The Stool

Sentimental things. We love them because they bring to us wonderful feelings from the past. Sensations that we can barely feel, but we want to stay awhile.

In the spring of 1993, my life and heart were in turmoil. I was separated from my ex-husband. It was on a Sunday in March. My kids had spent the night and their grandparent's house. My ex picked me up that morning and we went to visit my mother and stepfather. It was around my birthday. My Mom and Pops had made me a birthday gift. The Stool. Pops made the base of the stool with his woodworking talent. Mom made the cover with her sewing talent. Wood and fabric. 100% love.

The Stool has gone everywhere that I have over these last 13 years, and I've moved a lot. It has been used in many different rooms, and served many different purposes. It's probably the most sturdy piece of furniture that I have. It was made with me in mind. Made with love.

Over the years, the base of the stool has remained steadfast, sturdy. But the cover has not faired so well. The seat is worn. The cushion crushed down. The fabric threadbare in some spots. I had decided tonight that I would take off the old cover, replace the cushion, and make a new cover. As I pulled the upholstery nails from the grosgrain ribbon holding up the skirt, I began to think about my mother. I looked at the beautiful fabric of the skirt. Fabric that she knew I loved at the time. Lilac and rose. Cabbage roses. The rose-colored grograin ribbon. I looked at how carefully and I'm sure pain stakingly she threaded a length of twine through the skirt to make the gathers that surrounded The Stool.

I just can't bear to part even with the threadbare fabric, let alone that beautiful skirt. I'll clean it up, regather the skirt, and put the upholstery nails back through the grosgrain ribbon to hold up the skirt. I'll get a new cushion and sew a new cover for it, and place it on top of The Stool. I'm going to use it for my vanity table. I'll think of Mom and Pops everyday while I do my hair and put on my makeup. I may even hear Mom telling to at least put on some lipstick.

Even at a time when my life and heart were in turmoil, Mom and Pops were there with something solid and enduring to offer me. The Stool and their love. Both still with me.

I'll write the story of The Stool and tape the story to its underside. Perhaps my children will someday understand what it has meant to me, and pass it down. Wood, fabric, ribbon, upholstery nails. So very precious. Sentimental. I wonder if Mom and Pops knew back then that The Stool would remind me of their love for years to come. I hope they know how very much I miss them.

Addiction, Compulsion, All or Nothing

I'll preface this by saying that when we moved in with my in-laws last year, it waswith the intention of helping them. Financially. Emotionally. Organizationally.And much more. The only one of thosethat happened was the financial help.

While on that lovely holiday, I began to eat, and eat, and eat. Not at the house.I ate on the way to work. While at work.On the way home from work. My family seldom saw me eat. Not being able to accomplish what I had intended (ulterior motive wasto pay penance for not caring for my mother before she died) to help them, and being exposed to the atmosphere in that house which I would go so far as to say there are very evil spirits there, invoked in me the greatest need ever to compulsively eat. I cannot recall a time in my life as a compulsive eater that came close to this in volume or pain.

The first time I remember hiding food from my grandmother I was about eight years old. It was a sharp cheddar cheesesandwich on good buttered bread. Sometimes,I would sneak orange juice. It was never a real binge in those days. It was just littlebites of this and that. It was independence.It was a covert attack on her. Somewhere in mylittle heart I hated her and wanted her to die. Food was the favorite little blankie that I was not allowed to have.
Yesterday on Lifetime, I watched most ofa movie about a woman with bulemia. It broke my heart and reminded me of a time when I used to binge and throw up, or noteat for days. Somewhere along the way, I just stopped starving myself and throwing 'up, but I never stopped the bingeing.

I picked up a book at the library "When Food Is Love" by Geneen Roth. I'm only on page 25, and my guts are wrenched half out of me. So far I've learned that we compulsively eat to fill up the space where love should have been. I don't know that my grandmother ever truly loved me. I believe that she loved the idea of what she could fashion me into. I was at times something physical that she could bind to the whipping post that was the failure of my own mother to conform.

I knew even as a young child that something was not right. I could not have articulated it.I could only have given comparison of her public self, her private sane(ish) self, her privateinsane self, and how all that looked next to the other people in our neighborhood, church or school.
What hope does a child have when they know they are not loved. What lies did I have to invent for myself to avoid regressing to the state of an animal, or a lunatic. At the age of 9 or 10, if I had known a way to kill myself, I would have done it, and I would not have been afraid. I could imagine the soothing feeling of warm blood pouring out of me, over me. If you are not loved, what else is therethere to be afraid of. I certainly was not afraid of hell, only Grandma. But since I didn't know how off myself, I found the next best thing..... food.

I have had a few different drugs of choice over the years. Food, Promiscuity, my first husband,pills, promiscuity, booze, pills, and back to food. I think food is the worst. It has been forme the hardest to recover from its effects. The weight piles up and sets up housekeeping. I hate myself. I call myself names. I'm tired. My joints ache. My head hurts. I'm jolly about being fat when I don't need to be.

I'm getting along each day with the help of some medications: anti-depressants, and now something for anxiety. I told my doctor on our first visit that I had suicidal ideations.... having chosen the method and the location but not the date. I told him too that I have in the past self-medicated with booze and pills and always food. Blessed man, he met me right where I was with compassion that you rarely see in a doctor on your first visit. He is someone that I can be honest with about bingeing, about needing meds, but not wanting to be hooked.

I know that there is somewhere for me between 105 pounds and 290 pounds, but Grandma didn't teach me "Somewhere in the Middle". For her, it had to be perfect, absolutely perfect, without error, without blemish. I never could get down to 105 pounds, so I've made a life long mission of trying to eat myself to death.

Last night, I told my not 105 pound daughter that she is beautiful and powerful, and she held me. When my husband saw that I had been crying after the bulemia movie, I told him why, and he held me. When my thin son saw that I had been crying, he hugged me and loved me. They are not waiting for me to be 105 pounds. They are not waiting for me to be a concert pianist. They do not care that I am not perfect. They love me. My mother loved me too. Perhaps that is why I miss her so very much.

I am hopeful that I will learn to let love in, to let love reside where it should. Love may have to share a little space with some cheesecake for awhile. But I'm shooting for more love than cheescake.

My Own Private Pressure Cooker

AKA Living at The In-Laws for 4 Months

I haven't blogged for a very long time.I've been living in hell for the last four months, and they don't have an ISP. We made the move to the hell under the weight of strong tearful pleading from my mother-in-law.

About five years ago, my in-laws and my husband's sister and her husband were all living together in a tiny dump in white trash heaven. They decided to move on up to a 6 bedroom 3 bath house out where all the well-to-do folks live. Neither couple could afford the house on their own, so the four of them went in on the house together. Fast forward to four months ago, my brother-in-law jumped ship.

Enter Mother-in-Law crying and pleading with us to move into her basement (which was bigger than our abode at that time) and pay rent. My husband initially said no, but relented when I reminded him that I was not there formy mother in her time of need. I thought it was the right thing to do, but didn't bully him. I felt that is was my penance for letting Mama die alone. He relented, and since we were at the end of our lease, we packed it all up and moved to the basement, now fondly referred to as Hell.

We had our suspicion regarding brother-in-laws reasons for jumping ship, which were confirmed within hours of our moving in. It was so bad that I can scarcely find words to describe it. I will say that permission to breathe had to be obtained unless you are my sister-in-law. There was a new rule everyday. Some nit-picky something or other. Don't use the ice dispenser on the fridge, don't run the shower after 9:30, lock the garage door, don't lock the garage door, don't burn candles, don't use the front burners on the stove, etc, etc....

I tried to make my family as comfortable as possible, but I could only so do much. My mental outlook declined so rapidly. I had my meds doubled, then tripled, then augmented. I finally told my husband.... ENOUGH.

