I'm a recovering wimp. I know this. I've spent most of my life avoiding confrontation. It really has not served me well. In wanting to always be the nice person and get along with everyone, I ended up letting everyone walk all over me. I can be assertive if it's for the kids, or for dh, or for friends. But for myself it's a challenge. I'm also a recovering bitch, so I guess the pendulum swung too far to the other side. It's hard looking at yourself so analytically. Character flaws are a blow to the ego, but since I have such bad self esteem one would think that it's just more fuel for the self-criticism.
That's another thing I'm trying to change, self-criticism is self destructive. As one book put it, I wouldn't treat a friend, my spouse, or my kids the way I treat myself. So back to the assertiveness. I lucky that I have lots of people in my life that are willing to help me be more assertive:
-The parent who lied to me about her child's criminal record so we'd let him move back in for a few months.
-The child who lied to move back in
-The parents of the child who bought cigarettes for another kid in my home and then tried to blame it on the other child
-The SW who try and get me to run 24/7 to "help the kids"
-The parents who buy cigarettes for their kids
I guess I should thank them. The gave me the chance to not back down, and to confront their lies and their manipulations. I don't think I'm being a bitch, in fact I think I still might be too nice when I tell them I see there bs.
One problem: The RADish has the therapist under his spell. It's evident the way she talks to me. She thinks I'm too hard on him, don't offer enough love, don't offer him enough chances. I can't exactly tell her where to go, since she has the degrees and I don't. I don't totally disagree with her on the non-ADHD thing for the RADish, but I DO disagree with the way the situation was handled. I'll have to think how to handle this one for a while.
Food issues:
I'm not using food to nourish me. I'm using it to soothe me emotionally. What pisses me off the most is that I know I do this, I have a list of alternatives, and yet I consistantly am not using them. WTF is wrong with me? I don't want to be fat, I don't want to feel like a blob, I don't want to do this!!! There is something about the pain of change being needing to be less than the pain of staying the same. Well, I guess I'm not there yet. The pain of changing this habit is horrible yet.
I want to be in good physical condition. I hate that the process takes so long. I like how I feel emotionally when exercise. I don't like how sore I get. I know consistancy is the key, as is starting slow. I can no longer use my foot as an excuse as it's doing better, I'm close to the point I was pre-surgery. So although there are benefits, bottom line is that it still hurts.
Food, on the other hand, always feels good. The victory that I have had is that I am not eating until I feel like I can burst. The part I'm struggling with is eating foods that nourish my body, eating a healthy diet. On this un-diet, I like that there are no rules. But trusting myself is hard. I've betrayed myself so often, that I'm skeptical of if I can ever trust myself again with food. Can I interpret my own signals? Do I know what my body is telling me? Am I able to undo my bad habits and learn new ones?
I'm undoing the damage in other areas of my life. For years, I ignored my finances. Now I'm facing that one head on, making good progress (mostly) and I'm proud of that. I know and accept that there will be setbacks and that'll I struggle with that one. However, when it comes to food, each slip seems to make me fee l like I'm in the pit again, at square one.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Grief and Loss
Things not to say to someone or do to someone grieving:
1. It's God's will
2. There is a reason for everything
3. I just don't know what to say
4. Time heals all wounds
5. It'll get better
6. Cheer up
7. They are in a better place
8. Examples of suffering from the bible
9. Avoiding
10. Asking if they are okay. They are not okay, they don't need to reassure anyone at a time when they need reassurance.
Things that do help
1. A hug
2. Quiet listening
3. Calling
4. Not pushing the person to talk about it
5. Laughing or crying with them
6. If the loss was a person, mention them
7. Meals
8. Cleaning
I spent most of last year feeling like I was falling in a bottomless pit, with smooth walls so I couldn't even stop myself from falling. I spent that year trying to cling to the sides. Now that I finally found a spot to start climbing out, I can look back and see who and what was helpful. First, dh who was hurting on his own. He just held me, and with our twisted sense of humor we both managed to support each other. I'm not sure how, but we did it. Last year at this time I was desparate to start school full time. If I wouldn't have been able to get into a class, I would have freaked out wondering how I was going to fill the time. This semester, I am only taking one class and I'm thinking "hey I can relax a little bit". Time really DOES help, but I would have slapped anyone who suggested that a year ago.
