I realize I go through ups and downs with my need to write. Currently, I'm sitting in bed, in the dark at 3 am, listening to Andrea Bocelli, trying to figure out what I need to get out.
It's funny, that catharsis you feel when you finally let go of what's been bothering you for months and just put it out there in the world. It's also funny the feeling of "Oh. Fuck. What did I just do?" that comes over you the minute you hit publish... Then let people know you hit publish.
I guess I should back up- I'm a member of a very large and generally supportive playgroup here in Lexington. My older boys have had some great times playing with kids of all ages at events, and S gets to socialize with kids his own age that have developed normally. I've gotten some great advice on S's issues but people generally think I'm a bitch because I'm very straight forward. It can be clique-y, you find different parenting styles that you may or may not agree with, friendships are made that you will be excluded from due to common interests, gossip spread, and you're not going to like everyone or everything everyone says, but you have the opportunity to make some amazing and supportive friends... But when you have 100+ families involved, these things comes as part of being a grown up. Learning how to be in the same space who doesn't share your value on Red Dye #40 is something that you should have learned in your formative years. You just don't talk about it.
I had some wonderful ladies over for lunch today from the playgroup. One is someone I
consider my best friend- But for me, that title is really location
based. I'm horrible about long distance friendships. The only ones that I
have kept in touch with irregardless of the distance are my Army Wife
friends. Anyway, J lives 2 minutes away. Convenience is something I look
for in a friendship. ROFL. K is a new friend, but someone I like a lot
and someone I can see drinking heavily with. And L... L's really hard to describe, but I like her. I'm really glad she made it over today. G and L had a good time with her son, too.
Anyway, back to lunch and catharsis. When you have people over that you feel that aren't going to judge you when you talk about how much stress you're feeling from the toddler, how much duct tape it would take to attach a 7 year old to a ceiling fan, would the fan be worth replacing, how you could survive on an island if 6 palates of Duct Tape washed up on shore with you, the Shades of Grey trilogy, how you might kill your husband while he's on disability from spinal surgery if he acts like a whiny bitch and everything in between- And when there is REAL reciprocity in that conversation, be if from your best friend or someone that you're just getting to know, it's an amazing feeling... Because no matter how alone or out there by yourself you're feeling, there's someone to take your mind off everything for a bit.
And I thought for the longest time that I didn't need that in life. I'd been burnt by to many "bitches be crazy, yo" situations in life. But when you have more going on than you can handle, it's great to be able to send someone, ANYONE that genuinely gives a damn about you a text that basically says, "Help. I'm drowning today. Tell me something hysterical."
Most everyone needs that in life. Most everyone deserves that in life. No matter how weird or socially awkward you feel, as long as you can control your deepest crazy (Either medication or otherwise. LOL), there is going to be someone out there for you to spill your guts to when you need to... Someone to help you hide a body, no questions asked.
So, my goal for the rest of the year, while I go through my health challenges, the changes those bring, the strong possibility of Dave having spinal fusion, and dealing with S's issues- I am going to try to be a better friend to people that are like minded or people I like, assuming that there's reciprocity in the relationship.
Selfish sounding, maybe. But I don't think it's selfish to want to try to surround yourself and avail yourself of people with whom you enjoy spending time.
And if you really know me, you know how hard of a goal this is for me- Because personal relationships are the last things that I nurture... The last things that I worry about.
So, here's to being a better friend. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Twenty Four:
S's second birthday is bearing down on us like one of the freight trains that pass our house so frequently. I find myself staring at him sometimes, in absolute disbelief, that he's going to be 2 in two weeks. See, I originally started writing this post in October of 2011 and I couldn't force myself to finish it. It was right before we moved and the subject matter was tearing my heart out. You know that something isn't right with your child. It doesn't matter how many times his original pediatrician told me to wait and eventually he'd crawl or walk, I knew something was wrong. I still know something is wrong.
My 23 month old son, my beautiful baby has/had a huge gross motor developmental delay. When he was tested at 14 months, he was testing in the 6 to 9 month skill range. He never crawled. He hopped around the house on one hand and one leg, like those kids you see on "Feed the Children" commercials who have no legs. He didn't walk until almost 19 months.
