Don’t even THINK about mentioning food to me.
May 10, 2010
There are fun things about being pregnant… but they don’t happen until you’re a bit further along than I am.
I’m only five weeks, guys.
Five weeks and though the morning sickness has not hit with a vengeance there are mornings like this one… Where I’m not sure if I’m going to vomit or cry, when nothing tastes or smells like it’s supposed to and where my ability to deal with people has gone totally down the drain.
I’m really. really. really. uncomfortable.
The rain outside has turned the entire city a dim sort of grey and I would love nothing more than a nap. A nap where my stomach and my boobs cannot move an inch.
Ah. The things that make me happy right now.
It’s how I spent much of my weekend.
And is not at all how I get to spend next weekend, when my husband will join me in the Memphis area and tell me that I need to move around more and nap less.
Right before I punch him in the face.
Actually, he’ll more than likely be 100% understanding, as he’s been great 99% of the time during my pregnancy so far (a whole 5 weeks in) and has even surprised me in some of his opinions on things…
But.
Because he did this to me.
And because I feel so icky.
I want to punch him in the face.
It’s nothing personal and I mean it with all of the love in my heart.
This is just… first trimester pregnancy talk.
Life is DEFINITELY about to change.
May 7, 2010
When Dad has a point.
April 22, 2010
My dad mentioned last night that I’m more bitter than I have been in previous years.
That’s not really an easy thing to hear, especially when you’re a person who works so hard on shedding the bad mojo to move on happily with your life.
I know you can’t shrug off everything but the fact that it’s showing to outsiders tells me the problem is much more serious than I thought.
Granted, serious is a relative thing – I’m very happy and mostly well-adjusted even.
But the situation with my daughter and my husband has led me to a place of pain that doesn’t overwhelm so much as it always exists.
I didn’t realize being married would make such a difference to being apart and being caught in this mess of my own making.
But it does.
And I didn’t realize that being the parent of a teenager would cause me to long for a little bit of help – not because I can’t handle her or our life together, but because sometimes SHE deserves a person with a different perspective.
But she’s got me.
Nick can’t help from MN and Abbey’s father isn’t active when the going gets tough, so…
Yeah.
I get angry.
She deserves a male father figure in her life that loves her enough to put himself out for her.
And Ben doesn’t do it, and Nick doesn’t have the opportunity.
I blame myself for part of it.
And I’m angry for making such a bad male choice.
Of course… who makes good ones at 15?
Watching the people I love hurt is not something I’m good at.
I’m a mother.
Mothering takes up a good portion of my time and energy, whether it’s focused on my child or someone else.
It doesn’t turn off.
It doesn’t go away.
Being caught in a place that I can neither fix nor escape means that I feel like a failure.
I KNOW my daughter is better off with me.
With me she has the only chance of seeing everyone she loves as much as possible.
With me she has the chance of being able to grow up and make her own choices AND face the consequences.
There are punishments and rewards.
With me she has the only chance of being inspired to go after her dreams and motivations instead of being tempted to settle for what she can get to make others happy.
Sure, I’d love for her to choose the things I think are good for her, but even more than that, I’d love for her to choose the things that ARE good for her – and only by having that freedom and making good decisions and bad ones can you get to that special place.
I know I’m the only one that works hard on making sure her environment is as happy and conflict free as possible.
And even though that means right now that I can’t be as much fun as I would like to be – teenagers provide plenty of opportunities for discipline and restrictions of themselves – it also means that I am giving my all to parenting this wonderful child I was blessed with.
Not just seeing what I can get out of it.
Or angling for the most time.
Sometimes the best thing for her is for me to say no.
And sometimes the best thing for her is for me to push forward and change our reality.
I freeze in fear though. Sometimes.
And sometimes I am angry.
The three of us deserve better.
C’mon Thursday!
April 13, 2010
My nerves are getting the best of me.
My mood is sunshine-y and bright the past few days and I am almost jumping out of my skin waiting for Thursday to get here for me to see those gorgeous brown eyes get off that plane from Minneapolis – hopefully with the rest of my husband’s body of course.
Tax prep and daily bumps in the road have served to show me just how much better my life would be with him around from a pragmatic reasoning… but the grin on my face and nerves in my stomach tell me that I just need him around as a woman needs her man around – I’ve not ever dated someone that still gave me butterflies almost 6 years into it!
