Bad MuthaBlogger

Bunny scored himself an iPhone today. Mama’s old one. Because mama had to buy a new one today after the old one croaked.

It took me 4 hours to find my iPhone this morning. I looked high and low, in every nook and cranny, until finally I found it at the bottom of the rubbish bin under my desk, buried beneath a load of dirty nappies.

Fuck knows how it got there, but I suspect the bunny had something to do with it. Note to self: always keep new iPhone on very high, inaccessible shelf when in house, or locked away in drawer.

After the search party ended, I went to the mall to buy some new trousers for bun-buns because yesterday he tipped a bottle of olive oil over himself, and ruined his last pair. On the way I noticed the Apple shop wasn’t completely mobbed with masses of consumers, so I popped in to see if they could tell me why the toddler apps I’d downloaded to entertain bunny on the Hawaii flight weren’t working. I had all kinds of cool apps that didn’t work, like iScribble which turns your iPhone into a kind of mini etch-a-sketch. And Zoobox with pictures of animals that moo and snort and cluck when you tilt your phone.

One of the iPhone dudes sauntered over, examined my phone, and said “It doesn’t work because it’s broken.” 

“What? I was just using it a minute ago, what do you mean it’s broken?” I was not amused. But sure enough, when I snatched my precious phone back, it wasn’t working.

“You see this pink line?”  he said. He pulled out a mini flashlight and shone it down the hole on top, and I squinted down into it’s innards where I could sort of see a pinkish line. “That means you’ve got water damage. Apple won’t service phones that have water damage. You’re going to have to get a new iPhone.”

I was flabbergasted.

“Look, mate. I dropped my iPhone down the toilet MONTHS ago! It’s been fine for 9 months! It’s indestructible!”

“Oh, yeah,”  he said. “That happens all the time. Best not to keep it in your back pocket.”

Thanks, dude. I think I figured that one out for myself.

After a few moments of scratching my head in shock, I realized I was scuppered. I was going to have to get a new iPhone. How else would I find my way through the world? I have connections to make, people to call, blogs to read. I couldn’t get from A to B without my google maps app. And thanks to my last and final failed date I know that there are oodles more apps to buy. I NEED those apps, peeps. I gotta have more apps.

Which reminds me, the iPhone dude told me that for $1000 I could get an app that does nothing but spin a gold coin on the screen. It’s a way of showing people that you’re skankin’ rich, with nothing better to spend your money on. The sort of thing I imagine Paris Hilton might have. Personally I’d rather get my iPhone encrusted with diamonds. More buck for your bling.

Anyway, I coughed up the cash and bought a new iPhone. There’s no two ways about it, I can’t live a single day without my iPhone. I was gutted, but what’s a single mama to do? I’ll have to ask the F.O.B. to give me some more dosh when he’s next in town. After my recent spontaneous sprees to Hawaii I’m feeling a bit brassic.

On the way home, I had a sudden thought that the water damage could be from bunny using my iPhone as a teething ring. He’s got 4 molars coming in at once and has been chomping up a storm, leaving drool and dribble all over the house and home. He’s also seriously obsessed with my iPhone.

Sigh. Oh well. Lesson learned. Must look after and protect the new iPhone.

Hey, look on the bright side. Now bunny’s got his own iPhone, he can chew on it to his heart’s content, smash it into the ground, and hide it anywhere he likes in the house. It’s an expensive toy, but only the best for my bunny. He deserves it.

Spring is sprung, the grass is ris, I wonder where them birdies is?

That’s an old ditty my grandpa popsy used to say. Doesn’t really make sense, but it always pops into my head at this time of year. Spring is definitely here. Those bambinos born a week ago are bouncing around my garden like cartoon characters from a Disney film. They are so cute with their white tails and speckles, frolicking in the redwoods like there’s no tomorrow. They have so much exuberant energy, such jubilance. They’re just like my bunny. Spring babes. Little luvvies.

