It's that time of year. My Womb Escapement Anniversary is tomorrow. (Thank you, Daria, for the title.) Yesterday I was so angry over nothing that I scrubbed my house down. I was mad at the dust, mad at the whatsits needing to be swept from my floor. Mad at the cat for defiling the floor with his cat litter. Angry at everything.
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Monday, June 17, 2019
Sunday, April 7, 2019
Cleaning is Cathartic??
Ok, so I know cleaning can be cathartic. I just didn't expect the boil-over of anger that burned through my soul as I was scrubbing grease off of my stove this afternoon.
Earlier in the day I was doing great. Feeling calm, peaceful, happy. Listened to the morning session of General Conference. Sat down and read a book. Went and did laundry when prodded by L. Who hugged me and looked at me with this goofy grinny look and called me his queen and made me melt all over with gratitude and love and conviction that I'd fight anyone and do anything for this man. Then we came home and vacuumed, noticed the counters were in need of a good cleaning, and then BAM! Not so good.
Pissed off. Angry. Scrubbing for all I was worth as years of resentment and anger poured out into the suds.
Who worked two jobs with two toddlers for years? Me. Why? Because Mr. Man had racked up TEN credit cards that needed paying off. And then got sick and was in the hospital for a month. Lost his job. And then didn't want to apply for another one when he was recovered.
I had to call his mom, who then bullied him into putting in applications and wrote a resume for him. Bought him dress clothes for interviews.
Mr Man who was upset when I quit my job to be a stay at home mom because -- believe it or not, I don't care,-- God TOLD me to. Audibly. Sternly. "You need to BE A MOM. YOUR CHILDREN NEED YOU." And they did. So I did.
So he quit his. Because his job was expecting him to try to sell stuff, and he didn't like sales.
And then got sick again and nearly died when we couldn't pay bills. And had both kidneys removed because he has this horrible disease, and my brother gave him a kidney to keep him alive. And my kids were traumatized and my oldest needed anger management therapy. I miscarried twins and it was this big huge thing we all lived through while living with his parents.
And then when he was better, he again refused to get a job because he was disabled because he'd had a transplant. Although he wasn't disabled. He was in great health. His version of a job was Primerica, which IS SALES!!!
And I shook with anger as these memories rolled over me, pissed off and angry that I did my best to raise my kids, to get a degree I could use if he died. And he was angry that I wasn't using my degree to get a job.
And I was angry. ANGRY that he had a degree that he refused to use. He'd started school again to work in IT and didn't finish. He racked up thousands of dollars in student loans that will never be paid off.
I'm angry that after I left, I found out that apparently he'd been doing all the work raising the kids, cleaning the house, while I just sat around and did nothing. For 26 years.
Now. I did a lot of nothing while in the depths of depression. This is true. But I was always changing diapers, potty training, and doing what little I could when I was sunk low in the depths. But when I wasn't, I was doing Girl Scouts and involved and doing my best to teach and play and read and volunteer at schools, braid hair at midnight and worry and feel guilt over all the things I did wrong and, and, and, and, you know... all that stuff that goes into momhood that no one ever really understands until they've been a mom. Or a parent figure.
AND that whole time trying to deflect Mr. Man's anger from them to me. Because I could take the irrational shouting and yelling about people not pushing the garbage far enough down. Or eating the wrong piece of cheese without putting it on bread. Or opening a bag of cheese when there was one already open. The shouting and anger that would go on for half an hour or more. That had my daughters convinced life wasn't even worth living because they could never do anything right. Could never please him.
Angry at the years of effort I put in, trying to change, trying to be good enough, trying to measure up and consistently failing. Angry that my marriage experience has more bad memories than good.
Don't get me wrong. There were good things. I have six kids. There was at least one part of the marriage that worked. But the constant anger we lived with overshadows everything.
I shook and ground my teeth as I scrubbed. Decided I should probably write this out. Because if it's bubbling up, it must be ready to leave.
You know anger is a secondary emotion, right? It covers hurt. Anger is so much easier to feel than the pain. And oh boy does it hurt. It hurts that I was never, ever good enough. Not good enough to try to work and provide for. Not good enough to try to control a temper. Not good enough, period.
It hurts so much that the idea of ever getting married again makes me want to slap the person who invented the idea of shackling me to someone, telling me I'd live happily ever after ... FOREVER.
Yeah, well, I don't want forever with that. I refuse to have forever with that. I'm worth more than that. And I much prefer the happiness I've found now, even if it is only for this life, than what I had before. Because what I had before hurt. It picked away at me until I broke.
I have an awesome support system. I have so much to be grateful for. So much in life to look forward to and live for. I don't want to spend my life resenting the last 26 years. I don't want to spend the rest of my life bitter and angry.
I am lovable. I am loved. And that is amazing.
I feel so much better after writing that all out.
Run-on sentences be damned, that felt good to purge.
Earlier in the day I was doing great. Feeling calm, peaceful, happy. Listened to the morning session of General Conference. Sat down and read a book. Went and did laundry when prodded by L. Who hugged me and looked at me with this goofy grinny look and called me his queen and made me melt all over with gratitude and love and conviction that I'd fight anyone and do anything for this man. Then we came home and vacuumed, noticed the counters were in need of a good cleaning, and then BAM! Not so good.
