I've been living the pseudo-single-mom life for a while, and came up with a pretty good analogy of how life as a single parent seems to go. At least for me.
Imagine you work at a pet store. The store receives a shipment of eels. Eels? Yes, eels, just bear with me for a minute here. The manager asks you to transfer the eels to another tank, and by the tone of his voice, it sounds like a task that would take maybe 20 minutes.
You plop your hand in the tank and grab an eel, squeezing it firmly enough that you have a good hold on it, but not so hard as to hurt it. You carry it to the other tank. This ain't so hard, you think. Transfer a couple more, then the next trip, to save time, you grab two. One squirms out of your grasp and hits the floor. You transfer the other eel, and try to catch the escapee. Some customers are giving you dirty looks.
You catch the slippery critter, put it in the tank and go grab another. You turn around, and about half the eels have managed to slither out of the tank. So you catch those and put them back. Look at your watch -- it's time to feed the hamsters!
You hurriedly feed the hamsters, and go back to the eel task, when a customer needs your assistance. You help them and go back to the eel task, realizing now it's time to feed the fish. What you thought should have taken 20 minutes will actually be a two day job, there's water on the floor, you've got little accomplished, customers are unhappy, and you feel like you've let your boss, the customers, and all the pets down. You're a big, fat failure.
So how does it relate to real life? The pets and eels are your children. They need to be cared for, correctly, in a timely manner. The customers are people in your life, whether they are friends, family, school acquaintances or people who give you dirty looks in the store when your kids act up. And the manager? That's the voice in your head that tells you that you can never do good enough. Or maybe there's a person who acts like the boss in your life. For me, it's that voice.
Just my opinion.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
My blessings
Today seems a good day. The snow is ankle deep outside. The kids and I made a mini-snowman, and took a walk in the woods.
I like this time. There's nothing pressing. Christmas break has started and my daughter is out of school for two weeks. I'm sure we'll all get cabin fever and be tired of looking at each other soon enough. But for today -- nothing pressing, no work today, a silent, snowy world outside, and several mugs of hot chocolate -- life feels like a Snuggie.
I have hopes of cuddling up with the kids and watching a movie soon, and of fixing breakfast for supper -- scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes. I am so thankful for my family today. I received a voice mail from my husband this morning in which he first imitated the kids clamoring to go outside and play in the snow, then reminded me to be patient and remember what it was like to be their age and how exciting snow was.
It was so touching, to know that knew EXACTLY how my morning had gone, and wasn't upset I hadn't called yet. That he was thinking of me, and knew how to encourage me. Brings tears to my eyes still, just thinking about it.
I am just thankful today. For my home, this snow, this slowing down of life, my husband, my kids and my life. Thank you God, for all my blessings. Amen.
I like this time. There's nothing pressing. Christmas break has started and my daughter is out of school for two weeks. I'm sure we'll all get cabin fever and be tired of looking at each other soon enough. But for today -- nothing pressing, no work today, a silent, snowy world outside, and several mugs of hot chocolate -- life feels like a Snuggie.
I have hopes of cuddling up with the kids and watching a movie soon, and of fixing breakfast for supper -- scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes. I am so thankful for my family today. I received a voice mail from my husband this morning in which he first imitated the kids clamoring to go outside and play in the snow, then reminded me to be patient and remember what it was like to be their age and how exciting snow was.
It was so touching, to know that knew EXACTLY how my morning had gone, and wasn't upset I hadn't called yet. That he was thinking of me, and knew how to encourage me. Brings tears to my eyes still, just thinking about it.
I am just thankful today. For my home, this snow, this slowing down of life, my husband, my kids and my life. Thank you God, for all my blessings. Amen.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
For Chewie
About a year and a half ago, a friend of mine recieved the most PRESHUS PUPPY EVAR, as a reconciliation gift from her ex. Given the space limitation of her living arrangements, she had to give him back. Due to his demanding work schedule, the puppy ended up with.... us.
And so it began. My hubby was in LURV with this puppy in a big way, which I thought was funny. This big, tough construction worker cooing and fussing over a little poodle. To me, he was cute, but yet another mouth to feed.
But at some point along the way, he became part of the family, and he also became mine. He and my son housebroke/toilet trained at the same time. They both had "accidents" around the house. Sometimes I could figure out which one was responsible, sometimes I couldn't. Either way, it was more shit to clean up, literally. LOL
He chewed on EVERYTHING. Leave a pencil out, you'd find wood chips in the floor. Barbies became horribly mangled and disfigured. My kids would go nuts to find that certain toys they forgot to put away would end up as chew toys. But Chewie taught them if you care about something, you need to put it up when you're done with it.
He'd bark endlessly for no reason, in the middle of the night. I called it his game of "Protecting the Lady and the Manor". I woke up countless mornings by having my fingers nibbled on, because he wanted to go outside. Sometimes he would be hot on my heels, acting as if he'd want to go outside, and when I'd open the door, he'd just stand there and look at me. As if I were missing something.
When my husband started his new job, having to leave home for long stretches of time, Chewie became my bed buddy. Life became a little less lonely with his quirky, but reliable presence.
Anyone with even the slightest bit of foresight can guess what's coming.
Poor little Chewie was hit by a truck this weekend. It was a pure accident. The driver told us what happened. Chewie was playing with a neighborhood dog, they were running one way, and Chewie changed his mind and ran another way, which happened to be straight in front of his truck. I like to think though that Chewie was doing one of the things he loved best (besides chewing), when he passed on. Getting to play.
It was hard telling the kids. My son is too young to really understand. My daughter, who is beginning to grasp the concept of death, reacted calmly at first, but then retreated to her room and locked the door. She didn't want me in there, and came out about 30 minutes later with a red face. I let them look at Chewie, and later that day, a neighbor helped me dig Chewie's grave.
I feel like I'm over-reacting sometimes, and that people are getting bored with hearing me piss and moan about it. But I really did love this dog. He was part of the family, even if only briefly. It hurts that he's gone.
Just that morning, I was pondering on clipping his fur, and giving him a bath. He was gone before I ever got the chance to. Just that morning, I'd fed him, but hadn't eaten yet, hoping I'd slip him something better into his dog dish. The food was still sitting there, un-eaten, this morning. His bowl still full of water. I picked them up and washed them. Perhaps I'll put them up somewhere later. To think that the day started out typically enough, and by that evening, he was in a hole in the ground.
I'm still stepping over his dog toys in the living room. I still look beside the bed first thing in the morning, to make sure I won't step on him when I get up. I still expect to be jumped on when I get home. I still expect to hear barking, and the house is too quiet. I still expect him to lay on me, cat-like, in the most obnoxious and uncomfortable way ever, to get attention.
Besides missing him, his death is also a very unpleasant reminder that all things die. I can kid myself all I want, but perhaps the last conversation I had with my husband, could very well be the LAST conversation I'll ever have with my husband. That one friend who has a chronic health condition may last another 20-25 years. The past 10 seems to have flown by quickly enough and I realize that's not much time. That one friend who likes to party may take the wrong thing. That some depressed school shooter on a rampage may walk from the high school to the elementary school and kill a bunch of kindergartners -- including mine -- in some sadistic shooting spree. That my mother is getting older, and how many Thanksgivings and Christmases do we have left together, anyways?
So many lovely, depressing topics to ponder on. But I digress.
Goodbye, my pretty poodle puppy. I'll miss you.
And so it began. My hubby was in LURV with this puppy in a big way, which I thought was funny. This big, tough construction worker cooing and fussing over a little poodle. To me, he was cute, but yet another mouth to feed.
But at some point along the way, he became part of the family, and he also became mine. He and my son housebroke/toilet trained at the same time. They both had "accidents" around the house. Sometimes I could figure out which one was responsible, sometimes I couldn't. Either way, it was more shit to clean up, literally. LOL
He chewed on EVERYTHING. Leave a pencil out, you'd find wood chips in the floor. Barbies became horribly mangled and disfigured. My kids would go nuts to find that certain toys they forgot to put away would end up as chew toys. But Chewie taught them if you care about something, you need to put it up when you're done with it.
He'd bark endlessly for no reason, in the middle of the night. I called it his game of "Protecting the Lady and the Manor". I woke up countless mornings by having my fingers nibbled on, because he wanted to go outside. Sometimes he would be hot on my heels, acting as if he'd want to go outside, and when I'd open the door, he'd just stand there and look at me. As if I were missing something.
When my husband started his new job, having to leave home for long stretches of time, Chewie became my bed buddy. Life became a little less lonely with his quirky, but reliable presence.
Anyone with even the slightest bit of foresight can guess what's coming.
Poor little Chewie was hit by a truck this weekend. It was a pure accident. The driver told us what happened. Chewie was playing with a neighborhood dog, they were running one way, and Chewie changed his mind and ran another way, which happened to be straight in front of his truck. I like to think though that Chewie was doing one of the things he loved best (besides chewing), when he passed on. Getting to play.
It was hard telling the kids. My son is too young to really understand. My daughter, who is beginning to grasp the concept of death, reacted calmly at first, but then retreated to her room and locked the door. She didn't want me in there, and came out about 30 minutes later with a red face. I let them look at Chewie, and later that day, a neighbor helped me dig Chewie's grave.