A funny thing happened while we were vacationing in hell, beautiful things happened in my little family unit. My husband's relationship with my kids blossomed. He becamse protector of our little brood. My daughter had her baby, and my husband (who has no children of his own and has been in mourning for 9 months because we aren't having a baby) morphed into Papaw. My kids saw that even though their step-dad has quirks (and he does), he's still nothing like the rest of his family. Suddenly Step-dad is a really great guy. We clung together for dear life, watching out for one another, reassuring one another. It was like we were on one of the wilderness camp thingies that corporations send their staff on. We became a family unit. Not just 5 and a half people breathing the same air, but a real unit.

Thankfully & miraculously last week, we moved out of the pressure cooker into a beautiful house. We all breathed a sigh of relief that first day. I think I'm now having some kind of post-traumatic stress thing, but I know it will fade with time and my new meds.

A little about my grandson. He's divine. A little about his mother. She's divine. She's tranformed. She's Mommy. That's going to be blogs and blogs and blogs to come.

Anyhoo, if your have family problems, the kind you just don't thinkcould ever be fixed, I highly recommend 4 month in the pressure cooker,hell, or one of those wilderness camp thingies.

Last bit of info.... Penance is highly over rated. When you screw up, it's much easier just to ask forgiveness. Try to pay your own penance can be much worse than anything that God will teach you.

Nanny (That's my new name)

Depression and Denial

Depression is something that has been with me for as long as I can remember. Some times were worse than others, mostly when I was off meds. It has always just been looming there. About 2 months ago I committed to staying on meds, forever if necessary.

Up until the third week of last month I was doing very well. Then, the company I worked for unexpectedly closed our branch office. I've slept away so many days now I've lost count. For me, all this sleeping is a certain sign of depression. I spend time each day applying for jobs, but there's nothing else I really want to do. So, I sleep. I don't even know how I can sleep so much.

I once read that depression can be defined as a reaction to losing something or having to give something up. What have I given up? The routine of going to a workplace each day. The relationship with my co-workers. The security of having a paycheck for an undetermined length of time (I'm actually still getting paid for another month). The personal identity of being a ... insert title here.

Thankfully, my personal definition is not completely tied up in my company title like it was two years ago when I last became unemployed. After losing that job, I detached mostly from defining myself solely by my work; however, I never have regained the same level of identity. I still feel like I'm in a limbo. I've settled back, somewhat uncomfortably, into being a wife, mother, soon-to-be grandmother. I always have this nagging feeling that there is something out there yet for me to do/to be that I will choose to define me. This thing that will not be about my role or responsibility to my family. Some thing that is about me. Is that just my ego? completely self-involved?

I can think of a few dozen things that I would really like to do, but my resources are lacking. I'm sure we all know or have heard of successful people that appear to always have access to the resources they need or want. Do they know something I don't? Is there some secret, magical thing? I've heard that when you commit to something, the universe comes to assist you. The universe must not know my address, or maybe I've moved around to much. It's been a long time since the universe came to assist me. When it did, it sure looked like my mom's older sister. (another blog needed to go into that). People used to envy and hate me because I could pull just about anyone into my "thing".

If my mother was here, she would tell me to pull myself up by the boot straps, get out of my funk, and create something amazing. I wish she was here. For me, there's something enchanting about being admired, having someone rooting for you, someone to watch you fly. It seems that there is no one here now waiting for me to fly again. Maybe that is part of growing up.... to fly when no one is watching.

Baby Steps

Let's say that you don't have to work for several weeks. What would you do with your time? Ok, let's say that I've been laid off from my job getting paid for 8 more weeks. What will I do with my time. I'm always thinking it would be great to have a break so I could get my house cleaned, really super-clean, get organized, every little nook and cranny. Ok, Ok, I'll clean. But what to do after that?

Obviously, I will be job hunting. I'm going to take a week and go to Florida when I get my severance pay. I need to see my sister, get some things of my mother's out of storage, absolutely need a couple of days to sit in the sun and get drunk.

So that's cleaning, job-hunting and drunken sunning. But what else? Should I even be worried about what else? Are the above mentioned activities enough or should I try to pack in something life-chaning? I wish.. and how I try not to wish, that I had the resources to start school in the fall. Nail school, nursing school, computer school, I'm not picky. But I don't have the resources. With my daughter having a baby, a 19 year old son that's not quite flying solo yet, and a 15 year old son that's still in school and allthe activities that go with that, many people need me to be 110% productive, or at least bring home a paycheck.

Now that I have my brain stabilized with Effexor (which for those that ever were on the weight loss drugs fen-fen, this stuff is the closest feeling to the 2nd fen I've ever found), I'm not obsessed with what happened then, what will never be and the stupid decisions have brought me to the brick I'm standing on now. I haven't felt this sane for more than 7 years. I really want to use the time to accomplish something. It doesn't have to be earth shattering. I'm celebrating the most mundane things. Going to the post office without procrastinating, or even going after procrastinating. I got my driver's license after not driving for 3 years. That did almost as much for me as the meds. I cleaned my bathtub today. Not the whole bath, just the tub. But WooHoo anyway. I'm laying things out in baby steps, and although it's slow I'm getting somewhere. I may move up to bigger steps, but if I don't I'll still be moving. Soon, I'll be celebrating new baby steps, baby cries, baby smiles, baby poop, baby puke of my grandbaby. Also the baby steps of my daughter becoming a mother. I like baby steps. I like celebrating baby steps of all kinds.

This may not be the life I thought I would have, but it is my life. And, I did clean the bathtub today. Life is good.

Once Again.... Unemployed

I went to work today. A day just like any other day. They told us Monday that our VP was coming from headquarters. 9:50 a.m. we get an email to assemble in the meeting room. There was the VP, a woman from HR, 3 strangers. Then, the VP tells us that our office is closing... now. Then we see the security guards, there for their protection, our co-workers protection, and safety of the company property. They had boxes for us to pack our belongings. The computers and the phones were unplugged, and we were told not to use them.

So, I'm on a paid vacation until the beginning of October. 8, 9 weeks to find another job. I will miss my co-workers, my team, more than I can tell you, but I'm feeling a sense of hopefullness, of relief, a sense of adventure. These meds I'm on have really turned my frown upside down. I'm now so very glad that I went to my doctor and was totally honest with him about how bad I was feeling (devised a plan, picked a place, but didn't pick the day). Anyhoo, I'm feeling better than I have for years, and am taking this huge change in stride.

So many possibilities are before me. Now, I just have to pick a new path.
Here's to losing jobs!!!!

Shadows Of The Future

I took my daughter to her OB/GYN appointment today. They did an ultrasound. I saw my grandbaby. Head. Body. Arm buds. Leg buds. Moving. Heart beating. Alive.

No words can say how I am feeling. Anticipating the days ahead.

Alicia

Clean Slate

Very few times in my life do I get the opportunity to make a completely fresh start. I'm not talking about yelling re-do playing kickball because I was too lame to kick the frickin' ball. I'm talking about a new role for me. Nanna. I've screwed up quite a few roles, nearly everyone that I've ever played. Now I'm older (this is where you tell me I look fresh as a daisy and so dewily youthful), and hopefully a least a skosh wiser.

I've never been anyone's Nanna before and I'm fully determined to mindfully, thoughtfully, carefully, and joyfully do it right to more than the best of my abilities. No matter what I've done in the past, how terribly I've screwed things up before, I can actually be the best, most awesome Nanna in the history of the world. My grandbaby won't have to know me as the screw up, the failure, the oaf. He or she may hear stories someday, but they will just be stories with no foundation in their little reality. I'm totally stoked about this.