Pissed off. Angry. Scrubbing for all I was worth as years of resentment and anger poured out into the suds.
Who worked two jobs with two toddlers for years? Me. Why? Because Mr. Man had racked up TEN credit cards that needed paying off. And then got sick and was in the hospital for a month. Lost his job. And then didn't want to apply for another one when he was recovered.
I had to call his mom, who then bullied him into putting in applications and wrote a resume for him. Bought him dress clothes for interviews.
Mr Man who was upset when I quit my job to be a stay at home mom because -- believe it or not, I don't care,-- God TOLD me to. Audibly. Sternly. "You need to BE A MOM. YOUR CHILDREN NEED YOU." And they did. So I did.
So he quit his. Because his job was expecting him to try to sell stuff, and he didn't like sales.
And then got sick again and nearly died when we couldn't pay bills. And had both kidneys removed because he has this horrible disease, and my brother gave him a kidney to keep him alive. And my kids were traumatized and my oldest needed anger management therapy. I miscarried twins and it was this big huge thing we all lived through while living with his parents.
And then when he was better, he again refused to get a job because he was disabled because he'd had a transplant. Although he wasn't disabled. He was in great health. His version of a job was Primerica, which IS SALES!!!
And I shook with anger as these memories rolled over me, pissed off and angry that I did my best to raise my kids, to get a degree I could use if he died. And he was angry that I wasn't using my degree to get a job.
And I was angry. ANGRY that he had a degree that he refused to use. He'd started school again to work in IT and didn't finish. He racked up thousands of dollars in student loans that will never be paid off.
I'm angry that after I left, I found out that apparently he'd been doing all the work raising the kids, cleaning the house, while I just sat around and did nothing. For 26 years.
Now. I did a lot of nothing while in the depths of depression. This is true. But I was always changing diapers, potty training, and doing what little I could when I was sunk low in the depths. But when I wasn't, I was doing Girl Scouts and involved and doing my best to teach and play and read and volunteer at schools, braid hair at midnight and worry and feel guilt over all the things I did wrong and, and, and, and, you know... all that stuff that goes into momhood that no one ever really understands until they've been a mom. Or a parent figure.
AND that whole time trying to deflect Mr. Man's anger from them to me. Because I could take the irrational shouting and yelling about people not pushing the garbage far enough down. Or eating the wrong piece of cheese without putting it on bread. Or opening a bag of cheese when there was one already open. The shouting and anger that would go on for half an hour or more. That had my daughters convinced life wasn't even worth living because they could never do anything right. Could never please him.
Angry at the years of effort I put in, trying to change, trying to be good enough, trying to measure up and consistently failing. Angry that my marriage experience has more bad memories than good.
Don't get me wrong. There were good things. I have six kids. There was at least one part of the marriage that worked. But the constant anger we lived with overshadows everything.
I shook and ground my teeth as I scrubbed. Decided I should probably write this out. Because if it's bubbling up, it must be ready to leave.
You know anger is a secondary emotion, right? It covers hurt. Anger is so much easier to feel than the pain. And oh boy does it hurt. It hurts that I was never, ever good enough. Not good enough to try to work and provide for. Not good enough to try to control a temper. Not good enough, period.
It hurts so much that the idea of ever getting married again makes me want to slap the person who invented the idea of shackling me to someone, telling me I'd live happily ever after ... FOREVER.
Yeah, well, I don't want forever with that. I refuse to have forever with that. I'm worth more than that. And I much prefer the happiness I've found now, even if it is only for this life, than what I had before. Because what I had before hurt. It picked away at me until I broke.
I have an awesome support system. I have so much to be grateful for. So much in life to look forward to and live for. I don't want to spend my life resenting the last 26 years. I don't want to spend the rest of my life bitter and angry.
I am lovable. I am loved. And that is amazing.
I feel so much better after writing that all out.
Run-on sentences be damned, that felt good to purge.
Friday, October 14, 2016
The Art of Drama
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.
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.
Monday, May 9, 2016
Melancholy
Yesterday was Mother's Day. I would like to note that I am extremely grateful for my mother and all the mother figures in my life. I love them all dearly.
My kids gave me the sweetest and funniest gifts. I love that my two youngest wanted to sit in my lap and hug on me all day. My 16yo made pancakes several times. My two oldest sent me some long and beautiful texts.
--bit of a self-pity party, so read on at your own risk--
My kids gave me the sweetest and funniest gifts. I love that my two youngest wanted to sit in my lap and hug on me all day. My 16yo made pancakes several times. My two oldest sent me some long and beautiful texts.
--bit of a self-pity party, so read on at your own risk--
Friday, April 1, 2016
It's Been A Year
Exactly one year ago, I left home and headed west. By this time (1:26 pm) I had made it to the entrance gate that leads to Antelope Island.
I stopped there at the picnic table, put my feet up on the bench and slept for a bit. It would be the last time I felt the sun on my face, the last time I felt the wind in my hair, the last everything.
The cement was cool under my back, but that was ok. I would need my body temperature to be low so the shock of the water temperature wouldn't be unbearable. When I reached the water...
Instead of heading to the entrance gate and starting out along the causeway, I headed off into the lake bed.
For the Great Salt Lake supposedly being this big lake, it was incredibly hard to find the water...