Second, my friend Kelly. She lost a baby when she was 6months pg, rarely talks about it, and managed to comfort me without a word. Her calm--not "I'm uncomfortable and can't handle your tears" silence was like a balm. I remember telling her that it was so nice that she didn't act weird around me. She wasn't ignoring my hurt or trying to cheer me up, she just was there. She said she knew there were no words that would fix what I was feeling, she had so many people telling her what she was supposed to feel when her baby died, she wouldn't dare do that to me. My other friends were uncomfortable, they acted stiff and weird, like there was an elephant in the room we were all trying to ignore. It was suffocating. Kelly was like a shield.
Someone else followed me around that first night asking me if I was okay. WTF was I supposed to say? Yes, I'm okay??? WTF did she think? NO I was NOT okay. Then there was the person who sent an e-mail telling me how it was God's will. I think that was my favorite. I still have a grudge against that person. The friend who sent me the fudge will always hold a special place. Not a word was said, just fudge. What better comfort could there be? And yes, not getting pregnant when you see those beautiful embryos, those little bits of me and dh is a huge loss. Most of the world may not see it, but it's real.
Grief delayed is still grief that must be dealt with. It was different with mom, we lost her in bits and pieces. In some ways it was worse because it was dragged out over so many years. Just when we thought we'd gotten used to her in a new way, we'd lose another piece and have to get used to her all over again. In the end, it was just a relief to have her die and be out of her misery. But oh the guilt in wanting it to end...I wanted my own suffering to end. In reality, it was her suffering I wanted to end, that's not something to feel guilty about. I understand the concept of assisted suicide much better now. I don't agree with it, but I get it.
With grandma, it felt like the natural process of life. Old people are supposed to die. Even though mom was young, it was still the natural process...parents die before their children. That's not suppposed to happen with babies, or even almost-babies. So now that I'm not hiding, supposedly the process has started:
T = To accept the reality of the loss: Like I had a choice
E = Experience the pain of the loss: Over and over, and over again
A = Adjust to the new environment without the lost object: Never really had it to begin with
R = Reinvest in the new reality: I'm doing this, but I rushed and ignored my own heart.
Some things won't change. I still won't do baby showers, but I'm getting sick of people wondering why. They all know why. I still don't like being around pg women, it hurts. If they don't like it too damn bad. I can't worry about their feelings anymore, or if I'm making them uncomfortable. I've walked around for 8 years feeling like shit. Let somebody else be considerate of me for a change.
1. It's God's will
2. There is a reason for everything
3. I just don't know what to say
4. Time heals all wounds
5. It'll get better
6. Cheer up
7. They are in a better place
8. Examples of suffering from the bible
9. Avoiding
10. Asking if they are okay. They are not okay, they don't need to reassure anyone at a time when they need reassurance.
Things that do help
1. A hug
2. Quiet listening
3. Calling
4. Not pushing the person to talk about it
5. Laughing or crying with them
6. If the loss was a person, mention them
7. Meals
8. Cleaning
I spent most of last year feeling like I was falling in a bottomless pit, with smooth walls so I couldn't even stop myself from falling. I spent that year trying to cling to the sides. Now that I finally found a spot to start climbing out, I can look back and see who and what was helpful. First, dh who was hurting on his own. He just held me, and with our twisted sense of humor we both managed to support each other. I'm not sure how, but we did it. Last year at this time I was desparate to start school full time. If I wouldn't have been able to get into a class, I would have freaked out wondering how I was going to fill the time. This semester, I am only taking one class and I'm thinking "hey I can relax a little bit". Time really DOES help, but I would have slapped anyone who suggested that a year ago.
Second, my friend Kelly. She lost a baby when she was 6months pg, rarely talks about it, and managed to comfort me without a word. Her calm--not "I'm uncomfortable and can't handle your tears" silence was like a balm. I remember telling her that it was so nice that she didn't act weird around me. She wasn't ignoring my hurt or trying to cheer me up, she just was there. She said she knew there were no words that would fix what I was feeling, she had so many people telling her what she was supposed to feel when her baby died, she wouldn't dare do that to me. My other friends were uncomfortable, they acted stiff and weird, like there was an elephant in the room we were all trying to ignore. It was suffocating. Kelly was like a shield.
