When I was in High School, I lettered in Drama. I loved the the soliloquy the best. Getting into someone else's head and expressing that emotion from the depths of one soul was one of the things that got me through high school. I loved that. It was my escape.
My children also are drawn to theatre and drama. It makes me happy to see them on stage singing, acting, getting to be someone else for a while.
That's the happy kind of drama. I LIKE that kind of drama.
And then there's the other kind of drama. The kind that tears and rips at your soul, trying to hurt your everything - intentionally or not. I usually think it's intentional because somewhere behind that drama lurks selfishness or extreme insecurity - or both.
This week, month, no, last couple of months has been drama filled. And not with the good kind.
Firstly, there's a wedding coming up in a day and a half. My 2nd daughter is getting married, and she has put a TON of effort into planning, crafting, and making sure everything is done and prepared on time. Her fiance works with her, and they take each other's opinions and feelings into account. Choosing the venue for the ceremony was a joint decision. The date of the wedding was a joint decision. The invitations were approved by him, while she picked the pictures. I could go on and on.
I'm proud that they're working as a team.
I want to scream in frustration at the drama surrounding the whole thing. It's a wedding. It's a celebration of two people coming together and pledging their lives to each other. And, most importantly - to me - is that it's my daughter's wedding. It's HER day. And someone else is trying to make it about them.
Someone else is making her life miserable and instead of looking forward to this, we're all just hoping to survive it and get it overwith. Because drama. This other person will not stop with the temper tantrums (I am not kiddng. Adult temper tantrums) or the whining. Neither my daughter or her fiance should have to deal with that. The hardest part is that her fiance is the one directly being whined to.
I'd love to shout their name and disparage them to the internet, but I won't. But I'm angry and protective of my daughter because someone else is trying to steal her day. These feelings are making me extremely anxious, and I dread having to do anything wedding related now.
This wedding is something that I don't want other people to whine to me about. My daughter can complain to me about it, but I am not able to handle hearing other people complain about times, dates, or location. It's two days away. RSVP or not, just show up or don't show up at this point. Don't whine to me about it. I cannot handle it, and I don't want to hear it. It's happening whether anyone wants it to or not.
Personally? I want this wedding to happen. These two make each other deliriously happy. He treats her with respect and honor - the way I would wish for any man to treat one of my daughters. She loves him and values his opinion. She takes his feelings into account when making any decision. I am kind of jealous of their relationship. (Ok, hers and my older daughters. Both have husbands who treat them as precious and valued partners.)
Secondly: My husband lost his job a couple of months ago. Now, usually this means tightening the belt and getting through the job hunt. But it's been more drama filled than I can handle. I overreact and freak out about the food in the house. Or lack thereof. For a couple of weeks there I would look at the fridge in despair, trying so very hard not to revert to childhood.
And the rent. Oh my goodness the rent. I do not want to lose my house. For the last two months, our landlords have been extremely gracious in letting the rent be late. They are not the cause of drama, I am. I had to cut my hours at work because the stress was making me inefficient at my job. I feel ineffective at life. I feel like I should be stepping up and fixing the situation, but I am emotionally and chemically unable to succeed at that. But I feel obligated and guilty that I can't fulfill that obligation.
Thirdly: This parenthood thing. Drama. My adult children don't want to confide in me. It hurts. Being put on the 'direct to voice mail' and 'no return text' list makes my heart hurt. I honestly don't know what I've done. I would do my best to rectify it if I could, but I simply don't know. And that feels like drama to me.
My smaller children feel the stress in the household and are acting it out. And I want to cry because more and more they are emulating the short fuse tempers, the harsh words, and the sometimes very mean things that they've heard from their father. Well, I have a temper and super grumpy moments, too, but ... well, maybe I am just as mean? I certainly hope not. But it's hard to see this behavior in my children.
It's even worse given the fact that my 9yo has become terrified of the weather. Any wind, rain, thunder, anything, and she is reduced to a terrified ball of tears and worry. There is no logic to fear, and she won't listen to the logic and comforting words that I can think of to say, hug, reassure.
I can't say she's needlessly worried, considering that there was a tornado in our area a couple of weeks ago. There were some massive thunder storms a few weeks prior to the tornado, some rumbles that shook the house - some lightning flashes that were right above our house and startled all of us.
Fourth: Well, I am a drama queen myself. I feel something and I over-feel it. I recognize the hurt that is under my angry emotions, and I feel both so powerfully that at times I can only send myself to bed and hope the feelings go away. The pity parties over what I don't have and feel like I will never have. The frustration at having so many skills and talents and not being able to fully utilize them anymore. I am angry with myself for feeling this way, because I know very well that I draw on those skills in many different aspects of my life, even though I don't use them 40 hours a week.
I'm angry that I need a doctor's note to prove that I am not capable of working more than part time. And that I have to repeat that it's not temporary. My BiPolar disorder is not going to just go away. Neither is the anxiety. I do what I can to manage it. I do hard things, but it's NOT GOING AWAY.