I feel like I'm over-reacting sometimes, and that people are getting bored with hearing me piss and moan about it. But I really did love this dog. He was part of the family, even if only briefly. It hurts that he's gone.
Just that morning, I was pondering on clipping his fur, and giving him a bath. He was gone before I ever got the chance to. Just that morning, I'd fed him, but hadn't eaten yet, hoping I'd slip him something better into his dog dish. The food was still sitting there, un-eaten, this morning. His bowl still full of water. I picked them up and washed them. Perhaps I'll put them up somewhere later. To think that the day started out typically enough, and by that evening, he was in a hole in the ground.
I'm still stepping over his dog toys in the living room. I still look beside the bed first thing in the morning, to make sure I won't step on him when I get up. I still expect to be jumped on when I get home. I still expect to hear barking, and the house is too quiet. I still expect him to lay on me, cat-like, in the most obnoxious and uncomfortable way ever, to get attention.
Besides missing him, his death is also a very unpleasant reminder that all things die. I can kid myself all I want, but perhaps the last conversation I had with my husband, could very well be the LAST conversation I'll ever have with my husband. That one friend who has a chronic health condition may last another 20-25 years. The past 10 seems to have flown by quickly enough and I realize that's not much time. That one friend who likes to party may take the wrong thing. That some depressed school shooter on a rampage may walk from the high school to the elementary school and kill a bunch of kindergartners -- including mine -- in some sadistic shooting spree. That my mother is getting older, and how many Thanksgivings and Christmases do we have left together, anyways?
So many lovely, depressing topics to ponder on. But I digress.
Goodbye, my pretty poodle puppy. I'll miss you.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I've been Memed!
I saw this on a blog I follow, and decided to post my own!
1. Name someone with the same birthday as you. Michelangelo, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Shaquille O'Neal. I always go overboard.
2. Where was your first kiss? At my eighth grade Sweetheart Dance. My date was in 9th grade and snuck in, and I rewarded him for his effort.
3. Have you ever seriously vandalized someone else's property? No.
4. Have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex? All the time. I grew up with two brothers, and a bunch of guy friends. It was always a slug-fest.
5. Have you ever sung in front of a large number of people? It would depend on your definition of large. I've done karaoke many times, with possible around 30+ people in the room. Arenas? Stadiums? Ampitheaters? No.
6. What's the first thing you notice about your preferred sex? Whether they've got that twinkle in their eye.
7. What really turns you off? Being patronised, disrespected or disregarded because of my gender.
8. What do you order at Starbucks? I've never been to a Starbucks, actually.
9. What is your biggest mistake? Incidents where I emotionally hurt someone I love dearly.
10. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose? Not that I can think of.
11. Say something totally random about yourself. I love steak.
12. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity? Once someone told me I looked a little like Brooke Shields, but I think it was mainly because we shared the same hairstyle.
13. Do you still watch kiddie movies or TV shows? Yes. Mostly because I have two children, but some I truly do enjoy and would watch regardless.
14. Did you have braces? Yes. Soon as all my permanent teeth came in, the orthodontist slapped braces on them.
15. Are you comfortable with your height? For the most part. I'm tall for a girl, but I'm the shortest person in my family, which makes me wish for just an inch or two more in height.
16. What is the most romantic thing someone of the preferred sex has done for you? My hubby has done so many thoughtful things for me, it would be impossible to list them all. But I'd have to say, his proposal was fantastic.
17. When do you know it's love? When you can pee in front of each other.
18. Do you speak any other languages? I speak the dialects of Redneck and Hillbilly fluently, and can say a smattering of phrases in German and Spanish.
19. Have you ever been to a tanning salon? I have tanned before, on a very infrequent basis. I haven't in over 6 years though.
20. What magazines do you read? KODT mag, Psychology Today, Good News, Gothic Beauty, trashy tabloids
21. Have you ever ridden in a limo? No.
22. Has anyone you were really close to passed away? Not in a long time. My dad passed away when I was a kid, and I had some grandparents I really loved pass away close to 10 years ago.
23. Do you watch MTV? On occasion, if I happen to be someplace that has cable or satellite (I have none), and they actually happen to be playing music videos.
24. What's something that really annoys you? Narrow-minded or close-minded people. It bugs me to no end that so many people are unwilling to place themselves in another person's shoes to get a glimpse of their perspective.
25. What's something you really like? Singing. I'm not great at it, but if I were unable to sing, it would leave a gaping hole in my life.
26. Do you like Micheal Jackson? I liked him when he was a good-looking black fella, but when he became a creepy, white woman, child molester, I checked out.
27. Can you dance? I can do the Carlton, some bellydancing, some club dancing.
28. What's the latest you've ever stayed up? When a younger friend of mine keep me out till 6 a.m. I just don't have her stamina. At 2 a.m., I have to find a bed.
29. Have you ever been rushed by an ambulance to the emergency room? No.
30. Do you actually read these when other people fill them out? Yes.
1. Name someone with the same birthday as you. Michelangelo, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Shaquille O'Neal. I always go overboard.
2. Where was your first kiss? At my eighth grade Sweetheart Dance. My date was in 9th grade and snuck in, and I rewarded him for his effort.
3. Have you ever seriously vandalized someone else's property? No.
4. Have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex? All the time. I grew up with two brothers, and a bunch of guy friends. It was always a slug-fest.
5. Have you ever sung in front of a large number of people? It would depend on your definition of large. I've done karaoke many times, with possible around 30+ people in the room. Arenas? Stadiums? Ampitheaters? No.
6. What's the first thing you notice about your preferred sex? Whether they've got that twinkle in their eye.
7. What really turns you off? Being patronised, disrespected or disregarded because of my gender.
8. What do you order at Starbucks? I've never been to a Starbucks, actually.
9. What is your biggest mistake? Incidents where I emotionally hurt someone I love dearly.
10. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose? Not that I can think of.
11. Say something totally random about yourself. I love steak.
12. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity? Once someone told me I looked a little like Brooke Shields, but I think it was mainly because we shared the same hairstyle.
13. Do you still watch kiddie movies or TV shows? Yes. Mostly because I have two children, but some I truly do enjoy and would watch regardless.
14. Did you have braces? Yes. Soon as all my permanent teeth came in, the orthodontist slapped braces on them.
15. Are you comfortable with your height? For the most part. I'm tall for a girl, but I'm the shortest person in my family, which makes me wish for just an inch or two more in height.
16. What is the most romantic thing someone of the preferred sex has done for you? My hubby has done so many thoughtful things for me, it would be impossible to list them all. But I'd have to say, his proposal was fantastic.
17. When do you know it's love? When you can pee in front of each other.
18. Do you speak any other languages? I speak the dialects of Redneck and Hillbilly fluently, and can say a smattering of phrases in German and Spanish.
19. Have you ever been to a tanning salon? I have tanned before, on a very infrequent basis. I haven't in over 6 years though.
20. What magazines do you read? KODT mag, Psychology Today, Good News, Gothic Beauty, trashy tabloids
21. Have you ever ridden in a limo? No.
22. Has anyone you were really close to passed away? Not in a long time. My dad passed away when I was a kid, and I had some grandparents I really loved pass away close to 10 years ago.
23. Do you watch MTV? On occasion, if I happen to be someplace that has cable or satellite (I have none), and they actually happen to be playing music videos.
24. What's something that really annoys you? Narrow-minded or close-minded people. It bugs me to no end that so many people are unwilling to place themselves in another person's shoes to get a glimpse of their perspective.
25. What's something you really like? Singing. I'm not great at it, but if I were unable to sing, it would leave a gaping hole in my life.
26. Do you like Micheal Jackson? I liked him when he was a good-looking black fella, but when he became a creepy, white woman, child molester, I checked out.
27. Can you dance? I can do the Carlton, some bellydancing, some club dancing.
28. What's the latest you've ever stayed up? When a younger friend of mine keep me out till 6 a.m. I just don't have her stamina. At 2 a.m., I have to find a bed.
29. Have you ever been rushed by an ambulance to the emergency room? No.
30. Do you actually read these when other people fill them out? Yes.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
A little bit of random fun.
After the last few heavy posts, I need to lighten the mood. So I'll share with you a random ... phobia? .... of mine. Not exactly a true phobia, per se, but just an odd quirk about myself.
Every time I have to pee -- and I'm talking about EVERY TIME here people -- I worry that I'm somehow deluding myself on the fact I'm sitting on the toilet.
I am a big daydreamer, and I worry that I'm actually doing something else, like typing a blog post for example. And that I'm so caught up in the urge to pee that I've convinced myself I'm actually in the bathroom using the toilet. Except, I've really just pissed myself at the computer desk.
OR -- OR --
Perhaps what if I'm really in my 70s, and I have Alzheimers. What if I'm really sitting in my living room, and pissing my Depends, while I just THINK I'm 30-odd years old and using the bathroom at the house I used to live in?
Or what if I'm asleep and really need to pee, and am dreaming that I'm using the potty? I think that's where it all stems from really -- when I was in my early teens, I was asleep, and really had to go. I dreamt that I walked down the hall from my room to the bathroom, and used the toilet. This dream was so lucid that I could feel the carpet under my feet and the seat under my rear.
