Sometimes Motherhood is the best thing in the world.
May 29, 2009
Driving this morning to take Abbey to her dad’s for the first leg of summer visitation.
I hate taking her, but we were both in a cheerful mood, having gotten more sleep than we really should have.
We passed about 7 dead opossums along a mile stretch of road, leading to interesting questions about whether or not one single car had derailed the Great Opossum Exodus or if there was a mass suicide attempt by the depressed Opossums of the world.
Perhaps they were protested the clubbing of baby seals as well.
Or perhaps there was a serial killer on the loose.
Abbey decided that they could all be alive and just playing dead… and we screamed in unison that if they were playing dead, they sure were good at it!
I informed her that they were all teenage opossums with a natural flair for the dramatic.
She and I drove up to her dad’s house laughing so hard we were crying.
I’m going to miss her.
Two weeks can sometimes be a lifetime.
Maybe tomorrow.
May 28, 2009
My anger is taking over today.
It’s not so much any one thing as it is this never being able to get ahead.
The anchors in my life aren’t so much guides to safe havens as my own personal versions of a metal albatross – each heavier than the last.
I want to scream at various people for various indignities… some more ridiculous, some more deserved, some simply unchangeable.
“The brake fluid and its condition has nothing to do with the condition of your actual brakes.”
Uh huh. I wonder what the master cylinder would say to that.
But it doesn’t matter, because they have to be replaced and no matter the spiel you give me about how the material of your shoes are better than the material of everyone else’s, both you and I know I’m getting screwed.
You don’t know enough to know HOW I’m getting screwed, but I do – and I know JUST enough to know there’s not much I can do about it.
And Save the Dates? No. I don’t have Save the Dates.
I have mini super casual wedding invitations.
Boy, I love how much escapes my notice these days.
The first time around, that part was correct and names and cities were incorrect.
This time, that part was left off entirely.
And while this is more amusing than anything else, it goes on the list of baby albatrosses because it simply IS at this point, because I noticed it AFTER mailing out 150 of the damned things.
And my weight.
Hello inspirational story about a woman who almost died because she weighed too much and finally woke up and got her life together and now weighs 160.
Her too much was 230.
Congrats to her for losing the weight. Really. Because for some of us it’s pretty darned hard.
Say – the people who spend 3 months eating lettuce and water, working out 5 days a week and gaining 9 pounds.
Oh, and if I hear one more person tell me it’s muscle weight and I’m losing inches.
Nope.
Same inches.
Different texture, sure.
But considering I can’t fit into any of my clothes and could take down my fiance with a good cannonball, this isn’t such a consolation prize.
And my daughter leaving for the summer.
No custody decisions, nothing.
Leaving to sign up for months of fake influence and happy-go-lucky every day, which makes me look like the overzealous disciplinarian that is out only to ruin her life and make texting after 9 at night much too difficult.
Having to listen to everything I do wrong.
Having to listen to everything Nick does wrong.
Twisting at turning at the hands of two people that want nothing more than to dangle this puppet to their own tune for the next few years.
Not bothering to get to know what’s underneath.
Not bothering to allow her to form her own opinions or to learn her own lessons.
I want so much more for her than that and there’s nothing I can do to stop the assault.
And my neck is cracking under the weight of today and soon I won’t be able to move at all.
Limbs still underneath this giant incapability to save the person I love most or to even control tiny situations.
Like 13 months too long for a 12 month warranty.
Or $300 unrecyclable paper with the wrong wording.
Shoes that are too tight.
Clothes that are too tight.
This rock and that rock having kicked the hard place’s ass and forging a wall around me.
One that I can see and feel and touch and smell today.
I can’t imagine it away today.
Red NECK, red CHEST, red ARMS, red FACE.
May 26, 2009
Those of you that know me know that I grew up in a DOWN HOME kind of place.
The kind of place where everyone knows you and your family… where instead of getting a ticket for speeding they just call your DAD, where good ole boys run wild and women in tanks go to Walmart in their pajamas.
Granted, it’s gotten bigger, but the ability to drive down the road and talk to a man about working on his tractor isn’t something you lose overnight.
So when Dad suggested we go to the drag races this weekend, I was all for it.
You see, I love cars.
LOVE cars.
I love the sound of them, love engines, love the gorgeous chassis that comes on a well made automobile, love the manly man sound that comes with a racing machine.
But.
I’ve never been to a drag race.
Nascar, yes.
Super trucks, yes.
Dirt tracks, yes.
Demolition derby, yes.
But never to a drag race.
So the family loaded up the truck and went to rediscover our roots.
It was fantastic.
There were normal people – people with nice clothes and all of their teeth. There were the kind of rednecks that even Jeff Foxworthy couldn’t dream up, and there were your every day average rednecks.
I loved it.