It’s time for a bout of spring cleaning in the house. The days are getting longer and warmer, and I’ve just renewed the lease on my rental for another year, which means I really ought to get my act together and get rid of some of the stuff that’s collecting in cupboards and dark corners. If I start the clean out process now, by the time I move on next year, I’ll have a lighter load to shift. That’s the theory anyway.

I was checking out The Tranquil Parent today, and they’ve put together a 6 week spring clean plan, which I’m going to try and follow. Here’s their rules:

1. Make a list of all the areas in your home that you would love to clean or organize.
2. Pick your top six areas. If you can get your family enrolled in the challenge, let them help you pick the top areas. That gets more buy-in for help.
3. Break your top choices into tasks that can be done in less than one hour. Keep it reasonable for the amount of time you have. Set yourself up to succeed!
4. Choose at least one task per week for the next six weeks. This will have you complete by the time summer rolls around.
5. Pick a time that you know will work for you and put it on the calendar. When you work on your task, set a timer or watch the clock. Commit to being done in one hour – or less!

They also recommend you follow S.M.A.R.T. goal setting. In other words, set your goals to meet criteria which are: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Timely.

Otherwise you can get yourself in a pickle and scrabble about getting nowhere, wind up getting depressed, and say to yourself: fuck it, I can’t be bothered with this shit, I’m gonna shut the door on this cupboard / room / garage, and forget about it for another year. Which never happens to me. Oh no, mate, not me.

My top 6 areas have got to be:

1. The hallway “cupboard” – this in itself could easily turn into a 6 week task, seeing as it’s actually a room chock full of unpacked boxes from England from nearly 2 years ago. Yikes. Just thinking about opening the door and spilling all that stuff out makes my head spin.
2. Baby clothes, toys and books – the ever accumulating baby stuff that is threatening to take over the house.
3. My wardrobe. It’s like the black hole in there. I open the doors and I can’t see a thing. Clothes are jammed tightly together like sardines, some of them 2 to a hanger. I hate all my clothes. I wear the same thing day in and day out. 18th Amendment jeans and an old, faithful maternity top that I can pop a boob out of easily to feed the bun-buns in a pinch, and which covers the unsightly bulge of my post-preggers tummy. Might aswell chuck out the rest. It’s only attracting the moths.
4. My computer’s hard drive. My documents. My inbox. My photos. It’s a BIG mess. You can’t physically see it, but it clutters up my mind and drags me down.
5. Speaking of photos, there’s a chest full of prints upstairs, and a stack of old photo albums and slides that need some serious organising. I’ve been meaning to get these sorted for over 10 years.
6. Books, books, books and more books. I’m a bookophile. At least, I used to be before I had a baby. Now I tend to read the backs of cereal boxes, which I must say have got more intelligent over the years. I would LOVE to sort out all my books out into some kind of order. Since I moved from England they’ve gone all higgledy-piggledy, and every time I walk past the bookcase it niggles on my mind.

That’s 6 top tasks already, and I haven’t even got to the kitchen or bathroom. Still, it’s a start. If I can break these top 6 down into easy bite-size pieces of an hour a day, I could be cracking the back of my clutter by the time summer ends. I could be selling all that superfluous stuff on craigslist or ebay or whatever, and making a stack of cash at the same time. Ah, what a dream that would be. 

Now, if only I had a husband / partner / lover / boyfriend, this shit would be sooooo much easier. I’m not sure that the bunny is going to be much help. I’ll have to give him a stack of popcorn to snack on, and strap him down to watch the show. Single mama sorts her shit out, once and for all, and turns a tidy profit on the side. It’s a blockbuster, mate, I’m telling you.

Before I had a baby I had the patience of a gnat. I was an extremely impatient woman. I couldn’t understand why people were so incredibly slow. C’mon people, hurry the fuck up! I wanted what I wanted, and I wanted it now. I had no time for time wasters. Life drove me crazy. I lived on adrenalin. I was amped. Fired up. Ready to roll. My nervous system was on overdrive, and I was ready to go, go, GO!