And... there's me being dramatic. This morning I had to have a meeting with an employment counselor because we had to ask for state help. It's humiliating and awful, but it is what it is. She wants me to be able to work 30 hours a week, and given my management, training, and degrees, I should be able to find work. Yeah. I know that. I HAD management jobs before I became a stay at home mom.
Yes, some days I will admit are simply lazy days. And some days are "hey, I made it out of bed today" Today is an "I need chocolate and lots of it because I'm an emotional ball of cry" day. Today I hate life. Everything - every single stressor, obligation, expectation, and hurt feels like it is weighing me down.
I'm supposed to read this certain thing daily. I do, but today it just made me angry. I'm supposed to pray daily. Today I don't know how to have a conversation with god and sit there for five minutes and listen to him. I don't want to listen. I just want Him to fix things. I know, of course, that's not how life works, but that's how I want it right now. I want my children comforted, at peace. If they don't want that comfort from me, or if I'm unable to say the right words and offer the right things, that they can get that comfort and peace from some source. Any good source. I wish it were me, but I don't always get my way.
So. whine, whine, whine, drama drama drama. I'm so picked on, me me me.
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Friday, October 14, 2016
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Rose Bushes Are Snobs
I am not the world's greatest yard person. I claim to love yardwork, but getting myself out there to actually DO it is something else entirely.
Due to city ordinances about weed height, I have been trying to clear up the front sidewalk area that has grown without restraint since spring happened.
While weeding, the stickers and flag grass wanted to complain and fight about being uprooted. I reminded them that they knew good and well that they were just going to grow back, and to suck it up. They shrugged and let me go on with it.
In the back yard, however, it's a completely different story with the rose bush. The homeowners planted a rose bush in a corner next to the patio and the gate that leads from the back yard to the front. I'm not sure why they picked that location, but whatever. The white roses are gorgeous when they bloom.
The thorns, however, are another matter entirely. They are not small, and they are extremely sharp.
I had a talk with this bush today. I informed it that it was growing into my children's play space, and that I needed it to bush out in the other direction, please. Also, it would be great if it would cooperate so we didn't get scratched to bits getting the lawn mower from front to back.
Needless to say, the Rose bush felt like I was being unreasonable. How DARE I snip and trim at it. How DARE I prune off dead stalks. It is a rose bush, and deserves to use whatever space it wants.
I insisted that it be socially acceptable and child friendly. It fought back. I won, but did not come out unscathed.
The wild roses that grow along my fence are much more reasonable. They have smaller blooms, but they are so much nicer and easier to get along with. They're still somewhat snobby, but at least they deign to allow me to trim them when I ask.
Blackberries are eager to please, lilacs are more than willing to take direction, and honeysuckle is sweet no matter what.
Roses, however, are snobs.
Due to city ordinances about weed height, I have been trying to clear up the front sidewalk area that has grown without restraint since spring happened.
While weeding, the stickers and flag grass wanted to complain and fight about being uprooted. I reminded them that they knew good and well that they were just going to grow back, and to suck it up. They shrugged and let me go on with it.
In the back yard, however, it's a completely different story with the rose bush. The homeowners planted a rose bush in a corner next to the patio and the gate that leads from the back yard to the front. I'm not sure why they picked that location, but whatever. The white roses are gorgeous when they bloom.
The thorns, however, are another matter entirely. They are not small, and they are extremely sharp.
I had a talk with this bush today. I informed it that it was growing into my children's play space, and that I needed it to bush out in the other direction, please. Also, it would be great if it would cooperate so we didn't get scratched to bits getting the lawn mower from front to back.
Needless to say, the Rose bush felt like I was being unreasonable. How DARE I snip and trim at it. How DARE I prune off dead stalks. It is a rose bush, and deserves to use whatever space it wants.
I insisted that it be socially acceptable and child friendly. It fought back. I won, but did not come out unscathed.
The wild roses that grow along my fence are much more reasonable. They have smaller blooms, but they are so much nicer and easier to get along with. They're still somewhat snobby, but at least they deign to allow me to trim them when I ask.
Blackberries are eager to please, lilacs are more than willing to take direction, and honeysuckle is sweet no matter what.
Roses, however, are snobs.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
A Little Bit Sentimental
Ok, a LOT sentimental.
My father-in-law made this shelf for my 9yo daughter. Why? Because she asked. She wanted/needed a shelf to put her Equestria Girls High School on with shelves underneath to hold the dolls and ponies and other toys she might want to play with.
She decided how tall and wide she wanted it, helped measure, wrote down all the numbers, and then helped text the information to grandpa.
Grandpa used leftover and reclaimed wood to make this for her:
Look at that. This wasn't some super-fast thrown together shelf. No, he cared about the materials he chose. He used the best parts of the reclaimed wood, stripped it down to the beauty under the old ugly veneer, and put together this incredible piece of furniture for a nine year-old. For her toys.
Because she asked and because he loves her.
Not only was he happy to build it for her, but he took the time to show both her and myself how he was building it, what tools he was using, and how he was putting it all together.