I loved the sound of the cars, I loved watching them scream past, I loved walking behind and meeting the drivers and inspecting the engines and just having the testosterone OOZE around me.
So even though I’m at work today – with no air conditioning and a sunburn, I enjoyed my weekend quite a lot.
I’ll entertain you with a few pictures that I managed to grab on my iPhone:
This lawyer couldn’t have been more well placed. In the midst of drag racing hooliganism, his advertisements stood out like a beacon for those who had made mistakes and needed help to be able to be free and live to tell about it.
He was quite amused when I asked to take his picture and insisted that I take a brochure ‘just in case.’
This guy was the drunkest man I’ve ever seen walking in my life. Dad said he managed to drink until the place closed down – and you can tell by his coloring he’d been there a while already.
He wore no underwear – and how the crowd discovered that I will leave to your imagination… every time his pants slipped even a bit, the strobe-like whiteness of his hip or other area would shine out and blind everyone within a twenty foot radius.
Just one of the cars racing that day – everyone was having a blast.
Including that lady… whose outfit STILL confuses and astounds me.
Check out the shoes! Check out the shoes!
Yikes!
Look at them go!
Dude with the orange hat had such a big head that he managed to get into most of my shots.
I felt like kicking him in the face.
Brayden did too.
Or at least, I say he did.
He was so excited about being there that he stood up on someone’s lap the first hour… then started noticeably drooping.
Ah, the progression of droopiness in today’s youth.
And finally – the only crash that spectators got to witness in person…
All in all, a fun family outing!
Almost makes the fact that I’m stuck on the 17th floor of my building with no air conditioning manageable.
Almost.
Missing a life.
May 24, 2009
I miss my grandmother.
I miss a family that was held together.
One that would have thrown me congratulations during this time and one that would have banded together for celebrations like my future family is.
Showers and parties and suggestions…
I miss them all, actually.
I’m glad bits if my home remind me of her. The ugly pink chair, the strangely patterned couch. She’d have loved them making me feel more at home here.. Glad they moved with me after she passed.
I wish I could hug her right now.
Tornado Nuptuals.
May 22, 2009
Nothing says THANK GOD for solid foods quite like flu recovery.
I’ve been down and out for a bit – feeling like I’d been hit by a bulldozer or something even more entertaining. A car full of sumo wrestlers, perhaps?
I get lazy when I’m sick.
Not that I haven’t been following that particular path for a few months now, but Save The Dates were addressed and sitting on my counter for a few days before they made their way to the mailbox this morning.
And the mailbox is in my complex.
It’s not like I have to travel elsewhere – I just have to get out of my car and put them in the mail slot.
Yeah.
That kind of lazy.
The wedding is coming quickly – it’s like watching a tornado overtake your life. Not that I’m calling Nicholas a tornado, merely that you never really know just how much you DON’T have done – how much you AREN’T prepared for… for instance, you don’t have enough water, you’re not wearing rubber soled shoes, where is your ID?!!?, and things like that.
I’m doing that.
Just with wedding stuff.
Plates, linens, MONEY, favors, details…
a little over 4 months and counting and my life is full of unanswered questions.
What about the custody battle?
Will it be resolved by that time?
I would have said yes when we got engaged. Now? I’m not sure.
We still have a hearing before we ever do that… and. and. and.
Where will we live?
What will I do?
So much to answer, so little time to answer it.
You can tell I’m feeling better because I’m back to losing my mind.
Hell, now I’m even going to have to clean and do laundry and stuff.
Walk the dogs instead of just telling them to pretend they got exercise when I was too sick to move.
Obviously they minded. (Note the look of bliss – bone in mouth, closed eyes, half smile, being petted…)
Lindsey needs to come in and help me take over and organize this particular event.
She is very capable in that way.
I wonder if it’s a genetic thing – I certainly don’t possess that particular aptitude.
I can, however, fold t-shirts very well. Though. I doubt neatly folded laundry would impress my wedding guests nearly as much as food and beer would.
Such selfish bastages.
It’s an art, I tell you.
I finally get it.
May 12, 2009
I want to apologize to most everyone whose wedding I’ve been in in the past few years. I’ve been a lag.
I didn’t realize how much simple things can make you feel like no one cares.
My mother in law has two showers and a lingerie party set up for me already – not one person in MY family or among my friends has even mentioned throwing me a shower.
Or asked about our wedding plans.
I guess my family has fallen further than I thought.
And it has nothing to do with gifts.
To be honest, mostly I just registered for things I wanted – things I’ll never purchase myself – but our marriage isn’t about that.
Krista has been kicking herself into gear overtime online working with me to help find the best shoe, the best favor, the best anything…
Leslie and Laura went shoe shopping with me without a murmur of criticism for anything I made them try on – even if they HATED it.
But the family? Not a word.
How odd is that?
