Been a long strange trip...
I decided I was done with being depressed. I made some major changes. I decided to leave my marriage. A very trying and heart-breaking decision. I sold my house. I'm moving in with my baby sister in a new apartment a mile away from said house. I have to get rid of my dogs - the apartment doesn't allow them and my health will be better for it. Ryan started back to preschool at the same school he went to last year. He got accepted in a great UPK program, but with all the changes going on in his life we decided paying for school and keeping him in familiar surroundings was the better route.
All of this was a lot to go through, and in the process I pulled back from everyone in my life and settled quietly into my own head to try and get a grasp on my life and future. I had no future to look forward to anymore. No more goals or dreams. I struggled with this for a while until I realized maybe not knowing what I want was a gift in and of itself. I can do anything. I am free and healthy and have the most awesome little boy. Perhaps just watching him grow and smelling the pending crisp fall air can be enough for now.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
How does one explain depression to a 4-year-old?
Yesterday was perhaps one of the toughest days I've ever had in my life. I've suffered from depression for most of my life, due to a wonderful family history and a smattering of past events that left me... sad. For the most part I manage fairly well with a healthy dose of anti-depressants, some exercise, eating right, and attempting to sleep whenever possible. The last several months though it has seemed that all of my resources and coping mechanisms have been taxed. Again, part of it is chemical, part of it is situational.
After several months of feeling like I was continually declining and that nothing I did was making it better, my therapist suggested a medication change. I've always been resistant. I've been on the same one for over 10 years. Even I had to admit that it wasn't working anymore though. I know the side effects of most meds and wasn't extremely happy to try something new, but this time, I knew I had no choice. I went to go ask my doctor (now former doctor) who refused to consider it and said I had to "just work through it". When I told my therapist what happened, she was appalled and was thrilled my husband finally put his foot down and insisted we change doctors, immediately.
I went to meet my new doctor (who our former doctor, that we loved so much we actually considered moving to Seattle with him, had recommended). H agreed in one meeting that forcing me to cope with an increasing level of depression without attempting a medication change was just, well this is my wording, but foolish. And also my words, but cruel. So we agreed to change to effexor. It has limited side effects and would treat not only the depression but the crippling anxiety I experience 3-4 times a week.
He wrote the prescription and off to my pharmacy I went. Guess what, my insurance wouldn't fill it. Two more weeks later and we finally agree to a generic version and I come home with my pills. I start taking them while weening myself off the old medication. Everything went well for about a week before the complete and utter terror set in. I was having pretty much a constant panic attack. For days at a time. I wasn't as depressed but I couldn't move because everything hurt so bad (from scrunching up all day long to avoid invisible potential threats - yeah, I'm sounding sane here aren't I?).
Everything started to get better until Friday. I woke up early. Way too early. In an utter panic. I couldn't fall back asleep and I couldn't sit still. And I was crying. Uncontrollably. Over basically nothing. By the end of the night I felt completely fried and still couldn't sleep. I felt like a frayed wire still plugged into the outlet.
Saturday when I woke up, it was even worse. I could not stop crying. Nothing I did made the shaking stop. I had a headache. I could not function. I sat on the couch, crying and trying to hide it from Ryan. Eventually it got so bad I went upstairs and locked myself in my bedroom. I cried inconsolably. Ryan came upstairs and knocked on the door. After he started screaming hysterically in fear, I let him in. He insisted on hugging me and then surrounded me with all of his stuffed animals. He wrapped me in a blanket and put a pillow behind my head and asked me to relax. I put my 4-year-old through this. I then begged him to go back downstairs and watch TV (awesome parenting, huh?). He did. I reclined back into bed and let all of the horrible thoughts consume me.
Could I run away? Move to a foreign country and escape forever? Grab my passport and a few hundred dollars and tell everyone to let me go and never come after me? Or would that be enough? Would I have to become a prostitute to to support myself? Was becoming a crack/heroine addict all that bad? At least I could escape my head? But I'll never be able to escape my head. Maybe taking all my pills will make it better? I have enough. But I can't do it with Ryan here. Who can I call to come get him? And what about a suicide note? I have so much to say but I'm too damn tired. Would it be ok if I killed myself without telling anyone why?
I will let you know that these thoughts are not ordinary for me. I had them as a teenager, but as an adult? Even contemplating my own death, much less how to orchestrate it, rarely is a consideration. I, in fact, spend most of my time convincing other people why living is such a miraculous thing - and I'm not just saying it. I believe it. I knew something was seriously wrong. I knew I needed help. I picked up the phone to call Mark and ask him to come home when the phone rang. It was my mom. I could not stop crying enough to tell her what was going on, but she got the drift. She called Mark at work and left her house immediately to come over. Time lost all perspective at that point. I think I may have fell asleep. I heard Ryan crying and saying "it's just not fair" but I could not move to go comfort him. I finally heard my mother-in-law, who lives 5 minutes away, come into the house.
She came up to check on me and told me it would be ok and then took Ryan downstairs. Mark was home minutes later. I think. My mom shortly after that. They agreed to call my therapist instead of forcing me into the hospital (thank God because that could mean a suspension of my license not to mention completely embarrassing). I agreed to not hurt myself and Mark agreed to not leave me alone. My mother-in-law took Ryan for the night. I curled up and slept some more. And then some more. And some more after that.
Later, Mark and I had "the talk" again. We've had this talk so many times I'm afraid it's losing meaning. This time I didn't prevent him from leaving. Didn't grovel or beg. He talked himself out of it. I didn't promise him anything. I didn't guarantee a positive outcome. All I could tell him is that I would work on fixing what I can and see if the rest works itself out. He agreed to do the same. He agreed to be patient with me and see if things can get better, knowing there is still a good chance they won't. He agreed to wait for me because he loved me enough to take a chance. A chance that things won't work out the way he wants but that maybe loving me would be enough. I am lucky to have that.
Today I had to have the conversation with Ryan that he was not a bad boy and that he was not the reason for mommy's crying. That his stuffed animals did greatly help me feel better. That mommy would be ok. It was gut wrenching. To attempt to make it better we went to the playground and flew his kite. The kite I immediately got off the ground and felt like a new beginning for me. My chance to soar. It got so high I almost couldn't see it. It floated up and down, around in circles, got caught in some strong winds and almost fell down. When it came back down to earth, it was a gentle fall, where it grazed the grass a few times before laying to rest. It was almost peaceful. It made me feel better in general about the world. It has to get better, right?
After several months of feeling like I was continually declining and that nothing I did was making it better, my therapist suggested a medication change. I've always been resistant. I've been on the same one for over 10 years. Even I had to admit that it wasn't working anymore though. I know the side effects of most meds and wasn't extremely happy to try something new, but this time, I knew I had no choice. I went to go ask my doctor (now former doctor) who refused to consider it and said I had to "just work through it". When I told my therapist what happened, she was appalled and was thrilled my husband finally put his foot down and insisted we change doctors, immediately.
I went to meet my new doctor (who our former doctor, that we loved so much we actually considered moving to Seattle with him, had recommended). H agreed in one meeting that forcing me to cope with an increasing level of depression without attempting a medication change was just, well this is my wording, but foolish. And also my words, but cruel. So we agreed to change to effexor. It has limited side effects and would treat not only the depression but the crippling anxiety I experience 3-4 times a week.
He wrote the prescription and off to my pharmacy I went. Guess what, my insurance wouldn't fill it. Two more weeks later and we finally agree to a generic version and I come home with my pills. I start taking them while weening myself off the old medication. Everything went well for about a week before the complete and utter terror set in. I was having pretty much a constant panic attack. For days at a time. I wasn't as depressed but I couldn't move because everything hurt so bad (from scrunching up all day long to avoid invisible potential threats - yeah, I'm sounding sane here aren't I?).
Everything started to get better until Friday. I woke up early. Way too early. In an utter panic. I couldn't fall back asleep and I couldn't sit still. And I was crying. Uncontrollably. Over basically nothing. By the end of the night I felt completely fried and still couldn't sleep. I felt like a frayed wire still plugged into the outlet.
Saturday when I woke up, it was even worse. I could not stop crying. Nothing I did made the shaking stop. I had a headache. I could not function. I sat on the couch, crying and trying to hide it from Ryan. Eventually it got so bad I went upstairs and locked myself in my bedroom. I cried inconsolably. Ryan came upstairs and knocked on the door. After he started screaming hysterically in fear, I let him in. He insisted on hugging me and then surrounded me with all of his stuffed animals. He wrapped me in a blanket and put a pillow behind my head and asked me to relax. I put my 4-year-old through this. I then begged him to go back downstairs and watch TV (awesome parenting, huh?). He did. I reclined back into bed and let all of the horrible thoughts consume me.
Could I run away? Move to a foreign country and escape forever? Grab my passport and a few hundred dollars and tell everyone to let me go and never come after me? Or would that be enough? Would I have to become a prostitute to to support myself? Was becoming a crack/heroine addict all that bad? At least I could escape my head? But I'll never be able to escape my head. Maybe taking all my pills will make it better? I have enough. But I can't do it with Ryan here. Who can I call to come get him? And what about a suicide note? I have so much to say but I'm too damn tired. Would it be ok if I killed myself without telling anyone why?
I will let you know that these thoughts are not ordinary for me. I had them as a teenager, but as an adult? Even contemplating my own death, much less how to orchestrate it, rarely is a consideration. I, in fact, spend most of my time convincing other people why living is such a miraculous thing - and I'm not just saying it. I believe it. I knew something was seriously wrong. I knew I needed help. I picked up the phone to call Mark and ask him to come home when the phone rang. It was my mom. I could not stop crying enough to tell her what was going on, but she got the drift. She called Mark at work and left her house immediately to come over. Time lost all perspective at that point. I think I may have fell asleep. I heard Ryan crying and saying "it's just not fair" but I could not move to go comfort him. I finally heard my mother-in-law, who lives 5 minutes away, come into the house.
She came up to check on me and told me it would be ok and then took Ryan downstairs. Mark was home minutes later. I think. My mom shortly after that. They agreed to call my therapist instead of forcing me into the hospital (thank God because that could mean a suspension of my license not to mention completely embarrassing). I agreed to not hurt myself and Mark agreed to not leave me alone. My mother-in-law took Ryan for the night. I curled up and slept some more. And then some more. And some more after that.