That's a good thing.
It's been a year. I recognize the trauma that my death -- a self-caused death -- would have caused my family and children. I have continued to fight my demons.
Yes, there are times when I still don't want to be here. There have been a couple of days I've wanted to take that long walk again. However, instead of acting on it, I call my psychiatrist, I call my friend who is a therapist. I let people know that I'm in a bad place.
Communicating is one of the reasons I'm still here.
I have the best friends. I have a great support system in place. Even the people I work with are awesome. Ok, only one knows that I actually attempted to kill myself, but still. I love them.
Earlier this week I was determined to throw a party and celebrate that I've been alive and here and more "with it" than I have been previously.
Today I woke up and it just isn't one of my better days. On top of that, I'd spent a lot of last night scrubbing down my kitchen. When I woke up, my kids had decided it was a great day to cook corn bread muffins. Crumbs everywhere, the sink full of dishes, and a very grumpy 9yo yelling and crying because her sister is always giving her the muffins with cracks or that crumble.
It's cornbread. There isn't a piece of cornbread anywhere that doesn't crumble. But she refuses to believe that they aren't like muffins.
In spite of the family drama, I am determined to at least make cookies and have something yummy to celebrate the good things. I have kids that I love. I have a house that I love. There is a perfect blue sky, snow on the mountains, and a clean scent in the air.
My daughter who is getting married in October has learned a new song on her Ukelelee (sp?) and it is adorable.
My daughter who worked so hard to bring a new life into the world has given me the most precious little grandson in the world!
I have these amazing children with their struggles and their triumphs. I love them so much.
I truly have been blessed with good things. While there are times that I can't see that, when I honestly feel like I am a detriment to their lives instead of a good thing, today I can see the truth. I do matter to my children, and they do want me to participate in their lives, no matter what stage they are at.
I am a lucky person. I am grateful for the people who have helped me so much. I'm grateful that I've made it through this last year. Here's looking forward to surviving another. :)
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.
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.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Motherhood and Depression
Motherhood comes in different stages that start the moment you first find out you're expecting. (Or adopting; I don't believe there's a difference.)
Monday, April 27, 2015
Gross Happens
I was doing the dishes the other day and there was a bowl in the sink that was just icky. I have no idea what was in it or how long it had sat there. Because no, I am not one of those perfect parents who keeps the sink clear every day. When I rinsed it out and shoved it in the dishwasher, I wondered if Mike Rowe ever considered doing a Dirty Jobs episode on homes. One doesn't even have to have kids for this, especially if you have pets. As I have six kids, well, I have mostly kid stories.
Gross: When your son gets distracted by something while peeing and turns to look at it. Because when a potty training little boy turns, it's not just his head but his whole body that swivels, which then gets pee not only on the toilet, but also sprays the walls and floor and whatever else is nearby.
Gross: The leftover moldy bit of something hidden under a child's bed that is the source of that smell you've been wondering about for days.
Gross: When your son gets distracted by something while peeing and turns to look at it. Because when a potty training little boy turns, it's not just his head but his whole body that swivels, which then gets pee not only on the toilet, but also sprays the walls and floor and whatever else is nearby.
Gross: The leftover moldy bit of something hidden under a child's bed that is the source of that smell you've been wondering about for days.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Christmas at my house
I felt I needed to share how Christmas turned out. I will forget if I don't.
I couldn't do this Christmas by myself, so all of my big kids helped while I directed traffic.
Those who know me, know that I reaaaaaalllly don't like holidays. With the anxiety, it's even worse. BUT, I've discovered that if I turn Christmas into a game, it's not about the presents, it's about the fun with family. This year, though, I really wasn't sure how to do that. But we had a theme: Monsters.
On Christmas Eve, we had some surprise visits. Santa Claus showed up at our door and delivered presents to the kids. My husband and I about had heart attacks. Completely unexpected. And then another secret santa came and left several bags of presents on our door step. I have no idea how to express what a blessing that was. It was wonderful, and I am extremely grateful for it.
Ok, so here's what happened Christmas Eve night:
I put Daughter A's husband in charge of sorting presents into piles. One pile for each person, family presents to be put in mom or dad's pile.
I put Daughter B's boyfriend in charge of finding most of her small presents and taping them to the ceiling and walls throughout the house.
Daughter A, B, and C sat at the table and made monster footprints, eyes, and teeth. And a misspelled sign that said "Monsters in Trayning Came and Played with your Presents. Go Find Mom and DAD!!!" - it was more misspelled, and quite cute, but I can't remember now exactly how it worked.
We had all the little kids sleep in the main room in the basement so the monsters could hide presents in their closets.
There were eyes and teeth on the dishwasher, laundry washer, and dryer. There were footprints on the walls, floors, and even ceilings.
Son-in-law separated gifts for the various closets and locations chosen for the monsters to have dropped or played with the presents. Boyfriend took extra presents that didn't fit evenly into the hiding places and taped them randomly around the house on walls. Daughter A helped sort presents and hide some in the tree.
Daughter B and C helped formulate the scavenger hunt and game.
Here's how it went:
* Kids came in to mom and dad's room to wake us up. There was a note that said, "Go wake up Sister A and her hubster in Brother's room. While you're in there, grab one of the matchbox cars, then come right back to mom and dad's room."