Someone else followed me around that first night asking me if I was okay. WTF was I supposed to say? Yes, I'm okay??? WTF did she think? NO I was NOT okay. Then there was the person who sent an e-mail telling me how it was God's will. I think that was my favorite. I still have a grudge against that person. The friend who sent me the fudge will always hold a special place. Not a word was said, just fudge. What better comfort could there be? And yes, not getting pregnant when you see those beautiful embryos, those little bits of me and dh is a huge loss. Most of the world may not see it, but it's real.
Grief delayed is still grief that must be dealt with. It was different with mom, we lost her in bits and pieces. In some ways it was worse because it was dragged out over so many years. Just when we thought we'd gotten used to her in a new way, we'd lose another piece and have to get used to her all over again. In the end, it was just a relief to have her die and be out of her misery. But oh the guilt in wanting it to end...I wanted my own suffering to end. In reality, it was her suffering I wanted to end, that's not something to feel guilty about. I understand the concept of assisted suicide much better now. I don't agree with it, but I get it.
With grandma, it felt like the natural process of life. Old people are supposed to die. Even though mom was young, it was still the natural process...parents die before their children. That's not suppposed to happen with babies, or even almost-babies. So now that I'm not hiding, supposedly the process has started:
T = To accept the reality of the loss: Like I had a choice
E = Experience the pain of the loss: Over and over, and over again
A = Adjust to the new environment without the lost object: Never really had it to begin with
R = Reinvest in the new reality: I'm doing this, but I rushed and ignored my own heart.
Some things won't change. I still won't do baby showers, but I'm getting sick of people wondering why. They all know why. I still don't like being around pg women, it hurts. If they don't like it too damn bad. I can't worry about their feelings anymore, or if I'm making them uncomfortable. I've walked around for 8 years feeling like shit. Let somebody else be considerate of me for a change.
Guilt and Shame-Thanks Dad!
So, I'm supposed to be thinking about where my guilty feelings come from. I've noticed a couple of things:
1. A family history--this is how we tended to relate to each other. By making each other feel guilty, instead of trying to work through a particular problem..."You hurt my feelings..." etc.
2. I use the word 'guilt' when I'm not sure what I'm feeling.
3. I bought into the myth of mommy guilt.
The shame aspects are a little more complex. Again there is a family history. Dad really wanted me to go to the lutheran school, which would have been fine except for the fact that the teacher I had would have abused me for four years. Thank God mom had more sense than that. But dad's shame was obvious. Instead of me being in the school kid's Christmas program, I had the cameo appearance with the Sunday School. While the school kids sat up front, facing the congregation, the Sunday schoolers sat in the pews and only went up for our part for a few minutes. Instead of standing up for me, he was a wuss, felt ashamed, and transfered that to me. He was ashamed of me. I felt it profoundly. I hated going to church because of it. I was embarrassed to be a part of the Sunday school. But I was more terrified of that teacher. I was shocked to find out how strongly I felt--after 26 years--knowning she was visiting.
There is no doubt in my mind that this woman was seriously disturbed. What other excuse is there for verbally abusing a 6 year old? Heck, I think I have a good arguement to say she was physically abusive as well. She made me stand in the corner, with the snow blowing in through the back door crack, for more than an hour at a time. She made me sit in my seat the whole day--no bathroom break--and I had to ask a classmate to bring me my lunch because she wouldn't. I remember not being able to take it and running to the bathroom. Then sitting in the bathroom realizing what I'd done crying because I was going to be in more trouble. I remember getting a huge sliver in my hand and hating the fact that she had to touch me to get it out. I couldn't wash the feel of her off of me fast enough. I was bawling, but not from the pain of the sliver, but because she was touching me. Why didn't dad see that? Why did he want me to endure that for HIS pride?
Same thing with college. I worked my ass off, fighting homesickness, depression, and facing my mother's illness, and think it was enough that I even managed to graduate. When I look back, the classes that I excelled in were the ones that I enjoyed the most. No doubt, A's all the way. The classes that I didn't do well in were the classes that I was bored stiff in--but I still managed C's. The classes I failed (with the exception of Geology, that's DH's fault) were because I just flat out couldn't do it. They were simply beyond my abilities, and the way my brain worked. Instead of supporting me, again I was shamed. My sister was flying through school with virtually no effort (so it seemed to me) and I was struggling. "I'm the good daughter NOW" was what she said to me. So the cycle of shame continued. So what did I learn to do? Shame myself.
Two reasons why I think I set such high expectations for myself: 1. I have to be good enough to please dad, or else I'll be shamed. 2. It means I'm symptom free.