Later, Mark and I had "the talk" again. We've had this talk so many times I'm afraid it's losing meaning. This time I didn't prevent him from leaving. Didn't grovel or beg. He talked himself out of it. I didn't promise him anything. I didn't guarantee a positive outcome. All I could tell him is that I would work on fixing what I can and see if the rest works itself out. He agreed to do the same. He agreed to be patient with me and see if things can get better, knowing there is still a good chance they won't. He agreed to wait for me because he loved me enough to take a chance. A chance that things won't work out the way he wants but that maybe loving me would be enough. I am lucky to have that.
Today I had to have the conversation with Ryan that he was not a bad boy and that he was not the reason for mommy's crying. That his stuffed animals did greatly help me feel better. That mommy would be ok. It was gut wrenching. To attempt to make it better we went to the playground and flew his kite. The kite I immediately got off the ground and felt like a new beginning for me. My chance to soar. It got so high I almost couldn't see it. It floated up and down, around in circles, got caught in some strong winds and almost fell down. When it came back down to earth, it was a gentle fall, where it grazed the grass a few times before laying to rest. It was almost peaceful. It made me feel better in general about the world. It has to get better, right?
Sunday, May 3, 2009
My mom is getting married, and other things I should be happy about but am not
My mom called me on my cell phone last night while I was out with my friend Amy. This is weird. My mom does not understand cell phones. She does not get any form of technology. It took her years to even get a microwave. Normally, she'll leave me 20 messages at home before she ever calls me on my cell. She also left a message, also odd, but even more striking was the fact that she sounded gleeful.
Since I haven't heard from my sister in several days (despite repeated attempts to contact her cell phone - I hate it when she cuts me out) I assumed we had finally gotten some good news about my nephews. Since I assumed, wrongly, that's what it was about, I called her back pretty much immediately. I avoid phone calls with my mom for many reasons: 1. I avoid all phone calls since phones are evil things which fill me with dread, 2. my mom never has good news, 3. she only calls when she wants or needs something, 4. I get stuck hearing about bible verses for 45 minutes. Need I go on?
So I call her back.
"Hi mom. What's up?"
"I'm getting married."
What? Wow. She sounded like a gleeful 7-year-old with an ice cream cone on the first day of summer.
"Ok. How did that happen?"
"He just asked me. We're getting married in 4 months. I can't believe we have to wait so long. Lissa is going to be my wedding coordinator. Obviously Kerrie doesn't want to help right now (yeah, mom, what was the big clue there? Her looming court battles or the fact that she can't see her kids?). I want you to come with me to come find a dress. But we can't do it tonight, because, well, obviously I'm already busy, and I can't do it tomorrow because we have to talk to the pastor and get everything set at the church. Next weekend we have to go."
What? Yeah... Wow.
"Um, congratulations mom?"
Before I dissect all that bothered me about the manic paragraph, let me give you some history, shall I?
My mom has a horrible history with men. Before my biological father, she only had a few boyfriends. She was a late bloomer. Raised in Catholic school, in a strictly Catholic family, where she was the oldest child of three, and a girl, and my grandfather was an Army man. To say my grandparents were protective of her might be an understatement. Her first few boyfriends were fairly innocent affairs, but already were predictive of her future of her chaotic interactions with men.
Then she met my father. Obviously, safe sex wasn't one of her strong suits. I am not really sure exactly what happened between my parents that facilitated the ultimate ending of their relationship, but I know her being pregnant with me played heavily into that. While she was pregnant, she got little as far as support from family or friends. My grandparents were much less than pleased that their un-wed, 23-year-old daughter was having premarital sex and got pregnant. I cannot imagine that conversation. Let's just say I'm really glad I never had to have it. Her best friend from College, Chris, was dating my father's best friend. She chose him (and married him within a couple years of this) and abandoned the friendship with my mother. She had to have felt completely alone. Knowing my mother as I do, I am sure people had their reasons, but I still feel bad for her. She barely knew how one got pregnant and there she found herself alone with a tiny baby growing in her.
At that point she turned to a church who took her in. I think one could call them radical born-again Christians. Not your every day Christians, but those that skewed and altered her every belief to beyond what any rational and sane person could possibly believe. The ones that prey on the weak. She fell in hook, line and sinker. She stayed deeply ingrained in the church until after I was born. At that point something happened. They turned their backs on her. I believe it was the unwed mother raising a child by herself thing. Fairly typical of what my experiences have been with churches - we'll give you all the answers straight from God's mouth until you don't do exactly as we say, at which point we'll pull your right to be a citizen of God's chosen flock.
After I was born followed a few tumultuous years where we moved all over town and my mom had boyfriends in and out of our lives. I, thankfully, have very little memory of all of this, but I retained enough. Including the live-in boyfriend, who came home one night asking for sex and my mom, who knew she was ovulating and didn't want risk another pregnancy (yeah, she wised up a little there) said no. He didn't take no for an answer. She became pregnant. Going against all of her beliefs, but knowing she could not be a good parent to another child at that point, decided to get an abortion. I'm not sure that's something many people know about my mom. I am actually quite proud of her decision. She knew she was not in a good place. She knew she could not raise another child. So she went against the principles she had been taught and believed to prevent that from happening. Again, it must have been insanely difficult. Again, she was alone. No one who knew supported her choice.
When I was 4, mom met my step-dad, Dan. He was 21, she was 28. He was a nice, kind man. He really was. The first time we met, he got down on the floor and colored with me. He was not a talkative person and used his words, of praise or discontent, very sparingly. Within three months of meeting they were married. I was there. They got married at the Fairport Town Court, in front of a Justice of the Peace. No one in the family knew what she was doing, or approved of their getting married. That was my mom. She always followed the beat of her own drum, regardless of what anyone else though. All of her kids appear to have gotten that personality trait.
Their marriage had a few rough patches early on, but never anything they couldn't work through. My dad was a truck driver and was on the road for days at a time. When my sister's (the youngest two, if you're having a hard time following my family tree) were born, it was questioned whether he would be able to be there. He was. If my parent's had hard times, I wasn't really aware of them. They rarely fought or raised their voices. They were affectionate with one another. He was stable for her. She... kept things interesting. It worked for 17 years. Until it didn't.
I was in grad school in Michigan at 23 when I got the phone call from my mom that my dad had left. He came home in the middle of the day, packed his stuff, turned off all the utilities in the house (that were in his name), and left. No note. No explanation. Nothing. My sister's called my mom when they got home from school. It was March. They were 10 and 11. There was no heat in the house. There was no electricity. My mom was heartbroken and devastated. She had no idea of his plans. She never got an explanation. All we know is that within a few months of their divorce being final, he was remarried. This caused many issues for my sisters and I, but we're focusing on my mom now.
Since the divorce my mom has dated here and there, but mostly she's gotten re-involved heavily with the same wacky church she was in before. Now, granted, I've never attended services with her - because nothing could drag me there - so I don't know if what they are teaching is that bizarre or whether my mom takes everything and makes it's insane. She has told me that she has actual sit down conversations with Jesus. They chat. He tells her which direction to go. I can only think of it as her version of the psychic friend's hotline, as the advice she "receives" is usually bizarre and counter intuitive to rational thought.
So imagine our thrill when she met Bill through some sort of divorced parents thing sponsored by the church. He has always been nice enough to me. He's socially awkward to the point of being weird. I don't really dislike him, but I barely know him. My mom believes they have been dating for 6 years, however, from an outsiders viewpoint, he comes around when he wants some lovin' and then disappears again for months at a time. He just did not appear interested and my mom refused to take a hint because God told her that "he is the one" and that she had to just be patient. She was. Absurdly so. He showed her no attention and gave her no indication that he was really interested. She persisted. I guess a couple months ago she got fed up and gave him an ultimatum. Basically, piss or get off the pot. She wanted to be married as soon as humanly possible, move into his house, and quit her job. I guess he decided it was now or never. He proposed yesterday.
I don't know much about Bill, but what I do know concerns me. He is a recovering alcoholic. He has 5 grown children, several of whom have no contact with him due to the circumstances from his first divorce. He has a history of depression. He's a member of my mom's church. My mom's history with men is also a concern. She gets overly absorbed in their lives and loses herself. She's willing to give up a job where she's almost vested into a pension plan to stay home and be his wife. She's willing to move an hour away from her family to live with him. Basically, she's giving up her life to be in his.
I'm terrified for my mom. Some of it's selfish. I don't want to go through another divorce with her. I don't want to go through another heartbreak at her side. I don't want to again be the one picking up the pieces. The other part is for her. If she gives up everything she'll be unable to support herself. None of her children can offer her a place to stay. None of us are financially secure and able to assit her out. She will be totally and completely dependent on a man which I am not sure deserves her love and affection. I don't trust him not to break her heart.
So, when she called yesterday to give me this news, I felt panic and dread fill my body. It was a physical reaction more than an emotional one. My mom's selfish needs are again going to put strain on her family. She is totally tuned out the terrible crap already going on in our lives to focus exclusively on... this. If I were a loving and supportive daughter I'd just help her, right? I'd wish for the best and wish her years of happiness in marital bliss. I am having a hard time doing that. I know reality. In my mom's case, things usually end in disaster.
I don't want to condemn my mother. I love her. She was, for the most part, the best mom she could be to me. I've forgiven any of her trangressions toward abusive insanity. I make allowances for, "Oh, it's just mom being herself again." But how long can one do that before losing hope? I can't be her safety net anymore. I have my own issues to be concerned about. My own life that at times feels like it's falling apart around me. My mom should be the one here for me, helping me figure out the pieces, but instead, that's always been my role. I can't do it this time.
Since I haven't heard from my sister in several days (despite repeated attempts to contact her cell phone - I hate it when she cuts me out) I assumed we had finally gotten some good news about my nephews. Since I assumed, wrongly, that's what it was about, I called her back pretty much immediately. I avoid phone calls with my mom for many reasons: 1. I avoid all phone calls since phones are evil things which fill me with dread, 2. my mom never has good news, 3. she only calls when she wants or needs something, 4. I get stuck hearing about bible verses for 45 minutes. Need I go on?
So I call her back.
"Hi mom. What's up?"
"I'm getting married."
What? Wow. She sounded like a gleeful 7-year-old with an ice cream cone on the first day of summer.
"Ok. How did that happen?"
"He just asked me. We're getting married in 4 months. I can't believe we have to wait so long. Lissa is going to be my wedding coordinator. Obviously Kerrie doesn't want to help right now (yeah, mom, what was the big clue there? Her looming court battles or the fact that she can't see her kids?). I want you to come with me to come find a dress. But we can't do it tonight, because, well, obviously I'm already busy, and I can't do it tomorrow because we have to talk to the pastor and get everything set at the church. Next weekend we have to go."