This dad knows how to be a dad. This grandpa knows how to be a grandpa.
When I do wood projects, he shows me how to use the proper tools and lets me have at it. I now know how to use a drill press, select proper routing bits, use a hand router as well as a routing table, use a dremel and its various bits, as well as circular saws, jigsaws, and other machinery that I can't remember the names of. I love it so much that I started receiving power tools for Christmas.
I will never claim to be a master craftsman or carpenter, but I feel comfortable with the big kid toys and have absolute confidence that if I go to him with a question, he will be more than happy to answer it and show me how to do it.
Dad. Father-in-law. Grandpa.
These are things most people take for granted, but it means the world to me that he shows up to my children's weddings, blessings, baptisms, etc. When they tell him they're in a play or have a rugby game, he tries to be there. He's excited for his grandkids' achievements, endeavors, and lives. He's INTERESTED in them.
He doesn't just claim to be interested, he actively cares. For Christmas, he called and asked what the kids might want that he could build, and then had the items built and ready for Christmas. He follows through.
He builds special race cars, vintage cars, and trucks for his grandsons. -- don't get all feminist on me, because I guarantee that if one of his granddaughters wanted a car, he'd build one for them, too.
When my daughter's son was born, he had a handmade vehicle from Great-Grandpa V waiting for him.
He doesn't wait for us to contact him, he asks about things, calls or texts, and remembers birthdays. He initiates contact if we forget or overlook things.
He was there when I miscarried twins, holding me as I sobbed on his shoulder. He then went across the street to his friends who run an alternative funeral home and asked the wife to come over. She took the little 14 week old babies and cremated them, bringing me the ashes in a beautiful little porcelain Angel nick-nack so that I could have closure.
He CARES; he's made me feel like one of his own daughters.
Now, please don't think my mother-in-law isn't active in my kids' lives. She definitely is. Perhaps I take that for granted because I've seen/had that example from my own mother. She cares and loves her grandkids as fiercely as she loves her kids.
But the dad thing-- You have no idea how much that means. I can't explain. Well... I could, but it's not right to put all that out here. Just know that for me, having a dad show up, to be there, to be involved. To WANT to include me and teach me the hands on things, not caring that I'm a girl, well, it's a very big deal to me.
This Grandpa came to my oldest daughter's wedding (the oldest grandchild, just FYI.) He was early and ready for my son's blessing (my ONLY son, so it was a very big deal to me that I'd finally had a boy after five girls.) Ok, so Grandpa V was excited because his only son had finally a son to carry on the name. But still, he was there and he was just as excited and happy as we were.
He was there. He came. And it means the world to me that he's come to everything important to us or to his grandkids - even things that I didn't think were a big deal.
I will forever be grateful that I married into such incredible parents.
My father-in-law made this shelf for my 9yo daughter. Why? Because she asked. She wanted/needed a shelf to put her Equestria Girls High School on with shelves underneath to hold the dolls and ponies and other toys she might want to play with.
She decided how tall and wide she wanted it, helped measure, wrote down all the numbers, and then helped text the information to grandpa.
Grandpa used leftover and reclaimed wood to make this for her:
Look at that. This wasn't some super-fast thrown together shelf. No, he cared about the materials he chose. He used the best parts of the reclaimed wood, stripped it down to the beauty under the old ugly veneer, and put together this incredible piece of furniture for a nine year-old. For her toys.
Because she asked and because he loves her.
Not only was he happy to build it for her, but he took the time to show both her and myself how he was building it, what tools he was using, and how he was putting it all together.
This dad knows how to be a dad. This grandpa knows how to be a grandpa.
When I do wood projects, he shows me how to use the proper tools and lets me have at it. I now know how to use a drill press, select proper routing bits, use a hand router as well as a routing table, use a dremel and its various bits, as well as circular saws, jigsaws, and other machinery that I can't remember the names of. I love it so much that I started receiving power tools for Christmas.
I will never claim to be a master craftsman or carpenter, but I feel comfortable with the big kid toys and have absolute confidence that if I go to him with a question, he will be more than happy to answer it and show me how to do it.
Dad. Father-in-law. Grandpa.
These are things most people take for granted, but it means the world to me that he shows up to my children's weddings, blessings, baptisms, etc. When they tell him they're in a play or have a rugby game, he tries to be there. He's excited for his grandkids' achievements, endeavors, and lives. He's INTERESTED in them.
He doesn't just claim to be interested, he actively cares. For Christmas, he called and asked what the kids might want that he could build, and then had the items built and ready for Christmas. He follows through.
He builds special race cars, vintage cars, and trucks for his grandsons. -- don't get all feminist on me, because I guarantee that if one of his granddaughters wanted a car, he'd build one for them, too.
When my daughter's son was born, he had a handmade vehicle from Great-Grandpa V waiting for him.
He doesn't wait for us to contact him, he asks about things, calls or texts, and remembers birthdays. He initiates contact if we forget or overlook things.
