I passed some Komatsu equipment this evening.
It wasn’t moving at the late hour, of course – it just sat there waiting for Monday to come back around.
But it made me want my Daddy bad.
I’m 31 years old and I want my Daddy.
I think I’ll always call him Daddy.
That he’ll always be Daddy.
He can still calm me down by telling me that everything is going to be okay. Even if my brain says otherwise, my heart believes him and because it calms me down, things ARE always okay. He can still put me to sleep by rubbing my head. He can still make me laugh and light up and feel silly and young and lightweight…
He’s my hero – my knight in shining armor – my first contact in a time of need.
I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with not being able to see Mama and Daddy on a regular basis – whenever I want.
I love Nicholas.
I love Molly.
But I can’t help but feel that being this far from your support system is detrimental to a marriage and to your children.
I realize that I am supposed to be okay with Nicholas becoming my support system.
But that’s not how I was raised, nor how the people who raised me were raised.
My family lives within a hundred miles of where they’ve lived for 400 years.
My family is such a rich and wonderful part of the lives that they touch that not having that for Molly or for my family is weighing down my heart.
I have trouble understanding how other people compartmentalize this sort of thing better.
I just want to sit in a hot tub of water, read a book and eat a tub of buttercream icing.
Whoa. What a month.
The Lord saw fit to grant me another birthday on this Earth, which is wonderful.
31 years.
That sounds like a lot longer than it actually has been.
Just yesterday I was riding my bike with the neighborhood kids and drinking root beer with my grandfather.
You hear that life is short, but that phrase doesn’t cover the sheer bitness of it.
Abbey surprised me with a visit to Minneapolis.
Mols and I were lazing about and I hear the door open.
I thought Nick was sick – something HAD to have been wrong for him to come home in the middle of the day. Instead of his face, the smiling face of my eldest came running through the door.
Best. Surprise. Ever.
Life is just better with both of them around.
Things are hard on that front, but adulthood tends to be hard. Hard and rewarding.
It would be nice if someone would tell you at the beginning of an uphill battle if the effort was going to be worth it.
for instance, homemade chicken and dumplings from total scratch? Good, but not worth it.
Homemade chicken dumplings made with rotisserie chicken from the grocery store that I don’t have to bake myself? Totally worth it.
You just need a guide – a scale.
Dang it. Now I want some dumplings.
Some things just strike you as a little Off.
May 19, 2011
Today is my birthday.
I turned 31 today.
That’s not so old – not so bad.
Just. Mind-blowing.
Mind-blowing that it can all move so quickly – the years.
Where did they all go?
I sit here aware of the movement of every single passing moment.
31 years.
Almost as though I fell off a wall.
May 3, 2011
Once again I’ve let time get away from me.
Should I talk about the Osama death?
Should I talk about being a home mommy?
Should I talk about the things Molly is accomplishing every single day?
Should I talk about the realization that I’ve been away from my first born for 7 months now?
Should I talk about how things aren’t quite right in my head – I’m too near tears on a daily basis now for things to be right… and at the same time I’m happy in many ways.
Should I talk about all of this?
I guess that’s the problem with having limited computer access – oh, don’t take me wrong – I CAN get on a computer every day if I want to… but it’s upstairs and I’m downstairs and finding enough time to think that doesn’t feel like it should be devoted to cleaning or sleeping is hard… and it means that when I do take a few moments out I’m searching and stretching to make some sense out of the mental notes I’ve added to my ‘rolodex’ the past few weeks.
In short? I’m clueless.
Clueless about what to say.
And what to do.
I’m overwhelmed by small tasks like laundry and cooking dinner and am increasingly aware that I’m just not carrying my weight in the way that I imagined I would.
Being away from Abbey means my views on being here with Nick and Molly have taken a very real, very different tone than they may have otherwise.
It’s hard.
So while the world goes on their semi-political rampages this week with the news of Osama’s assassination and while Molly imitates my funny voices that amuse her so much and while Abbey hurtles towards the end of her middle school years, I wait. I’m just not sure for what.
Wide eyed kitchen cleaner
November 18, 2010
And…
Now that I’m officially in Minnesota and officially am surrounded by all of my stuff I would like to formally ask what the HECk is wrong with me that made me think I needed this much cooking stuff?!!!?
Just 40 cents a cup!
November 7, 2010
Wow.
Apparently when you’re packing up your life into one small large PODS unit and planning to move across country, things get neglected.