* Instructions there said to read the Christmas story from the Bible, sing a song, and then have family prayer. After that, the dragon on the container of presents would allow them to open the gifts. At the bottom of the container was another note. "All monsters must race their cars down the hall to the little brother's room."
* Once in the room, they had to ... I don't remember now... do something crazy? Like dance? before opening the presents hidden in the closet. And from there, they had to go brush their monster teeth to get rid of their monster morning breath.
* Oh my goodness, there were presents in the tub. And a note that said they needed to do a rain-dance down the hall to sister D's bedroom. In that room, they had to work as teams to build the biggest tower out of blocks before they could access the toys hidden in that closet.
* From there, the monsters were led to the front room where Daughter A's hubster, the Monster Wrangler, had them play a game to not only find the presents, but play a matching game to figure out the clues to the next set of instructions.
* Which led them to the kitchen where monsters needed to make breakfast and eat it. Because monsters need to feed their bellies, right? Then they had to load their dishes in the dishwasher. When they opened the dishwasher and the teeth appeared, they squealed in delight. Oh the giggles when they found presents on the washing racks.
* then they had to follow the footprints to the basement. Oh no, the washer and dryer had tried to eat some of the presents. The dryer had managed to close his mouth around them, but the washing machine had thrown some up onto the floor.
* they were then directed to the family room where they had to dance the Charleston. Which Sister A taught them. Someone had to win at Just Dance before they could get the next clue and move in to Sister C's bedroom, where the presents were hiding under the bed.
* Then in sister E's bedroom, there was a pile of presents hiding in her closet under the stairs. (I can't remember what goofy activity we had to do there.)
* And finally we ended up back upstairs in the living room with stockings and hunting for the presents hidden in the tree.
-- I couldn't have done it by myself. No way. But it was FUN. It involved the entire family, we all had to play and do the activities together. It made the morning about much more than presents, AND it made the morning last longer than the ten second flurry of wrapping paper flying everywhere.
This is the third year I've planned out a complicated Christmas morning. And in spite of all the anxiety and overwhelm and emotional issues I have before the big day, I have never regretted it. This is the first year that my big kids have actively asked to participate. A holiday I've hated for 32+ years has finally become fun for me. On the plus side, my kids love it, too.
So while it's a purely selfish motive for me to plan Christmases like this, my kids love it enough to help me pull it off. In fact, the little kids were begging to have the Grinch come steal Christmas again. Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do next year :)
I couldn't do this Christmas by myself, so all of my big kids helped while I directed traffic.
Those who know me, know that I reaaaaaalllly don't like holidays. With the anxiety, it's even worse. BUT, I've discovered that if I turn Christmas into a game, it's not about the presents, it's about the fun with family. This year, though, I really wasn't sure how to do that. But we had a theme: Monsters.
On Christmas Eve, we had some surprise visits. Santa Claus showed up at our door and delivered presents to the kids. My husband and I about had heart attacks. Completely unexpected. And then another secret santa came and left several bags of presents on our door step. I have no idea how to express what a blessing that was. It was wonderful, and I am extremely grateful for it.Ok, so here's what happened Christmas Eve night:
I put Daughter A's husband in charge of sorting presents into piles. One pile for each person, family presents to be put in mom or dad's pile.
I put Daughter B's boyfriend in charge of finding most of her small presents and taping them to the ceiling and walls throughout the house.
Daughter A, B, and C sat at the table and made monster footprints, eyes, and teeth. And a misspelled sign that said "Monsters in Trayning Came and Played with your Presents. Go Find Mom and DAD!!!" - it was more misspelled, and quite cute, but I can't remember now exactly how it worked.
We had all the little kids sleep in the main room in the basement so the monsters could hide presents in their closets.
There were eyes and teeth on the dishwasher, laundry washer, and dryer. There were footprints on the walls, floors, and even ceilings.
Son-in-law separated gifts for the various closets and locations chosen for the monsters to have dropped or played with the presents. Boyfriend took extra presents that didn't fit evenly into the hiding places and taped them randomly around the house on walls. Daughter A helped sort presents and hide some in the tree.
Daughter B and C helped formulate the scavenger hunt and game.
Here's how it went:
* Kids came in to mom and dad's room to wake us up. There was a note that said, "Go wake up Sister A and her hubster in Brother's room. While you're in there, grab one of the matchbox cars, then come right back to mom and dad's room."
* Instructions there said to read the Christmas story from the Bible, sing a song, and then have family prayer. After that, the dragon on the container of presents would allow them to open the gifts. At the bottom of the container was another note. "All monsters must race their cars down the hall to the little brother's room."
* Once in the room, they had to ... I don't remember now... do something crazy? Like dance? before opening the presents hidden in the closet. And from there, they had to go brush their monster teeth to get rid of their monster morning breath.
* Oh my goodness, there were presents in the tub. And a note that said they needed to do a rain-dance down the hall to sister D's bedroom. In that room, they had to work as teams to build the biggest tower out of blocks before they could access the toys hidden in that closet.
* From there, the monsters were led to the front room where Daughter A's hubster, the Monster Wrangler, had them play a game to not only find the presents, but play a matching game to figure out the clues to the next set of instructions.