He confounds me and unnerves me. Angers me and humors me. The days may sometimes be the same but they are never boring with my Dr. Husband.
He would laugh if he could see me trying makeup and clothes on in the hopes that he’ll think I’m beautiful – as though we had just started dating.
I’m ridiculous.
But, it’s a great feeling.
Abbey’s a bit jealous that she can’t go see him this week – I feel so bad that she hasn’t gotten a chance to spend time with him lately.
He and I will have to make plans to change that – she misses him terribly.
In the meantime, for her, summer visitation is rushing up to greet us – only it greets us with a kick in the nads – we hate this time of year.
Oh, she’s excited to get out of school, but says she ‘needs her mama.’
Her mama needs her too.
Still, I am lucky that visitation started when she was 2 – that means that I rarely face any screaming fits and refusals to go anymore. She’s used to it – it’s all she can remember.
It’s hard to think that, but hopefully her life with me has convinced her that a slightly abnormal family in the sense of the traditional definition isn’t so bad.
She’s a good kid and I adore her.
Still. I’m going to enjoy crawling into bed with that man of mine this weekend.
Time is taking forever to pass before the 4 days of Nick time – 4 days that will feel as short as 4 hours.
He better be over the moon to see me, damnit. 
The basics of parenting.
March 31, 2010
Being a parent is hard.
I know everyone says that a lot and I can assure you that no matter how many times you say it, it’s true every single time.
There’s no greater love than that for a parent and a child. I could like quite easily without my husband, though I love him quite a bit, but living without Abbey would be another ball of wax completely.
That being said, there is no greater pain or fear than that that comes along with parenting.
You worry if you’re spending enough time with them.
If you’re spending enough of the right time with them.
If your punishments fit the crime.
What to do if they don’t.
If you’re a single parent you wonder why you are always the only one punishing the child.
Why you are stuck with all of the responsibility and yet the child seems to appreciate the fun times with their other parent with a more exuberant joy than those with you because there is never any punishment.
You worry about the influences at home, the outside influences, the lack of influences, the lack of motivation.
You worry that you’re pushing too hard, being too soft a spot for them to land on when they fall and you worry about not being there when they need you the most.
Or them not being able to tell you that they need you.
You want to slay the dragons without being the dragon.
You want to teach them without shoving the knowledge and lessons into their head.
And when all of these worries take place every second of every day, well, then congrats – you’re a parent.
And it’s hard.
It hurts. Hurts so incredibly much when they try so hard for a goal they don’t reach.
It hurts when they fight with their friends.
It hurts when they fight with you and tell their friends what a monster you are.
It hurts when they tell the other parent stories to keep from accepting responsibility for their own actions – which then throws you right back into the tumultuous merry-go-round of ‘what do I do about this?!’
It hurts when their heart hurts.
It hurts when the parent/child togetherness time is a drag, as it so often begins to be in their teenage years.
I’ve had broken hearts and I’ve been a parent and I can tell you this.
There is no greater capacity for love and pain than that which parents carry around with them.
And there is nothing else on this planet that is quite as worth it.
Or that can bring you as much happiness.
We’re struggling right now, Abbey and I.
I want her to take responsibility without feeling useless.
I want her to close her mouth and open her ears so the need for attitude and arguments with friends and teachers and adults alike disappears.
I want her to stop telling her stepmother and father tales about the situations that she finds herself in.
I want to not have to be the bad guy all of the time because I’m the only adult.
If that child only had one iota of an inkling of how much love I have for her – how often I think of her – how awesome a kid I think she is, even when she’s hard-headed and dramatic.
If she knew all of the good things I wish for her… I have to hope that it would make a difference in the outcome of all of this.
I have to hope that she’d choose what was right for her instead of what is easier and more fun at the moment.
Or choosing what has less consequences.
If there is anything I’ve learned it’s that the right thing to do is generally the toughest.
Tough love.
Hurts to receive. Hurts a helluva lot more to give.
A little crumbly.
March 4, 2010
I admit it.
I am one of those people that treats their dogs like family.
Mainly because she IS family.
Both of them are, but one of them is blood related.
And no, I don’t consider that an insult to myself.
She’s an amazing beagle. Almost 8 years old – April is her birthday – and she’s intuitive and well-behaved. Sweet and loving and so freaking human-like that it surprises you.
I worry about her like a child and love her as one.
So when I came home last night and she didn’t come greet me and wouldn’t move from the rug under the dining table, I immediately grabbed my keys and off we went to the vet.