What? Yeah... Wow.
"Um, congratulations mom?"
Before I dissect all that bothered me about the manic paragraph, let me give you some history, shall I?
My mom has a horrible history with men. Before my biological father, she only had a few boyfriends. She was a late bloomer. Raised in Catholic school, in a strictly Catholic family, where she was the oldest child of three, and a girl, and my grandfather was an Army man. To say my grandparents were protective of her might be an understatement. Her first few boyfriends were fairly innocent affairs, but already were predictive of her future of her chaotic interactions with men.
Then she met my father. Obviously, safe sex wasn't one of her strong suits. I am not really sure exactly what happened between my parents that facilitated the ultimate ending of their relationship, but I know her being pregnant with me played heavily into that. While she was pregnant, she got little as far as support from family or friends. My grandparents were much less than pleased that their un-wed, 23-year-old daughter was having premarital sex and got pregnant. I cannot imagine that conversation. Let's just say I'm really glad I never had to have it. Her best friend from College, Chris, was dating my father's best friend. She chose him (and married him within a couple years of this) and abandoned the friendship with my mother. She had to have felt completely alone. Knowing my mother as I do, I am sure people had their reasons, but I still feel bad for her. She barely knew how one got pregnant and there she found herself alone with a tiny baby growing in her.
At that point she turned to a church who took her in. I think one could call them radical born-again Christians. Not your every day Christians, but those that skewed and altered her every belief to beyond what any rational and sane person could possibly believe. The ones that prey on the weak. She fell in hook, line and sinker. She stayed deeply ingrained in the church until after I was born. At that point something happened. They turned their backs on her. I believe it was the unwed mother raising a child by herself thing. Fairly typical of what my experiences have been with churches - we'll give you all the answers straight from God's mouth until you don't do exactly as we say, at which point we'll pull your right to be a citizen of God's chosen flock.
After I was born followed a few tumultuous years where we moved all over town and my mom had boyfriends in and out of our lives. I, thankfully, have very little memory of all of this, but I retained enough. Including the live-in boyfriend, who came home one night asking for sex and my mom, who knew she was ovulating and didn't want risk another pregnancy (yeah, she wised up a little there) said no. He didn't take no for an answer. She became pregnant. Going against all of her beliefs, but knowing she could not be a good parent to another child at that point, decided to get an abortion. I'm not sure that's something many people know about my mom. I am actually quite proud of her decision. She knew she was not in a good place. She knew she could not raise another child. So she went against the principles she had been taught and believed to prevent that from happening. Again, it must have been insanely difficult. Again, she was alone. No one who knew supported her choice.
When I was 4, mom met my step-dad, Dan. He was 21, she was 28. He was a nice, kind man. He really was. The first time we met, he got down on the floor and colored with me. He was not a talkative person and used his words, of praise or discontent, very sparingly. Within three months of meeting they were married. I was there. They got married at the Fairport Town Court, in front of a Justice of the Peace. No one in the family knew what she was doing, or approved of their getting married. That was my mom. She always followed the beat of her own drum, regardless of what anyone else though. All of her kids appear to have gotten that personality trait.
Their marriage had a few rough patches early on, but never anything they couldn't work through. My dad was a truck driver and was on the road for days at a time. When my sister's (the youngest two, if you're having a hard time following my family tree) were born, it was questioned whether he would be able to be there. He was. If my parent's had hard times, I wasn't really aware of them. They rarely fought or raised their voices. They were affectionate with one another. He was stable for her. She... kept things interesting. It worked for 17 years. Until it didn't.
I was in grad school in Michigan at 23 when I got the phone call from my mom that my dad had left. He came home in the middle of the day, packed his stuff, turned off all the utilities in the house (that were in his name), and left. No note. No explanation. Nothing. My sister's called my mom when they got home from school. It was March. They were 10 and 11. There was no heat in the house. There was no electricity. My mom was heartbroken and devastated. She had no idea of his plans. She never got an explanation. All we know is that within a few months of their divorce being final, he was remarried. This caused many issues for my sisters and I, but we're focusing on my mom now.
Since the divorce my mom has dated here and there, but mostly she's gotten re-involved heavily with the same wacky church she was in before. Now, granted, I've never attended services with her - because nothing could drag me there - so I don't know if what they are teaching is that bizarre or whether my mom takes everything and makes it's insane. She has told me that she has actual sit down conversations with Jesus. They chat. He tells her which direction to go. I can only think of it as her version of the psychic friend's hotline, as the advice she "receives" is usually bizarre and counter intuitive to rational thought.
So imagine our thrill when she met Bill through some sort of divorced parents thing sponsored by the church. He has always been nice enough to me. He's socially awkward to the point of being weird. I don't really dislike him, but I barely know him. My mom believes they have been dating for 6 years, however, from an outsiders viewpoint, he comes around when he wants some lovin' and then disappears again for months at a time. He just did not appear interested and my mom refused to take a hint because God told her that "he is the one" and that she had to just be patient. She was. Absurdly so. He showed her no attention and gave her no indication that he was really interested. She persisted. I guess a couple months ago she got fed up and gave him an ultimatum. Basically, piss or get off the pot. She wanted to be married as soon as humanly possible, move into his house, and quit her job. I guess he decided it was now or never. He proposed yesterday.
I don't know much about Bill, but what I do know concerns me. He is a recovering alcoholic. He has 5 grown children, several of whom have no contact with him due to the circumstances from his first divorce. He has a history of depression. He's a member of my mom's church. My mom's history with men is also a concern. She gets overly absorbed in their lives and loses herself. She's willing to give up a job where she's almost vested into a pension plan to stay home and be his wife. She's willing to move an hour away from her family to live with him. Basically, she's giving up her life to be in his.
I'm terrified for my mom. Some of it's selfish. I don't want to go through another divorce with her. I don't want to go through another heartbreak at her side. I don't want to again be the one picking up the pieces. The other part is for her. If she gives up everything she'll be unable to support herself. None of her children can offer her a place to stay. None of us are financially secure and able to assit her out. She will be totally and completely dependent on a man which I am not sure deserves her love and affection. I don't trust him not to break her heart.
So, when she called yesterday to give me this news, I felt panic and dread fill my body. It was a physical reaction more than an emotional one. My mom's selfish needs are again going to put strain on her family. She is totally tuned out the terrible crap already going on in our lives to focus exclusively on... this. If I were a loving and supportive daughter I'd just help her, right? I'd wish for the best and wish her years of happiness in marital bliss. I am having a hard time doing that. I know reality. In my mom's case, things usually end in disaster.
I don't want to condemn my mother. I love her. She was, for the most part, the best mom she could be to me. I've forgiven any of her trangressions toward abusive insanity. I make allowances for, "Oh, it's just mom being herself again." But how long can one do that before losing hope? I can't be her safety net anymore. I have my own issues to be concerned about. My own life that at times feels like it's falling apart around me. My mom should be the one here for me, helping me figure out the pieces, but instead, that's always been my role. I can't do it this time.
Friday, May 1, 2009
I've never hated anyone before. I do now.
My two younger sisters are, for many reasons, like my own children. I'm even finding it hard to write this as I want to cry, not type. I need to in order to save my own sanity.
My sister Kerrie is 23. She has two children, Zachary, 3 and Noah, 5 months. After Zachary was born and against my better judgment, she married Josh. She married a boy. This boy has never grown up. When he doesn't get his way, he throws tantrums. While throwing these tantrums, my sister gets hurt. She's not telling anyone all of the truth, but I don't doubt that these same tantrums have hurt others too. Including my two nephews. I know they've hurt the rest of the family to hear about. The powerlessness involved with helping someone who doesn't want to be helped is crushing.
Kerrie won't admit to him ever hitting or hurting the kids, but he did everything to her in front of them. Zach already has some trauma based behaviors, such as head banging, being overly aggressive with peers, and having times where he's basically inconsolable. He has also been coached by Josh that Kerrie doesn't love him, that she doesn't want him, that only daddy will love him and care for him, etc. Same thing I am sure he was telling Kerrie about us while he was beating her. Kerrie, for future reference, I will always love you. Always.
I've known or suspected something for a long time, well before they were even married. I tried to reach her then, but she's stubborn and a tad immature and didn't want to hear it. I'm still there for her, but I also don't want to let the drama come into my household. It may sound mean, but I have my own child's naivety to protect. Ryan had to come to court with us on Tuesday because Mark couldn't get out of work. I had to make it a game for him so he didn't ask too many questions. Explaining that uncle Josh is a "bad guy" was tough too because he likes him. Josh is just a big idiotic kid himself. And then explaining why he couldn't beat uncle Josh up since he's a "bad guy" and put him into jail was the same question I had. Why does my child have to know these things even exist?
Here's the facts I know about:
Fast forward a few hours. I get a frantic call from my sister Lissa saying Kerrie was being handcuffed and arrested. Kerrie? Are you kidding me? I later got the story. Kerrie tried to leave the bowling alley but he had let the air out of her tires. She got upset, grabbed his wrist and told him to help her. He refused. She was going to try to drive a few blocks to the gas station. When she tried to, he tried to again stop her and stepped in front of her MOVING car. In my opinion she should have gunned it, but instead she stopped. He was knocked over but suffered no injuries, or even bruises. She finally left and went back to her apartment.
A few hours later the cops come to her house, tell her she's being charged with menacing, and get this, endangering the welfare of a child. The kids were in his car. She allowed him to take them because it was his night for visitation. For some reason I can't comprehend she was trying to be nice. She was just happy to be away from him. She was carted to the local jail, fingerprinted, photographed and arraigned in front a local judge that night. She had to post her own bail.
Monday, he shows up at her apartment, while she is still in police custody and takes her car. The very car he "told" her she could have. Since it's in his name, she has no recourse to get it back until she goes to family court and gets a divorce proceeding started. It is community property since they are married, but possession counts for everything, including kids apparently.
Tuesday, she has to appear in the local town court for her official arraignment and to go over the order of protection HE asked for. They refused to add the kids, saying they did not believe Kerrie to be a danger to them, but did get it to cover Josh. She is to have absolutely no contact with him. Which means she can't contact him to even talk to her children. She still hasn't gotten to see them. She did get to meet her public defender and he was very nice and helpful. He wasn't even supposed to be there and was on his way out but could see that Kerrie needed help ASAP. I also know that the judge got this for exactly what it was, but since she's a criminal court judge, not family court, there was nothing she could really do. Kerrie was told to go first thing the next day to family court and to petition for custody and her own order of protection.
