Once upon a time she was too exhausted 
to put out everyone else's fires.  
So she let their fires burn.  
She let every. 
fucking. 
thing. 
burn. 
the. 
fuck. 
down.

Burn, baby, burn (*roller skates away*)

Last night I took SonHerisme out for a post-tennis milkshake at our favorite little ice cream parlor housed in an old red barn just off of the highway near the school of equitation he attends. (oooh, so fancy pantsy) It had been a hot day after many cool-cold days (helloooo Spring) and the parking lot was crowded. They’re only open for outside ordering/eating atm all COVID style. The line to place orders was quite short, so we stayed.

When it was our turn, SonHerisme ordered his medium barn shake, no cherry yes whipped cream. I ordered small twist in a cup for myself, making a swirl twist motion with my hand when ordering because that’s how I do, and a small cappuccino crunch in a cup for MotherHerisme who will otherwise cry if we arrive home without a treat for her (she’s diabetic with an open wound, just go with the flow people).

At some point SonHerisme and I realized that our order must be misplaced or lost. After a 45 minute wait, and most people arriving after us having been served, we had yet to receive our order. I approached the pickup window and told the harried working teenager that I believe our order to be lost. After some back-and-forthing between the order window teen, the order preparing teens, and the pick-up window teen, our order was made and brought to the pick-up window.

Those scrambling teens did not make our order correctly. The pick-up window teen’s face when she realized this, immediately fell from focused get-the-job-done, into exhausted frustration. “I’ll remake everything! I can give you these muffins as an apology! I’m so sorry!” Ohmigoodness, how are we this stressed out over ice cream? Sweet teenager working a long line at the country ice cream parlor. I looked her in the eyes and said, “I’ll take what you made for us. It’s going to be okay. The moon is in Scorpio and you are going to be okay. Thank you for the ice cream.”

This is the level of, “I don’t give a fuck, it should just be whatever it is” I reached in that moment.

Night before last, SonHerisme was asked to speak with his father again, facilitated by the parenting coordinator. This is the third time since July. History: SonHerisme has not seen MrexH since the first week in September 2014. He has received a handful of cards/letters over the years, recently starting a reintroduction over the phone July 2020. It is awkward, difficult, emotional, upsetting and just … a lot for SonHerisme. For me? I cannot even think about it really. Disassociation for the win!

SonHerisme approaches this like an unpleasant chore which has to be done. He was articulate, kind, wise, and carefully gentle with his father and I am so proud of him. SonHerisme wanted me to sit next to him throughout the entire phone call and I reached the level of, “fuck it all,” and I did it. Even when MrexH suggested he would be coming to take SonHerisme to a professional sportsing event. Even when the parenting coordinator asked MrexH the icebreaker, “if you could travel anywhere would you go by airplane, boat or train,” and I knew MrexH would answer, “train,” and he did. This makes my stomach hurt right now just thinking about it.

BTW, the sportsing event thing is not happening for reasons, at least while SonHerisme is still a child. Also, the train travel is highly unlikely as well. It is all just extremely awful and sad.

Prior to SonHerisme’s phone call with MrexH, the parenting coordinator spoke with me about how SonHerisme was doing, how he was feeling about the conversations with his father etc. I did not really know what to say and I am too tired to keep trying to figure things out, so I responded, “It is awkward and uncomfortable, which it will be until it isn’t or it will stay awkward and uncomfortable and that is just what it is. I’m not really clear how how to define it any better other than to say that all I can do is to be there to help SonHerisme work through his emotions and show up when he is able, however he is able to do so.” The parenting coordinator responded that my response reminded her of Radical Acceptance.

Perhaps instead of, “fuck it,” I should be saying, “despite everything screaming at me to try and take control to move towards an alternative, I radically accept this.”

I have been talking to myself about showing myself some radical compassion… maybe this is it. I do not know. I cannot tell the difference between disassociatingly ignoring the things or accepting the things… is this the Zenness or the summoning of the Lunaticing? Is radical acceptance a fancy way of becoming a door mat to or elevated with life? Do I even care?

RADICAL ACCEPTANCE y’all. I’m ’bouts to radical laundry, radical lunch MotherHerisme, and radical post stuff for my kid’s school events (I gots the responsibilities, yo).

Or, let the fuckening begin… Whatev’s… girl is on fire… burn, baby, burn – disco inferno! We probably all need a little burning to clear space from these constantly shifting tectonic plates of life in order to reach something to ground us. You?

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps I may have mentioned this, but in case I only thought about and never did: SonHerisme told me he was very upset and worried the other day because I seem to be using very strong curse words a lot and he does not like it. He further explained that while I may have grown up in a house where awful language was used regularly, he did not, and he would appreciate it if I could be more careful with my words. WTF kids are so weirdo Also, I will do my best to use kinder language around him. But here I can say the awfuls lol fuck it