She has arthritis. Not surprising giving her age and breed but painful to hear.
Apparently my younger cow-sized beagle jumped on her and exacerbated it yesterday, which left J unable to lift her head, move much, sleep comfortably or even want to eat.
The vet is putting her on high dose steroids for a few weeks, then anti-inflammatories, changing a lot of her lifestyle and basically breaking my heart.
As she says, this will shorten her life but we can keep the quality of her life up if she responds to her meds.
She should feel better by the time I get home, as she’ll have been on the meds almost 24 hours, and I’m hoping so much for this, but in the meantime it’s like she got a ‘crick’ in her neck the size of Texas.
Any time she tried to get comfortable last night she screamed. Over and over and over until she forgot that every move she made wouldn’t hurt and so she just stopped moving in this half crouch.
I picked her up and put her on the bed and allowed her to get comfortable and that movement seemed to help.
But the time until then was a NIGHTMARE.
On the plus side, Janie Byrd got to eat an entire chicken breast, tons of extra treats and some regular food.
She won’t every day – she’s at a perfect beagle weight and extra pounds would really hurt her, but I just cried and cried last night and DAMNIT, my baby was getting a treat for being so stoic and well-behaved.
You should have seen her, crouched under the chair in the vets office, shaking so bad that fur was falling off her in clumps. She wouldn’t come to anyone but me and just leaned on me as though I could fix everything.
I’m trying, baby girl.
If this doesn’t work? Our only option is back surgery. An expensive and possible painful long-term procedure that would cut down on the quality of her life. I don’t know enough about it to make that choice and thank heavens that I don’t have to right now.
For the moment though, I’m just really really sad – the reality is that they don’t live as long as we do.
But I’d give up a ton if she could.
She’s my little support beam.
A jumble of truths.
February 5, 2010
I want to say something meaningful.
Something big and deep and thoughtful and… POSITIVE.
I’ve been mired in negativity this past week – this sense that everything is going downhill and that things aren’t going to turn out okay.
PMS is a bitch.
But more than that – the fears that I have that my life isn’t going to get on track.
That I’ve signed up for this long and hard journey with Nick, that these positive hopes and dreams that we’re having together aren’t going to come to fruition.
I have this great, wonderful husband who, because of complications in my life is having to put off starting his own family and buying a house and moving forward – and he’s not putting any bitterness towards me about it. He’s being wonderful.
And I have this daughter – this love that is totally encompassing – who can drive me crazy and make me pull my hair out – but at the end of the day makes me happier than any human can make another human… and I’ve put us all in this terrifyingly scary position of Change.
Change isn’t bad.
But change that you aren’t in charge of.
A destiny that you don’t have much of a hand in – well, that’s terrifying.
How can I feel so guilty and so angry and so blessed? All at the same time?
Guilty that I’m asking this of my daughter. Nick is a grown man and made his decision as such. But Abbey doesn’t have as much say in the choices she has – oh, she has more than enough say in the choice of which of the two to pick – but she wasn’t in on the discussion of the types of choices she was going to choose from.
How do I ask her to choose between not great and not great? Especially when I KNOW being with me is the best choice for her future – if not the most comfortable and happy NOW.
I don’t like change either!
And I’m angry. At myself. At the weight I’ve become. At this letting go of myself in these areas that I had always prided myself on before. Where did it go? That pride? That sense of self?
I can’t blame it all on the ‘well-meaning’ comments of the men that love me the most. They knocked me down, for sure, but only I can keep me down. And I have. Why? The distance? The futility of this never-ending court case? The changes coming?
I’m not sure. Which makes me angry.
I’m making the decision to put my family in this situation and that makes me angry.
I’m angry that my knees and back hurt. Angry that Nick brought me a small hot chocolate. Angry at my father for telling me to avoid sodas. Angry at looking like a blueberry in the shirt I’m wearing today. Angry that I don’t automatically get custody because I’ve spent all these years taking care of Abbey and her business and it’s just The Right Thing – and yet I have to fight to prove that to someone who can be taken in my Ben and Melissa’s big brown eyes and emotional plea for their rights.
What about Abbey’s rights?
Her right to understanding? Her right to say no? Her right to have her own opinions and voice them? Her right to speak her mind? Her right to grow up without the racial prejudices and stereotypes that keep her father’s household prisoner? Her right to learn AND CHOOSE about love and God and faith and relationships without the yelling and worrying and ugliness that comes along with emotional immaturity? Her right to HAVE rights in the first place?