Like the Inner Me that I coddle with this blog.
Though I will say that no one wants to know the Inner Me that is currently inhabiting my third trimester pregnant body.
The newly off Zoloft third trimester pregnant body.
Yeah.
My doctor is a GENIUS. Because THAT was a great idea.
I know, I know.
We don’t want the baby to go through withdrawal symptoms after she’s born from Zoloft – the lows from that are misery-inducing.
We also don’t want the hormonal pregnant woman to set up shop on a roof somewhere and throw rocks at people.
So it’s a trade-off.
My motherly instinct won. Especially the motherly instinct that seems to be living in my husband’s body.
Never did I think that I would see the day where I’d lose my gung ho husband to overprotective fatherhood.
I’m convinced that if we’d received socket covers in the baby shower he’d already be using them to keep me from sticking things in the sockets by proxy – because it might hurt the baby.
No amount of persuasive arguments will convince him that poking the stomach right now won’t hurt the baby. He doesn’t care if it’s to make the baby move, to play with it, or because I just seem like one of those women that would like randomly poking things – I need to stop and I need to stop NOW.
I have dreams about throwing her up in the air – when she gets to that fun stage, not when she’s still a floppy doughgirl – that cause me to wake up giggling at the idea of his face.
Parenting may be the straw that broke that particular Italian camel’s back. Because things can HAPPEN to the kid.
But then again, it may be him going crazy after dealing with me.
Because right now I’m batshit nuts.
And, I don’t mean incapable or homicidal or unstable or any of those things that might cause a custody judge to read this and think I’m a half step away from the crazy farm.
I mean I’m hormonal, fat, uncomfortable and UNABLE TO EAT PROCESSED SUGAR! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT DOES TO A PERSON?!!!?
Apparently what that does to a person is causes them to procrastinate on packing and cry a lot.
And eat buckets of Sonic ice and stare longingly at the Eggnog lattes at Starbucks.
And eat 3 boxes of Corn Flakes in a week.
My life revolves around food a lot lately.
Ah well.
In another week I shall be well and truly nuts – on my way to Minneapolis, with my husband and two beagles, leaving my daughter to finish out the school year with my parents – because that is the only option I have with all of the custody mess being put off, thankyousomuchlawyerofmyex’sthatseemstothinkdraggingthisoutovertimehelpsAbbey
This period in my life is the hardest I’ve ever been through in the 30 years I’ve been alive and I can’t even comfort myself with a Snickers.
For those of you that will see me in the hospital after this placenta is gone and I can once again have sugar, don’t judge me. I can freebase refined sugar if I want to.
Bye Bye, Job.
October 16, 2010
It’s starting.
Next week – not too long after this time of day, I will be unemployed.
Oh, I know.
I’ll technically be starting my stint as a homemaker – that soft and sweet little term to describe a modern day housewife, but the truth is, I’ll be unemployed.
I can’t think of it in any other way yet – I’ve been working and enjoying working for far too long.
I’m sad.
I didn’t think I would be, but I am.
I’m letting go of an enormous form of autonomy that I’ve relied upon for years to sort of distance me from so many of the statistics of single parenthood out there.
I’ve taken care of everything myself.
Not always well – we’ve never had things in extravagance, but I’ve done it.
And that’s something to be proud of.
Now I’ll be relying on someone else to handle the reigns.
And that’s a new feeling.
I’m excited. If we don’t count all of the scary custody bits with Abbey I’m excited.
I’m not great with change, but this is a GOOD new chapter in my life.
Apparently you are supposed to live with your husband. Who knew?
One more week to go.
I’ve got this.
The Sink or Swim Method
September 13, 2010
I’ve been thinking a lot about the paths in my life that I’ve meandered down.
Some going forwards, many going backwards, some going really nowhere at all.
For me parenting has been one of those winding paths.
I don’t think that you can become a mom in your teenage years and not go in a gazillion different directions trying to find the Right Way.
Life surprises throw you curve balls and it’s a measure of character just how you field those when they reach you.
I made a semi-joke on another blog today (on a very clever blog post by one of my newfound favorites, Fierce Beagle) about Nick and I handling this pregnancy with the Sink or Swim Method – a joke that doesn’t even come close to the juggling and planning that is going into making sure this child’s life is a bit smoother than Abbey’s.
You see, I had to sink or swim with Abbey too – but entering adulthood at 16 is far different than dealing with an unplanned pregnancy at 30.