That crazy person is still inside me, but having a baby chilled me out. I don’t know if it’s the hormones or what, but suddenly I have the patience of a saint. There’s no point in hurrying to get anywhere, because I can only get there when I get there. No point in trying to rush meal times, bath times, or cleaning up times. My whole life has slid to the wayside. Now everything depends on bunny. I have no control over my life anymore. It belongs to bun-buns. Everything I do revolves around him.

Even though I mostly turned into a relaxed, chilled out mama, sometimes my patience is tested to it’s absolute limit. Like tonight. And last night. 

Because bunny is driving me BONKERS. I am so fucking uptight right now. I need to smash my fists into something to release the tension. I wish I had one of those kickboxing bags rigged up in the living room, so I can kick the living shit out of it. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: WHY THE FUCK WON’T HE SLEEP????!!!

It doesn’t seem fair. He’s such a sunny, bright little bunny. He smiles and giggles all day long with such joyful abandonment. And then bed time comes around and he turns into a sleepless monster from hell. I don’t deserve this. I am thoroughly fed up with fighting with him to go to sleep. It’s been going on for months and months. Enough is enough.

Some days are worse than others. For the last 2 nights he’s been a fucking nightmare. I’ve had violent thoughts. It scares me. I know I wouldn’t actually harm my baby. I’d sooner bang my own head against the wall. But the rage that courses through my body when he’s driving me crazy with his won’t-go-to-sleep antics, is so powerful and furious, it frightens me. It feels uncontrollable and dangerous. Like a wild beast, snapping and snarling, desperate to cut loose from it’s thick iron chain, and KILL!

Even though I know I would never, ever hurt bunny, not even a little, tiny bit, he must surely feel all that anger running through my blood, and maybe it scares him too. It can’t be good for him. It sure as hell isn’t good for me either.

I feel like a bad mother.

His teeth are probably killing him, he’s got 4 molars coming in at once. And he hasn’t had a poop in 4 days, so maybe his stomach is upset. Plus he’s got a bad rash because bad mama ate wheat and eggs again, while we were in Hawaii, and he’s allergic. So that might be hurting his stomach too.

It’s understandable. He’s in pain. Poor mite. I should be more compassionate, more caring.

But my reaction is simply that: a reaction. I can’t seem to control the way I feel inside when he’s winding me up by thrashing around like a wild thing, crying and moaning for hours on end. He’s inconsolable. I try to be loving and kind. I try to comfort him. I nurse him, and cuddle him, and soothe him in whatever way I know.

Yet when it doesn’t seem to be working, in the end I lose my shit. Internally, at least. This makes the whole situation much worse, as bunny feels my tension and acts out even more. It’s a vicious, fucked up cycle. And I hate myself for being this way.

He’s asleep now. Peaceful. A little cherub.

And here I am downstairs, pent up, wound up, riddled with guilt and feeling like a lousy, crap mother. It’s at times like this I wish I could have a large whiskey on the rocks. Or a couple of reds and downers. A little something to take the edge off, so I can get some sleep myself. Wouldn’t that be nice.

We’re back on the mainland. Back from Hawaii. Back in Northern California.

I woke up this morning with the realization that we are blessed to live in a wildly beautiful place. There are soaring redwoods surrounding a cascading creek right here in our back yard. Splashes of bright nature abound. It’s an explosion of colour and light. Shocking pink azaleas and bright orange california poppies, set against unbelievably blue skies. It’s so crisp and clear, I feel like I’m on acid.

While we were away, two fawns were born on the lawn, outside our kitchen window. I walked with Bunny down the nearby coastal trail, and we saw wild turkeys, a mountain lion and a bobcat. A Great Blue Heron made an appearance and struck a pose for the camera.