I've have three extremely awesome role models for being a great Nanna: my mom, her mom, and my ex-mother-in-law. Each in their own way, the taught me wonderful things. My mother taught me a sense of ease with my babies. She gave me the impression that she had complete confidence in me. My grandmother taught me the basics of baby care: how to breastfeed, how to bathe my babies, diapering, dressing. From the moment my first baby arrived, she put away her super-controlling self and graciously became my humble mentor and a servant to me. She, too, gave me the impression that she had complete confidence in me. I'm tearing up right now. I've never really thought about things quite this way. They totally built me up as a mother. It may be the most important gifts they ever gave me. Things were very different with my ex-mother-in-law, but no less impactful. My ex and I lived with them until my oldest son was 8 months old. She didn't quite have complete confidence in me, but she gave me many things: she gave me her home, grace that I certainly did not deserve, she provided many things for me and my baby. At the end of my pregnancy she bought me a beautiful dress just because she thought I needed a boost.

All they taught me, all they gave me is beautiful. It makes me wish that I had done much, much better in raising my children. But, instead of dwelling on all the failures which would certainly bore you to tears, I'm going to take this opportunity to start over. I'm moving to a new phase in my life. I will build up my daughter just like Mom and Grandma did for me. I'll give home and grace and provision like ex-mother-law did. And most scrumptuous of all is the grandma role for me. I remember being pregant the first time and thinking I knew what it would be like. I had no clue. I don't have a clue right now either. What is it like to see your daughter give birth? What will the feeling be like when you see that precious baby? I've heard it's great. I can't imagine what it will be like, but I'm so excited to find out. I'm so excited that at this point in my life, there's still one more chance for me to do something right for a change. I suppose that's selfish in a way for me to turn it all around to be about me, but it is all about me. At least for me.
Nanna Pig

There's Always a Reason

So, I think I've mentioned before that I hate my job. But, have I mentioned how much I adore my co-workers?

When I moved from Florida to Ohio, there went the few friends I had, and most of my family also. Who am I kidding, all my family. I mean, I'm civil with my one sister, but I wouldn't say we're close. I tried to call her every day after Mom died. But Baby Sister has a busy, full life. She takes great care of her family. Busy with church. She works part-time. Does cake decorating and numerous other things. I didn't often reach her, so I don't call as often. She's still having a very hard time after Mom passing. Me too, but I just choke it down because I don't feel worthy to mourn her too much when I totally let her down. I digress. The friends I had, we just weren't very close anymore. People move on. Busy family life. Work. The gap widens. I still have a couple of people that I could call if I was in severe distress, but they probably wouldn't be home anyway.

I had a couple of co-workers that became friends when I worked at the hospital. I've been gone from there since Sept. '04. I've seen one of them twice. The others don't return calls or emails. At my first job post-hospital, I met a great girl. I call her girl because she's 14 years younger than me, but she's really a woman. She's not perfect, so I can tell her anything and she understands. We gripe, dream, agonize, get happy. It's a blessing. She was the only friend I made there and when I went to my second job post-hospital, I referred her. So she works with me now.

Back the long way around this circle, back to the rest of my awesome co-workers. Each one of them offers me something different. I hope that I give back, but it would be tough. The team I work on is all women, which is great because I need a sister, a mother, a grandmother, a mentor, a friend. They give me all these things. They let me be all these things back, even grandmother because I am going to be one this year. Frankly, I don't know what I would do without them. They laugh at my jokes, and hold up under my brand of entertainment. I was at work when I got the call that Mom had died, and they all cried with me. When I told them my daughter was pregnant, they all offered encouragement, and grieved with me for the loss of my dream of starting a new set with my new hubby.

There's a reason that a co-worker at my first post-hospital job referred me to my new job. God new that I would need this very special group of ladies. He knew I needed the extra money, too. The ladies mean more though. They mean sanity, love, and comfort at this time of utter chaos in my world. They're pulling for me. I feel it. I need them. I'm passionate about them. I would do anything for them. They've done everything for me. They're the reason.

As a side note, a lady that works in my office building is Giving me (yes, that's a capital G) a crib with matress and "cute" bedding. What a blessing. She's just a lady that smokes, and we smokers stick together. I've talked to her a hundred times, didn't even know her name. No coincidence. Meant to be. Reason. It may seem like a small thing, but that's a few hundred bucks worth of stuff that I won't have to buy. To me that means a lot. God knew we needed a crib and mattress, "cute" bedding a bonus.

What little things have happened in your life? Maybe you didn't even notice them. Notice them now and if only for a moment, be thankful. He's watching out for you, too.

Someone Else's Life & Becoming a Nanna

I started this blog about a week ago, but the power went out for hours. I hope that wasn't a sign for me not to write this.

I was going to write about how confusing it is to live out a life that is so wretched. This is not the life I thought that I would have. Not the life that I thought I would choose for myself. But, here I am. As it should happen, also at a major ... don't even know what to call it. It's not really a crossroad.

Two major things happened last week.
1. My oldest son moved out with his fiance to her grandma's house.
2. Found out that my 17 year old daughter is pregnant.

I've experienced many emotions. Mourning. Confusion. Elation. Sorrow. Resignation.

My husband and I wanted to have a baby together. I had fertility surgery 4 years ago. Still no baby for us. From raising another man's three kids to adding a baby that is not his. It has been, this week, the death of a dream.

Where do we go from here? I'm not quite sure yet, but I've been pulling it together. I've cried some, afraid that my daughter will someday feel that she has lived someone else's life. That she will experience heartbreak, sorrow, betrayal. I hope that won't be the case. But as it looks right now, she has a rough road ahead. How much would a good parent smooth out the road? I ask because I have not been a good parent. The current situation is just a reflection of my failing her along the way.

This blog is certainly not very well constructed. You can just imagine what my mind is like.
How can I mourn with my husband for the child we will never have, and at the same time celebrate the new life growing inside my baby girl? It's like walking on broken glass.

On the bright side, it has given me the motivation to pull this all together. No one is going to do it for me, and most likely no one will even help me. No one except for God. So this one's on me. Waiting for someone else to do anything for me is always a disaster, as has been the last say 5 years of my life.

I have 2 jobs that I'm waiting to hear back from. Good jobs. Good paying jobs that will give me back the resources I need to pull this all together by the end of the year.

I'm looking for a house to buy, and if that doesn't pan out, then I will find us a big, big, bigger house to rent until we can buy one.

I've heard a song somewhere about life being like a freight train. It is. It just keeps on going and going. It feels so out of control right now. But, I'm going to throw my weight around now. I've decided to actually be a player in my life. To engage in life. I'll let you know how it goes.

Gellin'

The worst of my melt down seems to have passed. I forced myself last night to say things that I needed to say to my husband. It was a very difficult conversation for both of us to get through, but we made it. I promised not to "off" myself anytime this week.

I still don't know how things are going to get better, don't even know how we're going to buy groceries next week or put gas in the 2nd car so the kids can get to work. I'll set that house on fire when I get to it.

I'm planning to go to Florida the first or second week of June and I'm really looking forward to being there. Not much looking forward to the 18 hour drive, but I'll have 3 days there. I hear tell they have real sunshine there, not this murky Ohio version. I can't wait to put my feet in the sand, and get a tan. Aaah the days of tanning. I miss the days when no one said the sun was bad for you. I spent may a summer day baking in the sun. I always had a killer tan.

A very important part of going home to Florida is planning where I'm going to eat. I always have to have Sonny's barbeque. There is no real barbeque in Ohio. Well, there's one place City Barbeque that's close, but it's still not Sonny's. They don't have the good garlic bread and the sweet barbeque sauce. I think that I'll also have to have Iguana Mia. Excellent Mexican. I can almost taste it now. I'd also like to have Tung Hing Chinese food, but if I indulge I'll be spending way too much time in the bathroom. I know, more info than you needed. Publix birthday cake is also on the list even though it's nobody's birthday. I miss that cake. I had Publix birthday every birthday from 7 to 32 before I moved to Ohio. It was a delicious tradition. I think that I may go eat lunch at Brybill's bar too. My mom and I used to eat lunch there almost everyday when we worked together. Before she got her dentures she would order the fries extra crispy, after dentures extra limp. We'd eat, drink Diet Coke, smoke cigarettes and talk. I really miss those lunches. Those were the days when Mama was only a few steps away. We laughed so much, sometimes til she peed her pants. I miss her so much. Anyhoo. Those are the food plans so far.

