I think I am going to take a page out of Ms. Moon’s book and be part of the Church of Batshit crazy today. It’s Sunday, and batshit crazy is how I feel today, so what the hell. Three of my four children are going to church today, Hannah to her boyfriend’s church and the little boys to the church that sends a bus to come get them (driven by a man whom Owen calls Johnny Brothers; they call him Brother Johnny, everyone else, but for some reason Owen insists that it isn’t his name, but Johnny Brothers IS), and I imagine Eli will wake up and start playing some dumb NFL game on his friend’s PS3. Which is his idea of religion, good graphics and surround sound. Whatever works. Me, I am going to make sourdough biscuits in the Dutch Oven and maybe some scrambles eggs with green chiles and cheese and lots of jalapenos and maybe fold some laundry. Providing food and clean towels seems pretty close to divine to me, so there you go.
I got a call from the prosecutor on Friday just as I was leaving work, and yes, we are going to sentencing tomorrow. This is part of why I feel a little crazy today. We have the pre-sentence investigation, and we have the psycho-sexual evaluation, and now there is no reasonable excuse for them to request another postponement. J. was cautiously optimistic; CF could still withdraw his guilty plea, he actually has clear up to the minute the judge pronounces the sentence, and that may be the case. However, I would like to think that the judge wouldn’t allow him to withdraw it at this late date. After all, he can’t really accuse his attorney of not doing a good enough job, as he had more than one opportunity to change lawyers (in fact at one time he was granted a postponement because he was supposedly hiring co-counsel, and that never happened), and the prosecution has pretty much bent over backwards to make sure his rights weren’t being violated in any way (read: he has gotten everything he has asked for thus far), so I don’t know why he would withdraw his plea. Still, I suppose it is still a risk, and J. wanted to prepare us for that just in case. All I can really say to that is asshat motherfucker.
Yesterday I found some clothes for Hannah-she has decided she is willing and able to stand up in court and give a verbal Victim’s Impact Statement-to wear to court. Nice khaki slacks and a white scoop-necked shirt, on clearance for $13.00 for the outfit. She tried them on last night and they look very nice. It fucking sucks ass that I had to go buy new clothes; she has nice clothing, but no dress pants, and all of her shirts are stylish, meaning she does the thin tanks-tops in layers, or the very form fitting shirts, and God knows that I am not going to have her in the courtroom wearing anything that might be construed as at all revealing or trashy or anything like that (and I have to assert here that none of her clothes are at all revealing, I don’t let her wear the “I look like a knocked-up teen mom” baby-doll shirts, I don’t let her wear anything that shows any kind of cleavage…). Which shouldn’t be an issue but you know that there will be people in the courtroom who will look at her and judge whether or not she was asking for it. It isn’t right nor fair, but again, there you go. I want her to look especially nice, I want her to be able to stand up in front of the judge and NOT have that be an issue. Me, I don’t know what to wear; clothes appropriate for work, I guess, but hell, I don’t know. I know from talking to the man doing the psycho-sexual evaluation that CF is admitting to him what he did, but is also asserting that I was allowing it, that I knew what was going on (which okay, doesn’t that imply that he was abusing her long before Hannah actually SAID anything? Which he is also denying. A conundrum). Which isn’t the case, but-is also to be expected. Even though there WAS no trial, we are still on trial, so to speak, and that is simply the way of it.
So the weekend has been spent simply trying to be. Hannah and her boyfriend cooked dinner (fettuccine and flan) for his family on Friday night, and last night he came over and we had dinner here. Chicken Caesar wraps and cheesecake brownies, and we all (including one of Eli’s friends) piled into the living room to watch Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Hanna, her bf, and I on the couch, with both dogs as well and occasionally Owen. Today, well, you know what i am doing, cooking and cleaning and feeling like I am being useful. We will all start to jitter a little bit as the day wears on, and I doubt that either Hannah or I will sleep well tonight. We will get up in the morning and follow our normal routine, but the getting ready will have a sharper edge to it than normal, and we will be half-sick with anticipation to boot. Not the fun “we have something to look forward to!” anticipation, but the other kind that has us swallowing metallic, fear-tinged saliva while our heartbeats race. With any kind of luck, this will all be over with by noon tomorrow, with at least a small bit of justice meted out. I am taking Hannah to lunch tomorrow after, and with hope we have something to celebrate.
So. On to my biscuits, my laundry, my work. If you pray, send us prayers for strength; for the right words to come out of both our mouths, for some sort of resolution and justice. Also, while you are at it, send up even greater thoughts and prayers for a woman called Molly, whose son died of an accidental overdose last year. The dealer is going to trial for his death, but the defense is maintaining that Ryan committed suicide (this is a good in-real-life friend of Mrs.4444, so there are more details of it on her blog)-the trial for that starts this week. So keep Molly in your prayers, too, because she is going to need all the support she can get.
And love. Love us all, please. I remain convinced that really, that is what gets us all through.