Talk about the bees knees of birds. That heron is the epitome of serene.

No doubt about it. We are lucky enough to be living in one of the most stunning places on the planet.

Sure, I miss the tropics. The warm seas and white beaches. I love the humidity. But I don’t want to move to Hawaii. It doesn’t feel right to live there. It’s a good place to visit, to stay for a while. But to live there? I don’t think it’s the place for me.

I don’t know if there is a place for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever know exactly where I want to live, or where I want to be in the short or the long term. But for the moment, just for today, I’m perfectly content to be right here right now. I’m going to take a leaf out of the rest of the garden, and blossom where I’m planted.

Bunny doesn’t give two hoots that we’re staying at the Hideous Hawaiian Theme Park. He’s only interested in the beach. Here he is checking out the surf:

It was looking pretty glassy out there, so he crawled in to test the temp:

Hmm… little bit on the chill side. Doesn’t taste too good neither.

So it’s back to the beach to check out his surfing skills. Here he is, looking to see if he’s goofy foot, getting ready to pop up.

What a day. It was da kine, brah. Another bitchin’ beach day. 

Me and bunny are having an awesome time. Even if the digs are a little to be desired, being in the big blue can’t be topped.

We’re here in Oahu. Wakiki Beach to be precise. It’s my first time on this island, and I’m feeling a bit shell shocked. It’s a totally different trip from the other islands. WAY different from Maui. It’s like we’re in Singapore or something. There are skyscrapers everywhere. Traffic and freeways. The signs are in American and Japanese. Military planes keep flying overhead. At night it kinda looks like Vegas.

In a moment of madness I booked us into the Hilton Hawaiian Village. They had some super cheap deals with flight, car and room all included, so I bit the bait and now here we are in the middle of Aloha Disneyland.

This is the biggest resort I have ever seen. It’s obscene. It has 6 high rise towers, at least 20 restaurants and hundreds of shops. You can get lost in here, and never find your way out to the real Hawaii. It’s spendy too. The first restaurant I walked into, had main courses of fish dishes for $52 and up. I settled for a side salad that cost $10 and which was basically a plate of iceberg lettuce with a couple of pieces of cucumber thrown on top.

I had to do a double take yesterday, when I saw a crowd of people gathered and, moving closer, I realised they were looking at a bunch of PENGUINS. They were sad, poor blighters with their backs turned on the crowd, and their heads down in defeat. The resort had thrown in a few turtles to keep them company, but it didn’t seem to be helping.

Those are some very unhappy penguins. Apparently they are ”warm weather penguins” but somehow, I don’t think they feel at home here in the Hilton.

Round the corner, to my surprise was a flock of South African pink flamingos.

Is this the Hilton, or is this a zoo? I’m beginning to wonder. At first I was sure I was in a Hawaiian theme park, but the exotic fauna has confounded me.

Outside, the Hilton has built a lagoon, which looks very nice on their promotional material. It’s a gorgeous aqua blue, surrounded by golden sand, sitting on the edge of the sea.

The lagoon looked like just the ticket for babies - shallow, safe, calm and warm – so on the first day, bunny and I changed into our swimmers and trotted down for a dip, only to find when we got there, that (a) the water was stagnant, and had these weird, frothy algae-looking things floating on the surface. And (b) the sand was fake. I’ve never seen fake sand before. It must be a by-product from the construction industry. Builders sand. It’s dusty and horrible. It sticks to your feet like couscous.

Here’s bunny on the fake sand path, by the lagoon. We’re staying in that rainbow tower behind. Yesterday bunny chucked all of our bananas over the balcony. Nice one, bun-buns.

On our resort walkabout this morning, we found this depressing surfboard sign at the bottom of the rainbow tower:

It tells the story of this area:

The lagoon used to be mud flats, where the shrimp were once so plentiful the people could scoop them up with rakes to their heart’s content. Now it’s a dead eco-zone.  The knowledge of that makes me want to weep.