At 30, I define my pregnancy as unplanned simply because I hadn’t penciled it in to my schedule – hadn’t yet made the decisions and sacrifices needed to choose to parent again. But I was conscious of biology and knew, on a subconscious level, that it was just a matter of time.
At 16, my pregnancy was unplanned because EVERYTHING was unplanned. Even the act that provided my fertile self a baby was unplanned. Heck, my afternoon SNACKS were unplanned.
And so I entered parenthood completely clueless – and am continuing through parenthood so incredibly grateful that I am blessed with the family I’m blessed with, that Abbey and I had the support needed PSYCHOLOGICALLY to ensure that she hasn’t had to pay for my lack of planning. I had to work hard, 2 or 3 jobs at a time to handle the monetary part of parenting, but I KNEW I could do it because of my support system.
Now, with this pregnancy, everything has changed.
Oh, not the support.
My family is still here for me, but this time my support has evolved.
I’ve added age and wisdom, a husband, a TON of in-laws, a maturing and wonderful daughter, and more than anything, I’m in a different place mentally.
I’ve grown up.
And even though I’m still completely clueless – now starting all over after having separated the two pregnancies by slightly more than 14 years – it’s almost a joyful cluelessness. The problems that I face with this child will be entirely different than the heartbreaking problems that go along with missed chances and opportunities of growing up as a child raising a child.
It’s bittersweet, knowing that I have a chance to fix many of the wrongs from the first time around – not merely the parenting mistakes that we all make, but the mistakes that come from following your hormones at 15 and having a child pay that price with custody battles and therapy appointments.
You see, she and I did play sink or swim.
And we continue to swim, though more in a dog paddling sense than the assertive breast stroke sense.
But our life is changing.
With this second pregnancy, to sink or swim means that we’ve decided I’ll stay at home. It means we’re questioning our priorities and our quality of life choices in order to provide more support for my two children from this point on. We’re going to continue to drive that 14 year old Mustang, to continue to budget shop, to continue to pray to avoid medical surprises. Our children will have a better foundation now – while we are still energetic enough to provide it – and less of a financial push later on, when they may very well need – or hope for it.
They’ll have to sink or swim based upon their choices too. Colleges and car payments, relationships and faulty judgments. And making that decision for the two of them has been scary.
Weighing the benefits of this life versus the life with the shinier cars and splashy vacations that we all want is petrifying. Choosing the road that is (now) less travelled is petrifying.
Everything about standing on a fence, knowing that a large gust could send us to either side – either make it or break it – is petrifying.
But I think we’re doing the right thing.
Sometimes the good in life stems from the sacrificing versus the spending.
Erin spoke on her blog of the American Dream and while Nick and I may never have that, I think we’re defining our own dream, bit by bit.
He may be bald with stress by the time we figure out if this will work or not, but we WILL figure it out.
We have to.
Because you see, I much prefer swimming to sinking.
Another steal
August 18, 2010
By a lady named Anna Bond, on a guest post for A Cup of Joe:
“”Love your other how they need to be loved, not how you need to be.” A friend told me this simple mantra, saying that it had transformed his parents’ marriage. It has stuck with me ever since. It makes so much sense and yet is so easy to forget because I think by nature we tend to be pretty selfish. Love is selfless, though, and what truly makes me happy is when my husband is happy. So, a key to a good marriage is trying your best to focus on what your significant other needs you to be to him, instead of what you want him to be to you.”
I want to remember this.
It seems profound.
Something to aspire to.
So. Profound and a little sad in some ways.
Stop trying to make me feel inferior.
I won’t consent to that.
Stop telling me about my flaws.
They exist well enough without you pointing them out.
It’s a hard job to like yourself and an even harder job to love yourself.
And I’m busy working on that right now. Really Busy.
So I’m not here to convince you to love me as I am.
You do or you don’t.
But I’m biologically made this way.
And though eating habits and exercise habits help make me a healthier woman, I exist in this body THIS way right now.
And that’s perfectly fine.
I don’t need your acceptance of that.
Where I am in my life may be short of where I want to be.
And especially short of where other people think I ought to be.
That really isn’t for you to say.
And I’ve noticed that many people who judge my shortcomings spend way too much time focused on where I’m not.
And too little time thinking about where they are in their own lives.
Wouldn’t you be happier without the negativity?
I know I would.
It’s weighing me down.
I don’t consent to that either.