He was there when I miscarried twins, holding me as I sobbed on his shoulder. He then went across the street to his friends who run an alternative funeral home and asked the wife to come over. She took the little 14 week old babies and cremated them, bringing me the ashes in a beautiful little porcelain Angel nick-nack so that I could have closure.
He CARES; he's made me feel like one of his own daughters.
Now, please don't think my mother-in-law isn't active in my kids' lives. She definitely is. Perhaps I take that for granted because I've seen/had that example from my own mother. She cares and loves her grandkids as fiercely as she loves her kids.
But the dad thing-- You have no idea how much that means. I can't explain. Well... I could, but it's not right to put all that out here. Just know that for me, having a dad show up, to be there, to be involved. To WANT to include me and teach me the hands on things, not caring that I'm a girl, well, it's a very big deal to me.
This Grandpa came to my oldest daughter's wedding (the oldest grandchild, just FYI.) He was early and ready for my son's blessing (my ONLY son, so it was a very big deal to me that I'd finally had a boy after five girls.) Ok, so Grandpa V was excited because his only son had finally a son to carry on the name. But still, he was there and he was just as excited and happy as we were.
He was there. He came. And it means the world to me that he's come to everything important to us or to his grandkids - even things that I didn't think were a big deal.
I will forever be grateful that I married into such incredible parents.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Another Thing on Fear
I know. I know, I know, I know that what other people think shouldn't matter.
I am having a hard time with that currently.
Ok, so you know I'm religious. My morals and values include a certain dress code and expectations of modesty.
Not all of my children agree with or live to these values and expectations. I may be a tad disappointed about that, but they are their own selves and perfectly capable of making their own life decisions. I certainly don't hold them to whatever grand expectations are out there. I certainly don't live up to them all the time myself.
My family is also very religious. Now, I love my family. LOVE them. They are generous, loving, and have always been there for me when I've needed help emotionally, financially, physically, or whatever.
So I am having some fear issues.
I do not expect nor want anyone to give me a fix-it for this. I just need to express it.
The first big thing that is causing a bit of a rift is that my daughter is marrying a non-member of our faith. And I will fight to the death against anyone who judges her or gives either her or him crap about it. He is awesome, he is the best for her, and they both bring out the best in each other. Not only that, but they are talking responsibly about their future, practicing compromise already, and just being great together.
A couple of family members have already tried to give her a... guilt trip? lecture? about all the things she'll miss out on. And I totally went mamma bear on them and let them know to leave her alone about her decisions.
Well, now I'm feeling self-conscious because her perfect, wonderful, make-her-feel-like-a-princess wedding dress is sleeveless. It shows off her perfect arms and shoulders from her athleticism, and oh my goodness is she beautiful in it.
My fear is that my family is going to think I am an awful mother and haven't raised my children according to my standards.
I know that's a dumb fear. Of course I have. I have *also* raised my kids with the knowledge that they can make their own choices. I don't want them to make choices I'd make. In fact, half the time I wish that I hadn't made the choices I made at their age.
I know that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It's her wedding, it can be however she wants it. Either my family supports her, or they don't. It's just painful. The very thought that they might not support her is painful.
This is me borrowing a jack, of course. But I know without a doubt that I'm going to get an earful from my mother. There's nothing I can do about that. It's just going to happen. I'm prepared to deal with that. I am worried that my daughters and I will have to form a protective barrier for my daughter on her wedding day so no one makes her feel awful about her choices.
Anyway, there's my fear. Perhaps with some guilt mixed in for feeling like a failure. Don't tell me how to fix it. I'll just have to work through it. I have no control over others, I can only control myself. And somehow it will all work out. I dont' know how, but it will.
I am having a hard time with that currently.
Ok, so you know I'm religious. My morals and values include a certain dress code and expectations of modesty.
Not all of my children agree with or live to these values and expectations. I may be a tad disappointed about that, but they are their own selves and perfectly capable of making their own life decisions. I certainly don't hold them to whatever grand expectations are out there. I certainly don't live up to them all the time myself.
My family is also very religious. Now, I love my family. LOVE them. They are generous, loving, and have always been there for me when I've needed help emotionally, financially, physically, or whatever.
So I am having some fear issues.
I do not expect nor want anyone to give me a fix-it for this. I just need to express it.
The first big thing that is causing a bit of a rift is that my daughter is marrying a non-member of our faith. And I will fight to the death against anyone who judges her or gives either her or him crap about it. He is awesome, he is the best for her, and they both bring out the best in each other. Not only that, but they are talking responsibly about their future, practicing compromise already, and just being great together.
A couple of family members have already tried to give her a... guilt trip? lecture? about all the things she'll miss out on. And I totally went mamma bear on them and let them know to leave her alone about her decisions.
Well, now I'm feeling self-conscious because her perfect, wonderful, make-her-feel-like-a-princess wedding dress is sleeveless. It shows off her perfect arms and shoulders from her athleticism, and oh my goodness is she beautiful in it.
My fear is that my family is going to think I am an awful mother and haven't raised my children according to my standards.