She goes home upset, only to find out the next day that he had already gone to family court, claiming she was crazy (HER?!?) and that the kids were in danger from her. He called CPS on her. He petitioned the court for full custody and requested she be mandated to get a psych evaluation. The court granted it all. They postponed family court until May 28th, a full month away, and ordered in the meantime she can only see her kids for 10 hours a week, all supervised by his bitchass batshit crazy mother.
That's where things currently stand. Kerrie is trying to pursue things legally as she has documented proof of his abusing her including police reports and pictures of all her most recent bruises from when he used her as his own personal punching bag. Sadly, it appears to be making no difference. Every second my nephews spend in his care my heart breaks a little more. These poor kids did not ask for any of this. Zach keeps asking for his mommy, wanting to know why she won't come be with him. She can't, he has an order of protection for himself which prevents her from even having phone contact with him.
My faith in our legal system is gone. My fear is overwhelming. I have no idea what else I can do. It's the most hopeless feeling ever. I'm hoping that Josh's child-like behavior will hold to his own kids. I never witnessed him being bad to them in any way, and sadly I have ethics which prevent me from calling CPS on him and making up things against him. I want to though. Anything to stop this madness. I also want to hurt him, something which goes against my general nature. I truly am a pacifist at heart. But, he's hurting my baby, and for that he will never be forgiven.
My sister Kerrie is 23. She has two children, Zachary, 3 and Noah, 5 months. After Zachary was born and against my better judgment, she married Josh. She married a boy. This boy has never grown up. When he doesn't get his way, he throws tantrums. While throwing these tantrums, my sister gets hurt. She's not telling anyone all of the truth, but I don't doubt that these same tantrums have hurt others too. Including my two nephews. I know they've hurt the rest of the family to hear about. The powerlessness involved with helping someone who doesn't want to be helped is crushing.
Kerrie won't admit to him ever hitting or hurting the kids, but he did everything to her in front of them. Zach already has some trauma based behaviors, such as head banging, being overly aggressive with peers, and having times where he's basically inconsolable. He has also been coached by Josh that Kerrie doesn't love him, that she doesn't want him, that only daddy will love him and care for him, etc. Same thing I am sure he was telling Kerrie about us while he was beating her. Kerrie, for future reference, I will always love you. Always.
I've known or suspected something for a long time, well before they were even married. I tried to reach her then, but she's stubborn and a tad immature and didn't want to hear it. I'm still there for her, but I also don't want to let the drama come into my household. It may sound mean, but I have my own child's naivety to protect. Ryan had to come to court with us on Tuesday because Mark couldn't get out of work. I had to make it a game for him so he didn't ask too many questions. Explaining that uncle Josh is a "bad guy" was tough too because he likes him. Josh is just a big idiotic kid himself. And then explaining why he couldn't beat uncle Josh up since he's a "bad guy" and put him into jail was the same question I had. Why does my child have to know these things even exist?
Here's the facts I know about:
- He spent 9 months in jail for theft and drug possession. Sadly he was a minor or he may have served more. As it was, he got extra time for "bad behavior". Have you ever heard of anyone getting MORE time? Yeah, me neither.
- He drinks and smokes pot pretty much daily. In front of his kids. My three year old nephew knows what a bong is? WTF?
- He decided while my sister was pregnant with their second child (yeah, condoms weren't used) that he wanted to have an affair with someone equally juvenile. Fine. No problem. But he brought this chica up to see my sister after she had given birth. In the hospital.
- He left Kerrie when my nephew Noah was two weeks old saying he wanted this other stupid chica (her stupidity was my happiness though). He also told her she could have the house or the car, not both. He made sure everything was in his name so she'd have no recourse. Real generous asshole. At that time he let my sister manage and handle everything to do with the kids, taking them only once a week or so for visitation with his girlfriend.
- My family was having Easter dinner at my house a few weeks. My sister texted me to ask of it was ok for her to bring Josh as he refused to let her bring the kids to my house without him as he was afraid I'd turn her against him. This was after several months of their being separated. News flash idiot: I've never liked you. I agreed because my nephews and sister mean more to me than he ever will.
Fast forward a few hours. I get a frantic call from my sister Lissa saying Kerrie was being handcuffed and arrested. Kerrie? Are you kidding me? I later got the story. Kerrie tried to leave the bowling alley but he had let the air out of her tires. She got upset, grabbed his wrist and told him to help her. He refused. She was going to try to drive a few blocks to the gas station. When she tried to, he tried to again stop her and stepped in front of her MOVING car. In my opinion she should have gunned it, but instead she stopped. He was knocked over but suffered no injuries, or even bruises. She finally left and went back to her apartment.
A few hours later the cops come to her house, tell her she's being charged with menacing, and get this, endangering the welfare of a child. The kids were in his car. She allowed him to take them because it was his night for visitation. For some reason I can't comprehend she was trying to be nice. She was just happy to be away from him. She was carted to the local jail, fingerprinted, photographed and arraigned in front a local judge that night. She had to post her own bail.
Monday, he shows up at her apartment, while she is still in police custody and takes her car. The very car he "told" her she could have. Since it's in his name, she has no recourse to get it back until she goes to family court and gets a divorce proceeding started. It is community property since they are married, but possession counts for everything, including kids apparently.
Tuesday, she has to appear in the local town court for her official arraignment and to go over the order of protection HE asked for. They refused to add the kids, saying they did not believe Kerrie to be a danger to them, but did get it to cover Josh. She is to have absolutely no contact with him. Which means she can't contact him to even talk to her children. She still hasn't gotten to see them. She did get to meet her public defender and he was very nice and helpful. He wasn't even supposed to be there and was on his way out but could see that Kerrie needed help ASAP. I also know that the judge got this for exactly what it was, but since she's a criminal court judge, not family court, there was nothing she could really do. Kerrie was told to go first thing the next day to family court and to petition for custody and her own order of protection.
She goes home upset, only to find out the next day that he had already gone to family court, claiming she was crazy (HER?!?) and that the kids were in danger from her. He called CPS on her. He petitioned the court for full custody and requested she be mandated to get a psych evaluation. The court granted it all. They postponed family court until May 28th, a full month away, and ordered in the meantime she can only see her kids for 10 hours a week, all supervised by his bitchass batshit crazy mother.
That's where things currently stand. Kerrie is trying to pursue things legally as she has documented proof of his abusing her including police reports and pictures of all her most recent bruises from when he used her as his own personal punching bag. Sadly, it appears to be making no difference. Every second my nephews spend in his care my heart breaks a little more. These poor kids did not ask for any of this. Zach keeps asking for his mommy, wanting to know why she won't come be with him. She can't, he has an order of protection for himself which prevents her from even having phone contact with him.
My faith in our legal system is gone. My fear is overwhelming. I have no idea what else I can do. It's the most hopeless feeling ever. I'm hoping that Josh's child-like behavior will hold to his own kids. I never witnessed him being bad to them in any way, and sadly I have ethics which prevent me from calling CPS on him and making up things against him. I want to though. Anything to stop this madness. I also want to hurt him, something which goes against my general nature. I truly am a pacifist at heart. But, he's hurting my baby, and for that he will never be forgiven.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Vacation Reflections
My old boss and mentor, Don, once told me to use my vacations to learn more about myself and to not waste them just sitting around doing nothing. He said when you return to work after a vacation, you should be a slightly different person. I've always taken that to heart and ever since have tried to make the most of my time away.
I have been on an emotional roller coaster lately. I've had months and months of questioning myself, my choices, my fears, my own harsh judgments of myself. This week has brought a lot of breakthroughs in my attempts to be on the correct path - without really knowing what that was. I'm not sure I do even now, but at least I now know that I can only take one step at a time. For a long time I think I've been running with one foot and walking with the other. Basically, running in circles.
My time with my two sisters, Caren and Megan, and my three nephews made me face a lot. When I got to Ithaca, I learned that their, and mine, uncle had died. It didn't compute for me. I lost out on time with someone that I never got to know. Not by choice, but because that choice was taken away from me. I realized that is the reason (or one of them) for my on-going anger with my father. He took away from me, from my sisters, from the rest of my family, the shared history and opportunity to know one another, good or bad. I felt and still feel bad that I couldn't be more supportive to my sisters, because I know this loss was very tough for them, but how do you come up with those words? 'I'm sorry you lost your uncle? Who is really mine too but I don't know him?' It may sound weird, but I was even denied an opportunity to grieve or be supportive for their grief because I couldn't put a name on anything I was feeling.
I'm also mad at my father because he is basically a stranger. I share half of his DNA but we don't really know any truths about each other. I know his past, not from him, but from others. I know his current, not from him, but from others. It made me realize that what upset me most was the thought of, "who the hell walks away from their child?" Not someone I can have any real respect for. He may have done me a favor, but he also took a route that was to make himself feel better. For a long time this anger was bottled up and put in a place of, 'what's the point of worrying over what you can't change?' I'm no longer worrying about it but I am acknowledging it. I'm angry and I have every right to be.
I do have my sisters now though, and the more time we spend together the more time we can create that shared history we missed out on. We got drunk and acted stupid. We laughed. I may have cried once or twice. We talked, pretty much non-stop, for 4 whole days. I got to attend my oldest nephews, Andrew's, first real little league game, and when I watched him round home, I got tears in my eyes. I got to be there for that. A moment I'm sure he'll remember forever. And now, so will I. I can't change the past, but I can alter the present so that in the future I will have wonderful memories.
Knowing that I have now lost two uncles to cancer and have an aunt who is very sick, also with cancer, has given me a sense of my own mortality. My mother's side of the family, is, for the most part, very healthy. Now that I know the same isn't true for the other side of the family, I realized I need to make some changes in my life in order to live the healthiest life possible. Immediately upon returning from NYC I started a new, lower fat diet, and started exercising again. In one week I've already lost 7 pounds. Since I'd gained 30 in the past year, I instantly realized how poorly I had been treating myself. I am now fully re-commited to making lasting life style changes. I can't risk anything else.
I have cried many times today. Not all of it out of sadness. Some, but not all. For the first time in a long time, I really saw my baby boy. I see him daily, yes, but I saw him and all the hopes and dreams and worries and fears that he conjures. I saw him in a way that makes me smile while also cringing for how fast time passes. For the glory in the fact that I have this beautiful child at all. There was a time where I cursed God and anything else that would listen for not allowing my body to reproduce on it's own. Now, I need to thank that same God for bringing me the greatest present any human being can ever receive, the love of a child.
