Disturbingly enough, I had an A-HA moment watching Phineas and Ferb today, as I'm sure most mommies have...right??!! Okay, maybe not. Maybe I was reading far to much into a kids/tween animated comedy. Anyway, you know the episode. No, not the one all about aglets. You know, the end of a shoelace. Not the one about squirrels in Candace's pants. Not the one about Rock camp where the little Indian kid feels like he may fail for the first time. Okay, I obviously watch way to much Phineas and Ferb.
It's the episode where Candace, the older sister, tries to figure out what she'll do while her brothers, who are always up to something, choose to have a "do-nothing" day. She couldn't figure out who she was if she wasn't busting her brothers. And here's where it morphs into self-reflection. When I'm not busy trying to figure out what's wrong, why it's wrong, and how to help others that this wrong is hurting, I'm confused as to what I do. I think about writing about travel, or fashion, or any of the other things that otherwise take over my brain, but then I wonder how interesting or entertaining I would sound. Thinking about it now kind of sends me into a coma.
Needless to say, I vow to figure out who I am aside of drama and dilemma in 2012. I have pronounced the year as "My Year!" My year to bitch. My year to smile. My year to travel. My year to sit on my butt. My year to do exactly what I want to do. Maybe not always, as I am a slave to my children; most willingly, but I do realize that standing up for my happiness and sanity is what will make my monkies happy. It is what will make them well adjusted. What will make them smile and respect me. And that's all I really want. I cannot wait for the New Year. And I hope many people will jump on my wagon and take this trip and share it with me!! Cheers to 2012!!
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
A Little Past the Ides Of December
PREFACE: I wrote this in Dec. 2010, but never posted it. So...here it is!! Enjoy.
As we ring in the new decade, I've decided it's been quite the month. Quite the year really. So much has happened. Probably one of the most eventful years of my life, in an adult perspective. My family is deteriorating. My social life is growing. My children are growing. My economic means is deteriorating. Bittersweet really, in every sense of the meaning.
I rang in the decade in my twenties. After partying like it's 1999, because it was 1999, I started the decade in an unhealthy relationship. I was in love, but it was toxic. I ditched senior night to sleep in the bed of a truck in the teacher's parking lot of my high school with my boyfriend. That's a lasting love. (Enter sarcasm here) Lived with him. Fought with him. Made up. Partied. Fought. He lied and did drugs. I left. A very sad but memorable 5 years of my life.
Then, I played it solo. No boyfriend. I was a third wheel a lot, and I didn't mind. In fact, I didn't notice! My family was the same. My friends rocked. I partied. I hung out. I studied. I traveled. I made some AH.MAZE.ING friends at one of the best jobs I've ever had, of course because of the group. Then I dated again. This time, a good guy at the wrong time. Random really terrible car accident, in which I nearly died, that left glass in my ear and a scar on my rib to this day. After many Marilyn movies and some good Kenny marathons, another good few years.
Then did my own thing for a shorter amount of time. The story gets redundant. This time, I had kids. The best two kids on the face of the planet. The two cutest mugs you'll ever see. One all jokes, and one all business. My life became complete. Or at least I thought.
Of course with the normal turmoil of a relationship, these days, you will have your normal amount of drama, as I do. But then, in the last year or so of this great decade I can call my twenties, I lost some great friends, regained many more great friends, and made new great friends. Lost relations with some important family, while reconnecting to other as-important family. But, most recently, I've had some scares. My dad had a heart attack this week, spending a week in ICU. During which or promptly before my mom more than likely had a stroke. My dad is okay, the doctors say, but my mom is blank. It reminds me of when I was 8 and she couldn't remember who I was. So hurtful, but hurtful is so selfish. I'm more worried about her being alive. But I'm pretty sure I will be lucky to have her another Christmas. And yet, this Christmas I didn't spend with her. On top of this all, I have spent the most of a full school year with sick kids. And my babies Grandma had a bad fall too. You can no longer say December without saying productivity. Well, maybe productivity isn't the word. But I've definitely learned to live every day like it's my last.
As far as 2010 goes, I'm over it. I remember being excited that this year was here because it had to be better than that of the last, but, my guess is, it equaled or was possibly worse. I am excited for 2011, and this last day of the year; of the decade, is ending much more positively, at least, than the whole rest of the week, and that makes me excited.