* Which led them to the kitchen where monsters needed to make breakfast and eat it. Because monsters need to feed their bellies, right? Then they had to load their dishes in the dishwasher. When they opened the dishwasher and the teeth appeared, they squealed in delight. Oh the giggles when they found presents on the washing racks.
* then they had to follow the footprints to the basement. Oh no, the washer and dryer had tried to eat some of the presents. The dryer had managed to close his mouth around them, but the washing machine had thrown some up onto the floor.
* they were then directed to the family room where they had to dance the Charleston. Which Sister A taught them. Someone had to win at Just Dance before they could get the next clue and move in to Sister C's bedroom, where the presents were hiding under the bed.
* Then in sister E's bedroom, there was a pile of presents hiding in her closet under the stairs. (I can't remember what goofy activity we had to do there.)
* And finally we ended up back upstairs in the living room with stockings and hunting for the presents hidden in the tree.
-- I couldn't have done it by myself. No way. But it was FUN. It involved the entire family, we all had to play and do the activities together. It made the morning about much more than presents, AND it made the morning last longer than the ten second flurry of wrapping paper flying everywhere.
This is the third year I've planned out a complicated Christmas morning. And in spite of all the anxiety and overwhelm and emotional issues I have before the big day, I have never regretted it. This is the first year that my big kids have actively asked to participate. A holiday I've hated for 32+ years has finally become fun for me. On the plus side, my kids love it, too.
So while it's a purely selfish motive for me to plan Christmases like this, my kids love it enough to help me pull it off. In fact, the little kids were begging to have the Grinch come steal Christmas again. Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do next year :)
Monday, December 15, 2014
December
It's been a while since I've written here. It's been a while since I've felt like doing much.
This addition of anxiety to everything has not helped my mindset at all. Things I have done my whole life now seem monumentally hard.
* going to church
* going to a restaurant
* going to my husband's work parties
* family gatherings
* letting my children be loud when they play
I have turned down several opportunities for graphic design work because just the thought of a deadline or working and failing to meet someone's expectations made it hard to breathe. Sometimes it's not even the thought of failure, it's simply the idea of being creative that makes me feel completely overwhelmed.
I am barely able to be a human mommy. I am tired and annoyed at being an animal mommy. That makes me so sad. I have raised these cats since we found them abandoned at 4 weeks old. And now having to care for them and clean up and vacuum after them is too much. I just can't do it anymore.
This whole last few weeks has felt like that. Like 'I just can't do it.'
I *have* done laundry. I *have* made myself go to church except the last two weeks. I *have* attended my daughter's school play, although it terrified me and I was shaking so bad by the time I got home. I *have* gone to my husband's work Christmas party, although he had to hold my hand a LOT while we were there, and by the time it was over, I was sure he owed me big time for making the effort and surviving.
So, obviously I *can* do it, I just have to force myself to try. And it is so hard.
And this year my three oldest daughters have volunteered to help me do Christmas. We came up with a theme and a way to make it full of games, and planned it out... and it feels overwhelming and hard now. Not fun. The idea of having to get out of bed, tolerate the sounds of the laughter and squeals hitting my eardrums and reverberating through my head, and deal with the mess of wrapping paper and packaging... See, those are all things that usually make Christmas worth it. The smiles, the laughter, the silly games and things we do to find presents. The ability to play.
And the especially sad thing right now, is that the idea of playing is hard. Once I get into it, it's fun and I enjoy myself, but it's work. And I'm so tired afterwards.
I often wonder if the phrase, "I never said it would be easy, I said it would be worth it" was coined just for me.
Because I *know* what I do is worth it. I know my friendships and family relationships are worth the extra effort it takes to keep at them. I know it's worth the effort of reading and doing homework with my kids. I know that time and effort pays off.
I just wish it wasn't so exhausting. I wish my brain worked. I miss it. I miss being able to do things that shouldn't be hard.
This addition of anxiety to everything has not helped my mindset at all. Things I have done my whole life now seem monumentally hard.
* going to church
* going to a restaurant
* going to my husband's work parties
* family gatherings
* letting my children be loud when they play
I have turned down several opportunities for graphic design work because just the thought of a deadline or working and failing to meet someone's expectations made it hard to breathe. Sometimes it's not even the thought of failure, it's simply the idea of being creative that makes me feel completely overwhelmed.
I am barely able to be a human mommy. I am tired and annoyed at being an animal mommy. That makes me so sad. I have raised these cats since we found them abandoned at 4 weeks old. And now having to care for them and clean up and vacuum after them is too much. I just can't do it anymore.
This whole last few weeks has felt like that. Like 'I just can't do it.'
I *have* done laundry. I *have* made myself go to church except the last two weeks. I *have* attended my daughter's school play, although it terrified me and I was shaking so bad by the time I got home. I *have* gone to my husband's work Christmas party, although he had to hold my hand a LOT while we were there, and by the time it was over, I was sure he owed me big time for making the effort and surviving.
So, obviously I *can* do it, I just have to force myself to try. And it is so hard.
And this year my three oldest daughters have volunteered to help me do Christmas. We came up with a theme and a way to make it full of games, and planned it out... and it feels overwhelming and hard now. Not fun. The idea of having to get out of bed, tolerate the sounds of the laughter and squeals hitting my eardrums and reverberating through my head, and deal with the mess of wrapping paper and packaging... See, those are all things that usually make Christmas worth it. The smiles, the laughter, the silly games and things we do to find presents. The ability to play.
