October 8, 2012
Odd things to hear in this household:
“Eureka California looks like it’s at the top of the boob in the northern part of the state.”
Lord I love my readers.
Odd things to hear in this household:
“Eureka California looks like it’s at the top of the boob in the northern part of the state.”
Lord I love my readers.
Eighteen years ago you came into my life. Has it really been that long? It seems like only yesterday when I first held you in my arms. You were so long, and had an adorable “Buddha” belly, and prehensile toes. You were perfect. I fell in love immediately. I remember when everyone went home, and it was just you and I in the hospital room. I laid you on my tummy and marveled at the size of you, and how just hours before, you were in my womb. I didn’t sleep much that night. I kept touching you, and kissing you. I thought my heart would burst with emotion. From the beginning, you were such a good sleeper and eater. You started off feeding at about every four hours, and by the time I went back to work, you were sleeping through the night (6 weeks).
I remember the first day of Kindergarten, and how excited you were! Honestly, I think it was much harder on me than you. You amazed me at your immediate ability to adapt to any situation, and you are still like that. Change rarely bothered you then. I think that you must have gotten that from your Father and I am thankful because, even at my age, change gives me hives.
For several years, you loved softball, and then you discovered dance. You started off with one class, and it has escalated to six. And while you took a break for about a year, you ultimately came back to it because you missed it. Dance has been such an integral part of your life. I have seen you come home absolutely exhausted, and head straight for the bathtub to soak. Despite that, you had the biggest smile on your face. And now, even though you have graduated high school, you are taking multiple classes again, and teaching the little ones to help offset your tuition fee. And you love it. And I love it when you come home and tell me what all the little kids do. I even love the earworms I end up with after those moments.
You experienced so much in your last year of high school. You were in the Miss Wildcat Pageant and won the title of People’s Choice. I couldn’t have been more proud of you at that moment. When they announced your name, you were so surprised that you burst into tears. The reaction that you had, was the same one I had. It was the same reaction I have every time that you go up on stage, and it doesn’t matter if it is you doing a solo in dance, or singing with your grade school class for the Christmas show. My reaction is always the same. Thankfully, Daddy knows this. He always brings the Kleenex.
I am so proud of the woman you are becoming. It has been such a blessing to watch you grow. I’m excited for what your future holds. You will be starting college this Monday to earn your CNA certification. One step closer to becoming an RN, and perhaps a Midwife. You have always been a natural caregiver. Even when you were little. You LOVE to take care of people. You have always been so nurturing. I remember after my surgery, you would sleep on the couch next to my recliner so that you would be there in case I needed anything. Apparently, according to you, daddy wasn’t up for the job.
All of this is to say that I love you, and I’m so glad that God gave you to me. A can’t WAIT to see what the next 18 years bring. I love you baby girl. Don’t ever forget that.
Her: TOMORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY.
Me: Wait, I forgot to tell you. I double checked the date on your birth certificate and it’s not until NEXT month. Sorry about that.
Her: Nice try!
18. She will be 18. I still can’t believe it.
They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body.
A couple of months ago, I reached a milestone in the age department, which, on the one hand, doesn’t really bother me, but on the other, I’m freaking out because, OH EM GEEZ! I am 50. FIFTY. The big FIVE-O. Didn’t I just graduate from high school? Wait, that was my oldest daughter.
Do you remember having the ability to go out until all hours of the night and then get up the next morning (provided you even went to bed), go to work and do it all over again? I’m afraid that if I tried that, I would be doing face plants on my keyboard and have &#!!**^^@@’s permanently embedded upon my forehead. I’m not sure how I would explain that to my doctor.
Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
~ Jennifer Yane
I used to be able to get down on the ground, and then back up again with relative ease. Now getting up requires something of a Herculean act, whereby I have to roll over to my knees and look around for something to pull myself up with or someone to pull me up. I generally accompany this with some grunts and groans to mask the massive crackling of my joints as well as the occasional barking spider who likes to make its presence known whenever I attempt to exert myself. You’re welcome.