When he finally started, there was no stopping him. His favorite thing to do now is to yell "JUMPING! JUMPING!" and jump on my legs. Or down the hallway. Or on the couch. Or anywhere he can. You should see my legs. It looks like Dave and I are into some kinky shit. lol
He started running shortly after and his PT discharged him... But he was given an OT and a speech therapist. His fine motor skills are fragmented between 6 months and 3 years. (You should see this kid hold a crayon. Coloring with it is an entirely different story.) He also has two speeds- Excessively high and sleeping. There's no middle ground. He also is either seeking sensory input or avoiding it at all costs. Again, no middle ground. The kid will bang his head against our metal front door for 20 minutes, but Tebow help us if we try to get him to go down a slide. Sensory processing disorders, I think, is where we are at. He stopped eating in December, lost over a pound, and is now being treated by the feeding team at Cincinnati Children's. They aren't really sure what to do with him either, because he knows how to eat. He just doesn't like to do it. He still gets bottles at night. In fact, he's bitching for one right now. He was doing strictly mocking and repetitive speech until about 2 weeks ago. Dave and I both came to the same realization on the same day- That he was finally starting to sound like a normal kid. A normal 14 month old.
His pediatrician is recommending that he be sent to a developmental pediatrician after his 2 year well baby. What the hell is a developmental pediatrician? I realize, at this point, that we're staring down the A word or at least a spectrum disorder... And I don't like the idea of labeling a toddler.
Which leads to two main issues... Our insurance doesn't cover anything that has to do with Autism. Not that it's covering any of his therapy now. (Thank you state of Kentucky for believing in early intervention.)
The 2nd issue- and I've been struggling with this one for a while... I doubt my abilities to parent this child properly. I am so used to children that hit developmental milestones early. Kids who answer the question, "How many words do you think he knows?" with "All of them." at 22 months.
Shane is completely different. He's hysterical and full of surprises every day. He started calling me Mommy the other day, and it melts my heart (But doesn't always make me open my bedroom door when I've locked myself in there to escape)... But he won't let me hug him unless it's on his terms. I can't kiss him with out getting yelled at 90% of the time. I can't comfort him when he's upset because that involves touching him. He pinches, bites, slaps, kicks, jumps on people, and head butts and thinks all of it is hysterical. He thinks it's hysterical when you do it back to him. The word no doesn't begin to register most of the time with him. He just does what he's going to do. He does what feels good to an extreme.
So my question is this, friends... How do I find the balance between my parenting style and meeting S's needs when we don't even know what they are yet? How do I stop pouring so much energy into my toddler that I feel like a horrible parent to my other two boys? How do I find time to eat dinner before 9pm? How do I handle the comments from my family members who continue to tell me that he looks perfectly normal when he's with them (Because they are constantly on the move, giving him the sensory input he craves), and ignore me when I try to explain to them WHY he's fine when he's with them... Or get over the knife in my chest feeling when my father hears S in one of his sensory melt downs and asks me why I'm not doing anything to stop it and that if that's how he behaved at their house, he would be less welcome to come visit without Mom and Dad. Because I can't stop it, Dad. I'm helpless to stop it. I can only distract him or put him in his crib to decompress. My toddler won't let me help him. But thanks for being so supportive.
So friends... How do I stop feeling like this is my fault since he was induced early for my health? How do I stop feeling terrible when he wears me out and I lock myself in my bathroom for 15 minutes while he's watching Gabba? How do I get over my feelings of total failure?
(Final four photos courtesy of HUEit Productions. www.hueitproductions.com)
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Twenty Three:
My husband is a contractor- Namely on helicopters.
So I get a phone call today, and due to the grace of one of the branches of the military, the production line is through 2021. It was supposed to end here in the next two years or something with the Army helicopters they were doing.
"YAY! for job security.", she exclaims sarcastically, while she wishes she had something to mix with the vodka in the freezer.
Now, I do realize that in the current economic climate, I probably shouldn't be complaining that he's got a job for the next 10 years, unless he kills someone. Right? I know I've said that I imagined staying in Ohio... But being a military wife changed my fabric. It made me crave the nomadic life style we had. Now, shut up those of you who know that we never really left Clarksville, because when he left, I came and went as I pleased- Because up until he actually came home in September, I never really thought he was getting out. I thought he was going to be a lifer. I thought that we'd move every few years and I'd see a bit of the world. I thought he'd get out after his 20, at 39, and we'd then settle someplace that I may or may not hate and get G and L (Because that's all we had at the time), into college.
Instead, we settled someplace that I fucking hate. A place I don't understand. A place that, in all honesty, is to close to my parents. A place that my children are picking up a southern accent. A place that seems to have sucked me in and gives me such cabin fever every Spring and Fall that my skin feels like it is going to crawl off my body. A place that has such HUGE problems and absolute refuses to address them...
And the thought of spending the next 10 years of my life in this city makes me want to vomit.
Can/Should a city make you physically ill?
So I get a phone call today, and due to the grace of one of the branches of the military, the production line is through 2021. It was supposed to end here in the next two years or something with the Army helicopters they were doing.