Sunshine, Mexican, Barbeque, birthday cake. That's the perscription I need.

Melt Down

So, I'm in the throws of a complete melt down. I'm contemplating whether or not my life has any value left. Have you ever been in that place where you think that it won't ever change, it won't get any better, that you'll never have whatever it takes to turn it around? That's where I'm at right now.

You might think there are finite number of times that you could let your kids down, your spouse, your mother, sister, yourself. But no. It just keeps on going. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this has just been a slow slide down. Not separate instances of failure, but only one. I never seem to get it right. Just one stupid decision on top of another. Maybe I'm just destined to be a loser, a failure at every turn.

In some ways, some might say that I'm pretty intelligent. But I'm not smart when it comes to living. How could I be so stupid? How could there be so many blunders? Whatever it was that I was destined to be.. it's too late. It's not just the little boo-boos here and there. Mine are major failures. I can't even call them mistakes because the word mistake just doesn't carry the weight of what I'm going through. I can't even detail the horrors that I've heaped upon myself and the people that I say I love. To write them all here would crush me, and I'm already on the edge. My failures detail the kind of person that I really am. Evil would probably be too strong a word. Mindless, selfish, ignorant. Those words are better.

I think about how much better off everyone would be without me screwing everything up. I feel like dead weight, baggage. No purpose other than making everyone else's life more difficult. I don't know how much longer I can keep it together. The worst thing I can say about my life is that it has become mediocre. Nothing special. There is nothing excellent. Every day is survival. How I manage to get out of bed each day is beyond me. But, I get up and go to work, and I'm just there like a machine. There is nothing joyful other than the smiles of my children. How long will it take before their smiles are gone like mine? I let them down at every turn. All the things I wanted to do for them have gone undone, and at this moment I have no hope that I will ever be able to do them. Time just keeps going, and I'm paralyzed. One failure after another, big and small.

I wonder should I make my youngest son go live with his grandparents. He's such a normal person. He deserves a chance, one that I'm afraid I cannot give him. The chance to live in a normal sane home with normal sane parental figures. No chaos, no craziness, no crises. Just the normal things of a safe, happy family life. I know that they would give him that, and happily so.

I feel such division in myself, in my relationships. Perhaps if I thought I was worth more, I would get the things I need. I can't really say how I feel to the people closest to me. As extroverted as I can be, I cannot tell people when they hurt me, when I feel they have betrayed me. I wonder what I've done, what horrible thing have I done that the person who should be closest to me would betray me. It's funny the little things that people can do, that speak volumes and volumes about how little they value me.

I don't think that I've ever felt such a weight on me. There has always been a glimmer of hope, knowing that I would make it, that it would be better than okay. I don't see a way out of this one. Where is the line between what you will do to make the pain stop and ending it all? Between the thoughts of how you could do it, and picking a day? Between the very notion being complete craziness, and it being the most logical thought you've ever had?

Aaaaah, so morbid. I'm off to bed. I have to get up early. I have a lovely day of just surviving planned for tomorrow.

Next Installment: Therapy Guy

Our second visit to Therapy Guy was last Friday. I took the opportunity to discuss my crankiness which stems from a dark depression. About half way through, I steered us back to dealing with the kids so my husband wouldn't fall asleep. But, enough about the kids, let's talk about me.

First you should know that I'm a guilt freak. I feel guilty about everything. When I don't feel guilty about something, I tend to over analyze the potential consequences until the thing is dry as a bone. Either way, the life is sucked out of my life.

Here's my biggie. September 4, 2004 I walked out on my Clinical Data Analyst job. It was an awesome job. I got paid (sp? grammar and spelling be damned for now) very, very well. I got to be creative, solve mucho problems, got to totally show up one of the top 5 consulting firms in the world... TWICE... built databases with little automated procedures, did desktop support in my department, did all the research and data collection work for the hospital surgical case committee. It was Sweet...with that capital S. Problem...bitter envy on their part.....lack of politial savy on my part. After I was there about a year, I got a tweaky little boss just out of college who couldn't stand that I knew more about the computer related end of things, and to top it all off...she didn't like how much I was paid (spelling and grammar be damned again). Everything was rolling along just fine until my first yearly eval came around with her as my boss. As she opened the sealed thingy from HR stating my position and how much they were paying me, I think she shit her tonga. From that week on she was on my case. Never about the quality of my work, but anything else she could come up with. She would write me up, then write a policy to fit it THE NEXT DAY. I went to HR as I felt that she was trying to get rid of me. Ms. HR Chick assured me that they would have to make a formal request of HR to eliminate a position, and they had not. The troubles didn't stop. Finally on that fateful day, I had had enough, yes I cried at work. I walked out. I gave her my one sentence resignation, and left admist her protests that I had to give 2 weeks notice (HA, the hospital policy is actually 3 weeks for my kind of position...there she went again spouting crap).

Unfortunately, sadly, and horribly for me, I assumed that in these time, with this freakin' economy etc... I would just get another IT job. WRONG!!!! My expertise with no certifications or degree is only good in a specific niche. I haven't yet found another niche for me. Hence, my black hole of guilt.

My job now...or my paycheck rather.. just isn't getting it done. We're not making it. Things are so hard, so bleak, that I often think of how it would be if I were not here. When all else in life was shit, I had my work. That was how I defined me, as I'm not very good with anything else, or haven't yet become the maestro of my symphony or whatever. This work issue combined with other various mistakes, blunders, whatever you want to call them, my life is at this moment scroooohooohoohood. I feel like a non-person. I mean nothing to anyone other than whatever role I play in their production. I don't do anything for me. I don't do anything I enjoy, don't even remember what I enjoy. Anyhoo. Life Sucks.

Moving right along. I told Therapy Guy that in the past, I would apply for jobs even though I didn't meet the Requirements. If it said you need a bachelor's, screw that. I can do that job. I applied. As of late though, I haven't had the confidence to do that, but screw not having confidence. I applied for several jobs today that I know I can do, but the requirements are outside my skillset (hate that term). Step 1 to putting myself out there.

Bless Therapy Guy's advice giving heart. He listened intently to my yadda yadda, and gave some advice about schools to look into with programs that could be of help to me. He gently said, "I'm not convinced that you've done everthing you can to get back in your field of interest." He felt my pain when I told him that my decision had adversely impacted my entire family (I failed to even mention that no money meant that I did not see my mother before she died... would require a series of blogs). Once again though, he made it a thing and not about me. He did judiciously ask me if I made a habit of acting so impulsively. I told him no, but I'm beginning to wonder. I'll have to think on that one a bit more.

My lingering question is "Do you have to fix everything before allowing yourself the grace to let go of the guilt?" I don't see Grace showing up anytime soon. Letting the beatings continue until life is perfect.
Alicia

Introducing Therapy Guy

First of all, I'm upset because my last post is gone. What a bummer. I took such great care with that post, complaining, whining, and the like. Oh Well.

So my dear hubby and I are going to family counselling to help us get our household under control, or at least moving in a positive direction, or at least barable (certainly that is not the correct spelling). My husband called our pastor about counselling and he directed us to a group of psychologists. I can't tell you how much I was dreading that first visit. The truth is that I don't like hearing bad things about ME. I didn't want to hear my husband say anything negative about me, not just about things I do or don't do, but negativity about me as a person. It goes right through me. I've only ever heard him say one mean thing about me during the almost 7 years we've been together. He said that I was weak. It stuck me in the ass like a hot fireplace poker. But, at therapy last week, he had nothing ugly to say about me. Instead, he was very engaged in the process, which was divine because he is usually very introverted when meeting new people. He was 100 % engaged.... that was awesome. He was firm about his own feelings and thoughts on the subject at hand, but at the same time was supportive and gave me enough space to really unload on him, which I didn't even need to do at that point. Because of his supportiveness, I was able to speak directly to his actions that I don't like without attacking him to save myself.