I know that's a dumb fear. Of course I have. I have *also* raised my kids with the knowledge that they can make their own choices. I don't want them to make choices I'd make. In fact, half the time I wish that I hadn't made the choices I made at their age.
I know that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It's her wedding, it can be however she wants it. Either my family supports her, or they don't. It's just painful. The very thought that they might not support her is painful.
This is me borrowing a jack, of course. But I know without a doubt that I'm going to get an earful from my mother. There's nothing I can do about that. It's just going to happen. I'm prepared to deal with that. I am worried that my daughters and I will have to form a protective barrier for my daughter on her wedding day so no one makes her feel awful about her choices.
Anyway, there's my fear. Perhaps with some guilt mixed in for feeling like a failure. Don't tell me how to fix it. I'll just have to work through it. I have no control over others, I can only control myself. And somehow it will all work out. I dont' know how, but it will.
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
I Wish I Could Protect My Children From The Yuck
I wish that there was some way to protect my children from difficult pregnancies and even more difficult recoveries.
Well, honestly, I wish there were a way to protect them from all things harmful. Of course, that would prevent their own growth and learning. How can they gain strength if they don't learn to climb over, dig under, or move around obstacles, right? But oh it's hard to watch.
My oldest is now struggling with Post-Partum depression. As I am open about my feelings and experiences, so is she.
I want to link to her post. I didn't know how to share my post-partum experience when I was having it. I made a lot of excuses for it at the time. I didn't honestly know how to cope, and I was unmedicated. My older children had to take on much of the parenting responsibility and my attitude about it was not helpful.
And now my daughter is having that same struggle. It is heartbreaking to share these thoughts and feelings together over the phone. It is comforting to find someone who truly understands, but it is also so very difficult to have to struggle through it.
Here is her post: Too Honest For Comfort
Monday, February 22, 2016
I wish and hope for my daughters
There are words and emotions I want to say and spell out, but they won't form into a coherent whole. I'm going to try anyway.
My oldest daughter is married and has had her first child. My first grandbaby. It's amazing and wonderful and challenging and hard. She's struggling with college and a baby who won't sleep. The hormones of her post-partum female body are not making things any easier.
I remember that stage. It's hard to watch her struggle. It's also impossible not to get goofy happy about that little life she's brought into the world who I love so much.
She has a husband who adores, cherishes, and loves her. She hates it when she cannot sleep next to him and is still completely besotted, even when her marriage gets hard.
My second daughter is now engaged. She's changing colleges so she can live near him until they get married. When, we don't know for sure. I hope sooner rather than later, but we'll see.
Again, this daughter has a guy who absolutely adores her. She misses him when they are apart. She has given him her whole heart, and he's earned it.
I love that these guys love my daughters. That they build each other up, that they support each other's goals. I've watched them compromise, and work together to face challenges. Ok, granted, a whole year of marriage for child #1 is not a whole lot of time. But it's a very healthy start, I think.
Child #2 isn't even in a marriage yet, but she's had relationship practice before this. And oh my goodness did she sample the dating pool. The way she and her fiance have faced their differences and their situations has been impressive and amazing to me.
The point I'm trying to get at, I think, is that I am so very glad that my girls have ended up with young men who love them, respect them, and who are compassionate and caring about their feelings, their goals, and who they are.
I hope my other three daughters end up with men like that. I hope my son grows up to be a man like that.
I know things don't always work out. I know, quite well, that some people have well-concealed masks that aren't discovered until after the wedding vows have been said.
I sincerely and desperately hope that my girls have keepers. That they have chosen wisely and that their mates have chosen well in return. I hope my girls are just as amazing to their men.
I wish for them all the happiness that it's possible to have. Life will not be kind. Every single one of my kids is going to have ups, downs, and roller-coaster rides from hell. Marriage is an opportunity to become a master at forgiveness and compromise. It's certainly not easy.
I hope for my girls that it's worth it.
We all know that people change. One or the other in the unions are capable of making dumb and hurtful choices. Things happen. Not all marriages last; some last when they shouldn't.
I hope. I hope that these pieces of my heart walking around out there in the world get their happy endings.
My oldest daughter is married and has had her first child. My first grandbaby. It's amazing and wonderful and challenging and hard. She's struggling with college and a baby who won't sleep. The hormones of her post-partum female body are not making things any easier.
I remember that stage. It's hard to watch her struggle. It's also impossible not to get goofy happy about that little life she's brought into the world who I love so much.
She has a husband who adores, cherishes, and loves her. She hates it when she cannot sleep next to him and is still completely besotted, even when her marriage gets hard.
My second daughter is now engaged. She's changing colleges so she can live near him until they get married. When, we don't know for sure. I hope sooner rather than later, but we'll see.
Again, this daughter has a guy who absolutely adores her. She misses him when they are apart. She has given him her whole heart, and he's earned it.
I love that these guys love my daughters. That they build each other up, that they support each other's goals. I've watched them compromise, and work together to face challenges. Ok, granted, a whole year of marriage for child #1 is not a whole lot of time. But it's a very healthy start, I think.