"YAY! for job security.", she exclaims sarcastically, while she wishes she had something to mix with the vodka in the freezer.
Now, I do realize that in the current economic climate, I probably shouldn't be complaining that he's got a job for the next 10 years, unless he kills someone. Right? I know I've said that I imagined staying in Ohio... But being a military wife changed my fabric. It made me crave the nomadic life style we had. Now, shut up those of you who know that we never really left Clarksville, because when he left, I came and went as I pleased- Because up until he actually came home in September, I never really thought he was getting out. I thought he was going to be a lifer. I thought that we'd move every few years and I'd see a bit of the world. I thought he'd get out after his 20, at 39, and we'd then settle someplace that I may or may not hate and get G and L (Because that's all we had at the time), into college.
Instead, we settled someplace that I fucking hate. A place I don't understand. A place that, in all honesty, is to close to my parents. A place that my children are picking up a southern accent. A place that seems to have sucked me in and gives me such cabin fever every Spring and Fall that my skin feels like it is going to crawl off my body. A place that has such HUGE problems and absolute refuses to address them...
And the thought of spending the next 10 years of my life in this city makes me want to vomit.
Can/Should a city make you physically ill?
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Twenty Two:
Sometimes I wonder why the hell I ever had another kid. Two wasn't enough? I needed another screaming asshole to complete my life? Someone to throw orange slices at me, screaming, "That's MY NA-NA (His pacifier)", while using me as his own personalTreadClimber- That is until he reaches the top and can't figure out how to get down. That's when I get a fist/foot/knee in the eye. BUTTTTT, make the mistake of taking him down and we will repeat the cycle again and again and again until I need a shot of Vodka.
Having two that were already potty trained, could make their own lunch, could read wasn't enough... No, I had to have another snuggly bundle of hell that refuses to sleep through the night at 14 months. Allah forbid we with hold that bottle at 2am- Cause if S ain't happy, no one is fucking sleeping.
There are days I wish there was a store that babies actually came from, so I could return him. Mainly, these are the days that start off cute- With him waking me up by screaming, "HEY!!!!" from his crib, and end with mommy in tears, S laughing, G and L locked in their bedroom because they had no idea that this little terror could wreak so much havoc on their lives... And somewhere in the middle of that day there are events like poop in my hair, 30 minutes of playing "Goddamn it, quit hitting print screen! No one needs to see that!", "It's great that you finally learned to pull up, but could you not pull the baby gate down on your head again", "Yummies? You want yummies?" and then Yummies end up everywhere but his mouth, "That's my phone. Not your ball. Let me give you a ball. S, stop pocket dialing Jessica. Seriously child.".
And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way at least once a week. I know I'm not the only one who has days like this with your children... Especially if you have more than one. Once you've gotten one past the milestones that drove you fucking nuts, there comes the next ankle biter to annoy the crap out of you with shit his sibling has never done. It's amazing that we're all not a bunch of bitter alcoholics, honestly.
Recently, I attended a funeral back in Dayton for my Great Aunt. There was some family there that I'd not seen in probably 15 years. Not exactly sure how they are related to me, but close in age and related close enough that it would NOT be socially acceptable to sleep with them unless we were in an Arab country. Everyone was interested in S and my niece P, as well as G and L (But they are older and not as cute)... And we got around to talking about how generally well behaved my kids are.
Now as a mother to a childless couple, there seems to be some need to try to convince them to procreate- Because it's the greatest thing you'll ever do with your life or trying to validate your choices through other people. Look at me. I don't work. I'm a stay home mom. My boys should be the end all be all of my life. Here's the real secret. My life does not revolve around my children. I take care of them. I indulge them. I teach them the things they need to know to be compassionate accepting adults in today's society. I make sure they know they are loved and I would do anything for them, up to and including maim/murder someone for them. But they are not my reason for being. Often I wonder how things for me/me and Dave would have turned out differently if I'd not had G at 19 and L at 21... (Not that I'd give them up for anything, except that little one. I'd like to furlough him at the baby store from time to time.)
But I still found it VERY hard to keep my fucking Collective Mom Mouth (Forever known as the CMM) from saying, "Oh, having kids is the greatest thing I've ever done. It's so fulfilling." What the fuck is wrong with me???
Dude, after the two weeks I've had, tonight's episode of So You Think You Can Dance was the most fulfilling thing in my life.
Having two that were already potty trained, could make their own lunch, could read wasn't enough... No, I had to have another snuggly bundle of hell that refuses to sleep through the night at 14 months. Allah forbid we with hold that bottle at 2am- Cause if S ain't happy, no one is fucking sleeping.