Okay, a third reason: I want to show my sister up in school. Petty, basically sibling rivalry, but there it is.
Guilt, I'm finding, is pissing me off when I realize that's what I'm feeling. It's starting to piss me off because I don't like feeling guity about anything, and I also I'm starting to tap into what I'm really feeling.
-DS's bio mom: I'm doing a damn good job with ds, if she's jealous, that's her deal.
-Kids: This is MY house, MY stuff, they have their own stuff, they earn money, they can use and wreck their own crap.
-Dad: Not living at home--Dad, give me a f'ing break. If you stood back and had the ability to look at yourself you wouldn't want to live near you either. You should be happy for ME and the life I've created, instead of being a big baby. Grow up!
I think those were the main areas of guilt I've had. I recently heard someone say that guilt in shame are ways we use to get 'stuck' vs moving on. They are fear-based emotions, fear of the unknown. So instead of dealing with what we are really feeling or the situation, we use guilt/shame as a way to hide. I'll buy that.
1. A family history--this is how we tended to relate to each other. By making each other feel guilty, instead of trying to work through a particular problem..."You hurt my feelings..." etc.
2. I use the word 'guilt' when I'm not sure what I'm feeling.
3. I bought into the myth of mommy guilt.
The shame aspects are a little more complex. Again there is a family history. Dad really wanted me to go to the lutheran school, which would have been fine except for the fact that the teacher I had would have abused me for four years. Thank God mom had more sense than that. But dad's shame was obvious. Instead of me being in the school kid's Christmas program, I had the cameo appearance with the Sunday School. While the school kids sat up front, facing the congregation, the Sunday schoolers sat in the pews and only went up for our part for a few minutes. Instead of standing up for me, he was a wuss, felt ashamed, and transfered that to me. He was ashamed of me. I felt it profoundly. I hated going to church because of it. I was embarrassed to be a part of the Sunday school. But I was more terrified of that teacher. I was shocked to find out how strongly I felt--after 26 years--knowning she was visiting.
There is no doubt in my mind that this woman was seriously disturbed. What other excuse is there for verbally abusing a 6 year old? Heck, I think I have a good arguement to say she was physically abusive as well. She made me stand in the corner, with the snow blowing in through the back door crack, for more than an hour at a time. She made me sit in my seat the whole day--no bathroom break--and I had to ask a classmate to bring me my lunch because she wouldn't. I remember not being able to take it and running to the bathroom. Then sitting in the bathroom realizing what I'd done crying because I was going to be in more trouble. I remember getting a huge sliver in my hand and hating the fact that she had to touch me to get it out. I couldn't wash the feel of her off of me fast enough. I was bawling, but not from the pain of the sliver, but because she was touching me. Why didn't dad see that? Why did he want me to endure that for HIS pride?
Same thing with college. I worked my ass off, fighting homesickness, depression, and facing my mother's illness, and think it was enough that I even managed to graduate. When I look back, the classes that I excelled in were the ones that I enjoyed the most. No doubt, A's all the way. The classes that I didn't do well in were the classes that I was bored stiff in--but I still managed C's. The classes I failed (with the exception of Geology, that's DH's fault) were because I just flat out couldn't do it. They were simply beyond my abilities, and the way my brain worked. Instead of supporting me, again I was shamed. My sister was flying through school with virtually no effort (so it seemed to me) and I was struggling. "I'm the good daughter NOW" was what she said to me. So the cycle of shame continued. So what did I learn to do? Shame myself.
Two reasons why I think I set such high expectations for myself: 1. I have to be good enough to please dad, or else I'll be shamed. 2. It means I'm symptom free.
Okay, a third reason: I want to show my sister up in school. Petty, basically sibling rivalry, but there it is.
Guilt, I'm finding, is pissing me off when I realize that's what I'm feeling. It's starting to piss me off because I don't like feeling guity about anything, and I also I'm starting to tap into what I'm really feeling.
-DS's bio mom: I'm doing a damn good job with ds, if she's jealous, that's her deal.
-Kids: This is MY house, MY stuff, they have their own stuff, they earn money, they can use and wreck their own crap.
-Dad: Not living at home--Dad, give me a f'ing break. If you stood back and had the ability to look at yourself you wouldn't want to live near you either. You should be happy for ME and the life I've created, instead of being a big baby. Grow up!