The therapy guy was awesome. If you've ever had a bad therapist, not just one that didn't say what you wanted them to say... but a really bad therapist, you know that it could just go to shit at any moment. He broke things down into little pieces, little steps. I went in drowning. He told me that nothing was insurmountable. He reminded me that rules without consequences were useless. Imagine that!!! Perhaps this is the thing that I've been missing all these years. He also told me that it was it okay if the kids didn't like the rules or the consequences. Brilliant!! This guy is good. I'm having a good laugh about this now. I actually thought that my semi-adult child would follow my wishes just because he loves me and had been a fairly compliant child. When I actually said it out loud to the therapy guy (I'm certain he would want to be called Doctor, but oh well), I heard the lunacy in what I was saying.

I also expressed to him about all my guilt feelings about not being a good mother, and my anger that no one would acknowledge that I'm not a good mother. When you tell someone that you're not a good mother, they always say "oh that's not true, you are a good mother, yadda, yadda". Instead, the therapy guy said "You've not been good at setting limits". There it was. Some validation. But better than just a validation, it was specific. It was a thing. Not me spiraling into the depths of hell. It was a thing that I could do something about. Not good at setting limits and enforcing them... well I can be. So simple, so few words, such a great impact. I told you...this therapy guy is really good!!

He expressed to me that it was okay to enforce limits that will help my semi-adult son become an adult. Motivation. Even though it is so hard for me to start pushing him from the nest and it brings terrible guilt to me. He said "what is there to feel guilty about in doing the right thing for your child?" Through tears, I said "Well,.....sniff.....when you say it like that!!!!" Parenting nevers does get easier, it just changes shape and color and texture as our children grow. My semi-adult son is not very self-motivated, as I am not always self-motivated. He needs some help, and a good mother will give him that help. I am that mother!! Right now, my semi-adult son is pretty freakin cranky about me enforcing my rules (see his fiance moved in here, and I told him they had to clean the house (since they don't yet have jobs...yeah that's a whole other post), no having sex in the house, and they could not sleep in the same bed), but...and here's the almight kicker...even though he cranky...he's with the program. It's too late to change the past, I only have today..only today to do the right thing and be the best mother I can be. Today.

Thank you, Dr. Therapy Guy. You Rock.
I rock too!!

School Days in My Future

So, in my quest for self-improvement, and general enlightment, I spoke with a gentleman at a university today that offers an online bachelors. It's expensive, but I am hoping to get financial aid. I guess it's a good time to go to school while we're relatively poor and still have dependants in the house. They have an information technology degree with a specialty in management, networking, or web development. I'm not sure if it's a great school or even a good school. While I still have some research to do, I think that it's more important for me to get started doing something than to research myself into a rut.

I'm so excited to think about using my brain again, accomplishing something new. I hope the financial aid pans out for me.
Alicia

Work Blues

*sigh* I really don't like my job very much. I'm agonizing over it more and more, but not quite enough yet to get a new job. I used to work in IT (and was very good and what I did), but that seems more like a thousand years ago, and a year and a half.

My husband and I usually spend a lot of time together on the weekend, so I don't pine about work too much. But, this weekend, my husband was gone Friday night chaperoning a church youth group outing. It was Friday, and I was sitting in bed watching movies and dreading the coming work week. I'm guessing that's not really a good thing.

In order for me to get the kind of job I might want (I still just want to be my own boss), I need education.. at least a certification of some kind. That requires time and money. The time I could take away from my heavy TV watching and depression. The money is a different story. I don't have much to spare. I must force myself to look into financial aid. Things just aren't going to change for me if I continue to do nothing.

I like the people that I work with just fine. They are a wonderful bunch of ladies... smart, funny, they laugh at me when I'm funny, supportive, helpful. It's the actual work that I have a problem with. It's boring, and relatively meaningless. I miss being creative, solving problems. I like being the leader. I hate being just one in the herd. I have a passion for feeling special. I'm not getting that from my work. I don't see myself staying with this company for a long period of time.

In the Still of the Night

It's 3:35 a.m. and here I sit at the computer. I have to get up in a few hours for work. I couldn't resist sitting here writing in the almost silence of my house. The only other one awake is my sweet pom puppy Ozzy, but he's only quitely pacing around trying to figure out why Mommy is awake. My house is a semi-wreck. I'm not any thinner or any younger. All of the things in my life that need fixing still need fixing, but it's all OK for right now. I'm enjoying this moment. Life is funny though.... my oldest son is sleeping in the recliner in the livingroom. He just started snoring and farted. *sniffle* He's becoming a real man after all.

Yesterday, I actually acccoplished some things, though they may be small. Let me just list them off:
1. Got a storage unit for all the junk that's busting the seems of my little abode. We didn't put anything it in yet, Hubby will do that tomorrow. He's on vacation, and what better way to spend it than doing grunt work for me.
2. Got insurance on my new car (1986 Camry that my mother-in-law bought us for 500 smackers). This really is a big one for me. I got a ticket for driving with no insurance in 2002, and haven't been driving since then. I'm getting my driver's license in a couple weeks. No, I'm not one of those ladies that won't drive, has never driven or anything of the sort. I'm just a procrastintor, irresponsible, etc... but I'm working on it.
3. I put on bedding/bath,draperies set on layaway at... I hate to say it but... Walmart, but it's ever so divinely beautiful and I'm pleased with it.
4. We bought new pillows yesteday, and the 4 hours on just slept on them was so wonderful. I usually buy the cheapest crappiest pillows, but I bought much better ones this time and it was well worth it.
5. The landlord regrouted our kitchen floor, and told my hubby that he is replacing all our kitchen cabinets in August. There's not a thing wrong with the ones we have, but as he said, "We like to keep our rentals nice enough that we would live in them ourself". I got up the courage to ask him if he would put in a dishwasher If I paid for it and agreed to leave it there when we move out someday. He declined my offer, but instead said that he would put in a dishwasher and new ceiling fans in the kitchen and dining room. He's also updgrading all the interior doors and moulding when he does the cabinets. I'm so glad I had the guts to ask about the dishwasher. *side note: I have the most wonderful landlords in the world. They are so very kind. When my mother died, I took my rent money to go to Florida to take care of things there. We paid our rent 17 days late, and they would not accept the late fee. I asked him how much it would be, and he said "For you....nothing".
6. I organized one of my closet about 75%.
I didn't feel well at all yesterday, sick with a bad cold, didn't go to work, my bad back (degenerating lumbar discs) was killing me and I felt miserable. However, looking back on the day, it was well spent.

Tomorrow it's back on my diet. I have a mission to be thinner by my son's October wedding. I'm going to be protien drinking, Trim Spa taking, and walking as much as I can with the back hurting. I've committed to walk every day as much as I can tolerate.

I forgot to mention one accomplishment from yesterday. While getting things out to put in storage, I went through a container of old baby clothes. I didn't pine for a baby I don't have right now, but only relished the days with the babies I did have. When my husband found out I saved all the old pacifiers and even the horrible baby shower decorations, he mumbled "pack rat". It made me smile. There IS some of my mom in me. I loved thinking of the baby days. The beautiful dresses my daughter wore, the Baby Dior this that and the others that were in the container. One of the sweetest things in life is baby socks. Going through all of those little things made me feel so blessed. My grandmother and my mother got to see all my babies. My family surrounded me with love even when I got pregant before I was married. Baby smiles, toddler hugs, kiddie I-love-yous kept me alive during years that were hard. I most certainly would have taken my life if it had not been for them. Even though their lives sprung from my body, they saved my life so many times. Children truly are gifts from God.
I'm going back to bed now. G'night.