And the capper to this post? My daughter just came in my room, threw up on my bed, the carpet and the bathroom floor. Goodnight, all.
Every time I have to pee -- and I'm talking about EVERY TIME here people -- I worry that I'm somehow deluding myself on the fact I'm sitting on the toilet.
I am a big daydreamer, and I worry that I'm actually doing something else, like typing a blog post for example. And that I'm so caught up in the urge to pee that I've convinced myself I'm actually in the bathroom using the toilet. Except, I've really just pissed myself at the computer desk.
OR -- OR --
Perhaps what if I'm really in my 70s, and I have Alzheimers. What if I'm really sitting in my living room, and pissing my Depends, while I just THINK I'm 30-odd years old and using the bathroom at the house I used to live in?
Or what if I'm asleep and really need to pee, and am dreaming that I'm using the potty? I think that's where it all stems from really -- when I was in my early teens, I was asleep, and really had to go. I dreamt that I walked down the hall from my room to the bathroom, and used the toilet. This dream was so lucid that I could feel the carpet under my feet and the seat under my rear.
And the capper to this post? My daughter just came in my room, threw up on my bed, the carpet and the bathroom floor. Goodnight, all.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Suiting up
I've been mentally reviewing yesterday, and can't come to any decent conclusion about it.
I do need to revisit my raw emotional side sometimes. I can see that this experience is turning me into my mother. I'm quickly seeing why she is the way she is. After my father died and she was left with three young children, she had to be this way.
I spent most of yesterday in a very low funk. It's an honest emotion that comes when I face my realities. I miss my husband. We are living on such a low income I'm consistently surprised with my own resourcefulness at holding us all together. We live on the brink of foreclosure. I work part-time on the weekends, and have absolutely NO free time. Even if I did have free time, I'd have no social life because I can't afford it. I can barely scrape $5 together for gas. I overtax my babysitters as it is, who watch my kids for free while I work.
I even have to face the fact, each and every time my husband leaves for work after his brief home visits, that it may be the last time I see him. Accidents aren't uncommon in his new occupation, and when it does happen, that employee usually ends up going home in a box.
So pretty much, I looked at my realities, and I cried all day. And when my children fought, I would end up rushing out of my room with a tear-streaked face and hauling the offender roughly to their room. Not even sure if they WERE the offending party, but they were disturbing the quiet, and therefore, disturbing ME.
When I attempted to share my feelings with my hubby, he told me it made him worried. When I shared with another friend of mine about how I really feel, I was met with a barrage of jokes, and amusing antics -- the only tactic they know for dealing with unpleasant emotions. To jolly me out of my funk. I appreciated the gesture, but it just left me feeling even more pissy.
There are things that WOULD make me feel better. Surprise visits, someone bringing over a video game and playing it with me, phone calls, offers to babysit, a surprise gift of $20 "just because -- go take yourself out". Just little things, would do a wealth of good to my over-isolated self. But people won't or can't, and I can't deny there are very good reasons why.
So yeah. I eventually had to pull my armor back on, and say, "Butch up, bitch. Your kids need a better mommy than this." I had to pull my armor back on and that's the painful part. Denying my feelings because my children are better off when I'm feeling stable. Denying my feelings because I don't want strangers and acquaintances seeing those cracks in my armor, my red face and teary eyes and asking, "Are you ok?"
I know that wallowing in my emotions does nothing to change my realities. The only thing that can change your realities is taking action. Making a plan and following through on it. I've been setting some plans into motion and I'm hoping that events will end up fortuitous.
I can see why, if I were to share things with my mother, she'd just say, "That's life." Because it IS. Whining about my life won't change things, no matter how much others care about me.
Whining and crying IS cathartic though (and it feels damn good too -- even if it makes you miserable. heh). It helps me to remember that there ARE still emotions under that armor. It reminds me that I'm wearing armor. And it helps me to remember that I'll be able to take it off someday.
I do need to revisit my raw emotional side sometimes. I can see that this experience is turning me into my mother. I'm quickly seeing why she is the way she is. After my father died and she was left with three young children, she had to be this way.
I spent most of yesterday in a very low funk. It's an honest emotion that comes when I face my realities. I miss my husband. We are living on such a low income I'm consistently surprised with my own resourcefulness at holding us all together. We live on the brink of foreclosure. I work part-time on the weekends, and have absolutely NO free time. Even if I did have free time, I'd have no social life because I can't afford it. I can barely scrape $5 together for gas. I overtax my babysitters as it is, who watch my kids for free while I work.
I even have to face the fact, each and every time my husband leaves for work after his brief home visits, that it may be the last time I see him. Accidents aren't uncommon in his new occupation, and when it does happen, that employee usually ends up going home in a box.
So pretty much, I looked at my realities, and I cried all day. And when my children fought, I would end up rushing out of my room with a tear-streaked face and hauling the offender roughly to their room. Not even sure if they WERE the offending party, but they were disturbing the quiet, and therefore, disturbing ME.
When I attempted to share my feelings with my hubby, he told me it made him worried. When I shared with another friend of mine about how I really feel, I was met with a barrage of jokes, and amusing antics -- the only tactic they know for dealing with unpleasant emotions. To jolly me out of my funk. I appreciated the gesture, but it just left me feeling even more pissy.
There are things that WOULD make me feel better. Surprise visits, someone bringing over a video game and playing it with me, phone calls, offers to babysit, a surprise gift of $20 "just because -- go take yourself out". Just little things, would do a wealth of good to my over-isolated self. But people won't or can't, and I can't deny there are very good reasons why.
So yeah. I eventually had to pull my armor back on, and say, "Butch up, bitch. Your kids need a better mommy than this." I had to pull my armor back on and that's the painful part. Denying my feelings because my children are better off when I'm feeling stable. Denying my feelings because I don't want strangers and acquaintances seeing those cracks in my armor, my red face and teary eyes and asking, "Are you ok?"
I know that wallowing in my emotions does nothing to change my realities. The only thing that can change your realities is taking action. Making a plan and following through on it. I've been setting some plans into motion and I'm hoping that events will end up fortuitous.
I can see why, if I were to share things with my mother, she'd just say, "That's life." Because it IS. Whining about my life won't change things, no matter how much others care about me.
Whining and crying IS cathartic though (and it feels damn good too -- even if it makes you miserable. heh). It helps me to remember that there ARE still emotions under that armor. It reminds me that I'm wearing armor. And it helps me to remember that I'll be able to take it off someday.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Ogres Are Like Onions
Recently, I've been talking a lot with a good friend of mine, who's favorite hobby is making me crack. I've still yet to figure if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.
I liken it to this old wooden cupboard that was passed down through several children in my family. It once belonged to my mother when she was little, was passed through some cousins, and eventually worked it's way down to myself, when I was a child.
Each family had repainted it, and by the time it got to me, it was white, and some places were flaking here and there. It wasn't long before I found myself peeling the chipping, flaking paint off, discovering the older layers of paint underneath. It was fascinating and satisfying to pull off strips of paint. To see the original color.
I have been stoic. Steel. Unfliching. Uncommunicative. It's been deeply satisfying to feel her pick at the blemishes of my armor, like strips of sunburned skin. To feel them pulled off and seeing the raw. To get down to the original.
But what do you see when you get there? Misery. In 1970s avocado green.
There's not much that can be done to improve my condition, for the nonce. (That means, "for now". LOL). So I'm not sure if there's a lot of point to share my feelings with anyone. I can feel miserable, but wrapped up in so many layers of armor and distraction I barely notice it, or I can peel open the layers and poke and prod at it and feel how exquisitely miserable I am.
Which is the better option? I don't really know. All I know is I just can't wait till my hubby completes his year long contract, finds a job closer to home, and I get a break. I do apologize for all my blogs being whiny and complaining, but this is the only place I let myself do it. Thanks for sticking around -- I promise you it will pick up!
This post has reminded me of a poem I once wrote though. I think this is the first time I've actually shared it with anyone because I've never considered it publish-worthy. But I digress. Here you go:
Sunburn
Sunburn
is an exquisite pain
causing a sharp throb
with every movement.
So unlike the cold,
who numbs you to sleep.
1998
I liken it to this old wooden cupboard that was passed down through several children in my family. It once belonged to my mother when she was little, was passed through some cousins, and eventually worked it's way down to myself, when I was a child.
Each family had repainted it, and by the time it got to me, it was white, and some places were flaking here and there. It wasn't long before I found myself peeling the chipping, flaking paint off, discovering the older layers of paint underneath. It was fascinating and satisfying to pull off strips of paint. To see the original color.
I have been stoic. Steel. Unfliching. Uncommunicative. It's been deeply satisfying to feel her pick at the blemishes of my armor, like strips of sunburned skin. To feel them pulled off and seeing the raw. To get down to the original.
But what do you see when you get there? Misery. In 1970s avocado green.
There's not much that can be done to improve my condition, for the nonce. (That means, "for now". LOL). So I'm not sure if there's a lot of point to share my feelings with anyone. I can feel miserable, but wrapped up in so many layers of armor and distraction I barely notice it, or I can peel open the layers and poke and prod at it and feel how exquisitely miserable I am.