As we ring in the new decade, I've decided it's been quite the month. Quite the year really. So much has happened. Probably one of the most eventful years of my life, in an adult perspective. My family is deteriorating. My social life is growing. My children are growing. My economic means is deteriorating. Bittersweet really, in every sense of the meaning.
I rang in the decade in my twenties. After partying like it's 1999, because it was 1999, I started the decade in an unhealthy relationship. I was in love, but it was toxic. I ditched senior night to sleep in the bed of a truck in the teacher's parking lot of my high school with my boyfriend. That's a lasting love. (Enter sarcasm here) Lived with him. Fought with him. Made up. Partied. Fought. He lied and did drugs. I left. A very sad but memorable 5 years of my life.
Then, I played it solo. No boyfriend. I was a third wheel a lot, and I didn't mind. In fact, I didn't notice! My family was the same. My friends rocked. I partied. I hung out. I studied. I traveled. I made some AH.MAZE.ING friends at one of the best jobs I've ever had, of course because of the group. Then I dated again. This time, a good guy at the wrong time. Random really terrible car accident, in which I nearly died, that left glass in my ear and a scar on my rib to this day. After many Marilyn movies and some good Kenny marathons, another good few years.
Then did my own thing for a shorter amount of time. The story gets redundant. This time, I had kids. The best two kids on the face of the planet. The two cutest mugs you'll ever see. One all jokes, and one all business. My life became complete. Or at least I thought.
Of course with the normal turmoil of a relationship, these days, you will have your normal amount of drama, as I do. But then, in the last year or so of this great decade I can call my twenties, I lost some great friends, regained many more great friends, and made new great friends. Lost relations with some important family, while reconnecting to other as-important family. But, most recently, I've had some scares. My dad had a heart attack this week, spending a week in ICU. During which or promptly before my mom more than likely had a stroke. My dad is okay, the doctors say, but my mom is blank. It reminds me of when I was 8 and she couldn't remember who I was. So hurtful, but hurtful is so selfish. I'm more worried about her being alive. But I'm pretty sure I will be lucky to have her another Christmas. And yet, this Christmas I didn't spend with her. On top of this all, I have spent the most of a full school year with sick kids. And my babies Grandma had a bad fall too. You can no longer say December without saying productivity. Well, maybe productivity isn't the word. But I've definitely learned to live every day like it's my last.
As far as 2010 goes, I'm over it. I remember being excited that this year was here because it had to be better than that of the last, but, my guess is, it equaled or was possibly worse. I am excited for 2011, and this last day of the year; of the decade, is ending much more positively, at least, than the whole rest of the week, and that makes me excited.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The Girl Who Drank the Slurpee
I was just thinking, today, about posting a Facebook status update that read: "I wonder if judgment comes with age." Then I realized that everyone who read it would think I was talking about my babies. And I should have been.
Then, I thought back to when and if my judgment was worse than it is today. As I kept going further and further back in the memory bank, I was embarrassed. I honestly think I've actually regressed to less judgment than I ever remember having, and I was able to attach specific moments to the thought, as if creating a virtual time line. Like the kind of time line you find at the beginning of each chapter in any given history book. Only, instead of the year the American flag was sewn, or that great day in Eli Whitney's cotton career, my time line reminds me of times I've been brutally let down, even abused.
I remember spending hours in the garage telling my drunk father how much he means to me, to everyone in our family. And he just sobbed because he knew his word meant nothing to any of his kids or his wife. He was full of broken promises and drowned his sorrows. As if he was only hurting himself. He would tell me how much all he ever wanted in his life was his first son, my oldest brother. He never wanted the rest of us. But, I excused him. He didn't know what he was saying. He just promised to quit drinking tomorrow. When that happens, for the first time in 40 years, then he'll realize what he said, take it back, and say what he really means. This scenario happened to the upwards of 5 nights a week. The other two I spent in my room crying because I thought for sure that would be the day.
Even before that, I remember keeping busy in my room with my nieces, playing school and barbies. We were able, that way, to avoid at least half of the fighting and drunkenness that every day was littered with. But when they had to go home, or the days they couldn't come over and play, I remember the insecure verbal attacks on my mom, as if a mother of 6 had time to take care of us all, grocery shop, cook and clean, AND have an affair. I wasn't even completely sure what an affair was, but I knew my dad was just crazy. But, I excused him. He didn't know what he was saying. He would come into a completely dark house, hours later, and stumble to the couch where my mom was sitting, and mumble words that could have possibly sounded like, "I'm sorry. I love you." And I only heard them then. When he had buried his abuse in the bottle so hard, that, I think, he forgot that he was even sad. Forgot why he'd yelled at my mom. Forgot THAT he yelled at my mom.