Child #2 isn't even in a marriage yet, but she's had relationship practice before this. And oh my goodness did she sample the dating pool. The way she and her fiance have faced their differences and their situations has been impressive and amazing to me.
The point I'm trying to get at, I think, is that I am so very glad that my girls have ended up with young men who love them, respect them, and who are compassionate and caring about their feelings, their goals, and who they are.
I hope my other three daughters end up with men like that. I hope my son grows up to be a man like that.
I know things don't always work out. I know, quite well, that some people have well-concealed masks that aren't discovered until after the wedding vows have been said.
I sincerely and desperately hope that my girls have keepers. That they have chosen wisely and that their mates have chosen well in return. I hope my girls are just as amazing to their men.
I wish for them all the happiness that it's possible to have. Life will not be kind. Every single one of my kids is going to have ups, downs, and roller-coaster rides from hell. Marriage is an opportunity to become a master at forgiveness and compromise. It's certainly not easy.
I hope for my girls that it's worth it.
We all know that people change. One or the other in the unions are capable of making dumb and hurtful choices. Things happen. Not all marriages last; some last when they shouldn't.
I hope. I hope that these pieces of my heart walking around out there in the world get their happy endings.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Enduring
Someone sick = called in early on Monday. Someone quit = stayed late on Weds. Also had Blue & Gold for Wil and New Beginnings for Mina and Jada yesterday (Weds) Forgot to take xanex before the Blue & Gold... that was hard, but I got through it. At least New Beginnings was quiet.
I think I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed last night. Still have two more days of work this week. I am trying really hard to dig up some enthusiasm while I'm there. As Howard Taylor puts it, "Be the dancing monkey for the public.
Once upon a time, I worked 40+ hours a week. (When you're salaried, no one counts overtime.) For a couple of years I had two jobs and worked I don't even know how many hours a week. Now here I am finding 20ish hours a struggle.
Honestly? This week I have truly wondered if working is a good idea. Deep down I do love it, but wow is it hard. Thankfully next week I only work three days.
And yet I find myself wanting to get back into more involvement with my kids. I wanted to approach the Cub Master last night and tell him all the stuff we used to do when I was cub master. Wasn't sure how that would go over, so I kept my mouth shut. If you know me, you probably know how hard that was. I tend to want to take over when I feel like I'm good at something. I was good at being a pack leader. It was hard, but I loved it. There's nothing so fun as getting to be a 9yr old boy for a few hours a week.
Of course, that being said, I know there will be times when I can't function. Those days are part of my life now and I can almost accept it. However, I crave the involvement. Which is NOT simplifying my life, but it's something I want to do.
A little girl came over and asked me about Girl Scouts at the Blue and Gold. I have no clue how she knew to talk to *me* of the 60+ people there. Neither did her dad, but he took down all the information so he could enroll her.
I miss scouts. I miss the activities, the smiles on the girls and boys faces when they achieve something they didn't know they could do.
I think I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed last night. Still have two more days of work this week. I am trying really hard to dig up some enthusiasm while I'm there. As Howard Taylor puts it, "Be the dancing monkey for the public.
Once upon a time, I worked 40+ hours a week. (When you're salaried, no one counts overtime.) For a couple of years I had two jobs and worked I don't even know how many hours a week. Now here I am finding 20ish hours a struggle.
Honestly? This week I have truly wondered if working is a good idea. Deep down I do love it, but wow is it hard. Thankfully next week I only work three days.
And yet I find myself wanting to get back into more involvement with my kids. I wanted to approach the Cub Master last night and tell him all the stuff we used to do when I was cub master. Wasn't sure how that would go over, so I kept my mouth shut. If you know me, you probably know how hard that was. I tend to want to take over when I feel like I'm good at something. I was good at being a pack leader. It was hard, but I loved it. There's nothing so fun as getting to be a 9yr old boy for a few hours a week.
Of course, that being said, I know there will be times when I can't function. Those days are part of my life now and I can almost accept it. However, I crave the involvement. Which is NOT simplifying my life, but it's something I want to do.
A little girl came over and asked me about Girl Scouts at the Blue and Gold. I have no clue how she knew to talk to *me* of the 60+ people there. Neither did her dad, but he took down all the information so he could enroll her.
I miss scouts. I miss the activities, the smiles on the girls and boys faces when they achieve something they didn't know they could do.
And frankly, it feels like it would be a great escape from... well... stuff that would be inappropriate to talk about on FB, but is super massive stressful that I don't know how to deal with. Crap that my psychiatrist challenged me to turn into something fun like I did with Christmas. I think the man is insane and mean for expecting me to be able to do it.
And honestly, I'm a complete coward. So much so, that when I missed my appointment on Tuesday, I still haven't rescheduled. I don't want to report that I have no idea how to do his stupid homework. Not only that, but I don't want to. After six weeks, I still have zero clue where to even start. Not smart of me, and I need to suck it up and set an appointment because the man manages my meds and my state of mind.