All of this is not to tell you that I think I’m old, I really don’t. It just feels odd. I cannot seem to wrap my brain around the fact that I have lived over ½ of my life. So far, it’s been a great. I’m blessed beyond belief that I have a wonderful family, a nice home and a great job. This is only the beginning of the list. There are a lot of goals I would like to reach this year, and I’m well on my way to getting there. Be that as it may, there are a couple of things I would like to know:
All in all, I’m enjoying it. Of course, it’s only been a little over a month. I’ll keep you posted.
As a parent, you do your best to raise your children right. The funny thing is, even if you do raise them the same way, the results are not always the same. I think we are all aware of this but it confuses us just the same; when one child falls more upon the difficult or challenge spectrum than the other.
My problem is that I tend to take the job of Mom very seriously (don’t we all RAWR). By that I mean, if my child isn’t performing up to my expectations, then I have failed as a parent. All kids are different and all kids will respond to various suggestions, threats, disciplines, you name it, in vastly different ways. That fact is something I find difficult to comprehend. And it has been eating me alive. At what point do I let go, and let the child experience the consequences of their actions? At what point do I say, “the onus is on you, and you alone?”
That being said, I realize that my constant harping and reminding is not going to help my child in the future. When said child does not want to listen or do what they are expected to do to succeed in school, and I have bent over backwards to help, I come to the conclusion that the only thing I can do is let them find out what will happen on their own. How many times can I offer help and be refused? How many times (by the child’s request) can I get a detailed list of what is needed to pass a class from the teacher (bless their heart) only to be told that they (the child) are taking care of it?
I have passed this task on to my other half now, because I was going insane. And my health was suffering. And I was self medicating with wine to help me hold my composure in the face of defiance, attitude, and downright disrespect. Was this decision easy? Heck no! Do I still feel that I need to interfere when I don’t think my other half is doing the right thing? Heck yes. I’m really trying to keep my mouth shut. It’s not easy.
So now I wait. And I chew my fingernails down to the nubbins. And I bite my tongue. And I stay the hell away from it. I know that is the right thing to do, but man, it is so hard.
Try as I might, I’ve never been able to find a manual for raising kids. I’ve searched bookstores, googled the topic until my thumb turned blue and visited what feels like thousands of parenting sites all purported to be experts on the subject.
Here is what I have learned. While gathering advice is good, it really depends upon your child and your parenting techniques. There is no “right” way to raise a child and you shouldn’t let anyone tell you different. Even those well meaning friends. I’m not saying that doctors don’t know what they are talking about. All I am suggesting is that you take the advice, and mold it into something that works best for you and your child. The hair on my chest curls when I read about “parenting methods” that are fail proof. Maybe they are for other children, but certainly not mine.
On a side note, don’t you love the parents that talk about how perfect their child is? How they certainly NEVER experience what you are going through, which translates into “you really suck as a parent.” I just got another gray hair, thanks. And they are full of crap or on crack. I vote for both.
My husband and I have finally figured it out. Our method? Fly by the seat of your pants. Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times and for goodness sakes, don’t forget your seat belt. I guarantee you one thing. Once you think you have figured it out? It will change.
In the mean time? Just love them. They are really cute when they are asleep.
There are days when I am so homesick for California I feel as though I will snap in two from the force of emotions. I’m not so sure it’s the people I miss (though I do miss my brother and his family, and my Robin “PHO!”) as much as it is the familiararity. The feeling of acceptance. A comfort zone, if you will.
The south, at least where I reside, is a hard nut to crack. We live in a Naval town and also a place where people have lived their whole lives. They develop social circles where you dare not attempt to cross the line or you will face contempt which knows no bounds. Bless their hearts.
We have Military vs. Non-Military, Black’s vs Whites, Baptists vs any other religion (does your Bible thump?), and many women who do work outside the home are constantly slammed up against the Good Ole Boy network and sent scurrying on our way, wiping our hands on our aprons as we go, as if we should know and agree with “our place.”
Despite all of that, I (actually my whole family) really love living here. We’ve managed to carve a little niche out and the girls have made plenty of friends. I guess it’s much easier when you are young because your friends have no preconceived notions about how things should be.
Most days, things don’t bother me. I can let them slide off of my back much like the jello slides off of my spoon and on to my shirt. Some days, I can’t ignore it.
Some days I have to fight it.
Yesterday, while preparing for a huge meeting I have today, I received an urgent text from my daughter Meelie, who was at school.