Dear Mama

I miss you. I miss your eyes. I miss your smile without your teeth in. I miss eating lunch with you at Brybill's. I miss you for all these selfish reasons, the reasons all about me. I don't know how to make your pumpkin roll. I don't know how to make your bread pudding. I don't know what you put in that old jar with your special seasoning. I can't ask you to tell me old stories or see your eyes light up when you talk about my father. I don't think I can even hear your voice now. I wish you'd come to me in my dreams & talk with me. I miss the way you loved Joe. I miss the way you said my name. I miss swimming in your pool the day I went to jail for the traffice thing, with you sitting in your rocker by the pool. I miss the things you'd say that I often thought were nonsense. I miss the way you loved me. I miss the chance I had to spend your last days with you. I miss the chance to beg you not to leave me & the chance to prove to you, to act out for you my love.

I wish I could have held your hand and sang to you when you passed on into the arms of Jesus. I wish I had hung on your every word, every smile, every tear. I wish I didn't wonder if you were proud of me, wonder if you knew that I love you, wonder if you were ashamed of my selfishness, wonder if you felt abandoned.

I know that you loved me. That you did what you felt was right when I was a child. I know that you carried the burden of a secret that you knew would crush me when I was an adult. You made me feel sufficient when I became a mother and never berated me for how it came to be.

I wish that I could turn the clock back, do it over, be there for you when you told me that you needed me and that our time together was running out. It's all gone now, Mom. I'm so sorry that I failed you. If I could make it right for you & me, I surely would. I hope that you are at peace and that you remember the times that I was there for you. I hope that when it's my turn to come over that you will be there to welcome me.

I love you, Sweet Mother. My Only
Alicia Rose

My Birthday & True Love

Today is my 39th birthday. There's not much fanfare today, mostly because we are broke. My husband feels bad because he did not have a gift or card for me. As I explained to him how much his love means to me, I began to cry. There was a time, actually many times, during my first marriage that there we lovely gifts.. designer purses, jewelry and what not, a beautiful tennis bracelet I received after finding out that he was cheating on me ... again. I cried myself to sleep so many nights wondering why I was so unlovable.... why couldn't he love me... what was wrong with me, was I too fat, too ugly, too disgusting. It doesn't hurt me now like it did back then, but thinking of it sometimes still makes me cry. I wanted so badly to be loved, unconditionally loved. In my Glory. In my wreckage. The healing from not being loved began with one small gesture from a lovely man who looked at me like a princess, a godess. But the time, the karma, the plan was not for us, God had other plans. But that moment gave me a glimmer of hope that there was some beauty left in me.

My husband is everything that I wanted in a friend, a lover, a husband, a protector, a priest. He loves me. When I'm ugly. When I'm beautiful. When I'm fat. When I'm fatter. When I'm mean. When I'm nice. When I'm sane. When I'm having a meltdown. He loves me enough to stay with me even when my kids rise up from the pit of every horrible thing a child/teen can be. I told a marriage counselor, back in the old days, that what I wanted was a relationship that was a shadow of Christ's love for me. Christ heard me that day. Today my husband shadows me with the love of Christ that is in him. No birthday card, no special dinner, no gift of any kind in the world would I take in trade for my husband. He is the embodiment (sp?) of grace and mercy.

I have riches beyond what money could ever buy. I live with a dynamic group of people. Life is always an adventure. If I never get another "thing" in my life. The love I have today will last me my entire lifetime.
Happy Birthday to me. It's a great day.

Another Day, Another Blog, An Upcoming Wedding

So I'm sick with a cold, Aunt Flo is here for here unwelcome visit, and I'm very emotional. Last night I said a slew of incredibly insane things (like I wanted to throw all the clothes out of the closet and and break the droopy hanging bar, throw everyone's dirty clothes out in the yard, etc, etc) to which he lovingly and sincerely said to each thing "I know, Honey". He completely avoided the typical man, how can I fix it. This was not fixable, at least not at that moment. He simply validated my feelings. That was awesome.

My 19 year old son is getting married in October. Not because he has to or feels obligated to, because he's in love and wants to take that step. I have three kids, so that's one down... two to go. The lovely girl is just the perfect match for him. The both are...well... I hate labels, but it's the whole heavy heavy metal pierced tattooed, part of her hair is neon pink. It's great. I hate to use labels. I wouldn't want to ever confine them to some meaningless word. But sufice it to say that she has a gentle quiet spirit, and she "gets" my son. Jackpot.

The daughter-in-law wants me to wear black to the wedding, which is great because I'm fat and black is a friend to big girls. I found this costume pattern in a book I have of one of the outfits that Trinity wore in the Matrix. The pattern goes up to a size 22. This begs the question, How big is too big for that whole shiny latex looking get-up? I think I'll keep it a bit more low key.

I'm hoping to lose weight before the wedding. If my ex-husband shows up, I'd like to look so hot that he'll have such remorse over losing me that he'll go out to his rental car and castrate himself. Oops, did I just say that out loud. Sorry :-)

The kids will be having an after-wedding-mosh-heavy-metal barbeque/party. I'm already thinking ways that we can embarass the kids, make asses of ourselves and general have a moshing good time. Hopefully all without injury. I do have a bad back, ya know.

The circle of life just keeps turning. My baby is becoming a man.
Did I mention that I will be the same age as Jack Benny and my Grandma tomorrow? That's right, the big 39. If I really was a sow, my teats would be dragging the ground. *pause for reflection* There half way there!!!!
Cheerio people, life is still good.

The BooHoo Blog

Why is it that every time I'm having a crisis, I have no one to talk to? There's no one here I can talk to. I call people, they're not home. I email people they don't answer. Let's top off the crisis with a complex. And this isn't the only time this has happened. It's a pattern.

So on to my crisis. I'm not pregnant again for the 46th time. The loan for my fertility surgery in 2001 is almost paid off, and I'm still not pregnant. It's like paying for a car I'll never drive. Ant to top that off, my cycle has become irregular. I'm probably hitting menopause. Pay off the loan and the plumbing dries up. How lovely!! Perhaps after 46 cycles of trying to get pregnant it's just time to give up.

I was looking at a magazine the other day. About five pages in there was a picture of baby clothes. I had to put it down. The meaning of life could have been on page 6 and I'll never know. There's baby crap everywhere. People pregnant at work. A lady brings in baby clothes to sell all the time. There's just no way to avoid baby crap. I don't know how to get over this or just get beyond it.

I guess I'll just have to wait to be a grandma. Hopefully, it won't be too soon. I'm not ready to be a grandma. I still want to be a mommy.
Well that's all of my rant and whining for now, but tune in tomorrow, same channel, same time.
The Sow

100 Things, Version 3.0

31. Get a pair of checkerboard vans before they go back out of vogue again.
32. Start a girl band (hmmm....maybe a middle aged band of women, dang I'm getting old)
33. Get a hootin tootin tattoo!!!! Nothing on my ass or boobs. My mother wouldn't want me to scare the tattoo fellow. My husband said no ankles, or arms... unless I got full sleeves....yeah right. It will be between my shoulders.
34. Go on a cruise with a bunch of girlfriends.