And before that, even. Before I even remember my dad, because he wouldn't come inside. He drank at work. He drank on the road from work to the bar. He drank at the bar. He drank on the road to home. And he would park in the driveway and drink until he fell asleep. He would play his music so loud in the truck, I could hear it in the house with his windows up. I remember thinking that he should become a country singer. My mom made the mistake of telling me, excitedly, to go out and look at the blimp. I'm sure she'd thought my dad was already passed out. Unfortunately for me, he wasn't. And he was in a bad mood. I remember only one detail of the rest of the night. He spanked me for going to look at the blimp. Very hard. That was the one and only time he ever spanked me, mostly, I assume, because I was walloped so hard, it scared HIM. I knew he was wrong. But, I excused him. He bought me a slurpee the next day. And a candy bar. And that was a secret surprise that I couldn't even tell my mom. So, I excused him.
So, while formulating this virtual time line, I realize an apparent pattern. And I wasn't extremely surprised thinking forward from that point either. Except for the fact that I think somewhere around the point I realized my dad wasn't going to stop drinking every day, and when I started having way more important things to do with my nights instead of spending them speaking Greek to a drunk, my judgment was the best of my life. I stood up for myself based on my morals. I did what I wanted to do, despite what anybody thought of it. My judgment has faltered, slowly but surely, from then, until now, and I can understand half of it. Points of low self esteem; friends move away, family starts building their own families. It was lack of practice, mostly. I didn't have those strongholds in my life the way I did back then. And today, I saw me. A scared little girl with a slurpee. And I realized so much about my mom. How she's even stronger than I ever gave her credit for, and I thought she was made of steel.
So, by this time next year, I'm setting a goal to be in a different place in my life. A place where I stop excusing because I know better. A place where I smile because I don't have to worry about psychopathic behaviors. A place where my children smile because I'm raising them in a secure environment, learning to be happy and confident. I will never again be the girl with the slurpee.
Then, I thought back to when and if my judgment was worse than it is today. As I kept going further and further back in the memory bank, I was embarrassed. I honestly think I've actually regressed to less judgment than I ever remember having, and I was able to attach specific moments to the thought, as if creating a virtual time line. Like the kind of time line you find at the beginning of each chapter in any given history book. Only, instead of the year the American flag was sewn, or that great day in Eli Whitney's cotton career, my time line reminds me of times I've been brutally let down, even abused.
I remember spending hours in the garage telling my drunk father how much he means to me, to everyone in our family. And he just sobbed because he knew his word meant nothing to any of his kids or his wife. He was full of broken promises and drowned his sorrows. As if he was only hurting himself. He would tell me how much all he ever wanted in his life was his first son, my oldest brother. He never wanted the rest of us. But, I excused him. He didn't know what he was saying. He just promised to quit drinking tomorrow. When that happens, for the first time in 40 years, then he'll realize what he said, take it back, and say what he really means. This scenario happened to the upwards of 5 nights a week. The other two I spent in my room crying because I thought for sure that would be the day.
Even before that, I remember keeping busy in my room with my nieces, playing school and barbies. We were able, that way, to avoid at least half of the fighting and drunkenness that every day was littered with. But when they had to go home, or the days they couldn't come over and play, I remember the insecure verbal attacks on my mom, as if a mother of 6 had time to take care of us all, grocery shop, cook and clean, AND have an affair. I wasn't even completely sure what an affair was, but I knew my dad was just crazy. But, I excused him. He didn't know what he was saying. He would come into a completely dark house, hours later, and stumble to the couch where my mom was sitting, and mumble words that could have possibly sounded like, "I'm sorry. I love you." And I only heard them then. When he had buried his abuse in the bottle so hard, that, I think, he forgot that he was even sad. Forgot why he'd yelled at my mom. Forgot THAT he yelled at my mom.