And I remember those days when I’d half ass help with a shower – because I was so into my own life – and that’s not a BAD thing. But I admit I never really thought that my cooperation was that big of a deal.
I helped when asked – but I have a hard time remembering a time when I helped when I WASN’T asked.
And that, my friends, is what has me ashamed.
These are people that I love dearly, that asked me to stand up next to them, that went through this stress quite happily – and when I think of all the little ways I could have helped ease the weight, I wish I could go back in time.
No, it wouldn’t make them less married or less happy or less anything – but I would love to let them know in hindsight just how happy I was for them, just how selfish I was in focusing on myself and just how much I wished I had made their day just a little more weightless.
Ah, that 20/20.
A reflection on motherhood.
May 6, 2009
I know that sometimes from the outside it looks as though I can’t handle my life.
I can.
Part of parenthood with Abbey has been learning – part of it has been me growing up myself.
She’s been a little unlucky in that she was the experiment along the way -without any of us realizing it. But I’ve been a darned good mom for the most part.
I just wish sometimes that I hadn’t passed so much of ME along to her.
In hindsight I don’t see how I could have avoided it – I was just a kid at the time. Just a kid for so much of it.
And I spoiled her to make up for inattention from her father – which doesn’t actually help fix that problem or hurt, but makes teaching more complicated as the years pass.
I’m at the point with my daughter that all parents of girls go through – where we don’t understand, where we aren’t smart enough, where we’re all wrong, where life is full of drama and major ups and downs on the inside – no matter that the problems may seem small from the outside.
And as I’ve always said – if the problem is something that truly bothers you that much, well, it’s a big deal. No matter what I think of how I’d react in a similar situation.
I hope she gets that later.
That ability to put herself in someone else’s shoes.
Right now she’s 12 – her shoes are the only shoes that exist and/or matter. And that’s fine and normal.
She’s a good kid, a loving kid.
A kid that has no idea how to tell any of us what she really wants in this incredibly difficult situation – how can she hurt any of us?
So dealing with the aftermath of that is my full time job at the moment.
And sometimes it means we run late in the morning – out of temper or body-shaking sobs.
And sometimes it means that I’m fighting the ‘I don’t feel good’ monster… and like any white knight(ess) I don’t always win the battle.
But I keep in touch with the school, fill in her teachers and counselors, make sure she has the outlets she needs, and will never give up on doing any of that, no matter how frustrating it can be sometimes when you can’t just push the easy button and fix someone so they don’t hurt or worry anymore.
I want to scream that I know it looks like I’m not handling it, but I’m not a screamer… and I am handling it.
Not perfectly. Not badly.
Just day to day.
A teenager is almost unrecognizable as your child sometimes. You avoid the quicksand of the emotional battle that always rages just under the surface most of the time.
But sometimes, not so much.
And I hurt for her.
I remember the pain of that age.
And can’t imagine what it’s like combined with her world right now.
And I get angry with her.
Being smart as she is, her ability to play us all is overwhelmingly effective.
Ah, the age where you pick and choose your truths.
The aiming for sympathy and attention.
How can you know what to believe?
These questions haunt me a bit.
I don’t know if they do her father and stepmother, but they do me.
A decision to change all of our lives could be decided based upon lies in the temper of the moment.
Kids are simply the most wonderful thing and most painful thing that any parent will experience.
The love is unlike any other – full and warm and fulfilling. But they can break your heart.
I suppose anyone that you truly love – TRULY love – has that power.
I hope she uses it for good.
Carries this backbone that I have and that she hopefully inherited and makes a place for her in the world that I never carved into.
With college degrees and wise decisions.
And I hope to hell that what the three of us are doing now doesn’t stand in her way.
All in.
May 1, 2009
My amusement over my ex’s vasectomy ranges in the highs today.
It’s not that I think it’s funny period, but the truth is – I remember how excited he was about getting one last time.
Or not excited really – just… ready for it.
He only wanted two children.
Especially with Melissa.
And now he’s added another – a surprise to him, though I doubt to her, and put the vasectomy back into the on switch.
It’s good.
I doubt he’ll stay faithful forever and I’d much rather think of him not passing along his particular traits to the rest of the world.
Abbey was lucky – she had mine to balance them out.
And I’m not even saying that facetiously.
I don’t know why most men shy away from vasectomies.
I realize the mental isn’t all that awesome.
It’s not like women go into an excited frenzy when we hear hysterectomy – though that normally occurs for medical reasons instead of birth control reasons.
And getting tubes tied is much more serious than a vasectomy as far as the event and recovery times go.
You’d think men would love their wives enough not to make them do childbirth AND a tube wrestling match.
In this case I think Ben just wants to have less children.
I applaud that.
I applaud him having a lot less of many things.
Easy breaks in life.
Opportunities that cost the people who love him.
Affairs.
Man tits.
All of those things he could use less of.
I suppose he needs to learn moderation.