But AAARGH I hate admitting that I don't even want to try this challenge. It's a flat "Nope, not gonna do this one and you can't make me. I don't want to find a way to make it better; it's simply easier to continue to endure, so there. How about we forget I even brought this subject up.
Wow, that was a victim complex right there. Yeesh. If you read through that, you get extra stars for patience.
I'm gonna summon the strength to shower and get through my short four hour stint in the fitting room. I CAN make eye contact and smile at people for four hours. It's nice to see people smile back.
One of my co-workers said, "How do you get people to willingly let you count their clothes out? They always get mad at me." -- This surprised me, because I couldn't imagine any alternate scenarios.
Well, except for those few that are determined to be angry and upset. They generally start out that way no matter what is said or done. I honestly don't get a lot of those, but they happen. They hate that I slow them down by counting in, and they really hate that I slow them down by counting out. Oh AND the fact that their clothes have to touch the T-bar. That's even worse for those folks. Darn. I'm gonna do it anyway.
So why don't my people normally have an issue with counting in and counting out? I dunno. I make it funny? I laugh about it? They can sense that I'm not giving them an option, it's just the way it is? Smiling about it is funner? I swear to them I went to first grade and learned how to count or do basic math?
The fitting room is MY domain and it's a happy place for me. Maybe they can sense that? My life is hard enough and I hope I can make other people feel loved when they're having a bad day? Especially when clothes don't fit right, or they're having to try out bigger sizes and that's depressing? I have no idea.
I like people, and they tend to like me back.
Now, don't get me wrong, I KNOW my take-charge attitude totally offends some people. And wow can I be a know-it-all sometimes. I try to apologize and make it better when I'm aware of it.
And obviously I have personality conflicts with some people. Let's be real here, it happens to everyone. And when it does my attitude is, "Well, I know God loves them. He can love them over THERE, preferably not next to me." I know you know how that is. Everyone does. Some people just suck to be around no matter how hard you try.
Anyway, I need to go shower now. Love all y'al.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Oh I feel like I suck right now
The pitfall of having *me* as the homeschool 'leader' whatever thing I'm supposed to be, is that I forgot I have an entirely different email I'm supposed to be checking.
75 messages from teachers. 75.
If I could remember to check the dang thing, I could remember to push/remind/do my freaking JOB.
Granted, I cannot make the child's choices, but ohmyholycrap, I feel like an immense failure right now. What kind of mother stays oblivious to attempted communication from teachers?????
One more alarm I need to set on my phone as a reminder. Well, assuming the worst doesn't happen. Oh, I can't even tell you how bad it will be if the worst happens. On the plus side, grades are currently pulled up in all but two of the classes, and one of those is waiting for assignments to be graded. If you knew my daughter, you'd know why I was stressing over this. It's a very big deal. And don't tell me public school would be better. Just don't. Again, you don't know my daughter.
this is what my phone looks like:
*alarm: Take your meds
*alarm: get out of bed and shower for work - or heck, shower for hygiene.
*alarm: make dinner
*alarm: Hey, feed yourself lunch/breakfast
*alarm: it's time to read to kids
*alarm: bedtime for kids
*alarm: did you do your writing today?
*alarm: did you do your sketching today?
*work alarm: Break's over. Lunch is over. (timer set for 15 or 30 mins)
*new alarm: Check the homeschool email
*new alarm: check assignments (fridays) - because it's my JOB. And not only do they check child's work, they check to make sure I am being involved and helping.
*alarm: get out of bed and shower for work - or heck, shower for hygiene.
*alarm: make dinner
*alarm: Hey, feed yourself lunch/breakfast
*alarm: it's time to read to kids
*alarm: bedtime for kids
*alarm: did you do your writing today?
*alarm: did you do your sketching today?
*work alarm: Break's over. Lunch is over. (timer set for 15 or 30 mins)
*new alarm: Check the homeschool email
*new alarm: check assignments (fridays) - because it's my JOB. And not only do they check child's work, they check to make sure I am being involved and helping.
Alarms because I can't remember a damn thing because my brain doesn't function anymore. And the aphasia, that's annoying, too.
*sigh* The best I can do at this point is try to do better. I can't fix the past. No one can. But uuuuuugh my new brain is frustrating. How am I supposed to be an example of responsibility when I can't remember basic things without reminders?
I KNOW the depression is going to take this and make the guilt and feeling of failure even worse. And if I don't deal with it soon, the anxiety will kick in. I know I'm going to have to stay on top of that so it doesn't spiral down. But I guess right now I'm allowed to feel that way for a few minutes or however long until I handle the guilt and use it as a stepping stool instead of a holycrapISUCK!!!!!
And trust me: consequences. Oooooh consequences. I may never let this child out of the house until she's 30.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Chores
My doctor says I have to try to make my life less overwhelming. Part of that is making sure my kids do household chores to prevent my surroundings from feeling... chaotic? out of control? or yes, overwhelming.
Over the years we've had chore lists. For the most part they're effective. With child #2 leaving for college, my breakdowns, and life havoc, we haven't made a new one to account for our familial changes.