And the especially sad thing right now, is that the idea of playing is hard. Once I get into it, it's fun and I enjoy myself, but it's work. And I'm so tired afterwards.
I often wonder if the phrase, "I never said it would be easy, I said it would be worth it" was coined just for me.
Because I *know* what I do is worth it. I know my friendships and family relationships are worth the extra effort it takes to keep at them. I know it's worth the effort of reading and doing homework with my kids. I know that time and effort pays off.
I just wish it wasn't so exhausting. I wish my brain worked. I miss it. I miss being able to do things that shouldn't be hard.
Monday, March 24, 2014
The Art of Love
I count my blessings every day that my mother is my mother.
She raised me to love people because they are people, not because they share the same religion or political beliefs as me.
I grew up in a mining town in Wyoming in a dusty, wind-blown, tumbleweed covered trailer court. And I loved it there because it was my home. I was the only kid in my neighborhood of my religion, which meant I got to go to church with my friends to see how and what they believed. I visited Baptist, Evangelical, Catholic, and I don't even remember all the others. If they wanted, they could come with me and see what we did at my church. It wasn't a missionary effort, it was a 'this is how you are a good friend' lesson.
According to my mother: It's how you understand the people you love.
When I was in fifth grade, after moving what felt like a thousand times, we ended up in a little forgotten corner on the outskirts of town. The only friend I had was the only other girl my age, who was Jehovah's Witness. Sometimes we'd talk about religion. Sometimes her mom would give me Spanish lessons, and when my accent was good enough I even got to read from their bible in spanish out loud at a couple of their meetings. (No, I didn't have a clue what I was saying, but I could pronounce stuff).
Most of the time, though, we played, we talked, we created stories and make-believe worlds. We did the things that 10 yr old friends do. I felt included, loved, and like my friend accepted me for who I was, just as I accepted her.
Now I live in a whole 'nother state where it feels like just about everyone is the same religion as me. And guess what? They still all have differing political and religious opinions. And I try to do the same thing for my kids that my mother did for me.
I am not perfect. And I AM very opinionated. But guess what? I don't expect everyone to agree with me. That guy who asked in Sunday School how to convince his kids to only be friends with same-religion kids? My opinion is that he's an idiot. He disagrees with me. I'm fine with that. (But I still think I'm right)
I want my children to love people because they are people they enjoy being around. I don't want them to pick from a specific gene pool, because eeeewwww, eventually everyone starts inter-breeding and you end up with cousins marrying cousins and people have too many thumbs and corrupted blood-lines and yuck.
People are awesome. There are some funny, fantastically great people out there who have completely different religious and political views than me. And I LOVE them! I am glad that they are there. I am glad that this world is filled with diversity and awesome. I expect people to respect that I live my life the way I do, and I *try* to give that same respect to everyone else. (Even when I think they're idiots)
/Sigh. My Facebook feed was FILLED this morning with religious and political meme's that were more hateful than helpful, and I was annoyed. Annoyed that in the comments people devolve into name-calling and hurt feelings, annoyed that "My Way Is the Right Way" is an accepted way of life for some. Life's a two-way street, and Karma is a very real thing.
In short: It is closed-minded and stupid, STUPID, I TELL YOU, to expect the whole world to change their minds and agree with you. (So, hey, change your mind and agree with me already!)
The Golden Rule, people. Life is a lot easier for everyone if you live it. And you know what? I'm certain there are people who are going to disagree with me. Which is awesome.
She raised me to love people because they are people, not because they share the same religion or political beliefs as me.
I grew up in a mining town in Wyoming in a dusty, wind-blown, tumbleweed covered trailer court. And I loved it there because it was my home. I was the only kid in my neighborhood of my religion, which meant I got to go to church with my friends to see how and what they believed. I visited Baptist, Evangelical, Catholic, and I don't even remember all the others. If they wanted, they could come with me and see what we did at my church. It wasn't a missionary effort, it was a 'this is how you are a good friend' lesson.
According to my mother: It's how you understand the people you love.
When I was in fifth grade, after moving what felt like a thousand times, we ended up in a little forgotten corner on the outskirts of town. The only friend I had was the only other girl my age, who was Jehovah's Witness. Sometimes we'd talk about religion. Sometimes her mom would give me Spanish lessons, and when my accent was good enough I even got to read from their bible in spanish out loud at a couple of their meetings. (No, I didn't have a clue what I was saying, but I could pronounce stuff).
Most of the time, though, we played, we talked, we created stories and make-believe worlds. We did the things that 10 yr old friends do. I felt included, loved, and like my friend accepted me for who I was, just as I accepted her.
Now I live in a whole 'nother state where it feels like just about everyone is the same religion as me. And guess what? They still all have differing political and religious opinions. And I try to do the same thing for my kids that my mother did for me.
I am not perfect. And I AM very opinionated. But guess what? I don't expect everyone to agree with me. That guy who asked in Sunday School how to convince his kids to only be friends with same-religion kids? My opinion is that he's an idiot. He disagrees with me. I'm fine with that. (But I still think I'm right)
I want my children to love people because they are people they enjoy being around. I don't want them to pick from a specific gene pool, because eeeewwww, eventually everyone starts inter-breeding and you end up with cousins marrying cousins and people have too many thumbs and corrupted blood-lines and yuck.