Her: Come get me right now!
Me: What’s wrong honey? Are you sick?
Her: No, I just don’t feel like being here.
Yesterday, I was working on huge report that is due by noon today. I had it nearly 3/4′s of the way done. I had to be home by 5:30 in order to take Meelie to practice, so I packed up all of my stuff, intending to finish it up at home. I dropped the girls off, and fired up the work laptop and opened up the file.
It was the one I had downloaded that morning (raw data). None of my work had been saved. None of the formatting, comments or updates. NOTHING.
Me: ……………… I purposefully blanked out what I said at that time because my mom reads this blog and I don’t want to have to wash my mouth out with soap. I will say that I overheard my oldest tell my youngest: “Mom’s pretty mad, I hope it wasn’t something we did.”
So I put on my big girl panties and got down to work. I’m nearly halfway there. I think I can make it. I’ve got five more hours.
What do you think? Think I can make it?
Mom…would you turn the camera on already?
Thinking, thinking, thinking……
Rah, Rah Ree, Kick ‘em in the knee!
Rah Rah Rass, Kick ‘em in the ass! other knee!
Come on Mom! My bloomers are giving me a wedgie!
Can we go now? I see Dairy Queen in my future.
Badly…but the Cheeleaders were HAWT!!!!!!
Lately, I have found myself in an insurmountable amount of emotional pain. Pain that reverberates through my entire body, leaving me limp, and hopeless, with nowhere to turn. People? I lost all ability to cope, with even the most minute of issues. It has been next to impossible for me to function in what I would consider a normal way. The way that I have always been.
I am incredibly angry. Irritable. Irrational. One moment, happy, the next sad. The next? So angry that I have walked out on my family (twice) and spent the night in a hotel room by myself, ranting at what I don’t know. That brief respite, however unjustified, left me feeling drained and comatose. Depression cuts you off from everything that is important to you. I don’t have the energy to talk to my parents or the rest of my family or friends, because oh my Lord, I just can’t fake it any more. In my mind, why even try because most people, sadly even my family, just don’t get it. Let’s be frank here. How could they understand when they haven’t gone through it themselves?
Much of my family and friends have told me that I just need to get past it. I am overreacting. Granted, in my youth, I was good at that. Perhaps I should have been an actress. So who can blame those who believe that what I am going through is nothing more than an emotional tantrum?
Those who love me most just don’t get it. My way to deal with it, though not what one would consider the best, is to shut them off. Not to call. Not to email. Cut off all but the absolutely necessary contact. Is this the right thing to do? In my heart, no. They love me despite who I am. I guess I just want them to understand. If I were to be truthful, how can they understand unless I take the time to tell them? To tell them until they HEAR me?
“You need to pray more. You need to get more sleep. You need to break through all of this instead of giving in. You need to…you need to…” I had to, as much as it hurts me, stop listening. Because there is something wrong with me. Terribly wrong. That can’t be fixed by prayers or just “getting up off my ass already and dealing with it.” That’s life you know. Get over it. Or so I am told.
Here I am, going through this. Struggling at how I ask for help. In comes, my yearly check up. I have been having physical (read female issues) for about a year and a half now. I am in what is believed to be a peri-menopausal state (or is that country?). Well below the age of the average menopausal woman. The symptoms and other tests I have point to several things, and of course Endometrial Cancer is the only one I can remember. The same day I had my annual, I had a Endometrial Biopsy done and today I got the results.
I am cancer free (even precancerous free).
The doctor talked to me for over an hour and a half after she gave me the results. I talked (babbled), she listened. Can you imagine that? She LISTENED. She had already read my file before my appointment (ya, I know!) and had quite a bit of options for me. Oh my the options. From the least invasive to the one I want to avoid at all costs.
So now? I have a plan. And am moving forward. Tonight? I am happy.
It also helped me, that when I started crying, and became incoherent for NO REASON AT ALL, she put her hand on my shoulder and said “I’m sorry. Let me help you. You poor thing. Let me help.”
And I cried more.
I don’t have cancer. I am going back on antidepressants. I’m not just faking it. And someone believes me. Physically, I have a plan to help me control the aspects of what I am going through. I can do this. More important, I want to.
Watch out world. I am coming back.
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