So.
I made chore lists. (Typo's everywhere. Please pardon those, as I honestly have a hard time finding right words and letters while I'm thinking. Even proof reading more than once, my brain says it's correct. My kids know what I mean, though, and I'm not wasting paper printing new ones.)
Wahoo.
These designs are somewhat creative and somewhat drearily-burn-your-eyes-out boring. I'm fairly certain my Typography teacher would roll her eyes at the gazillion different typefaces I used. There's no color. Because no color printer. blech. BUT, we have crayons and colored pencils and markers. The kids have each decorated their own chart, so they're much more fun in real life.
This one goes in a picture frame with dry-erase markers so it can be reused all year long. They can track the dates for each week, what their Sat job is, and what reward they're working for.
Some days I honestly cannot summon the energy to make the kids do their homework and chores. Therefore they each pick a reward, I buy it, and they know they can claim it at the end of the month. I need the rewards to be visible and believable so the kids aren't working for an empty promise.
I don't know if this will work. If not, I get some My Little Ponies, KreO Transformers, and a Barnes & Noble gift card at the end of January. I'm claiming them if the kids don't earn them. I think. Not sure, really, how we'll handle that. If they'll roll over to the next month, if I save them for Christmas or birthdays or something?
Not really sure how I'll handle missed days, either. If there's a mulligan, a pre-set of days they can miss, or something? Maybe I can hand out mulligans as a reward for extra awesome behavior? I have no idea.
This page tells the kids exactly what is expected to consider their job done. My 9 yr old suggested that Kitchen include wiping out the microwave. I am wondering if I should have added vacuuming off the couches to the vacuum chore. This is posted next to the graph that details who has what job on what week. That way no one can say they didn't know.
My son can read, so even he can't say we didn't tell him. And at the age of seven, yes, he CAN clean bathrooms. He may not do it perfectly, but he CAN do it. I refuse to have a child head off to college or live on their own and not know how to care for themselves, their home, or their bathroom. ICK.
And this. This one is for me. I am super forgetful, and I tend to avoid things that are good for my mental health and self-satisfaction. So here it is. Me talking to me. I have put a sketchbook by my computer, by my bed, in my backpack, and am planning on putting one at work. I need new ones, most of mine are full or almost full, but I am attempting to make that happen. The writing thing shouldn't be impossible either. I am addicted to my computer and sit here all the time. In fact, I hung my job chart right here on the wall next to me so I can see it and not forget.
Now that I think about it, I need to figure out a dinner schedule. Who makes snacks for after school when I'm at work, who makes dinner on what days, and what days I am expected to crock-pot.That feels extra complicated right now, so I probably won't do that yet. But we need it. Dinners are the hardest thing after cleaning house.
Over the years we've had chore lists. For the most part they're effective. With child #2 leaving for college, my breakdowns, and life havoc, we haven't made a new one to account for our familial changes.
So.
I made chore lists. (Typo's everywhere. Please pardon those, as I honestly have a hard time finding right words and letters while I'm thinking. Even proof reading more than once, my brain says it's correct. My kids know what I mean, though, and I'm not wasting paper printing new ones.)
Wahoo.
These designs are somewhat creative and somewhat drearily-burn-your-eyes-out boring. I'm fairly certain my Typography teacher would roll her eyes at the gazillion different typefaces I used. There's no color. Because no color printer. blech. BUT, we have crayons and colored pencils and markers. The kids have each decorated their own chart, so they're much more fun in real life.
Some days I honestly cannot summon the energy to make the kids do their homework and chores. Therefore they each pick a reward, I buy it, and they know they can claim it at the end of the month. I need the rewards to be visible and believable so the kids aren't working for an empty promise.
I don't know if this will work. If not, I get some My Little Ponies, KreO Transformers, and a Barnes & Noble gift card at the end of January. I'm claiming them if the kids don't earn them. I think. Not sure, really, how we'll handle that. If they'll roll over to the next month, if I save them for Christmas or birthdays or something?
Not really sure how I'll handle missed days, either. If there's a mulligan, a pre-set of days they can miss, or something? Maybe I can hand out mulligans as a reward for extra awesome behavior? I have no idea.
This may or may not make sense if you look at it. On our calendar, sundays get marked with the A-F, and Saturdays get marked with the 1-6. That way everyone knows what they're expected to do during the week and what their Saturday job is. This is posted next to the calendar. And yes, mom and dad are on the rotations, too. We all live in the house, we all have to pull our weight.
My son can read, so even he can't say we didn't tell him. And at the age of seven, yes, he CAN clean bathrooms. He may not do it perfectly, but he CAN do it. I refuse to have a child head off to college or live on their own and not know how to care for themselves, their home, or their bathroom. ICK.
Now that I think about it, I need to figure out a dinner schedule. Who makes snacks for after school when I'm at work, who makes dinner on what days, and what days I am expected to crock-pot.That feels extra complicated right now, so I probably won't do that yet. But we need it. Dinners are the hardest thing after cleaning house.
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