I'm really starting to get into this...wooooohoooooo!!!!!
:-)



100 Things to do before I die. New entries are at the bottom in Bold 1. Jump off the Federal Building in New Zealand (it's like a bungy or parachute thingy) 2. Acquire the fitness level to walk up the stairs in the Federal Building. 3. Adopt children from Ukraine 4. Vacation on The Royal Scotsman train in Scotland. 5. Go on a cruise 6. Vacation in Italy 7. Get a college degree - haven't decided the major yet *decided on something medical 8. Get the Microsoft database certification thingy 9. Become physically fit including losing weight 10. Run in a marathon 11. Own a home 12. Create my own business and quit working for "The Man" 13. Send my sister's family to Disney World 14. Visit my sister whenever I want to 15. Write a book 16. Go to a spa for a weekend alone 17. Write a book of poetry 18. Learn to play the guitar 19. Learn Rachmoninoff's C Sharp Minor Prelude on the piano 20. Start a book club 21. Start a group for friends to do crafts together ( I need more friends) 22.Visit my grandparents once a year 23. Visit my cousin in Ohio 24. Help a mother keep her child 25. Help a single mother get off welfare 26. Develp a relationship with my middle sister's children, visit them in New Hampshire 27. Visit New York City 28. Visit Chicago 29. Go to the Oprah Winfrey Show 30. Start my own community service organization... food pantry, utility assistance, clothing, etc..

There Is No Spoon

A line from one of my favorite movies, The Matrix. Neo meets a child at the Oracle's apartment. The child appears to be bending a spoon with his mind. The child tells Neo not to try to bend the spoon, but to remember, there is no spoon.

I put a sign up on my cube at work today. There is no spoon. For me, it speaks to reality, one reality, my own reality. If there is an obstacle between me and where I want to go, will I let the obstacle become my entire journey, or will I make it part of my story. Instead of letting my life revolve around the obstacle, I can choose the value I place on the obstacle.

Spoon. No Spoon
Obstacle. No Obstacle
Fear. Faith
Failure. Experience

I can give up and give the boulder in my path more meaning than the path itself. That's stupid. Instead of laying down to die because the boulder is in my way, I will climb over it and be thanful that today, I learned to climb higher. So much higher than I ever thought I could.

There is no spoon.

Have I ever told you how much I love SciFi. It's a lovely obsession. Incidentally, I thought the ending of the 3rd Matrix movie sucked.

100 Things, Version 2.0

100 Things to do before I die.
New entries are at the bottom in Bold

1. Jump off the Federal Building in New Zealand (it's like a bungy or parachute thingy)
2. Acquire the fitness level to walk up the stairs in the Federal Building.
3. Adopt children from Ukraine
4. Vacation on The Royal Scotsman train in Scotland.
5. Go on a cruise
6. Vacation in Italy
7. Get a college degree - haven't decided the major yet *decided on something medical
8. Get the Microsoft database certification thingy
9. Become physically fit including losing weight
10. Run in a marathon
11. Own a home
12. Create my own business and quit working for "The Man"
13. Send my sister's family to Disney World
14. Visit my sister whenever I want to
15. Write a book

16. Go to a spa for a weekend alone
17. Write a book of poetry
18. Learn to play the guitar
19. Learn Rachmoninoff's C Sharp Minor Prelude on the piano
20. Start a book club
21. Start a group for friends to do crafts together ( I need more friends)
22.Visit my grandparents once a year
23. Visit my cousin in Ohio
24. Help a mother keep her child
25. Help a single mother get off welfare
26. Develp a relationship with my middle sister's children, visit them in New Hampshire
27. Visit New York City
28. Visit Chicago
29. Go to the Oprah Winfrey Show
30. Start my own community service organization... food pantry, utility assistance, clothing, etc..

More later... :-)

Shoe Shopping

So, I took my advice and decided to approach my troubled life as I would a business process. I broke my home down into sections: master bedroom & bath, kids bathroom (affectionately known as The Gas Station.. even I won't go in there), the hallway (serious disaster, this includes 3 closets), the living/dining area, kitchen, patio/shed/yard area.
You'll notice I left out the kids' bedrooms. Gasoline and a match couldn't cure that ill. I listed the problems with each area, solutions for each of the problems, and a list of things that need to be purchased and done.

It was like a thousand pound weight lifted off my shoulders. Geesh, I really need to get out more, get a life, etc... There are other intangible areas of my life that need a lot of work, but as long as my home is in disarray, there's no chance of working the intangibles. It's so great to have it all on paper in detail. It's a beautiful thing.

My next step is to examine the shopping list and decide which items will make the biggest impact. In closing, I haven't yet got my own shoes to actually walk in, but I am shoe shopping. One great thing about life, we get to decide what we will do with ours. Mom would be so proud of me for all this shoe talk. She was a helluva shoe lover. Miss you, Mom!

I Want Your Shoes

I'm sure you've all heard the saying about walking in someone else's shoes. The saying is meant to deter us from judging other people because we do not live their lives.

My problem is that I want to walk in someone else's shoes... often. On Sunday, my husband hit the nail on the head and used the E word. Envy. I was going on and on about how my ex-husband is going on his second brand new house while he owes me back child support to the tune of $48,000. My husband told me to get over him and stop envying them. Vengence belongs to God and all of that. (God bless my husband, he said it with loving firmness.)

I realized that I spend a hefty chunk of my waking hours envying other peoples' lives. So and so had a baby, so and so went to college, so and so has a new house, so and so owns their own business. The list goes on and on and on. I've never really thought of myself as envious. But the shoe does fit, and it's ugly.

The question then become, how do I take the energy that I would normally spend on envy and channel that into changing my life?

I'd like to "shut down the system", evaluate every aspect of my life, create a plan of action, rearrange all the pieces to my liking, then bring the system back up. It's very difficult to do all that while my system is running, while teenagers dirty all the dishes and the clothes in the house, then veg out in front of the tv and computer, or leave the house at all hours of the day and night. Here's a snappy book title that I may write someday "Teens from Hell: How to End the Sass & Disrespect. (Special chapter on coersing them into kitchen duty.)

My starting point in getting my envy under control is going to be pulling the shades (so to speak) around my life, deep cleansing breath, asking ME " what do you want your life to be? I'm going to work this like I used to work a business project: evaluate, plan, execute, reevaluate, tweek, execute.

I'll let you know how it goes. In closing, I must say that I hope someone pees in my ex-husband's new pool. :-)

Writing a book

I'm going to write a book. My mother was always encouraging to me when it came to writing. She said that I should write a book, a play, a tv sitcom. We'd sit and talk about funny ideas. I wish she was here now to encourage me, to help me get out of this funk.

My book is going to be about just that, how to self-encourage, how to get out of a nearly life-long funk, to orchestrate your life, turning it into a life you actually want to live.

I can't start writing yet because I haven't yet figured it out. I know that I will figure it out. When I do, I'll write my book and share my plan with someone else like me. I'm sure to sell a lot of books as there are lots of screwed up people out there. There's a market for helping screwed up people.

Until the book, I'm taking notes.

100 Things Version 1.0

100 Things to do before I die.
I don't exactly have 100 on the list yet, but I'm going to go ahead and start posting it anyway.
1. Jump off the Federal Building in New Zealand (it's like a bungy or parachute thingy)
2. Acquire the fitness level to walk up the stairs in the Federal Building.
3. Adopt children from Ukraine
4. Vacation on The Royal Scotsman train in Scotland.
5. Go on a cruise
6. Vacation in Italy
7. Get a college degree - haven't decided the major yet
8. Get the Microsoft database certification thingy
9. Become physically fit including losing weight
10. Run in a marathon
11. Own a home
12. Create my own business and quit working for "The Man"
13. Send my sister's family to Disney World
14. Visit my sister whenever I want to
15. Write a book

more later.

The Pursuit of Excellence

I haven't really been pursuing much lately other than sleep. Oddly, whenever I hear the phrase "Pursuit of Excellence" I think of the old network sports commercial where the snow skier is crashing, and looks like he'll snap in two. Now, I know that was actually the Agony of Defeat, but that's the picture that pops into my head.