Which is the better option? I don't really know. All I know is I just can't wait till my hubby completes his year long contract, finds a job closer to home, and I get a break. I do apologize for all my blogs being whiny and complaining, but this is the only place I let myself do it. Thanks for sticking around -- I promise you it will pick up!
This post has reminded me of a poem I once wrote though. I think this is the first time I've actually shared it with anyone because I've never considered it publish-worthy. But I digress. Here you go:
Sunburn
Sunburn
is an exquisite pain
causing a sharp throb
with every movement.
So unlike the cold,
who numbs you to sleep.
1998
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Just whining
I just needed a safe place to vent, outside of my normal blogging venues.
My big lesson this year, it seems, has been keeping my own counsel. I have to refrain from a lot of social activities, due to a tight budget. I have been having problems with some friends, and betrayals of trust with others, and I'm not able to ask for advice without causing troubles amongst other friends. I have had to keep some of my activities to myself, or risk the judgment of others whose opinions I value dearly.
Due to my husband working away, I have learned from experience I have to watch who I talk to and where I go, for appearances sake. I have to be careful about whom I invite over to visit for the same reason.
All of this is unnatural to me. I'm used to living freely and openly and not giving a damn about what others think or say about me.
I'm not used to living this way. I hate it. I am lonely and frustrated and have no one to turn to, other than the person in the mirror. And she looks unhappy and old and doesn't want to hear me whine anymore.
I've had the cushion of close friends for so long, it's made me comfortable and confident with the idea. Perhaps I should have learned my lesson many years ago and remained the Cat Who Walked Alone.
My big lesson this year, it seems, has been keeping my own counsel. I have to refrain from a lot of social activities, due to a tight budget. I have been having problems with some friends, and betrayals of trust with others, and I'm not able to ask for advice without causing troubles amongst other friends. I have had to keep some of my activities to myself, or risk the judgment of others whose opinions I value dearly.
Due to my husband working away, I have learned from experience I have to watch who I talk to and where I go, for appearances sake. I have to be careful about whom I invite over to visit for the same reason.
All of this is unnatural to me. I'm used to living freely and openly and not giving a damn about what others think or say about me.
I'm not used to living this way. I hate it. I am lonely and frustrated and have no one to turn to, other than the person in the mirror. And she looks unhappy and old and doesn't want to hear me whine anymore.
I've had the cushion of close friends for so long, it's made me comfortable and confident with the idea. Perhaps I should have learned my lesson many years ago and remained the Cat Who Walked Alone.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Places, please.
My goodness, I'm sorry people. It's been forever. I've just been involved in life.
Sort of like how, you think about someone you miss, and realize that because you've been so busy with your own stuff, it's been six months since you've spoken with them. Yeah.
My daughter is adjusting to kindergarten. It has it's ups and downs. Some days she'll talk about best friends. Other days she'll say no one plays with her. She doesn't like the P.E. coach's whistle. She doesn't like school. The bus ride is too long. All these little things, that I want to rush and fix for her. Because I don't know what to tell her.
How can I explain that the reason the kids she knew in preschool, who are in different kindergarten classes that she is, won't play with her? I think it has to do with feeling an inner pressure to only hang out with their own class, and not a kid outside of their class. But she doesn't "get" it.
I want to fix school for her. She has many years of school ahead of her -- too many to start disliking it at such a young age! But, she's never thrown a fit to get out of school. So, I don't know.
********************************
Other new stuff. I auditioned to be the lead singer of a band. I was excited about the opportunity, and it gave me a kick in the butt to make some changes and preparations I needed to make. I didn't get the gig, but it was exciting to step out of my rut for a while. I was glad for the experience and have no regrets about it.
One of the preparations was scheduling a preschool evaluation for my 3 year old son. I need to get a job, and I'd rather have him in preschool than daycare. I wonder how it will go. Part of me wants him to have some sort of unrecognized need, so he can get in and I won't have to pursue day care. There ARE things about him that are a little quirky, and are hard to explain to others. On the other hand, he is such a bright, intelligent boy, that I'm sure they'll say there's no need for it.
So, we'll see. I'll update you all after the evaluation. Ciao ciao.
Sort of like how, you think about someone you miss, and realize that because you've been so busy with your own stuff, it's been six months since you've spoken with them. Yeah.
My daughter is adjusting to kindergarten. It has it's ups and downs. Some days she'll talk about best friends. Other days she'll say no one plays with her. She doesn't like the P.E. coach's whistle. She doesn't like school. The bus ride is too long. All these little things, that I want to rush and fix for her. Because I don't know what to tell her.
How can I explain that the reason the kids she knew in preschool, who are in different kindergarten classes that she is, won't play with her? I think it has to do with feeling an inner pressure to only hang out with their own class, and not a kid outside of their class. But she doesn't "get" it.
I want to fix school for her. She has many years of school ahead of her -- too many to start disliking it at such a young age! But, she's never thrown a fit to get out of school. So, I don't know.
********************************
Other new stuff. I auditioned to be the lead singer of a band. I was excited about the opportunity, and it gave me a kick in the butt to make some changes and preparations I needed to make. I didn't get the gig, but it was exciting to step out of my rut for a while. I was glad for the experience and have no regrets about it.
One of the preparations was scheduling a preschool evaluation for my 3 year old son. I need to get a job, and I'd rather have him in preschool than daycare. I wonder how it will go. Part of me wants him to have some sort of unrecognized need, so he can get in and I won't have to pursue day care. There ARE things about him that are a little quirky, and are hard to explain to others. On the other hand, he is such a bright, intelligent boy, that I'm sure they'll say there's no need for it.
So, we'll see. I'll update you all after the evaluation. Ciao ciao.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Kindergarten Orientation
Today was Kindergarten Orientation day for my daughter. She was happy and surprised with the treat bag in her cubby, but has been less than enchanted as of this point.
She clung to my leg and hid behind me when we entered the classroom. She didn't play with any of the kids, not even the ones she had gone to preschool with the previous year. She kept telling me she wanted to go home. In fact, the only things that interested her were the lollipop in her treat bag, and the little nature walk next to the school. (Actually, that impressed me too! I love our school district!)
But yet, but yet -- progress. I think back to this time last year, when we attended preschool orientation. The teacher and her daddy had to pry my screaming, sobbing daughter off me to stay in the room with the other kids, while I did paperwork. I was shaken and felt like a terrible mother. What was I doing to my baby? How long has she been crying? Maybe I should keep her home another year and skip out on preschool altogether?
Now, I have a predictably nervous, anxious student waiting to go back to school. Oh, don't get me wrong -- the next few weeks will be rough. I predict lots of talking back and tantrums. But I'm growing ever more impressed with my maturing daughter.
She clung to my leg and hid behind me when we entered the classroom. She didn't play with any of the kids, not even the ones she had gone to preschool with the previous year. She kept telling me she wanted to go home. In fact, the only things that interested her were the lollipop in her treat bag, and the little nature walk next to the school. (Actually, that impressed me too! I love our school district!)
But yet, but yet -- progress. I think back to this time last year, when we attended preschool orientation. The teacher and her daddy had to pry my screaming, sobbing daughter off me to stay in the room with the other kids, while I did paperwork. I was shaken and felt like a terrible mother. What was I doing to my baby? How long has she been crying? Maybe I should keep her home another year and skip out on preschool altogether?
Now, I have a predictably nervous, anxious student waiting to go back to school. Oh, don't get me wrong -- the next few weeks will be rough. I predict lots of talking back and tantrums. But I'm growing ever more impressed with my maturing daughter.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Making Lemonade
Today was a day of hitting setbacks, and turning them into opportunities.
My daughter and I had appointments to get haircuts. Afterward, we were going to visit some family. She needs a trim before school starts, and my hair is quickly becoming a mess. I had been looking forward to this appointment, and this whole day, but somehow, time slipped away from me this morning. I found myself running late.
I get the kids quickly dressed and in the car, and head out the driveway. Except I don't. The car gives an almighty jerk, and the power steering goes out. I had to drive without it about a mile, before I could get to a turn around spot. Ever try to turn around a car with no power steering? It's not a challenge for wimps. It really took the fight out of me, and I headed home, cancelled the appointment, and made some phone calls about getting my car looked at.
I had this big day planned, and then suddenly, nothing.
I let the kids play on the computer, and I roamed about the house, looking for something to do. Eventually, I did laundry and cleaned out the car. It had been a big chore I was dreading, but now that I had nothing better to do, I finished the task in about an hour.
So what if the car is messed up? I took the reins and did something productive. That counts for something, right?
My daughter and I had appointments to get haircuts. Afterward, we were going to visit some family. She needs a trim before school starts, and my hair is quickly becoming a mess. I had been looking forward to this appointment, and this whole day, but somehow, time slipped away from me this morning. I found myself running late.
I get the kids quickly dressed and in the car, and head out the driveway. Except I don't. The car gives an almighty jerk, and the power steering goes out. I had to drive without it about a mile, before I could get to a turn around spot. Ever try to turn around a car with no power steering? It's not a challenge for wimps. It really took the fight out of me, and I headed home, cancelled the appointment, and made some phone calls about getting my car looked at.