There are days I wish there was a store that babies actually came from, so I could return him. Mainly, these are the days that start off cute- With him waking me up by screaming, "HEY!!!!" from his crib, and end with mommy in tears, S laughing, G and L locked in their bedroom because they had no idea that this little terror could wreak so much havoc on their lives... And somewhere in the middle of that day there are events like poop in my hair, 30 minutes of playing "Goddamn it, quit hitting print screen! No one needs to see that!", "It's great that you finally learned to pull up, but could you not pull the baby gate down on your head again", "Yummies? You want yummies?" and then Yummies end up everywhere but his mouth, "That's my phone. Not your ball. Let me give you a ball. S, stop pocket dialing Jessica. Seriously child.".
And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way at least once a week. I know I'm not the only one who has days like this with your children... Especially if you have more than one. Once you've gotten one past the milestones that drove you fucking nuts, there comes the next ankle biter to annoy the crap out of you with shit his sibling has never done. It's amazing that we're all not a bunch of bitter alcoholics, honestly.
Recently, I attended a funeral back in Dayton for my Great Aunt. There was some family there that I'd not seen in probably 15 years. Not exactly sure how they are related to me, but close in age and related close enough that it would NOT be socially acceptable to sleep with them unless we were in an Arab country. Everyone was interested in S and my niece P, as well as G and L (But they are older and not as cute)... And we got around to talking about how generally well behaved my kids are.
Now as a mother to a childless couple, there seems to be some need to try to convince them to procreate- Because it's the greatest thing you'll ever do with your life or trying to validate your choices through other people. Look at me. I don't work. I'm a stay home mom. My boys should be the end all be all of my life. Here's the real secret. My life does not revolve around my children. I take care of them. I indulge them. I teach them the things they need to know to be compassionate accepting adults in today's society. I make sure they know they are loved and I would do anything for them, up to and including maim/murder someone for them. But they are not my reason for being. Often I wonder how things for me/me and Dave would have turned out differently if I'd not had G at 19 and L at 21... (Not that I'd give them up for anything, except that little one. I'd like to furlough him at the baby store from time to time.)
But I still found it VERY hard to keep my fucking Collective Mom Mouth (Forever known as the CMM) from saying, "Oh, having kids is the greatest thing I've ever done. It's so fulfilling." What the fuck is wrong with me???
Dude, after the two weeks I've had, tonight's episode of So You Think You Can Dance was the most fulfilling thing in my life.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Twenty One:
It's summer... And you all know what that means for Nichole...
A couple of things actually. 1) The extreme NEED to get the hell out of Kentucky and move to someplace with a beach. 2) The goal of NOT killing my children on a daily basis. 3) Avoiding sunburn at all costs.
It's not that I don't like Kentucky. It's that I hate Kentucky. I really do. I hate it more than I hate peas and creamed corn combined. I hate it more than I hate the word moist. I hate it more than hearing S grind his little chompers together. I hate it.
Would I hate it anywhere? I really don't know. I've lived in a few cities in my life- Dayton, Toledo, the Ft. Campbell, Ky area, and then here in Lexington. I've spent excessive amounts of time in southern Arizona. I would never move back to Dayton- As we covered in the last post, it's to close to my family. Toledo was just a bump in the road, Clarksville TN was a military town, but a place we might end up again because of Dave's career... And after living here, I don't think I'd mind it so much... Or as much as I did.
There's something about Lexington that just makes me want to vomit on a daily basis. It might be the constant smell of horse ass. It might be UK's need to let EVERYONE know how great they are when really it's just Shut The Fuck Up, No You Don't Need A New Arena To Keep Up With Louisville, World Leader In Cancer Researcher My Ass. It might be the entitlement that almost everyone around here seems to have because this place is Oh. So. Great. It might be the fact that no matter how hard I try, I keep ending up with bat shit crazy "Friends" and I want to be a recluse. (I love you guys! LOL)
Or it might just be that when I was growing up, at 28, I never imagined myself living in Lexington fucking Kentucky.
And that might be the basis of it all... I have no issues with being 28, married for 10 years with 3 kids, some college, 9/10ths of a high school diploma, no career, few marketable skills other than teaching a 6 year old "That's what she said" jokes or finding awesome ass deals on diapers. (2 weeks ago- 4 packs of Huggies for 3 bucks each after rewards and coupons. WHAT.) It might just be the broken dream of not living where I imagined living. Thinking back, I probably imagined that I'd be living in the same town I went to school, near my parents and maybe my parents would have changed once I had kids- Which I've just now realized that it's never going to happen.