People are awesome. There are some funny, fantastically great people out there who have completely different religious and political views than me. And I LOVE them! I am glad that they are there. I am glad that this world is filled with diversity and awesome. I expect people to respect that I live my life the way I do, and I *try* to give that same respect to everyone else. (Even when I think they're idiots)
/Sigh. My Facebook feed was FILLED this morning with religious and political meme's that were more hateful than helpful, and I was annoyed. Annoyed that in the comments people devolve into name-calling and hurt feelings, annoyed that "My Way Is the Right Way" is an accepted way of life for some. Life's a two-way street, and Karma is a very real thing.
In short: It is closed-minded and stupid, STUPID, I TELL YOU, to expect the whole world to change their minds and agree with you. (So, hey, change your mind and agree with me already!)
The Golden Rule, people. Life is a lot easier for everyone if you live it. And you know what? I'm certain there are people who are going to disagree with me. Which is awesome.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Daughters and Dogs
Sibling rivalry is a constant in our house. I didn't think it was possible for my 13 year old to talk to my 9 year old in anything but a sarcastic tone of voice. Until this morning.
What changed? Two additions to the family. Meet Lucy and Bella. Lucy's the one wearing the pink harness upside down. Bella's the one licking Princess Q's face. These two sisters joined our family last night. They came to us from a friend who's family is being deployed (?? Is this even the right term?) to Spain in a couple of months.
It was hard to take the dogs from a loving family and watch their tears at the separation. I still feel a little guilty for being the cause of pain. But here we are, teaching the kids how to use leashes, brushes, pooper-scoopers, how and when to feed and how much, and mostly learning new personalities.
Now, it's only day one of dogs. We made it through the first night after I learned that they don't like sleeping upstairs in their kennel. Once midnight hit, the growling and barking started. They reminded me more of kittens waking up than dogs. I let them outside in case maybe my husband had put them in the kennel too early and they needed a potty break, but that didn't solve anything.
So I moved their kennel to the basement, and it was like magic! Everyone slept well, dogs and humans both.
This morning an amazing thing happened. My 13 year old was letting the dogs outside for their morning potty break, but couldn't get Lucy to come up the stairs. So she and my nine year old worked together to carry/encourage Lucy up the stairs. The way my daughters interacted over solving this problem was amazing to me. I observed the kids working together to take care of animals they'd just met, and realized that these children of mine are pretty fantastically awesome. Not a drop of sarcasm as they talked and problem solved. There were even a couple of giggles!! *gasp*
These dogs seem to be the needed glue to help my girls bond. And apparently develop a love for yardwork. Honest, this morning the kids were up before my alarm clock so they could clean the back patio so the dogs would enjoy running around outside more. /blink/ They were ready for school in a heartbeat, and spent the rest of their morning playing with the dogs and sweeping up cherry blossoms.
I find this amazingly interesting, since I got the dogs with two things in mind: my son needed company during the day that have as much energy as he does, and my nine-year old needed something to love her just as much as she loves it in only the way a pet can. I had no idea there would be all these other benefits.
Granted, it's only day one of dog ownership. I'm sure there will be bumps in the road. The newness of scooping poo and walking dogs will wear off. Nor do I expect all sarcasm to be gone from my 13 year-old and that she'll now be best friends with her younger sister. She IS thirteen, after all. But so far I'm liking this road we're on, and am extremely glad we made the decision to add the beagles to our family.
Friday, July 13, 2012
To Clean A Small Mess Requires A Big Mess
In the process of changing rooms around, I decided to empty all of the toys into the living room and send all of the books to the basement. They will be sorted into keep vs donate/garage sale as I get time. This is my cleaning process: in order to clean up a small mess, I need to make a bigger mess, then sort through everything so I know what's missing pieces, what's broken, and what needs to be cleaned. So, this is what my living room currently looks like with everything from the kids rooms except clothes dumped here for sorting. It is a mess. Not a fun mess for me, but it sure is for the kids.
Apparently this is the wrong way to clean. The right way to clean somehow involves everything having a place and then everything magically finding its way to its place to stay until played with and put back again. As you can see, I have an awful lot of somethings without places, therefore I'm doing it wrong. But the whole living room needs a do-over anyway. That's what started this. Only I can't get to the desks until I get the bedrooms sorted out.
But now after washing down the walls and sweeping and mopping the floors, I have realized that my son's room has a purple wall. Don't shrug and say, "So?" to me. IT'S A PURPLE WALL! And my brain is starting to itch because of it.
Under normal circumstances, this would not be a huge issue. (And for the last year it's been a non-issue because he shared the room with his sister.) However, circumstances at my house are not normal. I'm not normal. You have no idea how hard it was for me to cave and dress a daughter in pink when I first had a girl. After having five daughters who loved loved loved their princess pink, I am so very ready to have a NOT pink room for my only son.