Frankly, I’m surprised the Hilton haven’t put a few Atlantic dolphins in there. Jumping through hoops. That sort of thing.

If we do decide to move to Hawaii, we’ll be giving this place a wide berth. And we won’t be recommending it to our friends.

I’ve got a bee in my bonnet about Hawaii. I keep thinking about this:

and this:

And wishing we could live like that all the time. Happy. Carefree. Relaxed. Warm. Soaking up the sun. Swimming in the sea. Watching whales. Eating avocados the size of footballs.

Being down in the doldrums hasn’t worn off yet. Don’t get me wrong, I love where I live in Northern California. The weather is fabulous, the food unbelievably good, the people friendly, and the countryside outstanding. It’s hip, cosmopolitan, green and progressive. It has all the advantages of being in a city, yet with the wilderness right on the doorstep. It’s the best of all worlds.

Plus, I absolutely love my mothers’ groups. And the huge array of baby and toddler classes available at my fingertips - from swimming, music, dance, yoga, art and oh, so much more.

This, my friend, is a happening place. Quite possibly one of the best places in the world to raise a child, assuming you can afford to live here. Cuz, let me tell you, it ain’t cheap.

Which brings me back to Hawaii, because it ain’t cheap there either. But there’s a spiritual connection I have there, that I don’t feel here. Something illogical that simply feels right in my bones and my blood. A feeling of connection. A deep peace.

I have all these voices in my head telling me I can’t go back there. It’s a holiday place, and I can’t be on holiday all the time. It doesn’t have all the cultural amenities I have here. It’s too far away from everything. It’s too remote. It’s too scruffy. It’s too laid back. It would drive me crazy to stay there for any length of time. I wouldn’t have enough to do there. I’d get bored. I don’t know anyone over there. Blah, blah, blah.

There’s a whole mob of critics in my head giving me a piece of their mind. Don’t go back to Hawaii! You’re trying to escape from your life! Stay here in the real world! You’re just running away!

But I’m not really listening. My spirit is stronger than that. I’ve always followed my intuition. The voice of reason seems like the voice of insanity to me. Therein lies the road to monotony and mundaneness. It’s the road less ordinary for me.

The long and the short of it is, I’m going back to Hawaii. Tomorrow. We’re going to Oahu this time, since I’ve never been there. For a week. I haven’t unpacked my suitcase yet from the Maui trip. This time we’ll be doing less lounging on the beach, and more exploration of the “real” Hawaii. And thinking about what it would be like to move there for a while. For real.

On one level it’s crazy to be so spontaneous and geographically mobile, but on another level it feels like the sanest thing in the world.

The Island Is Calling Me
by Mainlander

The island is calling me from far away, she is chanting Aloha, come back to me and stay.
The spirit of the island is as strong as strong can be, the trade winds are a cooling breeze, far across the seas.
The rainbows are enchantment, a hypnotizing glow, along with the deepest blue of the ocean as the tides they ebb and flow.
As the sun sets her beautiful nightime sleep, the moonlight brings forth her rays from the deep.
The sounds of the waves as they come inland to the shores, casting away your doldrums forevermore.
The isle of enchantment that had been once only a dream,
Is playing on my heartstrings,
The island is calling me back again, she is constantly in my dreams…

The unimaginable happened yesterday. I was too shaken up to blog about it, but I’m feeling a bit better about things today.

I dropped the bun-buns. 

He fell from a great height, from my arms, onto his face. He hit the concrete pavement. I can still hear the sickening thud of his head against the ground. I can still see his little body lying there helpless.

I keep replaying the scene over and over again. I don’t know why. Trauma does that to me. It keeps playing again and again in my head, trying to resolve itself. It’s like I’m trying to find a different ending, to reframe what happened, but it’s no good it’s the same result every time. I drop the bunny and he falls onto his face. Smack. Crack. Bad mummy.