I think those were the main areas of guilt I've had. I recently heard someone say that guilt in shame are ways we use to get 'stuck' vs moving on. They are fear-based emotions, fear of the unknown. So instead of dealing with what we are really feeling or the situation, we use guilt/shame as a way to hide. I'll buy that.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Black thumb and growing RADishes
question of the day: How many biology and chemistry degrees does it take to have a successful garden?
Answer: More than are in my house!
The great gardening adventure is now 4 years old, and we still are struggling. Since dh and I both have biology degrees, I have a chem minor, he almost has a chem degree, AND I was a farm girl, one would think we'd have a lush paradise in our backyard. Instead, our landscaping continues to struggle, thanks to digging, chewing, and peeing dogs. The garden struggles for two main reasons: Bad soil (thanks Mr. Developer, for taking and selling all of our top soil), and the fact that we don't seem to have a clue what we are doing.
Last year, for example, we managed to stick fertilizer, black dirt, and a little peat moss in each row. The corn loved it. The pumpkins and squash loved it, those that survived the aphids that is. The beans loved it, and carrots don't seem to know I have a black thumb. The planting seems to be dh's thing...he will carefully add the dirt, etc to each row, make sure the rows are straight and I think given 1/2 a chance he'd even take a ruler out there to make sure the seeds were equal distances apart. The weeds, on the other hand, are apparently my job to control. Well, I thought I had a handle on it last summer. At least until we left for two weeks. When we came back there was a lush paradise of weeds to contend with, and since my ovaries were the size of a baseball I wasn't in much shape to take care of it.
So I blame last year's failures on Dr. Doyle of Connecticut Fertility Associates and aphids. This year, I had this nice surgery to blame things on, until dh decided that the kids could help and we could actually get the garden in. So two of the kids and I got everything in one afternoon--no straight rows, now fertilizer, no black dirt, and no peat moss.
Oh, and we have a drought. However, thanks to the wonders of Wellbutrin SR, I actually have the energy to weed this year. We are still strying to overcome the poor soil quality though. I remember when I was a kid, mom seemed to grow 3x what I have in 1/2 the space. Of course all of the corn was in a field that Dad took care of, and that area had never been stripped of the top soil. Plus, it had once belonged to my Dad's mom--crops wouldn't DARE to not grow there.
Sadly, despite green thumbs on both sides of the family, I seem to have gotten the recessive black thumb gene. Oh well, I'll keep trying, let's hope it doesn't care over to the RADishes.
Repeat: My radish can't push my buttons, my radish can't push my buttons, my radish can't push my buttons! My litte darling is trying so hard to get me to explode. He's had some success, I'm sorry to say. I've been calling on/depedning on reinforcements a lot lately, thankfully dh hates his job so bad at this point he'll gladly stay home. I can't wait until he can quit this job. Back to the radish. Not sure if I should let him slee until dh gets home or not.
I will not lose my temper, I will not lose my temper, I will not lose my temper. I AM a good RAD mom, I AM A GOOD RAD MOM, I AM A GOOD RAD MOM! I just wish we could see some progress faster though. To be fair, he is the easiest Radish we've ever had. DS was much harder, and the two D's of course, took the cake. So...I will hang tough. I'm ready for battle, but praying for the peace.
Some overeating today, probably due to stress of the Radish and the plumber. It's not helping that they'll send the bill, instead of getting it RIGHT NOW. Going to trust DH, it'll be less than $200. All in all, the overeating was very minor--just more tacos than I should have had. I can't really count the dark chocolate as overeating, instead, I think it's a necessity.
"If you do my boot camp starting today" Says Oprah, "You can lose 25 pounds of fat in three months. Piss off Oprah! Send Bob to my house for those three months, and sure I can do it. In the words of ds, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I bet she doesn't have tendonitis in her foot either. Dr. says I'm doing well, but it's classified as chronic pain at this point. Well, it's a start--after 24 years, I'm finally getting somewhere--some one is finally listening to me instead of telling me I'm nuts. Heck, maybe the NSAIDS will help my knee too. A girl can hope can't she?
The Gypsy aka the former dfs is still not home with my van. The little liar had court, although part of my sort of wishes he'd get time, I just want him out of my house.
On the money front, some progress has been made! Medical bills were paid in cash, and although we don't have a lot of progress overall, the van debt is decreasing. Will try for more next month. If the Capital One gets PIF, then that'll mean a $800 van payment for Sept.
Answer: More than are in my house!