I also really saw my husband for the first time in a long time. Almost everyone who reads this knows we've had our plethora of problems lately. We have had to have some very intense conversations lately. I don't know to what end these conversations will bring us, but they need to happen. I know our problems won't be instantaneously changed, but, I don't know... I know I can't make any promises about our future but I could at least look at him today and know that if nothing else, I will always have a friend. He looked me directly in the eyes. I saw the love he truly has for me. This may seem small for some, but after not seeing each other for... a long time, it was huge. It was a step.
And lastly, for now, I am most grateful to my friends and family who have been here all week to listen to me, help me cope, and push me in the right direction. I may not have heard what I wanted to, but real friends don't tell you what you want to hear, they tell you what you need to hear. I am only in the last couple of years recognizing how important friendships are, and how necessary. I thought for the longest time if I had a partner by my side, that one person could be everything I needed. I know now that I can't rely on any one person to be everything for me.
In fact, the only person I have any control over and know I can always depend on, is me. After a week of really seeing me, I feel better about returning to work. I will be a slightly altered version of who I was before I left. Thanks Don. I hope you have some idea of how much you have meant to me. I miss you.
I have been on an emotional roller coaster lately. I've had months and months of questioning myself, my choices, my fears, my own harsh judgments of myself. This week has brought a lot of breakthroughs in my attempts to be on the correct path - without really knowing what that was. I'm not sure I do even now, but at least I now know that I can only take one step at a time. For a long time I think I've been running with one foot and walking with the other. Basically, running in circles.
My time with my two sisters, Caren and Megan, and my three nephews made me face a lot. When I got to Ithaca, I learned that their, and mine, uncle had died. It didn't compute for me. I lost out on time with someone that I never got to know. Not by choice, but because that choice was taken away from me. I realized that is the reason (or one of them) for my on-going anger with my father. He took away from me, from my sisters, from the rest of my family, the shared history and opportunity to know one another, good or bad. I felt and still feel bad that I couldn't be more supportive to my sisters, because I know this loss was very tough for them, but how do you come up with those words? 'I'm sorry you lost your uncle? Who is really mine too but I don't know him?' It may sound weird, but I was even denied an opportunity to grieve or be supportive for their grief because I couldn't put a name on anything I was feeling.
I'm also mad at my father because he is basically a stranger. I share half of his DNA but we don't really know any truths about each other. I know his past, not from him, but from others. I know his current, not from him, but from others. It made me realize that what upset me most was the thought of, "who the hell walks away from their child?" Not someone I can have any real respect for. He may have done me a favor, but he also took a route that was to make himself feel better. For a long time this anger was bottled up and put in a place of, 'what's the point of worrying over what you can't change?' I'm no longer worrying about it but I am acknowledging it. I'm angry and I have every right to be.
I do have my sisters now though, and the more time we spend together the more time we can create that shared history we missed out on. We got drunk and acted stupid. We laughed. I may have cried once or twice. We talked, pretty much non-stop, for 4 whole days. I got to attend my oldest nephews, Andrew's, first real little league game, and when I watched him round home, I got tears in my eyes. I got to be there for that. A moment I'm sure he'll remember forever. And now, so will I. I can't change the past, but I can alter the present so that in the future I will have wonderful memories.
Knowing that I have now lost two uncles to cancer and have an aunt who is very sick, also with cancer, has given me a sense of my own mortality. My mother's side of the family, is, for the most part, very healthy. Now that I know the same isn't true for the other side of the family, I realized I need to make some changes in my life in order to live the healthiest life possible. Immediately upon returning from NYC I started a new, lower fat diet, and started exercising again. In one week I've already lost 7 pounds. Since I'd gained 30 in the past year, I instantly realized how poorly I had been treating myself. I am now fully re-commited to making lasting life style changes. I can't risk anything else.
I have cried many times today. Not all of it out of sadness. Some, but not all. For the first time in a long time, I really saw my baby boy. I see him daily, yes, but I saw him and all the hopes and dreams and worries and fears that he conjures. I saw him in a way that makes me smile while also cringing for how fast time passes. For the glory in the fact that I have this beautiful child at all. There was a time where I cursed God and anything else that would listen for not allowing my body to reproduce on it's own. Now, I need to thank that same God for bringing me the greatest present any human being can ever receive, the love of a child.
I also really saw my husband for the first time in a long time. Almost everyone who reads this knows we've had our plethora of problems lately. We have had to have some very intense conversations lately. I don't know to what end these conversations will bring us, but they need to happen. I know our problems won't be instantaneously changed, but, I don't know... I know I can't make any promises about our future but I could at least look at him today and know that if nothing else, I will always have a friend. He looked me directly in the eyes. I saw the love he truly has for me. This may seem small for some, but after not seeing each other for... a long time, it was huge. It was a step.
And lastly, for now, I am most grateful to my friends and family who have been here all week to listen to me, help me cope, and push me in the right direction. I may not have heard what I wanted to, but real friends don't tell you what you want to hear, they tell you what you need to hear. I am only in the last couple of years recognizing how important friendships are, and how necessary. I thought for the longest time if I had a partner by my side, that one person could be everything I needed. I know now that I can't rely on any one person to be everything for me.
In fact, the only person I have any control over and know I can always depend on, is me. After a week of really seeing me, I feel better about returning to work. I will be a slightly altered version of who I was before I left. Thanks Don. I hope you have some idea of how much you have meant to me. I miss you.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Your dogs or your life
I have asthma. It's a fact of my life. Typically, I use my inhalers, take my meds, and I do ok. The past couple years though it has worsened. There are times where I simply cannot breathe. It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest and that every last breath is labored to the point where doing the bare minimum everyday takes everything I have.
It's not like this all of the time. It's not. But it is more than I would like. I've seen many doctors, allergist, pulmonologists, breathing tester people, sleep specialists, etc., etc. They all have one piece of advice: Get rid of the dogs.
I was raised with no animals. My mom once got me a cat when I was under a year old and she had to get rid of her almost instantly because I ended up in the hospital covered in hives and with difficulty breathing. As a child, I think it was an easy choice for my mom. She'd much rather have a healthy child than a pet. For me the choice is not so easy.
I got my first dog after coming back home from graduate school. I moved back to Rochester to be closer to my mom and decided that it was finally the "right" time in my life. I needed a dog. I loved beagles, always had. I went to the downtown shelter and adopted the first beagle to become available. MacKenzie was a stinker. He lived just a year but he made an enormous impact on my life. He was the only man I needed. He took care of me. He loved me unconditionally. I needed him as much as he needed me. I miss that little dog.
After he died due to kidney failure (probably from drinking from a puddle on one of his many excursions after breaking free from his leash) I wasn't sure I wanted another dog. He meant so much, I couldn't replace him. Mark and I had just started dating around that time and it was him who encouraged me to get not only one more beagle, but two. Siblings. Finnley and Emma came home about 6 months after MacKenzie died.
They were tiny puppies, and OH SO cute. You've seen beagle puppies. They are heart-breaking-ly cute. You can't resist them. They did not love one another however. They fought constantly, to the point of causing physical damage. We got advice from several experts and tried everything. (Including one particularly bad battle where I let them "fight it out" for dominance and all I got in exchange was a bloody kitchen and two dogs who needed to be stitched up. I don't recommend it.) After some horrible deliberations we decided we couldn't keep them both and ended up giving Emma to a young boy in our neighborhood who had always wanted a dog. Every time we went down the street I'd look for her.
Then, in our year long odyssey of fertility treatments and the turmoil that ensued from that, we decided to take a vacation to Puerto Rico. When we got there one thing in particular struck us both - there were homeless dogs everywhere. We'd never seen anything like it, so when the people who owned the guest house we were staying in told us where they got their dog from, we went to the shelter and adopted the little dingo, Isabel (for Isabel Segunda, the town we stayed in). We weren't sure kids would ever happen, so we might as well get another dog. She was Mark's pick, a shy little blond almost Chihuahua looking dog, who was over a foot tall and startled by even the slightest movement. We knew she had been adopted once already but that her owner had stated she was just too jumpy and he couldn't handle her. For some reason we thought we'd make it better.
So, after a few months of trying to figure it out how to logistically get her here, she finally made it home. Her introduction to Finnley didn't go so well, but slowly, ever so slowly, they learned to tolerate one another. Now, they are chummy and like each other well enough, but they aren't like some dogs you see who are best friends. They just live parallel lives in our home. She also isn't particularly close to us, but she has calmed down significantly, something I'd never thought would happen.
Ryan has been raised with both of them. We brought home his baby blankets for them to smell before we brought him home. They were both initially completely disinterested, giving him a little sniff and walking away. Isabel still doesn't pay him much attention and just tries to stay out of his way. Finnley is tolerant of him and is pretty gentle when Ry jumps all over him and sticks his fingers in places where dogs just shouldn't have to worry about being poked.
But Ryan adores them. He claims they are his only friends. Since he's an only child, they are his playmates. I know it could kill me, or at least make me realllly uncomfortable, but how do I take this away from him?
Lately my symptoms have been particularly bad and the usual meds aren't working. I'm off to see yet another specialist. I'm sick over it, but I think I may need to get rid of my dogs. It's heart breaking to consider the ramifications of that. I just gently tried to prepare Ryan and he stared screaming at me. He told me he'd rather have his dogs than his mommy (which, ouch, I know he didn't mean it but still). It seems like an impossible decision. The guilt is overwhelming. Which would you chose? If I do get rid of them, how? Who could I pick to care for such great dogs? How can I make sure Ry doesn't miss out on the opportunity to have a pet like I did? And how do I cope with the feeling that it's all my fault that I will be breaking my son's heart?
It's not like this all of the time. It's not. But it is more than I would like. I've seen many doctors, allergist, pulmonologists, breathing tester people, sleep specialists, etc., etc. They all have one piece of advice: Get rid of the dogs.
I was raised with no animals. My mom once got me a cat when I was under a year old and she had to get rid of her almost instantly because I ended up in the hospital covered in hives and with difficulty breathing. As a child, I think it was an easy choice for my mom. She'd much rather have a healthy child than a pet. For me the choice is not so easy.