But why, when I see commercials for 'The Glades' or reruns of 'The Golden Girls' does it make me want to jump out of my skin? Why did leaving Clearwater Beach after only 2 days feel like I was leaving a child behind? Why do I get like this every summer- Until October rolls around and I realize I might miss that changing season and the snow?
Is it possible that only one aspect of your "childhood dreams" of what your life would be like when you became an adult can make you have physical symptoms- Even when, pressed to admit it, you're still waiting to feel like the adult in a situation?
Oh the things I ponder at 11 at night. I think it's time for a Valium. lol
A couple of things actually. 1) The extreme NEED to get the hell out of Kentucky and move to someplace with a beach. 2) The goal of NOT killing my children on a daily basis. 3) Avoiding sunburn at all costs.
It's not that I don't like Kentucky. It's that I hate Kentucky. I really do. I hate it more than I hate peas and creamed corn combined. I hate it more than I hate the word moist. I hate it more than hearing S grind his little chompers together. I hate it.
Would I hate it anywhere? I really don't know. I've lived in a few cities in my life- Dayton, Toledo, the Ft. Campbell, Ky area, and then here in Lexington. I've spent excessive amounts of time in southern Arizona. I would never move back to Dayton- As we covered in the last post, it's to close to my family. Toledo was just a bump in the road, Clarksville TN was a military town, but a place we might end up again because of Dave's career... And after living here, I don't think I'd mind it so much... Or as much as I did.
There's something about Lexington that just makes me want to vomit on a daily basis. It might be the constant smell of horse ass. It might be UK's need to let EVERYONE know how great they are when really it's just Shut The Fuck Up, No You Don't Need A New Arena To Keep Up With Louisville, World Leader In Cancer Researcher My Ass. It might be the entitlement that almost everyone around here seems to have because this place is Oh. So. Great. It might be the fact that no matter how hard I try, I keep ending up with bat shit crazy "Friends" and I want to be a recluse. (I love you guys! LOL)
Or it might just be that when I was growing up, at 28, I never imagined myself living in Lexington fucking Kentucky.
And that might be the basis of it all... I have no issues with being 28, married for 10 years with 3 kids, some college, 9/10ths of a high school diploma, no career, few marketable skills other than teaching a 6 year old "That's what she said" jokes or finding awesome ass deals on diapers. (2 weeks ago- 4 packs of Huggies for 3 bucks each after rewards and coupons. WHAT.) It might just be the broken dream of not living where I imagined living. Thinking back, I probably imagined that I'd be living in the same town I went to school, near my parents and maybe my parents would have changed once I had kids- Which I've just now realized that it's never going to happen.
But why, when I see commercials for 'The Glades' or reruns of 'The Golden Girls' does it make me want to jump out of my skin? Why did leaving Clearwater Beach after only 2 days feel like I was leaving a child behind? Why do I get like this every summer- Until October rolls around and I realize I might miss that changing season and the snow?
Is it possible that only one aspect of your "childhood dreams" of what your life would be like when you became an adult can make you have physical symptoms- Even when, pressed to admit it, you're still waiting to feel like the adult in a situation?
Oh the things I ponder at 11 at night. I think it's time for a Valium. lol
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Twenty:
Explain something to me... And I'm sorry if none of this makes sense. I hope someday it will.
Well, first, let me explain something to you- Dave hates my parents. Not with an all consuming seething passion- We just spent 10 days with them in Florida... But he hates them with this under-bubbling wrath that makes him lash out internally or at me when they surface those feelings he has towards them. He's tired of my father's advice- "Why should I take your advice when you couldn't stop your wife from abusing your daughter"... And he's strait up tired of my mother's bullshit, emotional roller coaster drama she tries to put me on.
I didn't have it great growing up. I was the oldest of 4, with an undiagnosed bipolar mother, a disconnected father, and I took the brunt of my mother because I was the one who was there- Emotionally and physically. I was kicked out at 18, didn't graduate high school because of it, and that's how my life with Dave began. The entire time that I was dating Dave under her roof, my mother swore that Dave would never make anything of himself, never be able to support a family a family, tried to get him arrested, in trouble with the military and fired from a job. (Yeah. I know.) But, honestly, if you met my mother on the street, or at say one of my kid's birthday parties, you'd like her. She's not socially inappropriate in an obvious way.
So- We're in Florida, a trip that Dave and I didn't want to go on due to all the drama with my family leading up to it. (Call me about 100 bucks I borrowed two years ago while you're in the process of buying a house for one of my brothers? Seriously?) But the kids wouldn't go without us, and they really wanted to go-
And while we're down there, the advice from my father starts, and the didacticness of my mother's personality comes out- And she's constantly swinging from my brother's girlfriend to me with who's her new BFF that day... As my mother doesn't see me as a daughter or a family member anymore, and hasn't for 10 years. She sees me as someone that she has to have in her life because my spawn are her grandkids, and I swear to DEITY that sometimes she forgets WHY my spawn are her grandkids. But I digress.