And before that, even. Before I even remember my dad, because he wouldn't come inside. He drank at work. He drank on the road from work to the bar. He drank at the bar. He drank on the road to home. And he would park in the driveway and drink until he fell asleep. He would play his music so loud in the truck, I could hear it in the house with his windows up. I remember thinking that he should become a country singer. My mom made the mistake of telling me, excitedly, to go out and look at the blimp. I'm sure she'd thought my dad was already passed out. Unfortunately for me, he wasn't. And he was in a bad mood. I remember only one detail of the rest of the night. He spanked me for going to look at the blimp. Very hard. That was the one and only time he ever spanked me, mostly, I assume, because I was walloped so hard, it scared HIM. I knew he was wrong. But, I excused him. He bought me a slurpee the next day. And a candy bar. And that was a secret surprise that I couldn't even tell my mom. So, I excused him.
So, while formulating this virtual time line, I realize an apparent pattern. And I wasn't extremely surprised thinking forward from that point either. Except for the fact that I think somewhere around the point I realized my dad wasn't going to stop drinking every day, and when I started having way more important things to do with my nights instead of spending them speaking Greek to a drunk, my judgment was the best of my life. I stood up for myself based on my morals. I did what I wanted to do, despite what anybody thought of it. My judgment has faltered, slowly but surely, from then, until now, and I can understand half of it. Points of low self esteem; friends move away, family starts building their own families. It was lack of practice, mostly. I didn't have those strongholds in my life the way I did back then. And today, I saw me. A scared little girl with a slurpee. And I realized so much about my mom. How she's even stronger than I ever gave her credit for, and I thought she was made of steel.
So, by this time next year, I'm setting a goal to be in a different place in my life. A place where I stop excusing because I know better. A place where I smile because I don't have to worry about psychopathic behaviors. A place where my children smile because I'm raising them in a secure environment, learning to be happy and confident. I will never again be the girl with the slurpee.
Monday, August 29, 2011
My Sister, The Angel
I was blessed by God with a large family; 3 sisters and 2 brothers, not to mention parents that didn't divorce. Sadly, I was never able to appreciate what I was given. My family was dysfunctional. Broken. Disrespecting. It was like there was practically no kinship at all. My siblings and I rarely interacted, if not from our own individual issues, because we were either being criticized by each other or criticizing each other. Something we can attribute easily to our parents. But that doesn't really matter. What does matter is that, even by the time a single one of us slightly pulled our heads out of our asses enough to acknowledge the err of our ways, it was way too late. My oldest sister died way too young at 43 a few years back. The next sister was who-knows-where doing who-knows-what. My third sister was so busy trudging through her own family drama, whether facilitated or otherwise, and then digging herself out of the tangled web, I could hardly expect to have that close, sometimes forced, great sisterly relationship we had for a few years. And that is definitely not all her fault. I was so busy trying to fix guy after guy, ripping my self esteem down further and further, that sometimes it was I who was emotionally unavailable. And my two brothers were no better. My dad was an alcoholic, and my mom had the mentality of a 5 year old what after multiple brain surgeries thanks to good ol' cancer. So, I had 7 beautiful body masses, every one of which shared the same last name, and I wasn't allowed to have one decent conversation, let alone a relationship. Sure, that's my example of how to become a useful part of society. A mother. A partner. That's who I should pick to surround myself with.
And that's what I did. A slew of bad relationships, not necessarily progressively worse, but also not the other way around. Couldn't maintain friends, mostly while in a relationship. Grades started to slip. Priorities changed, fluttered, became practically non-existent. And then I turned 30. The big three-oh. People make way too big a deal about 30. Its just another year, in between 29 and 31. Ten year reunion was done and past way earlier. I've had kids. Hmmm...and that's about the end of my list. The list of what would happen through the progression of my life that I managed and re-managed internally my senior year of high school. That guy I was going to marry?? Long gone. And married! That house I was going to buy?? Blew those savings, on nothing more than another disabled guy. We dated, shacked up, I paid most of the bills, until I quit my job like he suggested so we could live the "free, entrepreneurial life style" that he was accustomed to, and somehow made ends meet. Sadly, I had no idea most of this mumbo-jumbo was a bunch of druggie nonsense. Yep, of course. I caught another one.
What's worse is I got pregnant. In an abusive relationship. Something I'd watch my mom and my sisters go through and tell myself I would NEVER let that happen to me. I would die first. But sadly, pinching myself to realize I'm alive hurt even more than normal. Even the tears it brought to my eyes stung more than tears ever had before. I let it happen. I let more than I'd like to admit happen. I've allowed myself to be abused. I've quit my job. I've sold my car. I've conjoined my cell phone on a family plan. I have 2 kids and nothing else. I am exactly who I told myself I would never become. And I can't get out.