So I’m angry.
Angry and guilty and it’s mashing together into this overwhelming ball in my guts that just waits for the conclusion to this most recent battle.
Good or bad, it’s my fault.
MINE.
So there are ups and downs.
On one hand I’m carrying around my self-made concrete albatross of guilt and anger.
On the other hand I’m overwhelmingly happy with the love that I’ve found and my child and my life. I’m blessed in that. In our good health. In our finances. In our family. In our emotional maturity and the ability to talk to and have fun with one another. I’m blessed that Abbey can have privileges that I provide for her – so many families fight for that. I’m blessed that I have the parents I have, that have given so much. I’m blessed in my dogs – they are healthy and crazy and wonderful.
And I’m blessed in my husband – a man I respect and love in a way I never thought possible.
I suppose this is being an adult.
Being a human.
I can’t protect my daughter from Life.
Wouldn’t want to – she needs to learn and I make a good home base on that particular playing field.
I’m scared of losing this.
Scared of what it would mean to Abbey.
Good or bad I want it to be okay for her to make choices and learn from them.
I want her to know that there aren’t any good or bad religions or races – but good and bad people.
I want her to have freedom to find her own way, to be who she wants to be and to aim for HER dreams. Not someone else’s dreams for her.
And I think I’m the only way she’ll ever get a chance to do that.
I’m fighting a battle I cannot lose – and only a 50/50 chance of winning.
God, please bless my family.
Please watch out for my daughter during this time.
Please strengthen us so that we can get through this with as little hurt and fear as possible.
And please help us to choose the right path.
And please, please make sure Abbey is okay – REALLY okay – through this all. I love her. So much.
Amen.
Runneth over.
January 22, 2010
I don’t talk about this much.
Not out loud.
I lost a friend during my wedding.
It started long before the actual official losing and I’m still not sure why.
I lost someone I love very much, who knows me about as well as anyone.
I hurt that person unintentionally during my busy day and for that I’m incredibly sorry.
The reason behind the hurt makes sense logically and emotionally but the continuation and holding on to that hurt/anger does not.
So. That hurts too – that it seems such a small thing to throw away a friendship that has lasted more than half of my life.
That I’d hoped that person would know that I would sooner step in front of a bus than hurt her intentionally.
That that doesn’t matter stings.
Right now that person apparently has some changes going on in her life.
They’re not mine to speak of, but knowing that she neither cares nor wants to hear from me seems. Wrong.
It hurts.
So, I’ll say here, because I can’t say it anywhere else.
I love you, Les.
I love you like a sister.
I’m so glad that these changes in your life are bringing about happy things and that events in your life are happening that you never really thought would.
I wish all of you – the entire lot of you – the very best.
And I hope you know that no matter what, you can always come to me.
My Spoonful of Sugar.
January 21, 2010
I stare at my rings a lot.
When I was dating Nicholas, I’d walk through with my soon-to-be Sister-In-Law (Lots of hyphens, yo) and we’d try on costume jewelry designed to look like incredibly gaudy rings.
It was a bit of fun in our frustration – our guys hadn’t caught up yet to the very bit of knowledge we were already in possession of – they were stuck with us.
But we tried them on and laughed and had tons of fun.
And as our relationships got more serious we tried on real rings… and laughed when the salesperson thought WE were getting married.
But now it’s real and concrete and sits on my finger with the beautiful band that I chose to go with it and it shines at me.
It’s beautiful.
And surreal.
I am a married woman.
My decisions and life is now tied to something more than just me.
Not more important or bigger or the beat-all-end-all… but something MORE.
I’ve spent the past week in Minneapolis visiting with Nick – a treat, as that’s the longest visit I’ve ever had up there and the only visit that he’s ever taken off days to spend with me.
We had a moment or two, but for the most part it was like sitting in a comfortable armchair.
Every part of me can relax around him in a way they haven’t around anyone else. The tense insecurities may still exist, but when I curl up next to him at night I feel at HOME.
That’s what I miss when I come home to Mississippi.
Oh, I could tell you the bad things that happen. We’re both so stubborn and we aren’t used to being around one another so there are misunderstandings and expectations that don’t get met. I’m a night person (who’s turning into an afternoon person as she gets older) and he’s a morning person that thinks every morning would be complete with a few hours of exercise beginning starkly at 6am. Because he’s insane.