And the comments about how we're overspending our money begin and how they (She) isn't paying for anything extra for us and we're on our own if we run out of money (Mainly because she felt we were eating out to much because we didn't want to eat out of a cooler in the Universal Studios parking lot with them)... And the financial planning advice starts from my father- Again, the man who just bought one of my brothers a home because he couldn't afford his rent. And then the "We'll meet you at X in Y minutes", and 2 hours later no one has shown up- Or the "You have to be out of the hotel room at 11, sorry, we know you wanted to go swimming with the kids again" but what I'm not going to walk down the hotel room hallway to tell you is that I paid 30 bucks for a late check out for one room that you could have taken a shower in and played with them on the beach for a bit longer.
Dave's seething at various points of the vacation. And, with all my issues with my family and my brother's whore, I felt that I handled most things very well- There wasn't much that was going to interfere with my children's enjoyment of Shamu or their 10th time riding Spiderman... Or their first time on a real beach and S just being S.
But after all the hell that we went through- Most of it I can't remember now that I've run it down with my therapist, all the fighting Dave and I did over my parents, and the agreement that we came to about the next when it comes to my family, after my 84 year old Grandparents leave in July... We decided we're done with my family. We're done with the judgement about how we live our lives. We're done with the assumption that because Dave makes above the 50k mark (Barely) that we should be better off financially than we are. (Have you ever been a gov't contractor, Dad? No? Shut the fuck up, then.) We're tired of the comments that we're to hard on our kids because we expect certain behaviors out of them and don't tolerate others, vacation or not. (At least I don't back hand mine every time one of them says something that I don't like, Mom.) I'm tired of S being thrown into the Olympics against his cousin that is 10 months older than him... Well, assholes, let's put her in the Olympics (If you don't know, then ask another mom. Fuck.) against my kids when they were about to turn 2. I can't help it if you don't remember how smart G and L were at that age- But do not give me shit that she was walking at 10 months and S refuses to crawl at a year.
I'm just tired of, still, after Dave and I being married for 10 years, after getting kicked out of the house and the family 10 years ago and trying to get back in various times over the years, that none of what I've done with my kids or that Dave is good enough for them yet. I'm not good enough for them. The way I choose to live my life... Where we choose to live... None of it is good enough...
So, explain it to me, please- Because that's my next row in my head. How do go go about writing out your family?
Well, first, let me explain something to you- Dave hates my parents. Not with an all consuming seething passion- We just spent 10 days with them in Florida... But he hates them with this under-bubbling wrath that makes him lash out internally or at me when they surface those feelings he has towards them. He's tired of my father's advice- "Why should I take your advice when you couldn't stop your wife from abusing your daughter"... And he's strait up tired of my mother's bullshit, emotional roller coaster drama she tries to put me on.
I didn't have it great growing up. I was the oldest of 4, with an undiagnosed bipolar mother, a disconnected father, and I took the brunt of my mother because I was the one who was there- Emotionally and physically. I was kicked out at 18, didn't graduate high school because of it, and that's how my life with Dave began. The entire time that I was dating Dave under her roof, my mother swore that Dave would never make anything of himself, never be able to support a family a family, tried to get him arrested, in trouble with the military and fired from a job. (Yeah. I know.) But, honestly, if you met my mother on the street, or at say one of my kid's birthday parties, you'd like her. She's not socially inappropriate in an obvious way.
So- We're in Florida, a trip that Dave and I didn't want to go on due to all the drama with my family leading up to it. (Call me about 100 bucks I borrowed two years ago while you're in the process of buying a house for one of my brothers? Seriously?) But the kids wouldn't go without us, and they really wanted to go-
And while we're down there, the advice from my father starts, and the didacticness of my mother's personality comes out- And she's constantly swinging from my brother's girlfriend to me with who's her new BFF that day... As my mother doesn't see me as a daughter or a family member anymore, and hasn't for 10 years. She sees me as someone that she has to have in her life because my spawn are her grandkids, and I swear to DEITY that sometimes she forgets WHY my spawn are her grandkids. But I digress.
And the comments about how we're overspending our money begin and how they (She) isn't paying for anything extra for us and we're on our own if we run out of money (Mainly because she felt we were eating out to much because we didn't want to eat out of a cooler in the Universal Studios parking lot with them)... And the financial planning advice starts from my father- Again, the man who just bought one of my brothers a home because he couldn't afford his rent. And then the "We'll meet you at X in Y minutes", and 2 hours later no one has shown up- Or the "You have to be out of the hotel room at 11, sorry, we know you wanted to go swimming with the kids again" but what I'm not going to walk down the hotel room hallway to tell you is that I paid 30 bucks for a late check out for one room that you could have taken a shower in and played with them on the beach for a bit longer.