I got my first dog after coming back home from graduate school. I moved back to Rochester to be closer to my mom and decided that it was finally the "right" time in my life. I needed a dog. I loved beagles, always had. I went to the downtown shelter and adopted the first beagle to become available. MacKenzie was a stinker. He lived just a year but he made an enormous impact on my life. He was the only man I needed. He took care of me. He loved me unconditionally. I needed him as much as he needed me. I miss that little dog.
After he died due to kidney failure (probably from drinking from a puddle on one of his many excursions after breaking free from his leash) I wasn't sure I wanted another dog. He meant so much, I couldn't replace him. Mark and I had just started dating around that time and it was him who encouraged me to get not only one more beagle, but two. Siblings. Finnley and Emma came home about 6 months after MacKenzie died.
They were tiny puppies, and OH SO cute. You've seen beagle puppies. They are heart-breaking-ly cute. You can't resist them. They did not love one another however. They fought constantly, to the point of causing physical damage. We got advice from several experts and tried everything. (Including one particularly bad battle where I let them "fight it out" for dominance and all I got in exchange was a bloody kitchen and two dogs who needed to be stitched up. I don't recommend it.) After some horrible deliberations we decided we couldn't keep them both and ended up giving Emma to a young boy in our neighborhood who had always wanted a dog. Every time we went down the street I'd look for her.
Then, in our year long odyssey of fertility treatments and the turmoil that ensued from that, we decided to take a vacation to Puerto Rico. When we got there one thing in particular struck us both - there were homeless dogs everywhere. We'd never seen anything like it, so when the people who owned the guest house we were staying in told us where they got their dog from, we went to the shelter and adopted the little dingo, Isabel (for Isabel Segunda, the town we stayed in). We weren't sure kids would ever happen, so we might as well get another dog. She was Mark's pick, a shy little blond almost Chihuahua looking dog, who was over a foot tall and startled by even the slightest movement. We knew she had been adopted once already but that her owner had stated she was just too jumpy and he couldn't handle her. For some reason we thought we'd make it better.
So, after a few months of trying to figure it out how to logistically get her here, she finally made it home. Her introduction to Finnley didn't go so well, but slowly, ever so slowly, they learned to tolerate one another. Now, they are chummy and like each other well enough, but they aren't like some dogs you see who are best friends. They just live parallel lives in our home. She also isn't particularly close to us, but she has calmed down significantly, something I'd never thought would happen.
Ryan has been raised with both of them. We brought home his baby blankets for them to smell before we brought him home. They were both initially completely disinterested, giving him a little sniff and walking away. Isabel still doesn't pay him much attention and just tries to stay out of his way. Finnley is tolerant of him and is pretty gentle when Ry jumps all over him and sticks his fingers in places where dogs just shouldn't have to worry about being poked.
But Ryan adores them. He claims they are his only friends. Since he's an only child, they are his playmates. I know it could kill me, or at least make me realllly uncomfortable, but how do I take this away from him?
Lately my symptoms have been particularly bad and the usual meds aren't working. I'm off to see yet another specialist. I'm sick over it, but I think I may need to get rid of my dogs. It's heart breaking to consider the ramifications of that. I just gently tried to prepare Ryan and he stared screaming at me. He told me he'd rather have his dogs than his mommy (which, ouch, I know he didn't mean it but still). It seems like an impossible decision. The guilt is overwhelming. Which would you chose? If I do get rid of them, how? Who could I pick to care for such great dogs? How can I make sure Ry doesn't miss out on the opportunity to have a pet like I did? And how do I cope with the feeling that it's all my fault that I will be breaking my son's heart?
Friday, April 3, 2009
Daddy's little girl?
My sister contacted me this week to let me know that they were going to be coming upstate (i.e. Ithaca) the second week in April and that she wanted to see me. I'd love nothing more. I miss her like crazy and feel like I'm missing huge portions of my three nephew's lives. The only potential issue? My father will be there too and she was concerned for me that it will be uncomfortable.
Why you ask? See, my mother and father dated when my mom was around 21-22, and although she wouldn't say it today, I think he was the great love of her life. She adored him, and you can almost see flickers of it when she speaks of him now. My mother never hid anything about him from me, but she was always sparse with details and only provided them when I asked. I honestly didn't ask a lot of questions about him. I just assumed he wasn't there and that was just the way it was. When I hit 15 and started dealing with all the typical teenage angst however, more questions came up in my head.
Caren, the aforementioned sister, was about 5 at the time of my conception. Our father and her mother had met in High School and were, from what I can gather, pushed into marriage when she became pregnant. It was the late 60's. It's what you were supposed to do. It didn't last long however, and it was the first of several relationships he's been in and messed up.
With my mom, I don't doubt he loved her, but when he found out she was pregnant, he apparently thought it was too much and he took off. After getting to know my sister's in my 20's, I get now why this was perhaps an excellent thing for me. He was never a part of my life and although I did find out later he occasionally attended functions, like concerts and my graduation, I never knew he was there. I just assumed that having another child was too overwhelming for him. I found out later that 6 years after I was born, he was again married and had fathered another daughter, Megan. Could you see why this would lead to years of me feeling abandoned and unworthy of proper male attention?
When I was 21, after doing some research and psyching myself up A LOT, I showed up on his doorstep with my boyfriend at the time, Aaron. He was not home, but my little sister, then 15, answered the door. There was no denying we were related. I didn't know she existed. I am not even sure exactly what I said, but I asked for him and her mother came to the door. I think everyone was a little... um, flustered isn't a good enough word. I don't really remember what happened but I was told that he wasn't home and she'd let him know I had stopped by.
They lived in Ithaca. I was not aware of this when, at the age of 10, I decided that when I was of college age that this was where I would go. Not neighboring Cornell, but Ithaca College. I just knew. At 10. My grandparent's remember the day as distinctly as I do. It's like it was destiny or something. We were driving through taking the scenic route back from a trip to Long Island to see my uncle. My grandparent's joked about taking an early college tour and we drove through the campus. I was mesmerized. Something in my little head just made it fit.
So, while still attending Ithaca College and within a week of my stopping at my father's house, I got an e-mail from my older sister, Caren. She as trying to be as delicate as possible, but I could instantly tell she was sincere in wanting to know me. She felt a piece of her was missing as much as I did. We agreed to meet at a Dunkin' Donuts in downtown Ithaca and take a trip together to Boston, where she was living at the time. I'm not exactly sure why I agreed to go, with a complete stranger, to a strange city, with no connection to the home and family I knew, but I took the chance. I'm so glad I did.
I remember very little of that drive other than that there was not one moment of silence. I remember very little of that trip, other than meeting my future brother-in-law, and her asking me to be in her wedding the following January. I don't even remember too much of that summer and fall spent living in Boston in poverty, working a dangerous job that (did I mention?) paid CRAAAAP, and being able to enjoy very little that the city had to offer. It was not a great time in my life.
After several months living in Boston, I returned to Ithaca. I lived in a tiny studio apartment and had several part-time jobs, hanging out on campus with my boyfriend, who was now a senior at Ithaca. It was about two months before the wedding that my father finally contacted me and suggested we meet prior to the wedding, just to make it more "comfortable" for both of us.
Aaron drove me to this little Chinese place in town and I went in on my own. We talked about a lot, but very little of consequence. I drank so much tea, I am not sure how my bladder did not explode and how I am still not living off the caffeine high. I remember thinking he was very charming and likable, but I could not connect him as being a part of me. The physical resemblance was undeniable, but emotionally I just could not see him as "my father." I still can't.
The first meeting happened. It was awkward. I knew I could get through my sister's wedding though because I adored her instantly. My momentary discomfort in confronting a family I did not know was worth it to be there for such a monumental moment in her life since I had been forced to miss every other one.
The wedding itself was hilarious for me. My paternal grandparents did not know I existed. Most of my aunts and uncles did not know I did either. I don't recall how many of them there were, but it seemed like a lot. My brother-in-law's family did know who I was, and since most of them speak Spanish, I overheard several conversations during the day where people were pointing out who I was and basically what a clusterfuck Al was marrying into. Yeah, I spoke Spanish then folks. I understood almost everything. Fun fun. When we were doing the receiving line, almost everyone commented on how familiar I looked and had we met before? I was standing between both of my sisters. Nope, you've never seen me before. Never.
I wish I had pictures to post to show how alike we look. For any of the ways we look different, the ways we are similar is completely striking. Any straight man with eyes would be able to tell we were related within seconds of meeting us. This was weird for me because my two youngest sisters, my mother's with her first and only husband, my former step-dad, look absolutely nothing like me. I really do know who I look like now, and it's not my mom.
My one aunt, I can't remember her name but my mom said that my father always said she was his favorite, cornered me in the bathroom. She said she did know who I was and she was so pleased to meet me and sad it had taken so long. She also said some things about my dad and her own anger that the entire family was deprived of the opportunity to get to know me. She said all of this without knowing my grandmother was in the bathroom stall. She exited the stall and never said a word to me. And to this day never has. I felt like the family secret and it wasn't even my family. I didn't know any of these people and I still felt like I wasn't good enough to be a part of it.
So the years have gone on with very few and far between occasions where I have seen my father. They are always tense events where we never quite know what to say to one another. It got slightly easier after Ryan was born. I'm not sure exactly why. Maybe it was that I relaxed a little after having him. Maybe he realized he was getting older and that missing out on his grandchild's life was unacceptable (but his daughter's life was?). Maybe he woke up and realized how badly he had screwed up. I don't really know.
When Ry was 6 months old, my sister and Al rented a cabin on Cayuga Lake and invited all of us down to spend a few days with them. It was a great trip. The unencumbered access to my sisters was awesome. The quiet time for reflection on our parallel lives was life altering. But what I remember most about the trip was the last 2 minutes. I had gotten the car packed up, got Ryan calmed in his car seat, and was ready to head on my way out. My father had spent the last night with us with his new wife (his third, if you're keeping track, and I honestly can't even remember her name). He asked if he could walk Ryan and I to the car. I agreed. He carried Ryan.
This is my paraphrasing but this is sort of how the conversation went:
Him: There's something I wanted to say to you for a long time.
Me: Ok.
Him: (with several stopped attempts) I want you to know I'm sorry and explain why.
Me: Ok.
Him: I really am sorry and there is no real explanation.
Me: I know.
Him: Can you ever forgive me?
Me: I already have.
Cue sappy music and teary hug goodbye.