It was an accident. Obviously. But I can’t help blaming myself. We were on our way to swim class in the city, and running late. Bunny LOVES his swim class, and he was excited as we rushed up to the building, me carrying him on my hip, whilst shouldering the big swim bag. I had my eyes straight ahead looking at the door, thinking we’re going to be late, we’re going to be late, we’re going to be late, when BAM! My legs hit a massive concrete block stupidly placed in the middle of the pavement, and the bunny went flying out of my arms and hit the deck, head first.

He didn’t move for a split second, during which time I screamed and felt sick to my stomach, and then I grabbed him and held him tightly, begging sweet Jesus please let him be alright.

The rest of the morning is a blur. Someone called an ambulance. A crowd of strangers appeared in a circle around me, all offering advice, ice packs and god only knows what. Some of them were probably rubber necking. Looking for a bit of accident action.

Then a fire engine showed up, and after that it was a string of strange uniformed men asking questions, and all the time the bun-buns is screaming blue murder like I’ve never heard him before, and shaking like a leaf with convulsive sobs and the side of his face looks like someone hit him with a sledgehammer. The skin has come off, and his eye is swollen and his cheek is dark purple and red it’s all so horrific I can hardly bring myself to look. And I’m supposed to answer questions???

After the fire truck, an ambulance arrived and then we were rushed to an emergency hospital for children, and bunny started to look like he was falling unconscious, in between these great body shudders, which freaked me out even more. But within an hour, he calmed down enough to nurse, and another hour after that and he became curious about his surroundings – electrical wires and flashing lights galore! A kind of bunny heaven.

Pretty soon, he was flashing his winning smile at all the pretty nurses, and even the doc got a grin or two. At that point I knew he was going to be alright. He scuttled around the floor after a couple of hours, getting into mischief, and after some more tests they released him to come home with me.

Thank God.

I learned a few lessons in all of this:

1.  Babies are resilient creatures. They bounce back. The doctor told me that people drop their babies ALL the time, which was news to me, but I guess he would know. Not that it makes it OK, but it makes me feel a teensy weensy bit better to know that at least I’m not the only one who fucks up so royally.  
2. Slow down, and don’t carry so much stuff when carrying the baby. I’m not talking just about physical stuff, but psychological stuff too.  Stay present, and breathe into the moment, rather than hurrying ahead to what may or may not be true (i.e. being late for swim class).
3. LOOK where I’m going.
4. Don’t EVER take life for granted. It can all go pear-shaped in an instant, so appreciate all you have every moment of every day.

I have a confession to make. I can’t seem to stay living in the same place for more than one year. I’ve been living here in Northern California for 15 months now, and I’ve already moved house 3 times. Before that I was in the UK for 5 years, and I moved house 8 times. Before that I was in California for 5 years, and I moved house 9 times. In between I also moved to New Mexico for a year, and then headed back to California after I changed my mind.

Before that, I was back in New Mexico where I lived for 3 years, and I moved  house 6 times. And before that (are you keeping track here?) I was in Australia for a year, where I didn’t keep still for more than 2 months at a time.

And before that (no, it’s not over yet, keep up) I was in South East Asia for a few years. I won’t bore you with the details, as I can hardly remember them myself, so let’s just say I was all over the place in more than one way or another.

Before that I lived in London for a year and moved house 3 times. And before that I lived  in the English countryside with my mum and sister.

Phew!!! What a lot of moving about. Talk about restless. Have I got ants in my pants, or what? No wonder I want to leave California already. I’ve been here for over a year, must be time to move on. I’m getting bored with the scenery. Time for a change.

I should be writing a travel blog. A vagabond blog. Wayward wanderings of a wanton woman. That sounds a bit naughty. How about a single mama migratory blog?  I could call it transient tales of a migrant mother,  or globetrotting gadabout gal-gone-child, or some such thing. Hey, I might have found my blogging niche at last.