Apparently this is the wrong way to clean. The right way to clean somehow involves everything having a place and then everything magically finding its way to its place to stay until played with and put back again. As you can see, I have an awful lot of somethings without places, therefore I'm doing it wrong. But the whole living room needs a do-over anyway. That's what started this. Only I can't get to the desks until I get the bedrooms sorted out.
 |
| The mess of toys in the front room surrounded by all the clutter. It is a disaster. The room was a disaster to begin with, just look at all that clutter on the desks against the wall. That is what started this project to begin with! |
 |
| These piles make me twitchy... I cannot wait to get my books in the proper order, and that's not even half of them. |
Under normal circumstances, this would not be a huge issue. (And for the last year it's been a non-issue because he shared the room with his sister.) However, circumstances at my house are not normal. I'm not normal. You have no idea how hard it was for me to cave and dress a daughter in pink when I first had a girl. After having five daughters who loved loved loved their princess pink, I am so very ready to have a NOT pink room for my only son.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Stuff, Stuff Everywhere... And No One Wants To Clean
While sitting on the couch relaxing yesterday, I looked around and saw my house. The clutter, the need for vacuuming, the accumulated finger and handprints on the walls, the piles of papers, mail, books, and magazines, and the toys. Oh the toys. My son's cars, the My Little Ponies, and a random Barbie brush and Lego placed exactly where bare feet will unknowingly step. My house felt so much like an obstacle course, I had the bright idea that perhaps I should de-clutter and get organized.
Sounded like a great idea at the time, I swear.
According to Pinterest making my over-crowded-with-four-desks-and-a-piano-and-a-fairly-large-bookshelf-that-contains-all-my-art-related-books living room to this beautiful and simplistic space should take less than $5 and 10 minutes. Yeah, right.
Sounded like a great idea at the time, I swear.
According to Pinterest making my over-crowded-with-four-desks-and-a-piano-and-a-fairly-large-bookshelf-that-contains-all-my-art-related-books living room to this beautiful and simplistic space should take less than $5 and 10 minutes. Yeah, right.
credit: Better Homes & GardensMonday, June 25, 2012
Getting Away From It All
I have now learned that heading to a National Park like Zions is not necessarily getting away from anything. I guess on the one hand, I was away from home. And internet and cell service. At least, I was. But on the other hand, instead of being surrounded by friends and family and neighbors, I found myself surrounded by thousands of other people, 90% of them the fit and tan hikers who were there for the millionth time and knew all the paths and did them all in their short-shorts and bikini tops. (I am fairly certain the park rangers who drive the trams really love their jobs.)
All in all it was a good trip, a memory builder. The kids got to spend time with their cousins, Rob got to spend time with his siblings, and I got to take hundreds of pictures of the faces in the mountains. Because we had little kids who were not big fans of the 95+ degree weather or hiking in it, we didn't do long hikes. We went to the Emerald Pools. Which, um, well, I didn't even bother taking a picture of them, they looked like stagnant water. The waterfalls that fed them and the rocks the kids could climb on to stand in the waterfalls was much more interesting and pretty.
Odd story with this picture here. I was trying to capture one of the waterfalls in the distance, but my lens is just the one that came with my camera, so it doesn't have the uber powerfullly super fantastic zoom that the guy standing next to me had. I noticed his camera was the same model as mine, and I also noticed that every time he pushed the button, his camera would take three pictures. So I asked him if he'd set his camera to automatically bracket. (I learned about bracketing in my photography class. It means going up two stops and down two stops from the center area to make sure you get the best exposure. Often what the camera thinks the right exposure is, isn't.) I haven't yet figured out how to set my camera to bracket automatically, and I wondered if he had. I don't think he knew what I was asking him, though. He went off on a very passionate verbal essay on why photographers should always shoot in P mode because the automatic settings were just blech (he seriously gagged and shuddered) And then he'd shoot a series of pictures then look at his camera and tell me what settings he'd used. I thanked him for his advice and went on my way, catching up to my party. I wasn't sure what he'd say or if he'd even hear me if I told him I shot on M mode so I had to make all of my adjustments manually. Or if he'd make gagging noises and shudder again.
The point of my story? That there are all kinds of people in the park that are more than happy to share their expertise on cameras, parenting, families, family size, fitness, and nature. One doesn't go to a National Park to "Get Away." You go to see squirrels and fabulous scenery and spend time with the people you came with in brain meltingly hot weather.
All in all it was a good trip, a memory builder. The kids got to spend time with their cousins, Rob got to spend time with his siblings, and I got to take hundreds of pictures of the faces in the mountains. Because we had little kids who were not big fans of the 95+ degree weather or hiking in it, we didn't do long hikes. We went to the Emerald Pools. Which, um, well, I didn't even bother taking a picture of them, they looked like stagnant water. The waterfalls that fed them and the rocks the kids could climb on to stand in the waterfalls was much more interesting and pretty.
The point of my story? That there are all kinds of people in the park that are more than happy to share their expertise on cameras, parenting, families, family size, fitness, and nature. One doesn't go to a National Park to "Get Away." You go to see squirrels and fabulous scenery and spend time with the people you came with in brain meltingly hot weather.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
How To Get Your Children's Attention
My children are awesome. I love them. But communicating with
them can be a hit and miss adventure. When I want my kids attention, I can’t
seem to get it. I’ll be in a mood to chat and find out what’s going on in their
lives, and they resort to one-word answers to make me go way. The conversations
end up being very
Sunday, May 13, 2012
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