I had this big day planned, and then suddenly, nothing.
I let the kids play on the computer, and I roamed about the house, looking for something to do. Eventually, I did laundry and cleaned out the car. It had been a big chore I was dreading, but now that I had nothing better to do, I finished the task in about an hour.
So what if the car is messed up? I took the reins and did something productive. That counts for something, right?
The Daddy Figure
Hubby was home over the weekend, and we had a really great visit. What really struck me was just how great a dad he is.
The whole family watched movies on the computer, while lying on our bed. The tickle monster made a brief appearance, and we were all in giggles. He's such a relaxed, fun parent.
He's an excellent teacher. He was patiently coaching my daughter's swimming technique. She can learn from him better than she can from me. My efforts with her end up with us arguing. She listens to daddy, adjusts her form, and laughs. I'll carry the memory and cherish it -- the two of them swimming in Granny's above-ground pool, laughing, coaching and learning.
He rarely loses his patience, and when he does scold the kids, ends up teaching them something. How one person's behavior affects another, or how to work Mommy to get what they want. ha.
I tell him how much he means to us. How much we lean on him and love him. I only hope he really knows it and feels how important he is to us.
The whole family watched movies on the computer, while lying on our bed. The tickle monster made a brief appearance, and we were all in giggles. He's such a relaxed, fun parent.
He's an excellent teacher. He was patiently coaching my daughter's swimming technique. She can learn from him better than she can from me. My efforts with her end up with us arguing. She listens to daddy, adjusts her form, and laughs. I'll carry the memory and cherish it -- the two of them swimming in Granny's above-ground pool, laughing, coaching and learning.
He rarely loses his patience, and when he does scold the kids, ends up teaching them something. How one person's behavior affects another, or how to work Mommy to get what they want. ha.
I tell him how much he means to us. How much we lean on him and love him. I only hope he really knows it and feels how important he is to us.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Adjusting to the New Normal
A lot has happened since my last post, and this one has been a long time coming. Any followers I have will have noted a large time gap. This has been due to the fact I had some problems with my computer, and had to save up for a while to get it fixed.
I am ready now to hit the ground running, and plan on posting much more frequently.
I'm getting used to my husband being gone so much. I've always appreciated how much he has done around the house, but until now, I took it for granted. I can't mow the yard, because a.) the lawn mower is broken, and b.) I can't leave two small children alone in the house for the length of time it would take to mow the yard. So I'm having to rely on family members to mow the lawn for me.
Everyone has busy lives, and I understand this completely. However, the lawn does get out of control sometimes -- once so much that a family of skunks had decided my yard was a terrific residence for them!
Another unique problem is my daughter's behavior. She is a Daddy's Girl through and through. When Hubby leaves after a home visit, she sinks into a funk. Turns hateful. Is a monster to be around. Merciless to her brother. The amount of restraint it takes to be compassionate in the face of such beastly behavior is considerable. She and I will fight and argue, tooth and nail for at least a week after he leaves.
It really is emotionally draining. I've fallen back into some bad habits, as well, trying to deal with the strain. It's hard for me to sleep without my hubby by my side. So I end up playing on the computer until the wee hours of the morning. Trying to bring myself to the brink of exhaustion so I'll sink into sleep more quickly.
The kids will wake me up in the morning, and there I'll be, trying to muddle through my day on 4 or 5 hours of sleep. Then I do it all over again. Day after day after day. Occasionally catching a nap here or there, but mostly just toughing through it.
I guess this catches everyone somewhat up to speed on my life. Hopefully my blogs will be more entertaining from here on out, though!
**Cute story alert**
I was going to put some towels away in the bathroom. I knocked on the door and walked in, only to find my 3 year old son trying to wipe after using the potty. He's usually not one to be much concerned about privacy, so I didn't think much of it. Until he yelled, "Mooom!" in the most exasperated voice. Too cute!
I am ready now to hit the ground running, and plan on posting much more frequently.
I'm getting used to my husband being gone so much. I've always appreciated how much he has done around the house, but until now, I took it for granted. I can't mow the yard, because a.) the lawn mower is broken, and b.) I can't leave two small children alone in the house for the length of time it would take to mow the yard. So I'm having to rely on family members to mow the lawn for me.
Everyone has busy lives, and I understand this completely. However, the lawn does get out of control sometimes -- once so much that a family of skunks had decided my yard was a terrific residence for them!
Another unique problem is my daughter's behavior. She is a Daddy's Girl through and through. When Hubby leaves after a home visit, she sinks into a funk. Turns hateful. Is a monster to be around. Merciless to her brother. The amount of restraint it takes to be compassionate in the face of such beastly behavior is considerable. She and I will fight and argue, tooth and nail for at least a week after he leaves.
It really is emotionally draining. I've fallen back into some bad habits, as well, trying to deal with the strain. It's hard for me to sleep without my hubby by my side. So I end up playing on the computer until the wee hours of the morning. Trying to bring myself to the brink of exhaustion so I'll sink into sleep more quickly.
The kids will wake me up in the morning, and there I'll be, trying to muddle through my day on 4 or 5 hours of sleep. Then I do it all over again. Day after day after day. Occasionally catching a nap here or there, but mostly just toughing through it.
I guess this catches everyone somewhat up to speed on my life. Hopefully my blogs will be more entertaining from here on out, though!
**Cute story alert**
I was going to put some towels away in the bathroom. I knocked on the door and walked in, only to find my 3 year old son trying to wipe after using the potty. He's usually not one to be much concerned about privacy, so I didn't think much of it. Until he yelled, "Mooom!" in the most exasperated voice. Too cute!
Monday, May 18, 2009
It's a Hard Road
After much discussion, Hubby accepted a job that would have him away from home a lot. If we can put up with this for a year, he will have the experience necessary to find a position in the same line of work, but closer to home, and he would be home much more frequently.
It's just this year we have to put up with.
But this year is hard on both of us. For him, it means a lot of time by himself. He's a very social person and already feels pretty isolated -- and we're only a month or so into this thing!
For me, it means being a semi-single parent. I was somewhat used to the idea already. In his previous occupation, he was gone most of the day, and the kids and I only saw him in the evenings.
It is really tough on me though. Having to be the Mommy and the Daddy. Tightening doorknobs, unclogging toilets, putting oil in the car -- these are all jobs that were his. I'm doing my chores and his. Having to ask family members to mow the lawn, because I can't do it AND watch the kids. It's a two hour job at least, and there is no way I'm leaving the kids in the house to wreak havoc.
I work weekends too, so I have absolutely no break.
I find it relieving to talk about the stresses to my friends. But due to the fact most of them are single, and some of them are single parents, I find it difficult to discuss these things without feeling like a whiny baby.
"I'm looooonely," I wail. Feeling hypocritical, because most of them haven't been in relationships for a while. This is an everyday feeling for them. I feel like they're thinking, "So what? Deal with it! I do!" Even if that's not what they're thinking. I'm projecting.
"This is haaaard." I tell my single parent friends. Thinking that they deal with these circumstances all the time. Feeling I have no right to complain.
When you have so many blessings in your life, it leaves a gaping hole when they're gone. But it doesn't feel right to complain to others that haven't experienced those same sort of blessings in a long time, and it's a matter-of-fact everyday occurance to deal with the circumstances that I'm facing now, that are new to me.
I miss the physical contact with Hubby. I hadn't realized how many times we hugged in day, grabbed hands, or given each other quick pecks on the lips or cheek if we passed each other in the kitchen or hallway.
I mope. I brood. So many times tears sting my eyes, and I will them to fall. But they are stubborn and do not heed me.
It's just this year we have to put up with.
But this year is hard on both of us. For him, it means a lot of time by himself. He's a very social person and already feels pretty isolated -- and we're only a month or so into this thing!
For me, it means being a semi-single parent. I was somewhat used to the idea already. In his previous occupation, he was gone most of the day, and the kids and I only saw him in the evenings.
It is really tough on me though. Having to be the Mommy and the Daddy. Tightening doorknobs, unclogging toilets, putting oil in the car -- these are all jobs that were his. I'm doing my chores and his. Having to ask family members to mow the lawn, because I can't do it AND watch the kids. It's a two hour job at least, and there is no way I'm leaving the kids in the house to wreak havoc.
I work weekends too, so I have absolutely no break.
I find it relieving to talk about the stresses to my friends. But due to the fact most of them are single, and some of them are single parents, I find it difficult to discuss these things without feeling like a whiny baby.
"I'm looooonely," I wail. Feeling hypocritical, because most of them haven't been in relationships for a while. This is an everyday feeling for them. I feel like they're thinking, "So what? Deal with it! I do!" Even if that's not what they're thinking. I'm projecting.
"This is haaaard." I tell my single parent friends. Thinking that they deal with these circumstances all the time. Feeling I have no right to complain.
When you have so many blessings in your life, it leaves a gaping hole when they're gone. But it doesn't feel right to complain to others that haven't experienced those same sort of blessings in a long time, and it's a matter-of-fact everyday occurance to deal with the circumstances that I'm facing now, that are new to me.