That was the last time I saw him, almost 4 years ago. When my sister told me he would be there in two weeks, it was the first time I was not instantly filled with internal conflict and grief for the father I never knew. He still seems like someone I will never really know or connect with. He no longer makes me completely uncomfortable, but he'll never be my dad. I think I have forgiven him and can be thankful that I wasn't exposed to his dysfunction for my entire life. One barely functioning parent was bad enough, two would have possible broken me with no opportunity to begin to repair the pieces.
My sister and I have several times questioned whether the propensity to screw up our relationships and our general sense of discontent with the world is hereitary. Can we really blame it all on him? It would sure make me feel better. Have I really forgiven him? Am I really past all of the issues I have that possibly began from having no real father in my life? Sadly, I am fairly certain I'm not. I also know I will be having to work through this in order to appreciate all the blessings I do have in my life. I do not want to repeat my father's mistakes.
Why you ask? See, my mother and father dated when my mom was around 21-22, and although she wouldn't say it today, I think he was the great love of her life. She adored him, and you can almost see flickers of it when she speaks of him now. My mother never hid anything about him from me, but she was always sparse with details and only provided them when I asked. I honestly didn't ask a lot of questions about him. I just assumed he wasn't there and that was just the way it was. When I hit 15 and started dealing with all the typical teenage angst however, more questions came up in my head.
Caren, the aforementioned sister, was about 5 at the time of my conception. Our father and her mother had met in High School and were, from what I can gather, pushed into marriage when she became pregnant. It was the late 60's. It's what you were supposed to do. It didn't last long however, and it was the first of several relationships he's been in and messed up.
With my mom, I don't doubt he loved her, but when he found out she was pregnant, he apparently thought it was too much and he took off. After getting to know my sister's in my 20's, I get now why this was perhaps an excellent thing for me. He was never a part of my life and although I did find out later he occasionally attended functions, like concerts and my graduation, I never knew he was there. I just assumed that having another child was too overwhelming for him. I found out later that 6 years after I was born, he was again married and had fathered another daughter, Megan. Could you see why this would lead to years of me feeling abandoned and unworthy of proper male attention?
When I was 21, after doing some research and psyching myself up A LOT, I showed up on his doorstep with my boyfriend at the time, Aaron. He was not home, but my little sister, then 15, answered the door. There was no denying we were related. I didn't know she existed. I am not even sure exactly what I said, but I asked for him and her mother came to the door. I think everyone was a little... um, flustered isn't a good enough word. I don't really remember what happened but I was told that he wasn't home and she'd let him know I had stopped by.
They lived in Ithaca. I was not aware of this when, at the age of 10, I decided that when I was of college age that this was where I would go. Not neighboring Cornell, but Ithaca College. I just knew. At 10. My grandparent's remember the day as distinctly as I do. It's like it was destiny or something. We were driving through taking the scenic route back from a trip to Long Island to see my uncle. My grandparent's joked about taking an early college tour and we drove through the campus. I was mesmerized. Something in my little head just made it fit.
So, while still attending Ithaca College and within a week of my stopping at my father's house, I got an e-mail from my older sister, Caren. She as trying to be as delicate as possible, but I could instantly tell she was sincere in wanting to know me. She felt a piece of her was missing as much as I did. We agreed to meet at a Dunkin' Donuts in downtown Ithaca and take a trip together to Boston, where she was living at the time. I'm not exactly sure why I agreed to go, with a complete stranger, to a strange city, with no connection to the home and family I knew, but I took the chance. I'm so glad I did.
I remember very little of that drive other than that there was not one moment of silence. I remember very little of that trip, other than meeting my future brother-in-law, and her asking me to be in her wedding the following January. I don't even remember too much of that summer and fall spent living in Boston in poverty, working a dangerous job that (did I mention?) paid CRAAAAP, and being able to enjoy very little that the city had to offer. It was not a great time in my life.
After several months living in Boston, I returned to Ithaca. I lived in a tiny studio apartment and had several part-time jobs, hanging out on campus with my boyfriend, who was now a senior at Ithaca. It was about two months before the wedding that my father finally contacted me and suggested we meet prior to the wedding, just to make it more "comfortable" for both of us.
Aaron drove me to this little Chinese place in town and I went in on my own. We talked about a lot, but very little of consequence. I drank so much tea, I am not sure how my bladder did not explode and how I am still not living off the caffeine high. I remember thinking he was very charming and likable, but I could not connect him as being a part of me. The physical resemblance was undeniable, but emotionally I just could not see him as "my father." I still can't.
The first meeting happened. It was awkward. I knew I could get through my sister's wedding though because I adored her instantly. My momentary discomfort in confronting a family I did not know was worth it to be there for such a monumental moment in her life since I had been forced to miss every other one.
The wedding itself was hilarious for me. My paternal grandparents did not know I existed. Most of my aunts and uncles did not know I did either. I don't recall how many of them there were, but it seemed like a lot. My brother-in-law's family did know who I was, and since most of them speak Spanish, I overheard several conversations during the day where people were pointing out who I was and basically what a clusterfuck Al was marrying into. Yeah, I spoke Spanish then folks. I understood almost everything. Fun fun. When we were doing the receiving line, almost everyone commented on how familiar I looked and had we met before? I was standing between both of my sisters. Nope, you've never seen me before. Never.
I wish I had pictures to post to show how alike we look. For any of the ways we look different, the ways we are similar is completely striking. Any straight man with eyes would be able to tell we were related within seconds of meeting us. This was weird for me because my two youngest sisters, my mother's with her first and only husband, my former step-dad, look absolutely nothing like me. I really do know who I look like now, and it's not my mom.
My one aunt, I can't remember her name but my mom said that my father always said she was his favorite, cornered me in the bathroom. She said she did know who I was and she was so pleased to meet me and sad it had taken so long. She also said some things about my dad and her own anger that the entire family was deprived of the opportunity to get to know me. She said all of this without knowing my grandmother was in the bathroom stall. She exited the stall and never said a word to me. And to this day never has. I felt like the family secret and it wasn't even my family. I didn't know any of these people and I still felt like I wasn't good enough to be a part of it.
So the years have gone on with very few and far between occasions where I have seen my father. They are always tense events where we never quite know what to say to one another. It got slightly easier after Ryan was born. I'm not sure exactly why. Maybe it was that I relaxed a little after having him. Maybe he realized he was getting older and that missing out on his grandchild's life was unacceptable (but his daughter's life was?). Maybe he woke up and realized how badly he had screwed up. I don't really know.
When Ry was 6 months old, my sister and Al rented a cabin on Cayuga Lake and invited all of us down to spend a few days with them. It was a great trip. The unencumbered access to my sisters was awesome. The quiet time for reflection on our parallel lives was life altering. But what I remember most about the trip was the last 2 minutes. I had gotten the car packed up, got Ryan calmed in his car seat, and was ready to head on my way out. My father had spent the last night with us with his new wife (his third, if you're keeping track, and I honestly can't even remember her name). He asked if he could walk Ryan and I to the car. I agreed. He carried Ryan.
This is my paraphrasing but this is sort of how the conversation went:
Him: There's something I wanted to say to you for a long time.
Me: Ok.
Him: (with several stopped attempts) I want you to know I'm sorry and explain why.
Me: Ok.
Him: I really am sorry and there is no real explanation.
Me: I know.
Him: Can you ever forgive me?
Me: I already have.
Cue sappy music and teary hug goodbye.
That was the last time I saw him, almost 4 years ago. When my sister told me he would be there in two weeks, it was the first time I was not instantly filled with internal conflict and grief for the father I never knew. He still seems like someone I will never really know or connect with. He no longer makes me completely uncomfortable, but he'll never be my dad. I think I have forgiven him and can be thankful that I wasn't exposed to his dysfunction for my entire life. One barely functioning parent was bad enough, two would have possible broken me with no opportunity to begin to repair the pieces.
My sister and I have several times questioned whether the propensity to screw up our relationships and our general sense of discontent with the world is hereitary. Can we really blame it all on him? It would sure make me feel better. Have I really forgiven him? Am I really past all of the issues I have that possibly began from having no real father in my life? Sadly, I am fairly certain I'm not. I also know I will be having to work through this in order to appreciate all the blessings I do have in my life. I do not want to repeat my father's mistakes.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Interview with my 4-year-old
I stole this from my friend Helena off of Facebook. It was really funny to see his thought processes, or lack there of. Most of the questions he immediately answered "I don't know", about 20 times, until I made him think about it. Then, he'd stop for two seconds and seemingly say whatever popped into his head first. It was fun to do together. I may have to do it again in another year and see how his answers change. Either way it will be cool for him to look back on and remember.
Oh, and before I forget, we just got the application for free UPK (universal pre-kindergarten) and the school we loved the most on our tours is on the list for the year! Keep your fingers crossed for us. It's done mostly by lottery and it's random who gets accepted, but it would be awesome if he could get in. Every time we go past the center he asks to go in to play, but we can't afford the $224 a week fee. It doesn't get any better than free, especially when it's the best school around.
1. What is something mom always says to you?
I love you.
2. What makes mom happy?
ME!
3. What makes mom sad?
When I do things I'm not supposed to.
4. How does your mom make you laugh?
Tells me jokes.
5. What was your mom like as a child?
Mean. No, um I mean, I think you were happy.
6. How old is your mom?
(waving his fingers wildly in front of my face which I assume was several times signaling the decades)
10... no wait, mommy, how old are you again?
7. How tall is your mom?
You're a big girl.
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Knitting
9. What does your mom do when you're not here?
You wait for me.
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
A shooting star.
11. What is your mom really good at?
Knitting. (It's sitting right beside me, within his eye shot.)
12. What is your mom not very good at?
I don't remember. I really don't know.
13. What does your mom do for a job?
Work with people.
14. What is your mom's favorite food?
Dipping (he means Indian, he only dunks the bread).
15. What makes you proud of your mom?
When I color pictures for you.
16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Bob the Builder. (interesting, we never watch it)
17. What do you and your mom do together?
Color.
18. How are you and your mom the same?
We love ourselves.
19. How are you and your mom different?
I like superheros.
20. How do you know your mom loves you?
I like you.
21. What does your mom like most about your dad?
(he's now on the floor very bored of answering questions) I don't know, you just love him.
22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?
The zoo.
Oh, and before I forget, we just got the application for free UPK (universal pre-kindergarten) and the school we loved the most on our tours is on the list for the year! Keep your fingers crossed for us. It's done mostly by lottery and it's random who gets accepted, but it would be awesome if he could get in. Every time we go past the center he asks to go in to play, but we can't afford the $224 a week fee. It doesn't get any better than free, especially when it's the best school around.