Dave's seething at various points of the vacation. And, with all my issues with my family and my brother's whore, I felt that I handled most things very well- There wasn't much that was going to interfere with my children's enjoyment of Shamu or their 10th time riding Spiderman... Or their first time on a real beach and S just being S.
But after all the hell that we went through- Most of it I can't remember now that I've run it down with my therapist, all the fighting Dave and I did over my parents, and the agreement that we came to about the next when it comes to my family, after my 84 year old Grandparents leave in July... We decided we're done with my family. We're done with the judgement about how we live our lives. We're done with the assumption that because Dave makes above the 50k mark (Barely) that we should be better off financially than we are. (Have you ever been a gov't contractor, Dad? No? Shut the fuck up, then.) We're tired of the comments that we're to hard on our kids because we expect certain behaviors out of them and don't tolerate others, vacation or not. (At least I don't back hand mine every time one of them says something that I don't like, Mom.) I'm tired of S being thrown into the Olympics against his cousin that is 10 months older than him... Well, assholes, let's put her in the Olympics (If you don't know, then ask another mom. Fuck.) against my kids when they were about to turn 2. I can't help it if you don't remember how smart G and L were at that age- But do not give me shit that she was walking at 10 months and S refuses to crawl at a year.
I'm just tired of, still, after Dave and I being married for 10 years, after getting kicked out of the house and the family 10 years ago and trying to get back in various times over the years, that none of what I've done with my kids or that Dave is good enough for them yet. I'm not good enough for them. The way I choose to live my life... Where we choose to live... None of it is good enough...
So, explain it to me, please- Because that's my next row in my head. How do go go about writing out your family?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Nineteen:
I know, I know. Shoot me.
It's what I do. When the shit hits the wall, I retreat. Away from everyone that might be able or willing to help or listen. I retreat into Dave. I retreat into the kids. I call my therapist in a mad panic of "GET ME IN NOW BEFORE MY BRAIN EXPLODES!!!". I retreat because I know that if I pull one more thing onto my bipolar 2 plate, I will downward into a funk that will require a very large amount of medication to pull me out of. Or liquor. Or both.
It's like this, friends... I can only juggle so many plates at once. The plates I choose to constantly juggle are my kids and that man child I married. They are the ones I never put down. My next choice to juggle are the ones that directly pertain to them- In the past two weeks, it's been another car accident, an epic battle with our health insurance over $700, L switching schools to be with G but then not being able to continue on to 2nd grade because of the interim principle's "philosophical objections" against little boys skipping grades and not wanting to start a precedent at her school and that we'd broken the law by skipping him a grade (Well, he skipped a grade at another school, lady.)... Among the regular day to day annoyances of raising three boys and a man child.
Then, I choose to take on secondary plates- My family, Dave's family, and friends. I can only handle so much bullshit that extends from either of those three areas before I want to fucking snap, and they all fill up the same bullshit jar. My family fills it up relatively fast with intruding and nonsense questions like, "How are you going to come up with the money to fix your car?" or "How much money do you have right now?". Well, being that you just bought one of my siblings a house and you are not, nor have you been actively financing my life in over 10 years, you don't get to ask me those questions. AND, we're all going to Florida together as one huge happy family in about a week. Shoot me in the fucking head now- Hence where all the money questions are coming from. (Lyndsey, I'm probably going to be calling.) Then if I get one more email about some old lady I've never met's sternum, I'm going to scream. Thank's Dave's mom.
And then there's the "friends". And I use that term loosely. I have a few. I've recently met a few nice, non bat shit crazy women. I've started taking part in a playgroup. And then I posted about my issues with the interim principle. (Not the full story about how I grabbed my balls and called the Kentucky Department of Education on her ass, but hey. Let the triffling tattle tale think that I'm just a ranting pissed off mom. I'm ok with that.) And some some pissy bitch decided to send my vent, which wasn't anything that I'd not said to her, her boss, the principle and admin. dean of L's current school, and the head of primary education for Kentucky to the principle in question. It got brought up in a fucking AMBUSH of a meeting, because they thought I'd still be bringing my 2nd child to their school. And then she thought that she'd go ahead and lecture me on internet safety because nothing on the internet is secure.