I miss the physical contact with Hubby. I hadn't realized how many times we hugged in day, grabbed hands, or given each other quick pecks on the lips or cheek if we passed each other in the kitchen or hallway.
I mope. I brood. So many times tears sting my eyes, and I will them to fall. But they are stubborn and do not heed me.
Friday, April 17, 2009
I Need To Send a Thank You Note
I have not had an easy relationship with my mother. I've broadcast this many times over with various friends and my husband. My siblings and I share special knowing looks whenever the topic of our mother comes up.
She's not a bad mother. Far from it. And she's a far cry from episodes of horrible parenting several of my friends experienced while growing up.
But she's a hard woman. Hard to get to know. Hard to understand. She and I have some hobbies and beliefs in common, but our worldviews are miles apart. Especially when it comes to people and their foibles.
I understand that people are elastic. Emotional. That sometimes they say one thing and may do another. I believe in the supernatural phenomena such as whims and feeeeeelings. That sometimes people are driven by these, and that may make them unreliable but does not make them bad people. I can listen to a story about a conflict, and see where both sides are coming from.
My mother seems to have a more rigid outlook. There are times when people must seem downright incomprehensible to her. Probably myself included. I wonder at times if I must be to her the changeling daughter left on her doorstep.
I could give examples, but I don't want this blog to turn out seeming like a bash-fest of my mom. In many ways, I can understand her viewpoint, because I know at least some of the circumstances that made her turn out that way.
The point I'm trying to boil down to is this -- I suffer from envy. Extreme envy at times. I try not to, but I feel a twinge of envy every time I meet a woman that has a close, friendly relationship with their mother. Where they talk to each other about life, spouses, relationships and yes, feeeelings. Even in movies. I can't even watch the damn Golden Girls without feeling at least a little jealousy about Sophia and Dorothy's sarcastic, yet easygoing relationship.
Over the years I've learned, if I need to vent, if I need someone to listen to my problems, if I need sympathy -- I DO NOT call my mother. I don't tell her my problems, unless they've grown to the point it is unavoidable and my conversational skills are overtaxed by mentally editing everything I say.
I can recall one instance in particular, when my son wandered off. The panic and frenzy I felt while he was missing was excruciating. Fortunately, he was soon found. I knew it was something I could not avoid telling my mother, but I was wise enough to talk to a few friends before I made that call. I knew better than to seek sympathy from her at this point, and was correct. Instead I received a lecture about my irresponsibility and neglectfulness.
Last night, I was watching a movie, and once again feeling envy for the relationship of the mother and daughter. Thinking it would be nice if my mother and I could be the same way. That it would be nice to have my mother's advice and sympathy during a time I feel I will really need it, since my husband is accepting a new job that's going to take him away from home weeks at a time. Essentially leaving me as a single parent.
That's when it hit me. If anything, by now, my mother has taught me to be self-reliant. I couldn't believe the revelation. In all my 30 + years, I finally learned that whether it was intentional or not, my mother has given me a terrific gift. That was the gift of being able to listen to my own voice, in the head that sits on my own shoulders.
To make a decision, mostly uncluttered by what other's opinions of that decision are. I won't need her advice. I won't need the validation. I will occasionally need a break sometimes, but that is something else I've learned to seek out on my own.
Her greatest gift to me has been teaching me how to be an adult. I just never recognized it until now. I've essentially kicked her in teeth all these years, and have been nothing but ungrateful for this lesson. I need to send her a thank you note.
She's not a bad mother. Far from it. And she's a far cry from episodes of horrible parenting several of my friends experienced while growing up.
But she's a hard woman. Hard to get to know. Hard to understand. She and I have some hobbies and beliefs in common, but our worldviews are miles apart. Especially when it comes to people and their foibles.
I understand that people are elastic. Emotional. That sometimes they say one thing and may do another. I believe in the supernatural phenomena such as whims and feeeeeelings. That sometimes people are driven by these, and that may make them unreliable but does not make them bad people. I can listen to a story about a conflict, and see where both sides are coming from.
My mother seems to have a more rigid outlook. There are times when people must seem downright incomprehensible to her. Probably myself included. I wonder at times if I must be to her the changeling daughter left on her doorstep.
I could give examples, but I don't want this blog to turn out seeming like a bash-fest of my mom. In many ways, I can understand her viewpoint, because I know at least some of the circumstances that made her turn out that way.
The point I'm trying to boil down to is this -- I suffer from envy. Extreme envy at times. I try not to, but I feel a twinge of envy every time I meet a woman that has a close, friendly relationship with their mother. Where they talk to each other about life, spouses, relationships and yes, feeeelings. Even in movies. I can't even watch the damn Golden Girls without feeling at least a little jealousy about Sophia and Dorothy's sarcastic, yet easygoing relationship.
Over the years I've learned, if I need to vent, if I need someone to listen to my problems, if I need sympathy -- I DO NOT call my mother. I don't tell her my problems, unless they've grown to the point it is unavoidable and my conversational skills are overtaxed by mentally editing everything I say.
I can recall one instance in particular, when my son wandered off. The panic and frenzy I felt while he was missing was excruciating. Fortunately, he was soon found. I knew it was something I could not avoid telling my mother, but I was wise enough to talk to a few friends before I made that call. I knew better than to seek sympathy from her at this point, and was correct. Instead I received a lecture about my irresponsibility and neglectfulness.
Last night, I was watching a movie, and once again feeling envy for the relationship of the mother and daughter. Thinking it would be nice if my mother and I could be the same way. That it would be nice to have my mother's advice and sympathy during a time I feel I will really need it, since my husband is accepting a new job that's going to take him away from home weeks at a time. Essentially leaving me as a single parent.
That's when it hit me. If anything, by now, my mother has taught me to be self-reliant. I couldn't believe the revelation. In all my 30 + years, I finally learned that whether it was intentional or not, my mother has given me a terrific gift. That was the gift of being able to listen to my own voice, in the head that sits on my own shoulders.
To make a decision, mostly uncluttered by what other's opinions of that decision are. I won't need her advice. I won't need the validation. I will occasionally need a break sometimes, but that is something else I've learned to seek out on my own.
Her greatest gift to me has been teaching me how to be an adult. I just never recognized it until now. I've essentially kicked her in teeth all these years, and have been nothing but ungrateful for this lesson. I need to send her a thank you note.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Hot Mess Mommy
"How has motherhood made you a misfit? Have you found that parenthood has made it easier or more difficult to make friends? Do you rebel against the cliches of modern motherhood or embrace them? How have you changed?"
Those were the questions posed recently on a blog I follow. They're definitely food for thought.
You know, as far as being a misfit goes, I've always been that. Now I'm just a misfit with children. Sometimes that makes it easier to make friends. Sometimes, that makes it harder.
Having children is definitely an icebreaker, and opens doors for you in some ways. If you see a person with children, you know you're in the same boat. Theirs may be a yacht, and yours a dinghy. But nevertheless, you're both navigating the tricky ocean of parenthood. Instead of say, driving a car. On an established road.
If it weren't for my daughter, I would never have attended storyhour at the library. I wouldn't have made friends with other new mommies, and found myself as part of a playgroup. However, these women, as nice and friendly as they are, only see a facet of myself.
Don't get me wrong, I'm genuine with them.... I'm just not my "whole" self. These women have their lives together. They make potty charts for their children. Shuffle them off to Gymboree, preschool soccer, all sorts of organized activities. They have mommy hairstyles. They get the perils and pitfalls of motherhood, but they do it with class and style.
I'm a hot mess of a mommy. My kids are perpetually crusty faced and messy haired. I wear T-shirts and jeans insteads of blouses and khakis. I'm never prepared for anything, always forgetting to pack a snack or sand toys when we go to the park, not having any wipes or extra pants for my kid when he messes himself. Always having to borrow these items from other mommies, my face full of shame, even when they tell me they understand, they have 3 kids themselves.
I wear my hair in pigtails, when I so fancy. My chidren have never attended anything more organized than preschool or storyhour. We dig around in the yard looking for worms, when the weather's nice. I'm always, ALWAYS running late. To everything.
Every once in a while, when the planets align just so, I find another Mommy rowing a dinghy like mine. Ok, I admit it -- it's just happened once. But it's glorious to find another mom who appreciates the finer things in life. Like old school paper, pencil and dice role playing games. The merits of playing a video game for 6 hours straight. Trashy celebrity gossip rags. Or leaving the kids with the grandparents to get your drink on and dance the night away in some dingy, dimly lit overcrowded lounge.
I like to think I've stayed true to myself, while also embracing the part of me that is Mommy. I'm all about feminism and equality. When my daughter wanted a Bob the Builder cake for her birthday, she got it. She loves to play outside in the dirt, and I encourage it. When she's debating on whether to be a ballerina or a firefighter when she grows up, I suggest being a ballerina who's on the volunteer fire department.
I also try to keep an open mind and agree to requests from my son, when he wants help putting on his sister's Cinderella dress. Polishing his fingernails if he asks, and letting him wear one of my rings if he wants. And stand up for him and say, "That's what he wanted" if someone should dare tsk, tsk me about it.