I'm going to have to rethink and relearn this whole thing. I realized over the last few days that I'm not pursuing my interests at all. I don't do anything that really makes me feel good. I've been watching my life, my essence, go up in smoke for too long. I can't even make myself commit to blogging one of those 100 Things About Me lists, let alone 100 Things that Give Me Pleasure or Things I want to do before I die. I'm afraid that I won't have enough things to complete the list. There I am again.... all or nothing. It's hard to think about moving ahead, doing my best, when I've allowed myself to get stuck in this quagmire that is survival. The weeks go by and they are all pretty much the same. Work, tv, sleep. Fridays are Work, Errands, tv, sleep.

I've decided to find things that I want to do. I'm dreaming of a real vacation. Check out www.abercrombiekent.com.
They have the most luscious looking vacations to the dreamiest places. I want to go on The Royal Scotsman Train. My grandfather was from Scotland. I'd love to see the land he loved so much.

My next post is going to be the list of things I want to do before I die, and I'll do it to the best of my abilities.

Parenting a Young Adult

As if the Terrible Twos and the Teenage Years were not hard enough, I now have a young adult to parent. Is there a book for this? I need the friggen parenting handbook already. I guess it's time to pay my late fees at the library, and start reading again.

I remember when I was 19. I thought I new it all. My parents, or grandparents as the case was, were only bumbling idiots, too old to remember youth, and certainly out of touch with my life. I wanted to be treated like an adult, but did not yet behave like an adult. I wasn't really ready to be independent. This gaping spanse in between being a child and being an adult was tension like the pull of a rubberband. I struggled back and forth for many years.

My quandry today is finding the line between allowing him to make his own decisions, and me saying plainly, "This is MY house!!" Last night as my 19 year old son and I were having this very discussion there was this look in his eye that is hard to describe. It wasn't hate, but it certainly was far from love. It was a determination to stand his ground. I was standing there with a rolled up magazine ready to beat him like a disobedient dog. (HA!) What to do? What to do? I want to foster his quest for independence, but it certainly is difficult to balance that with my own independence. He wants to make his own decisions, but needs to get himself together and be able to support himself in this quest.

I have full confidence that he will get it all together, but at the least this is an uncomfortable stage. I'm beginning to see that parenting must never get easy. There is always a tension, but I know deep in my heart that without this very tension we would never grow up and lead our own lives. Without this yen for independence, we would all still be living at home with Mommy & Daddy.

Just a side note, if he looks at me like that again, I WILL smack him with the rolled up magazine. :-)

Here's to my semi-adult son and his quest for indepdence. Hip Hip Hurrah!!!!

Catchy Reproductivity Related Title Goes Here

Infertility, or Secondary-Infertility as the Reproductive Endocrinologist would say, sucks. I had my tubes ties, rather cut and burned, after my youngest son was born 15 years ago. When I met my current husband, I told him that I could not have any more children, and he was fine with that. We were fine with that until that fateful day when his sister had her 1st baby. It didn't take very long before Baby Fever set in. I realized then that my OB/GYN had been right in warning me that my maternal instincts would erupt during my 30's. I wish now that I had listened to him.

In April of 2001, my DH and I set off on a plane to Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I had a tubal reversal done. The doctor told me that there was no guarantee, but I didn't care about guarantees... I only wanted a chance, some hope. It has been almost 4 years since the surgery, and no pregancy. I expected that I would be one in the lucky 70% that gets pregnant. The first few months were very hard, lots of tears. It still is hard. Sometimes I obsess about it so much that I can feel my colon churning and swear that it feels like the flutter of a fetus. Aunt Flo always shows up and ruins my party.

We started talking about adoption almost a year ago. The one thing holding us back is money. You see, we're more like the Bundy's than the Rockafellers. (Now that I've said that, it would so cool if my husband sold shoes. I love shoes!) We began talking with an adoption agency that does foreign adoptions. A friend of mine that adopted her kids through them pointed me in their direction. It's about $45,000 to adopt 2 kids. That's a lot of money for us and no prayer of financing as we're about 1 month post-bancruptcy. But bigger than the money is the pictures we saw of 2 absolutely beautiful, angelic sisters that are for adoption. The younger girl is about 2 and a half, raven-haired, dark eyes, a smile that would like up a city. The older girl will be 7 soon, blond hair, blue eyes, a russian-looking godess of a girl.

I feel pulled to go over there to Europe. I hear little voices calling me (it's ok I'm on meds). I have this heart burning yen, knowing that there are children over there born into my heart. I want to go get them. I want to hold them tight, make them feel safe, to give them the love that only and Mommy and Daddy can supply. My husband & I have in-the-dark conversations about where we will take them, what kind of bicycles we'll get them, what will the first trip to the grocery and the WalMart be like for them.

I won't give up for another ten years. There's an age limit on adoptive mother, about 48 years old. I pray that God will open up the Mercy and Grace gates and let the money fall from the sky. The greatest joy I hope for is to see my husband holding a little child that calls him Daddy. My husband has given my great love and joy.... I just want him to have the experience of fatherhood in a new way.

Here's dreaming of you..raven-haired beauty & russian godess. Be well. I love you.

Hurtful Words..... Is it all my fault?

My oldest son turned 19 on the 22nd. His grandparents called him, and the conversation was not pleasant. I tried to explain to him that I was sure that their intentions were not to hurt him, but it really made me think. It made me question the way I've reared my children.

My oldest is a dreamer, a tender-heart, a slacker, has the temperment of an artist, the intellect of a genius, the work ethic of a warthog, eyes that twinkle when he smiles, a hug that in one moment makes you forget troubles exist, and musical talent that I don't have words to describe. Perhaps ashamedly, I'll say that my biggest hope and want for him was not to be his father. I want him to be successful, to find his dreams, but I would be happy if he was the Port-o-John dumper.... as long as he's not his father. The beauty.....he's not. He is Beauty.

He's unemployed and still working on finishing high school. This is where Gran & Papa started their unpleasant conversation with my boy. They told him they wish they had never bought him the guitar. That they should have kept my kids (after my divorce, my kids lived with them for about 6 months while I was off having an affair with alcohol). What he got from the conversation was that they were saying he needed to be more like his dad. My kids don't know everything about what happened those years ago, but my oldest son was old enough to remember those times.

There are many things that I could have done differently, some things I even wish that I had. But, I am pleased with the character of my son. I wish that I could take away the things that Gran & Papa said, because I know they hurt my son to the core. I have mostly always deferred to the ex in-laws as they have been very supportive, but I'm standing firm on this one. I believe that my son will find his own way. Not their way, but his own. If that means he'll be living at home for awhile, or even leaving and coming home... I'm good with that. My dreams from youth are long gone, and I will do whatever I can to support my son in living his dreams.

Tabacco Trials

Wow, quitting this bad habit is soooo hard!!! I feel like a friggen drug addict. I'm hoping that there is some great reward in making myself doing something that I don't really want to do. The truth is that I don't want to quit smoking, but I know that I have to.

Yesterday, I smoked 4 cigarettes. Today, only 1.

Tomorrow, I'll do the best I can.

Tata Tabacco

I've decided, comitted, purposed in my heart to quit smoking. I just opened 1 of my last 2 packs of cigarettes. I started smoking in October of 1988, and this week will be the closing of that chapter.

What made me decide to quit? Money. I'm just tired of spending money on cigarettes. I usually try not to think about how much I spend on cigarettes, I just block it out. But last week, I sent my husband to the smoke shop for 2 cartons and could not ignore that it was close to $50. Two cartons wouldn't even get us through to the next payday. I won't even go into what we could do with $100 plus dollars a month, nor will I go into how much I've spent on cigarettes since October of 1988. I will say that people in my little town are hungry and homeless, and here I sit burning up resources.

I told myself that I would stop smoking when I have lost another 66 pounds. But, I don't know how long that will take, and I do know that I've been smoking more since I've been dieting. Alacazam...more money.

By tomorrow night, this will be a done deal. I'm looking forward to being a non-smoker, a won-the-battle with myself conqueror, Queen of the used to be smokers.