Let me start off by saying that I was mortified. Not that she read what I wrote. I stand behind everything that I put out in public. I was mortified that someone that I'd never met felt the need to interject themselves into my life in such a way that could have such dire and horrible consequences for L. Secondly, I was pissed for everyone else who posts personal things on the playgroup message's boards. Thirdly, I don't need a fucking lecture on internet safety. I'm not a fucking 12 year old girl. Don't fucking ambush me in front of the soon to be principle because I ran your ass up the flag pole to your boss, your bosses boss, and the State of fucking Kentucky. But again, the trifling bitch who was doing the interim principle a SERVICE by letting her know what I said didn't know the entire story... Or that I'd actually done something about it besides sit on the internet and whine.
Anyway, so long post short... Back to the plates. My arms are short. And if you know me, I make sure that the plates closest to me are the ones that stay up. It's nothing personal. If I don't answer your phone call at 10:30pm, it's because that my insomniac ass is finally trying to sleep. If I don't answer every one of your text messages immediately, it's because I've got so much on every one of those closest to me plates that they come first. They have to. They are my priority and always will come first...
Besides... They are really cute.
It's what I do. When the shit hits the wall, I retreat. Away from everyone that might be able or willing to help or listen. I retreat into Dave. I retreat into the kids. I call my therapist in a mad panic of "GET ME IN NOW BEFORE MY BRAIN EXPLODES!!!". I retreat because I know that if I pull one more thing onto my bipolar 2 plate, I will downward into a funk that will require a very large amount of medication to pull me out of. Or liquor. Or both.
It's like this, friends... I can only juggle so many plates at once. The plates I choose to constantly juggle are my kids and that man child I married. They are the ones I never put down. My next choice to juggle are the ones that directly pertain to them- In the past two weeks, it's been another car accident, an epic battle with our health insurance over $700, L switching schools to be with G but then not being able to continue on to 2nd grade because of the interim principle's "philosophical objections" against little boys skipping grades and not wanting to start a precedent at her school and that we'd broken the law by skipping him a grade (Well, he skipped a grade at another school, lady.)... Among the regular day to day annoyances of raising three boys and a man child.
Then, I choose to take on secondary plates- My family, Dave's family, and friends. I can only handle so much bullshit that extends from either of those three areas before I want to fucking snap, and they all fill up the same bullshit jar. My family fills it up relatively fast with intruding and nonsense questions like, "How are you going to come up with the money to fix your car?" or "How much money do you have right now?". Well, being that you just bought one of my siblings a house and you are not, nor have you been actively financing my life in over 10 years, you don't get to ask me those questions. AND, we're all going to Florida together as one huge happy family in about a week. Shoot me in the fucking head now- Hence where all the money questions are coming from. (Lyndsey, I'm probably going to be calling.) Then if I get one more email about some old lady I've never met's sternum, I'm going to scream. Thank's Dave's mom.
And then there's the "friends". And I use that term loosely. I have a few. I've recently met a few nice, non bat shit crazy women. I've started taking part in a playgroup. And then I posted about my issues with the interim principle. (Not the full story about how I grabbed my balls and called the Kentucky Department of Education on her ass, but hey. Let the triffling tattle tale think that I'm just a ranting pissed off mom. I'm ok with that.) And some some pissy bitch decided to send my vent, which wasn't anything that I'd not said to her, her boss, the principle and admin. dean of L's current school, and the head of primary education for Kentucky to the principle in question. It got brought up in a fucking AMBUSH of a meeting, because they thought I'd still be bringing my 2nd child to their school. And then she thought that she'd go ahead and lecture me on internet safety because nothing on the internet is secure.
Let me start off by saying that I was mortified. Not that she read what I wrote. I stand behind everything that I put out in public. I was mortified that someone that I'd never met felt the need to interject themselves into my life in such a way that could have such dire and horrible consequences for L. Secondly, I was pissed for everyone else who posts personal things on the playgroup message's boards. Thirdly, I don't need a fucking lecture on internet safety. I'm not a fucking 12 year old girl. Don't fucking ambush me in front of the soon to be principle because I ran your ass up the flag pole to your boss, your bosses boss, and the State of fucking Kentucky. But again, the trifling bitch who was doing the interim principle a SERVICE by letting her know what I said didn't know the entire story... Or that I'd actually done something about it besides sit on the internet and whine.
Anyway, so long post short... Back to the plates. My arms are short. And if you know me, I make sure that the plates closest to me are the ones that stay up. It's nothing personal. If I don't answer your phone call at 10:30pm, it's because that my insomniac ass is finally trying to sleep. If I don't answer every one of your text messages immediately, it's because I've got so much on every one of those closest to me plates that they come first. They have to. They are my priority and always will come first...
Besides... They are really cute.
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