While some mothers are dragging their babies and children off to pageants or getting their ears pierced and suggesting I do so too, I stand firm. My children are their own people and not my personal accessories or an accomplishment. Should they ever want to do those things, I'll support them. But they're not going to do them, solely because *I* want them to.
I guess that's one way I have changed. My children have given me a reason to root out the issues I care about, and to stand firm on them. Before children, I was a reed in the wind, bending to the whims of wishes of others, whether I agreed or not.
Those were the questions posed recently on a blog I follow. They're definitely food for thought.
You know, as far as being a misfit goes, I've always been that. Now I'm just a misfit with children. Sometimes that makes it easier to make friends. Sometimes, that makes it harder.
Having children is definitely an icebreaker, and opens doors for you in some ways. If you see a person with children, you know you're in the same boat. Theirs may be a yacht, and yours a dinghy. But nevertheless, you're both navigating the tricky ocean of parenthood. Instead of say, driving a car. On an established road.
If it weren't for my daughter, I would never have attended storyhour at the library. I wouldn't have made friends with other new mommies, and found myself as part of a playgroup. However, these women, as nice and friendly as they are, only see a facet of myself.
Don't get me wrong, I'm genuine with them.... I'm just not my "whole" self. These women have their lives together. They make potty charts for their children. Shuffle them off to Gymboree, preschool soccer, all sorts of organized activities. They have mommy hairstyles. They get the perils and pitfalls of motherhood, but they do it with class and style.
I'm a hot mess of a mommy. My kids are perpetually crusty faced and messy haired. I wear T-shirts and jeans insteads of blouses and khakis. I'm never prepared for anything, always forgetting to pack a snack or sand toys when we go to the park, not having any wipes or extra pants for my kid when he messes himself. Always having to borrow these items from other mommies, my face full of shame, even when they tell me they understand, they have 3 kids themselves.
I wear my hair in pigtails, when I so fancy. My chidren have never attended anything more organized than preschool or storyhour. We dig around in the yard looking for worms, when the weather's nice. I'm always, ALWAYS running late. To everything.
Every once in a while, when the planets align just so, I find another Mommy rowing a dinghy like mine. Ok, I admit it -- it's just happened once. But it's glorious to find another mom who appreciates the finer things in life. Like old school paper, pencil and dice role playing games. The merits of playing a video game for 6 hours straight. Trashy celebrity gossip rags. Or leaving the kids with the grandparents to get your drink on and dance the night away in some dingy, dimly lit overcrowded lounge.
I like to think I've stayed true to myself, while also embracing the part of me that is Mommy. I'm all about feminism and equality. When my daughter wanted a Bob the Builder cake for her birthday, she got it. She loves to play outside in the dirt, and I encourage it. When she's debating on whether to be a ballerina or a firefighter when she grows up, I suggest being a ballerina who's on the volunteer fire department.
I also try to keep an open mind and agree to requests from my son, when he wants help putting on his sister's Cinderella dress. Polishing his fingernails if he asks, and letting him wear one of my rings if he wants. And stand up for him and say, "That's what he wanted" if someone should dare tsk, tsk me about it.
While some mothers are dragging their babies and children off to pageants or getting their ears pierced and suggesting I do so too, I stand firm. My children are their own people and not my personal accessories or an accomplishment. Should they ever want to do those things, I'll support them. But they're not going to do them, solely because *I* want them to.
I guess that's one way I have changed. My children have given me a reason to root out the issues I care about, and to stand firm on them. Before children, I was a reed in the wind, bending to the whims of wishes of others, whether I agreed or not.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Memorializing this for my son's future embarassment
My son is 3, and mostly potty-trained. However, he still wears disposable training pants at night. After getting my son ready for bed, my husband related to me the following story:
My son had a piece of fuzz stuck to his "peanut" as he likes to call it, and was trying to remove it. In doing so, a predictable reaction occurred. Or in his words, "Look, Daddy! I made it big!"
Husband's response. "Yes, you did, son. That happens sometimes."
Son's reply, "It's as big as a mountain!"
Well, at least he's got a healthy self-esteem. Heh. But I had to share that story, since it cracked me up!
My son had a piece of fuzz stuck to his "peanut" as he likes to call it, and was trying to remove it. In doing so, a predictable reaction occurred. Or in his words, "Look, Daddy! I made it big!"
Husband's response. "Yes, you did, son. That happens sometimes."
Son's reply, "It's as big as a mountain!"
Well, at least he's got a healthy self-esteem. Heh. But I had to share that story, since it cracked me up!
Monday, March 16, 2009
My Coming Out Party
I guess I'm basically "coming out" with my blog, so to speak. I've been participating with other websites and blog comments, and have been listing my blog's URL address in various profiles.
I may actually start getting some hits soon. That unnerves me a bit. Only a few others really knew about this site. The thought of random strangers reading the things I've posted leaves me panicky, unsettled and excited.
I soon realized I chose a bad address for my blog, as it contains the same ID I use to contribute to other sites. Being as that for now I want to retain anonymity, I had to go back and change the address so I couldn't be googled and found!
Technicalities, technicalities, I know. No one is much interested in the how's of assembling sites. It's the connection and entertainment readers want.
I shall provide more, all in due time. It takes time to get to know each other, don't you think?
I may actually start getting some hits soon. That unnerves me a bit. Only a few others really knew about this site. The thought of random strangers reading the things I've posted leaves me panicky, unsettled and excited.
I soon realized I chose a bad address for my blog, as it contains the same ID I use to contribute to other sites. Being as that for now I want to retain anonymity, I had to go back and change the address so I couldn't be googled and found!
Technicalities, technicalities, I know. No one is much interested in the how's of assembling sites. It's the connection and entertainment readers want.
I shall provide more, all in due time. It takes time to get to know each other, don't you think?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Yeah, I'm OK
Well, hello again, faithful readers. (My joke. I don't have any readers yet. ha ha). I have seen the other side of crazy and survived.
Four days after my big meltdown, Aunt Flo came into town for a visit. Now Hubby is chalking up the "Nervous Breakdown" to PMS. Maybe it was an extreme case. I don't know. Everyone around me seems able to predict what I'm going through or what I'm going to do, while I don't even know myself.
This is true. I don't know how many times I've told a story about something that happened to me, or something I've done, to Hubby or friends, and been told they suspected that would happen, they could have told me that, or they "just knew" I was going to do that. Myself? I don't have a clue. I consistently surprise myself.
I do know that I need a break. It's not that I'm under any extreme stress, it's just the day to day things. Hubby does his best to help around the house, though inconsistently. His line of work has erratic hours. I can expect him home anywhere from 5-8 p.m. That leaves me home with the kids who fight, wreak havoc, constantly disprespect me, backtalk and unless they are having a sweet moment, are generally unpleasant to be around.
I love my kids, but I find I don't always like them. My mother has a plaque on her wall that reads, "Raising children is like being pecked to death by chickens". I have to say I agree. I feel pecked at all day long. Mix that with cabin fever and spring fever, and you have a recipe for meltdown.
So, if there's anyone out there concerned for my wellbeing, afraid they might find I've been locked in a padded cell and wearing a straightjacket -- I'm fine. I'm looking forward to getting out this weekend with a friend of mine, and making plans to visit with some high school friends the next weekend, if possible.
Four days after my big meltdown, Aunt Flo came into town for a visit. Now Hubby is chalking up the "Nervous Breakdown" to PMS. Maybe it was an extreme case. I don't know. Everyone around me seems able to predict what I'm going through or what I'm going to do, while I don't even know myself.
This is true. I don't know how many times I've told a story about something that happened to me, or something I've done, to Hubby or friends, and been told they suspected that would happen, they could have told me that, or they "just knew" I was going to do that. Myself? I don't have a clue. I consistently surprise myself.
I do know that I need a break. It's not that I'm under any extreme stress, it's just the day to day things. Hubby does his best to help around the house, though inconsistently. His line of work has erratic hours. I can expect him home anywhere from 5-8 p.m. That leaves me home with the kids who fight, wreak havoc, constantly disprespect me, backtalk and unless they are having a sweet moment, are generally unpleasant to be around.
I love my kids, but I find I don't always like them. My mother has a plaque on her wall that reads, "Raising children is like being pecked to death by chickens". I have to say I agree. I feel pecked at all day long. Mix that with cabin fever and spring fever, and you have a recipe for meltdown.
So, if there's anyone out there concerned for my wellbeing, afraid they might find I've been locked in a padded cell and wearing a straightjacket -- I'm fine. I'm looking forward to getting out this weekend with a friend of mine, and making plans to visit with some high school friends the next weekend, if possible.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Nervous Breakdown
Ugh, what a day.
The morning started out terrifically. I went to bed early, and Hubby let me sleep in. I woke refreshed and rested. Then he volunteered to make breakfast -- biscuits, gravy, sausage and eggs, and it was terrific.
Things started going downhill from there, although I didn't realize it at the time. First, I was left with this huge breakfast mess to clean up, while he disappeared. The kids were constantly fighting, and constantly underfoot. Each of them needing attention of some sort, but when I referred them to Daddy, they were ignored. Until the point I pounded on the door and demanded he do something. Yeah, pretty bitchy, and not fun.
