter's issue psychological or is it physiological? We should get the results from the bloodwork back in a week and will go from there. In the meantime my daughter is going through a colon cleanse, exactly what someone anticipating a colonoscopy would do. She's taken up residence in the bathroom while her body purges what it's been storing up for so long. Already she's looking better than she has in weeks. Removing all that toxic waste from her body has got to be a relief even if it's like a uncontrollable faucet.

I know things are going to get better for us. My daughter is going to get well. And me? I served our tenant with written notice that she NEEDS.TO.GET.OUT. I'm betting both my daughter and I will feel about 305 pounds lighter after this is all over.

Pent Up

'2014 is going to be my year!' Words that I will now revise to 'Maybe 2015 will be the year for me!'

I'm dealing with some pent up things. Pent up feelings? Nope, pent up poop. My daughter has severe bowel problems. Like no poop for a month problems. Yes, that is possible if you're wondering. File all this under too much information but it's what has taken a front seat in my life right now so here you go.

Suppositories, Milk of Magnesia, Mirolax, Metamucil, Flaxseed, Psyllium seeds, prune juice...You name it and we've tried it to get her to overcome this issue. 'It's just a phase,' her doctor has said. Well, this phase has lasted for years and I'm sick of it. Sick of the accidents, sick of the stomach aches, sick of the tears (hers and mine), sick of waiting by the bathroom door for hours asking her, 'Did you go yet?' Poor kid, 9 years old and having to be subjected to a suppository doesn't seem right.

Tomorrow we have an appointment with a different doctor to see if we can finally get someone to take this problem seriously and not spout the 'it's just a phase' line. My daughter has missed numerous days of school because of this issue, including two and a half days in the last week. I questioned whether I should send her to school today but her stomach is brewing with a Molotov cocktail of fiber supplements and medicines. I can't imagine what would happen if they take effect when she's more than a few feet away from a bathroom.

I thought my life was metaphorically shit a few months ago when I was in the midst of divorce, now it's literal shit that I have to deal with. I never thought I would be so consumed with poop. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger... I'm going to be pretty strong once 2015 hits and since that's my year, I'm looking forward to it.

A Case of the Blahs

Now that the holidays are over, I have the blahs. Or more accurately a case of the 'I-can't-stand-anybody-I-need-a-change-I'm-too-busy'itis. I know the busyness is mostly what I put on myself. Well, that and being a single parent. 

I thought it was a fine time to adopt a new furry addition to our family so the kids and I visited puppy after puppy, seeking the right one. 'We won't get a puppy until it speaks to us,' I told the kids after we left yet another puppy behind. 'It has to be the right dog for us.' 

Well, we found that dog. A 9-week old St Bernard who not only spoke to us, he walked right into our hearts the minute we met him. So now we are in the midst of puppy training. I had forgotten how much fun that is. I'm going to buy stock in a paper towel company. 

Our renter is treading on my last nerve. She's a slob of the highest degree and is getting a little too comfy in my home. She was supposed to be here only for a month or two and it's been six. OH.MY.GOD.YOU.NEED.TO.GET.OUT.NOW. I told her a while ago she has until February 1 and then she's going to find her belongings in the front yard and the locks changed. Coming home to a disgusting dirty kitchen and a messy house is not acceptable and I can't take it anymore. Even though I've told her she needs to clean up better I don't think she's physically capable of it. Buh bye. I'd rather live in a cardboard box than share space with her for too much longer. At least my cardboard box would be clean. 

My daughter was sick today. Who's going to stay home with her? I asked myself. I raised my hand and called work to say that I wouldn't be in. So sorry we were just closed for twelve days and now I'm out again. <insert awkward 'I'm a good employee, honest!,' uncomfortable laugh> Could I have called her father to ask him if he could take her? Nope, I'm not physically capable of that. And isn't it in the divorced mom handbook that you won't ask your ex for anything? Maybe it's not in the official handbook but it's in the one that I follow. 

Perhaps once my house is mine again and the squatter leaves I'll get the spring back in my step. Maybe once the puppy stops peeing on the floor eighty-seven times a day, I'll be chipper again. My house is 94% tile or hardwood. Why does the puppy run to the closest scatter rug to take a leak? Must be in the puppy handbook. 

He's lucky he's cute.