The great gardening adventure is now 4 years old, and we still are struggling. Since dh and I both have biology degrees, I have a chem minor, he almost has a chem degree, AND I was a farm girl, one would think we'd have a lush paradise in our backyard. Instead, our landscaping continues to struggle, thanks to digging, chewing, and peeing dogs. The garden struggles for two main reasons: Bad soil (thanks Mr. Developer, for taking and selling all of our top soil), and the fact that we don't seem to have a clue what we are doing.
Last year, for example, we managed to stick fertilizer, black dirt, and a little peat moss in each row. The corn loved it. The pumpkins and squash loved it, those that survived the aphids that is. The beans loved it, and carrots don't seem to know I have a black thumb. The planting seems to be dh's thing...he will carefully add the dirt, etc to each row, make sure the rows are straight and I think given 1/2 a chance he'd even take a ruler out there to make sure the seeds were equal distances apart. The weeds, on the other hand, are apparently my job to control. Well, I thought I had a handle on it last summer. At least until we left for two weeks. When we came back there was a lush paradise of weeds to contend with, and since my ovaries were the size of a baseball I wasn't in much shape to take care of it.
So I blame last year's failures on Dr. Doyle of Connecticut Fertility Associates and aphids. This year, I had this nice surgery to blame things on, until dh decided that the kids could help and we could actually get the garden in. So two of the kids and I got everything in one afternoon--no straight rows, now fertilizer, no black dirt, and no peat moss.
Oh, and we have a drought. However, thanks to the wonders of Wellbutrin SR, I actually have the energy to weed this year. We are still strying to overcome the poor soil quality though. I remember when I was a kid, mom seemed to grow 3x what I have in 1/2 the space. Of course all of the corn was in a field that Dad took care of, and that area had never been stripped of the top soil. Plus, it had once belonged to my Dad's mom--crops wouldn't DARE to not grow there.
Sadly, despite green thumbs on both sides of the family, I seem to have gotten the recessive black thumb gene. Oh well, I'll keep trying, let's hope it doesn't care over to the RADishes.
Repeat: My radish can't push my buttons, my radish can't push my buttons, my radish can't push my buttons! My litte darling is trying so hard to get me to explode. He's had some success, I'm sorry to say. I've been calling on/depedning on reinforcements a lot lately, thankfully dh hates his job so bad at this point he'll gladly stay home. I can't wait until he can quit this job. Back to the radish. Not sure if I should let him slee until dh gets home or not.
I will not lose my temper, I will not lose my temper, I will not lose my temper. I AM a good RAD mom, I AM A GOOD RAD MOM, I AM A GOOD RAD MOM! I just wish we could see some progress faster though. To be fair, he is the easiest Radish we've ever had. DS was much harder, and the two D's of course, took the cake. So...I will hang tough. I'm ready for battle, but praying for the peace.
Some overeating today, probably due to stress of the Radish and the plumber. It's not helping that they'll send the bill, instead of getting it RIGHT NOW. Going to trust DH, it'll be less than $200. All in all, the overeating was very minor--just more tacos than I should have had. I can't really count the dark chocolate as overeating, instead, I think it's a necessity.
"If you do my boot camp starting today" Says Oprah, "You can lose 25 pounds of fat in three months. Piss off Oprah! Send Bob to my house for those three months, and sure I can do it. In the words of ds, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I bet she doesn't have tendonitis in her foot either. Dr. says I'm doing well, but it's classified as chronic pain at this point. Well, it's a start--after 24 years, I'm finally getting somewhere--some one is finally listening to me instead of telling me I'm nuts. Heck, maybe the NSAIDS will help my knee too. A girl can hope can't she?
The Gypsy aka the former dfs is still not home with my van. The little liar had court, although part of my sort of wishes he'd get time, I just want him out of my house.
On the money front, some progress has been made! Medical bills were paid in cash, and although we don't have a lot of progress overall, the van debt is decreasing. Will try for more next month. If the Capital One gets PIF, then that'll mean a $800 van payment for Sept.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
A blog is born
My very first post, I guess I should justify why I'm doing this? I'm finding writing to be good therapy. The last few years of my life have been crazy and writing is helping me to make sense of it all: Infertilty, adoption, foster care, job lay offs, going back to school, obesity, crazy pets, RAD, failed IVF, oh and my favorite: Huntington's disease. For so long, I've tried to pretend that this disease was just something that happened to my mom. She died March 1, 2000. I tell most people that she died from a blood clot in her brain, but that's not entirely accurate. She died 6 weeks after the blood clot was discovered, but she never would have had it if it wasn't for Huntington's disease.