Hubby suggested us having some friends over this weekend, because he missed them. I realized I missed them too, and thought it was a terrific idea. But I had a specific list of things that had to be done before they came over, and I needed his help with them. The house was a mess, and there was a lot of cleaning to be done beforehand!
I get started, then go in to ask Hubby for help. Though he'd already agreed to assist, I find out he's arranged to run a long-distance errand with a friend. I reminded him of our agreement and was basically given a pat on the head and a "I'm sure you can manage it."
A few minutes later, I ask my daughter to clean her room. I could give you the long version, but for the sake of brevity, it took two hours of near-constant supervision to get her to clean up a mess that would have taken me 15 minutes. She had just a few things left to pick up, but opted to take a nap instead.
I had accomplished maybe a quarter of what I wanted, when I realized I was hungry, and so was my son. I fixed him something to eat, and got him a glass of chocolate milk. Which he spilled, approximately .2 seconds after I set it down.
Well, the stress that had been building finally overwhelmed me. I immediately lost my appetite, burst into tears, and slid down the refrigerator. My son walks over to me, and says, "Are you crying Mommy?"
I said, "Yes." He asked why, and I replied, "Too many messes."
He said, "Don't cry, Mommy." I thought this was very sweet, but then he finished his sentence. "Don't cry, Mommy. You need to fix me something to drink."
It was very amusing later, but at the time, felt like one of the cruelest, most heartless things anyone has said to me in a long time!
I retreated to my room and locked the door. The kids have been tyrants for the past several weeks. Hubby has oh-so-helpfully pointed out ways to improve the situation, but doesn't realize that by the time you have your fifth or sixth battle of the day, you are tired of fighting. I feel abandoned, alone, and like the person who is supposed to care the most has basically told me to "suck it up and deal."
I just lay on the bed and sob. Seems like hours. Might have been 30 minutes. Either way, it's the longest I've cried in I don't remember when. I finally feel calm enough to face the world.
I go back into the kitchen, to find my son has attempted to pour himself a glass of Kool-Aid in my absence. I say "attempt", because only some of it has made it's way into the cup. Most of it is on the floor.
I burst into a fresh round of tears, clean up that mess, pop in a movie for my son to keep him preoccupied and perhaps prevent further messes, and lock myself in my room for another good 30 minutes or so. Maybe longer. I have no idea.
I just cried and cried, until I couldn't anymore. Then I felt blank. Not just wrung out, tired or fatigued. But blank. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor in a stupor, not even sure if I had swept everything up or if I even cared.
I considered if I had a nervous breakdown. Lord, it's possible. The cabin fever has been building for months, and the kid stress for several weeks. I feel like I've been bullied, and no one has really cared or I've been given constructive criticism when what I need is a damn helping hand.
I'm supposed to work tomorrow, and I wonder if I will wake up feeling better. I hope so. I'm not sure if I can fake normal for a 10 hour shift tomorrow. Will someone notice that I'm not "at myself?"
It depresses me, because I realize I'm too relied upon. I can't just fall apart. I don't have that luxury. While a visit to the crazy house might seem like a luxurious vacation right now, my poor husband would have to arrange for child care and a maid, and the world may fall apart while I'm gone. I'd return home to even worse conditions than what I'd left and the kids would be confused and scratching their heads, thinking they must have done something wrong to make mommy go away.
Yeah. That's my day, and it's put me through the wringer. Thank God it's almost over.
The morning started out terrifically. I went to bed early, and Hubby let me sleep in. I woke refreshed and rested. Then he volunteered to make breakfast -- biscuits, gravy, sausage and eggs, and it was terrific.
Things started going downhill from there, although I didn't realize it at the time. First, I was left with this huge breakfast mess to clean up, while he disappeared. The kids were constantly fighting, and constantly underfoot. Each of them needing attention of some sort, but when I referred them to Daddy, they were ignored. Until the point I pounded on the door and demanded he do something. Yeah, pretty bitchy, and not fun.
Hubby suggested us having some friends over this weekend, because he missed them. I realized I missed them too, and thought it was a terrific idea. But I had a specific list of things that had to be done before they came over, and I needed his help with them. The house was a mess, and there was a lot of cleaning to be done beforehand!
I get started, then go in to ask Hubby for help. Though he'd already agreed to assist, I find out he's arranged to run a long-distance errand with a friend. I reminded him of our agreement and was basically given a pat on the head and a "I'm sure you can manage it."
A few minutes later, I ask my daughter to clean her room. I could give you the long version, but for the sake of brevity, it took two hours of near-constant supervision to get her to clean up a mess that would have taken me 15 minutes. She had just a few things left to pick up, but opted to take a nap instead.
I had accomplished maybe a quarter of what I wanted, when I realized I was hungry, and so was my son. I fixed him something to eat, and got him a glass of chocolate milk. Which he spilled, approximately .2 seconds after I set it down.
Well, the stress that had been building finally overwhelmed me. I immediately lost my appetite, burst into tears, and slid down the refrigerator. My son walks over to me, and says, "Are you crying Mommy?"
I said, "Yes." He asked why, and I replied, "Too many messes."
He said, "Don't cry, Mommy." I thought this was very sweet, but then he finished his sentence. "Don't cry, Mommy. You need to fix me something to drink."
It was very amusing later, but at the time, felt like one of the cruelest, most heartless things anyone has said to me in a long time!
I retreated to my room and locked the door. The kids have been tyrants for the past several weeks. Hubby has oh-so-helpfully pointed out ways to improve the situation, but doesn't realize that by the time you have your fifth or sixth battle of the day, you are tired of fighting. I feel abandoned, alone, and like the person who is supposed to care the most has basically told me to "suck it up and deal."
I just lay on the bed and sob. Seems like hours. Might have been 30 minutes. Either way, it's the longest I've cried in I don't remember when. I finally feel calm enough to face the world.
I go back into the kitchen, to find my son has attempted to pour himself a glass of Kool-Aid in my absence. I say "attempt", because only some of it has made it's way into the cup. Most of it is on the floor.
I burst into a fresh round of tears, clean up that mess, pop in a movie for my son to keep him preoccupied and perhaps prevent further messes, and lock myself in my room for another good 30 minutes or so. Maybe longer. I have no idea.
I just cried and cried, until I couldn't anymore. Then I felt blank. Not just wrung out, tired or fatigued. But blank. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor in a stupor, not even sure if I had swept everything up or if I even cared.
I considered if I had a nervous breakdown. Lord, it's possible. The cabin fever has been building for months, and the kid stress for several weeks. I feel like I've been bullied, and no one has really cared or I've been given constructive criticism when what I need is a damn helping hand.
I'm supposed to work tomorrow, and I wonder if I will wake up feeling better. I hope so. I'm not sure if I can fake normal for a 10 hour shift tomorrow. Will someone notice that I'm not "at myself?"
It depresses me, because I realize I'm too relied upon. I can't just fall apart. I don't have that luxury. While a visit to the crazy house might seem like a luxurious vacation right now, my poor husband would have to arrange for child care and a maid, and the world may fall apart while I'm gone. I'd return home to even worse conditions than what I'd left and the kids would be confused and scratching their heads, thinking they must have done something wrong to make mommy go away.
Yeah. That's my day, and it's put me through the wringer. Thank God it's almost over.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Popping My Blog Cherry!
Well, this is my first. Here it is.
I've been thinking about creating my own blog for a while, and I'm still struggling with how to define this site in general.
Am I a mommy blogger? Maybe? Partly? I have two kids, and I know that some of what I write about will have to do with parenting. But my children are 3 and 5, and at least the oldest is starting to create her own social life. I am a stay at home mom, but my children are no longer the be-all and end-all of my everyday existence.
I'm also struggling about how anonymous or public to be, as well. Some people blog about their families, posting pictures of them and their children. Others even post under fake names, change their children's names, or even just call their children "Chaos", "Kid 1 and Kid 2", etc. etc. Some days I feel more open than others. But if I start out completely open, I lose the option of being anonymous later when I'm feeling more shy.
I wonder how often to post. Everyday? Probably not... I don't think I'll have something to talk about everyday. Once a week? Who knows? Sporadically? Most likely.
My feeling is, after a while, this blog will take on a rhythm and life of its own. It will define itself gradually.
So, here it is, world. Hope you like it.
I've been thinking about creating my own blog for a while, and I'm still struggling with how to define this site in general.
Am I a mommy blogger? Maybe? Partly? I have two kids, and I know that some of what I write about will have to do with parenting. But my children are 3 and 5, and at least the oldest is starting to create her own social life. I am a stay at home mom, but my children are no longer the be-all and end-all of my everyday existence.
I'm also struggling about how anonymous or public to be, as well. Some people blog about their families, posting pictures of them and their children. Others even post under fake names, change their children's names, or even just call their children "Chaos", "Kid 1 and Kid 2", etc. etc. Some days I feel more open than others. But if I start out completely open, I lose the option of being anonymous later when I'm feeling more shy.
I wonder how often to post. Everyday? Probably not... I don't think I'll have something to talk about everyday. Once a week? Who knows? Sporadically? Most likely.
My feeling is, after a while, this blog will take on a rhythm and life of its own. It will define itself gradually.
So, here it is, world. Hope you like it.
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