1. What is something mom always says to you?
I love you.
2. What makes mom happy?
ME!
3. What makes mom sad?
When I do things I'm not supposed to.
4. How does your mom make you laugh?
Tells me jokes.
5. What was your mom like as a child?
Mean. No, um I mean, I think you were happy.
6. How old is your mom?
(waving his fingers wildly in front of my face which I assume was several times signaling the decades)
10... no wait, mommy, how old are you again?
7. How tall is your mom?
You're a big girl.
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Knitting
9. What does your mom do when you're not here?
You wait for me.
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
A shooting star.
11. What is your mom really good at?
Knitting. (It's sitting right beside me, within his eye shot.)
12. What is your mom not very good at?
I don't remember. I really don't know.
13. What does your mom do for a job?
Work with people.
14. What is your mom's favorite food?
Dipping (he means Indian, he only dunks the bread).
15. What makes you proud of your mom?
When I color pictures for you.
16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Bob the Builder. (interesting, we never watch it)
17. What do you and your mom do together?
Color.
18. How are you and your mom the same?
We love ourselves.
19. How are you and your mom different?
I like superheros.
20. How do you know your mom loves you?
I like you.
21. What does your mom like most about your dad?
(he's now on the floor very bored of answering questions) I don't know, you just love him.
22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?
The zoo.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
To my baby boy
I've never taken the time to sit down and write anything to you. I feel bad about that. I was going to do it for your fourth birthday, and here I am, almost a week late. Better late than never.
You are the light of my life. I don't tell you that enough. I don't show you that enough. I try hard to make time for you every day. Time where I won't get frustrated with you, or angry, or raise my voice, or beg you to follow my directions. Where it's just you and I, engaged in the wonder that is being mommy and son. But since I have to specify that I have to make that time might mean I spend too much time in a negative space around you and I hate that.
You are an amazing kid. I know you're mine and I have to say that, but in this case it's true. You're out-going, kind, sensitive, polite, a good friend, and an inquisitive child who constantly wants to know why - particularly when I have no good answers because they questions are just too complicated. The things that come out of your mouth sometimes astound me. Where did that come from in that little 4-year-old brain. That couldn't possibly be what you just asked, could it? Yes, it typically was.
It's been a tough year for daddy and I. I know you've felt that and I am so sorry. We both love you and know that you are the most important thing in our lives. Making sure you are doing well is priority number one. Even when we are not feeling so loving toward one another, we both love you. To the point where I sometimes feel it brimming over and I get a tear in my eye.
I can't believe that the tall, skinny, talkative, social butterfly who fills my life is the same baby who caused me such distress while pregnant. Let's not even get into the delivery. I'd do it all again though if it meant I got to have you. Seeing your tiny knee over the incubator, not even knowing if you were a boy or girl, if you were ok, breathing, even alive, was the most momentous moment in my life. Hearing you first cry brought tears to my eye, as the memory of it is now. It will permanently be imprinted in my brain. I can't imagine anything ever coming close to that moment. Except every moment since that I have had with you.
My baby bean, super kitty, kiddo, love, sweetheart, baby boy. You are my world. I love you.
Mommy
You are the light of my life. I don't tell you that enough. I don't show you that enough. I try hard to make time for you every day. Time where I won't get frustrated with you, or angry, or raise my voice, or beg you to follow my directions. Where it's just you and I, engaged in the wonder that is being mommy and son. But since I have to specify that I have to make that time might mean I spend too much time in a negative space around you and I hate that.
You are an amazing kid. I know you're mine and I have to say that, but in this case it's true. You're out-going, kind, sensitive, polite, a good friend, and an inquisitive child who constantly wants to know why - particularly when I have no good answers because they questions are just too complicated. The things that come out of your mouth sometimes astound me. Where did that come from in that little 4-year-old brain. That couldn't possibly be what you just asked, could it? Yes, it typically was.
It's been a tough year for daddy and I. I know you've felt that and I am so sorry. We both love you and know that you are the most important thing in our lives. Making sure you are doing well is priority number one. Even when we are not feeling so loving toward one another, we both love you. To the point where I sometimes feel it brimming over and I get a tear in my eye.
I can't believe that the tall, skinny, talkative, social butterfly who fills my life is the same baby who caused me such distress while pregnant. Let's not even get into the delivery. I'd do it all again though if it meant I got to have you. Seeing your tiny knee over the incubator, not even knowing if you were a boy or girl, if you were ok, breathing, even alive, was the most momentous moment in my life. Hearing you first cry brought tears to my eye, as the memory of it is now. It will permanently be imprinted in my brain. I can't imagine anything ever coming close to that moment. Except every moment since that I have had with you.
My baby bean, super kitty, kiddo, love, sweetheart, baby boy. You are my world. I love you.
Mommy
Friday, January 30, 2009
OMG he's bald. And the only pics I got from Richmond.
There are some things about raising a boy that I have very little interest in or need for input on. Circumcision for instance. I don't own a penis and never will, and I had no strong feelings one way or the other about it, so I let Mark decide. He decided to do it, and I was fine with that as long as he went with him.
Hair is also one of those things I give little consideration to. It's not of major consequence, so, I gave Mark the go ahead to get Ry's hair cut. It has been sticking up in the back where his cowlick is no matter how many times I tried to contain it, and although beyond cute, it always looks messy. But, it was adorable on my not quite yet 4 year-old. I'm a firm believer in bald being beautiful on the right person, at the right age and stage in life, but on my little boy with his blond little waves??? I almost burst into tears when they came home from the barber shop. The only reason I didn't was because Ry got so upset when he saw me upset that I knew I had to contain it. No need to make both of us cry.
Let's see who agrees with me, shall we? The before (taken last night with his"Wonder Woman" cake he made for Auntie Lissa who is leaving to go back to school tomorrow, *sniff*):
The after:
The hair! Or lack there of! He looks so much older and I hate it. At least it grows back, right?! Maybe I need to have firmer opinions about some things.
On a separate, completely unrelated note, I went to Richmond a couple weekend's ago, in a pre-Obama celebration/reason to get drunk and stay up talking all day and night situation with 5 friend's from all over the country. It was awesome! I did not take many photos as I know I am far from a good photographer and quite honestly was just enjoying the ambiance so much I didn't think of it. So here is the few I did get and a video that kind of sums it all up for me:
Not exactly sure why Cristina was voguing in a diner booth, but she was (as we all did afterward, followers that we are).
Dueling Photographers with Annita
Beautious Jess
No, I was not drunk nor hungover. Just that un-photogenic.
Also known as "Annita makes moist panties sound SO hot!"
Hair is also one of those things I give little consideration to. It's not of major consequence, so, I gave Mark the go ahead to get Ry's hair cut. It has been sticking up in the back where his cowlick is no matter how many times I tried to contain it, and although beyond cute, it always looks messy. But, it was adorable on my not quite yet 4 year-old. I'm a firm believer in bald being beautiful on the right person, at the right age and stage in life, but on my little boy with his blond little waves??? I almost burst into tears when they came home from the barber shop. The only reason I didn't was because Ry got so upset when he saw me upset that I knew I had to contain it. No need to make both of us cry.
Let's see who agrees with me, shall we? The before (taken last night with his"Wonder Woman" cake he made for Auntie Lissa who is leaving to go back to school tomorrow, *sniff*):
The after:
The hair! Or lack there of! He looks so much older and I hate it. At least it grows back, right?! Maybe I need to have firmer opinions about some things.On a separate, completely unrelated note, I went to Richmond a couple weekend's ago, in a pre-Obama celebration/reason to get drunk and stay up talking all day and night situation with 5 friend's from all over the country. It was awesome! I did not take many photos as I know I am far from a good photographer and quite honestly was just enjoying the ambiance so much I didn't think of it. So here is the few I did get and a video that kind of sums it all up for me:
Not exactly sure why Cristina was voguing in a diner booth, but she was (as we all did afterward, followers that we are).
Dueling Photographers with Annita
Beautious Jess
But I'm much better with video, and I think this very much displays how most of our weekend was spent...
Also known as "Annita makes moist panties sound SO hot!"
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
100 Things
Stolen from Alicia, because I am out of things to say right now and haven't blogged in a while. And My child is driving me slooooowly insane with his "dance party" afternoon. Good thing I love the little monster.
Put the ones you've done in bold.
1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo (not well mind you)
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (someday...)
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelos David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper (NYTimes even. Love the Yankees!)
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (if fish count)
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit (My own father... longggg story for a different day and time. Let's just say I won)
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Read an entire book in one day
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Explaining the Inauguration to a 3 Year Old
This is Mark attempting to explain to Ry the importance of today (paraphrased):
Mark: Do you know why today is so important Ry?
Ryan: Yes.
Mark: Do you know that we are swearing in a new President today?
Ryan: Yes.
Mark: Do you know who it is?
Ryan (with a really weird look on his face): Ahhhh, no.
Mark: It's Barack Obama. And it's a big day for our country. The president makes all the rules that big people in our country have to follow.
Ryan: Ok.
Mark: It's really important because President Obama is black, and this means that no matter who you are, male or female, black or white, that you can be anything you want. It's a great thing.
Ryan: Ok..... Dad, can I go back to making my girl's (Wonder Woman) birthday cake?
Mark (seriously, while shaking his head, as I am in the background trying to hold in my giggles): Sure Ryan.
Ryan (to me): I want to get married with you mommy. (Awwweee).
Ah.... the wonder that is youth. He can say he watched this momentous event even though he has not a clue what it's about.
I am going to go cry tears of joy now - and plan my second wedding.
Mark: Do you know why today is so important Ry?
Ryan: Yes.
Mark: Do you know that we are swearing in a new President today?
Ryan: Yes.
Mark: Do you know who it is?
Ryan (with a really weird look on his face): Ahhhh, no.
Mark: It's Barack Obama. And it's a big day for our country. The president makes all the rules that big people in our country have to follow.
Ryan: Ok.
Mark: It's really important because President Obama is black, and this means that no matter who you are, male or female, black or white, that you can be anything you want. It's a great thing.
Ryan: Ok..... Dad, can I go back to making my girl's (Wonder Woman) birthday cake?
Mark (seriously, while shaking his head, as I am in the background trying to hold in my giggles): Sure Ryan.
Ryan (to me): I want to get married with you mommy. (Awwweee).
Ah.... the wonder that is youth. He can say he watched this momentous event even though he has not a clue what it's about.
I am going to go cry tears of joy now - and plan my second wedding.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