I thought having a baby would root me down, ground me into staying in one place. It’s important for children to have stability, isn’t it? I mean, I never did. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons I’m so fucked up. I don’t want that fate for the bunny. I want him to be NORMAL. I want him to be SANE.

But what if I can’t shake this nomadic spirit of mine? What if my gypsy blood refuses to settle down, and the only way I can be happy is to keep moving from place to place, from year to year? Will the bun-buns be OK? Or will he inherit the same gypsy genes from his mama? At the end of the day, does it matter? Or should I force myself to settle so that I can create the kind of consistent, conventional upbringing that I never had as a child,  but always craved?

Yep. It’s another difficult parenting decision alright. I’ll have to give it a ponder while I’m perusing  move-to-Hawaii sites on the net. I’ll keep you posted.

I haven’t mentioned the F.O.B. lately. But he’s still around. In the background, so to speak. He hasn’t paid us a real-life visit since he flitted by for a flying visit back in the first week of February. That’s only 2 months ago but it feels like a lot longer.

I can’t remember what he looks like anymore. He’s missed out on all kinds of milestones in Bunny’s life. I don’t know if bun-buns would recognise him, if he walked through the door.

It’s not like he doesn’t care. I know that he does. But he’s so busy jet-setting around the world, hob nobbing with the oil industry elite, that he loses track of time. He calls me almost every single day. But it’s nigh on impossible to keep up with his whereabouts. Yesterday he was in Phnom Penh, which could be Vietnam, Indonesia or Thailand, I really don’t have a clue. Today he’s in Dubai. Tomorrow he’s in Singapore.

He practically lives on an airplane. He must have zillions and squillions of airmiles. I keep telling him to bite the bullet and get a private jet. Or do the fractional jet ownership thing, and get himself a slice of NetJets. Now, if I was the F.O.B. that’s where I’d be spending my pennies. Get away from the riff-raff, and travel in style.

The F.O.B. is addicted to his work. He’s an adrenalin junkie. It’s so fast-paced, high-powered and volatile, that I get completely lost and breathless when he talks about his business. He waffles on about this deal and that company, and these partners, and those shares, and in all honesty it doesn’t make any sense to me. I can’t keep track. One minute everything seems to be roses, he’s in the money, and “it’s all going swimmingly, darling“, the next minute it’s all gone tits up and the F.O.B. is down in the doldrums, telling me he can’t possibly give me a pittance for child support.

People keep asking me “what does the F.O.B. do?” and I never know quite what to say. “He works in the oil industry”. True story. But beyond that I have no clue. He lives in a whole different world. On another planet.

He wrote me a HUGE email a couple of days ago, most of which I can’t wrap my head around. But the gist of it is, he wants me to move to Singapore so that we can live happily ever after.

WTF??!! I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: the man is delusional. Yesterday he phoned and said that we could live anywhere I wanted, but it was looking more and more like Singapore would be the right place for us to settle. He said this like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I swear it’s some kind of Chinese drip-drip water torture. He’s trying to wear me down into submission, with his constant assertion that we are in relationship, and we will live happily ever after. It’s crazy-making. He’s driving me nuts.

At the risk of sounding like a hysterical, ranting woman with tourette’s syndrome, why the FUCK won’t he accept that our relationship is over??!! And why, oh why, won’t he sign the FUCKING birth certificate and give me and bunny a FUCKING child support agreement??!! I am sick and tired of banging on the same drum. It almost seems easier to just marry the bloke. Perhaps we’d only have to be together for a couple of years, and then we can get divorced, and I can get some serious support for our son.

Bunny and I are going back to see him in England next month. We’ll see how it goes. He’s too busy to come here, so we’re going to go there. But I can tell you that we will NOT be moving to Singapore at any time in the future. It might have the tropical climate I crave, but who the hell wants to live in a country where oral sex is a criminal act? Not me, mate. No thanks.