I lounge in bed while he bounces off the walls complaining about not leaving the house. Later in the evening he’s closing his eyes at 8pm instead of watching the oh-so-exciting American Idol…
But these aren’t new discoveries. They’re just part of Who We Are.
And while we expect/hope at times that they might change, the truth is that his motivation for staying up late involves video games and mine for getting up early involves sex.
So there are bad.
But every time I look at my ring I think of the million different moments that brought us to this point.
And I’m excited and scared about the million that we have left to create.
But how lucky am I that I get that chance?
It’s like that with child rearing too.
I missed my daughter tremendously while away – The Absolute Best Feeling in the world is sitting in the same room with my husband and daughter and hearing them talk or laugh or learn together.
And while I may not get that option very often, I DO get to feel that thing – that absolute planets-aligning feeling that comes with having the people you love most near and safe. And I know, because of that feeling, that home is going to be where THEY are… and that this fear I have inside of me – this not knowing what is going to happen is going to pass and that we’re all in this together.
And so I’m feeling pretty blessed right now.
I look at my rings and remember this surreal relationship and life of mine is full of happiness even though it may be difficult at times.
And I look at my daughter and know that the choices I made in my husband and for our future are Right.
And that’s kind of nice.
Quest.
December 14, 2009
It’s that time of year again.
That time that tells us – no – COMMANDS us to step outside of our lives and do something for the good of other people.
Can you honestly say that this time of year doesn’t remind you of how selfish you are? Of how ungrateful you can be for those luxuries that you take for granted?
I’ve spent the past few weekends driving.
Sure, there were purposes for the drives.
A wedding, a funeral, a friend.
Seems like I decided to combine the major events in life in under a month in order to keep my empathy abilities sharp.
I like to listen to audiobooks while I drive now.
I used to just sing – sing the entire way as though it were my own personal concert series of Lish songs.
But Nick was right – I do enjoy listening to the books… it doesn’t impede my imagination.
I only like the light, fluffy ones though – I don’t like reaching my destination and being unable to leave the car because I’m so caught up in my book.
This weekend I finished one and started another.
One that reminds me that I need to do things for other people AND myself… and the things that I do for myself need to mean more than a simple prize or quiet bath.
Nick said this weekend, as we were driving through the memorial park, that we only get one life. He said this in a heavy tone of one who was just discovering this fact, though of course he knows otherwise. Sometimes it just hits you as a revelation.
What we do now has to mean something – we can’t put things off – we don’t have more time.
We don’t have to watch this or that television show – I’ve never understood the people that can’t go a week without missing their favorite show or finishing that video game.
Our lives won’t change if we don’t know the ending! It’ll simply bug us a bit.
But what’s wrong with being bugged a bit?
I know that doing something with my life means something different to me than it does to Nicholas.
I don’t need to be remembered for concrete things the way he does.
I want to be remembered for treating those around me well, for being the best darned mother I could be, for trying to do the right thing – even when it sucks, for playing a darned good Scrabble game, for loving more than makes sense, for giving, for working hard, for being the ear to listen, the shoulder to cry on.
After all, those are the things that matter to me in those around me.
I went into this Christmas season thinking that I was tired of the entitlement that everyone feels.
That I feel. Abbey feels. Nick feels.
I wanted to do something for another family that didn’t have the opportunities I have, that didn’t have the luck that I have.
I didn’t quite make it.
The notions are good, the actions require a bit more soul searching.
I need to find the platform on which my line in the sand will be drawn.
Our Christmas traditions are changing – we’ll need to form our own as a family and even those that are in place will be changing… I’m not sure how I feel about any of that.
Change has always been a four letter word to me.
But I want to STAND for something. And that growing needs rings in my head again and again.
I want to be more than this company around me. A paycheck matters but at what cost?
It was always a means to an end – but something calls to me to aim a bit higher now. Damn it. I always did have awful vision for long distance and this particular target seems to be just hazy enough that I can’t identify it.
What do you do when you find yourself dissatisfied – not so much with yourself as a whole but with the direction your life is going?
How do you even open that up for conversation? This need for change that you can’t even identify?
Or is it egocentric to even believe I SHOULD do more? Perhaps I am simply a worker bee, sent to bring home the bacon and walk barefoot and pregnant while others are the torchbearers.
And. How do you know the difference?