This disease robbed me of a normal childhood. Mom was embarassing, she talked funny, she walked funny, said the wrong thing at the wrong time. But she was MY mom. The mom I want to remember was the mom I had when I was:
Age 5: We used to drive up to Green Bay and see her best friend. I, of course, had to have a big bowl of buttered noodles. Then there was all those Friday nights when we'd eat cheese balls and watch TV together because dad was working late.
Age 6: She saw how I had changed because of a mean teacher, and got me started in gymnastics.
Age 8: Knowing how much Dad was against it, she fought him to get me into the school's swimming lessons because she knew how much it meant to me. Oh, and so many days I'd come off of the bus and the house would smell like apple bars, chili, cookies, all those yummy treats that the kids would all fight over.
Age 10: Letting me have my first slummber party. I think Dad stayed out as late as possible. The thought of 8 screaming 5th grade girls was just too much for him to handle.
Age 11: Sending me back to religious school. Sorry Mom, but this one made me mad for a very long time. You stuck to your guns, felt it was the right place for me. But in my 12 year old wisdom, I was sure it was a way to try and torture me.
Age 12: You were different...now we know it was the beginning of the disease. Why didn't you say anything?
Oh and I've promised myself not to forget that you absolutely positively had a horrible temper. God help us all when you had your period. You couldn't sing, a trait I've inherited, you had the fashion sense of a flea, a trait I'm trying very hard to overcome, and you spanked us with wooden spoons. You also danced like a fool (although you were drunk) with your sister, kept us out way too late sometimes, and ignored certain little facts of life like the fact that I was going to bleed for 5 days and not die. Don't worry, Mom, your other daughter traumatized me with the 'M' encyclopedia, and explained sex with our Donny and Marie barbie dolls. They were brother and sister for God's sake. Do you know what that did to me? We were farm kids, mom...did you really think sex was going to be a big deal?
The worst thing I think you ever did to us was to not fix that squeaky headboard. After the Donny and Marie doll incident, it was more than I could take.
Happy birthday, Mom. Today you would have been 61. I hope you and Grandma celebrated together today.
This disease robbed me of a normal childhood. Mom was embarassing, she talked funny, she walked funny, said the wrong thing at the wrong time. But she was MY mom. The mom I want to remember was the mom I had when I was:
Age 5: We used to drive up to Green Bay and see her best friend. I, of course, had to have a big bowl of buttered noodles. Then there was all those Friday nights when we'd eat cheese balls and watch TV together because dad was working late.
Age 6: She saw how I had changed because of a mean teacher, and got me started in gymnastics.
Age 8: Knowing how much Dad was against it, she fought him to get me into the school's swimming lessons because she knew how much it meant to me. Oh, and so many days I'd come off of the bus and the house would smell like apple bars, chili, cookies, all those yummy treats that the kids would all fight over.
Age 10: Letting me have my first slummber party. I think Dad stayed out as late as possible. The thought of 8 screaming 5th grade girls was just too much for him to handle.
Age 11: Sending me back to religious school. Sorry Mom, but this one made me mad for a very long time. You stuck to your guns, felt it was the right place for me. But in my 12 year old wisdom, I was sure it was a way to try and torture me.
Age 12: You were different...now we know it was the beginning of the disease. Why didn't you say anything?
Oh and I've promised myself not to forget that you absolutely positively had a horrible temper. God help us all when you had your period. You couldn't sing, a trait I've inherited, you had the fashion sense of a flea, a trait I'm trying very hard to overcome, and you spanked us with wooden spoons. You also danced like a fool (although you were drunk) with your sister, kept us out way too late sometimes, and ignored certain little facts of life like the fact that I was going to bleed for 5 days and not die. Don't worry, Mom, your other daughter traumatized me with the 'M' encyclopedia, and explained sex with our Donny and Marie barbie dolls. They were brother and sister for God's sake. Do you know what that did to me? We were farm kids, mom...did you really think sex was going to be a big deal?
The worst thing I think you ever did to us was to not fix that squeaky headboard. After the Donny and Marie doll incident, it was more than I could take.
Happy birthday, Mom. Today you would have been 61. I hope you and Grandma celebrated together today.
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