For a long time, I thought, "If I can just wait it out and stash some money, I'll get out!" But that never worked. Amidst the disgustingly abusive arguments about what a terrible mother/housekeeper/person I am, I would end up having to use the stashed money on the baby's formula or new school clothes because, "didn't I just give you $200??" Yeah, yuh did. 2 weeks ago when there were no groceries in the fridge, no diapers on the door, and no formula in the pantry. Formula, by the way, that costs $35 twice a week. You did give me that, and I'm sure my terrible cooking and cleaning and playing with kids skills don't equate to some more money, let alone the week worth of work I spent at YOUR shop making sure everything's done: FOR FREE! But again, that is my fault. I was always promised a paycheck, but one was never cut for me. And I wasn't able to cash any that were because there wasn't enough money in the bank since there was that huge deal going through. Needless to say, the wait it out trick left me dry and even more torn down. I'm pretty sure there isn't an insult I haven't heard. And all I want to do is get out. But I can't.
Its just the way he wants it. I'm powerless, even feel it inside myself. He's in control of everything. I think about a shelter but am too afraid to even try. I figure out another version of the wait-it-out-then-escape escape. Another doosy. And another after that. As the tears pang my face, I'm always brought back to that one Thanksgiving I spent in Illinois with my sister. Not too long ago, after she'd been diagnosed, but before it won. She knew me. Twenty-something years had passed between us, and somehow, she knew me. I know why. Because I was her. I was broken. I was stuck. I was in an abusive relationship and I couldn't get out. And, Oh! The kids. Except there was one difference. After she had been already expected to lose her battle, and after she found her abusive husband cheating for the ump-teenth time. After she'd gotten so sick from the chemo, and had to deal with her own 5 kids growing up and doing teenage things. After she had lost all of her hair and become a stronghold in her grandkids life. After all of this, she somehow mustered up the courage to leave her abusive, cheating, and, on top of it all, ugly husband and live on her own. I was so proud of her. I was in awe. She would even sometimes talk about his "charm" and blah blah blah, but she did it, and she made it!
More than I can say for myself. I didn't even marry the guy I handed all my earthly belongings to! Of course, I was smarter than that....? Needless to say, my sister, the angel comes to me sometimes. Not in ghost form, or knocking noises. Her face will jump in my head and I hear her say my name. By then, I can tell whether she approves or disapproves of my choices, and this same thing has happened just this week. I heard her last words to me, "Take care of that baby girl!" And I realize I'm doing the opposite of everything I've ever wanted to do. Yes, I'm spending time with my kids, and teaching them, and loving them, and feeding and bathing them, and teaching them rules and consequences, but I'm also allowing them to see me disrespected and broken. I'm not letting them know the happy and funny me. Instead, I'm showing insecurities, lacking self esteem. What kind of mom does that?? So I'm brought back to reality, thanks to God and my beautiful angel, and I'm left to figure out how to finally put an end to it. I've managed enough common sense to realize I'm not a terrible person for getting a 9-5, having to put the kids in day care and live in a not-so-state-of-the-art place. At least I will show them that I can provide for them and that they can be happy with a happy mommy. I know that if I am able to do this, not only will I still be doing all of the things with them I already do, they will also learn me without all the abuse and insults. They will see a mom who has confidence and can smile.
So that brings me to the very important if. I'm no longer scared of a shelter. I'm not incredibly worried about the kids adjusting. So how do I get out of this cycle that, as history has proven, ends up in cancer and death without the opportunity of showing the world and your children your potential?? I honestly don't have an exact answer, but I can see my sister's face and I know that as long as I believe in my faith and myself I will get out of it.
And that's what I did. A slew of bad relationships, not necessarily progressively worse, but also not the other way around. Couldn't maintain friends, mostly while in a relationship. Grades started to slip. Priorities changed, fluttered, became practically non-existent. And then I turned 30. The big three-oh. People make way too big a deal about 30. Its just another year, in between 29 and 31. Ten year reunion was done and past way earlier. I've had kids. Hmmm...and that's about the end of my list. The list of what would happen through the progression of my life that I managed and re-managed internally my senior year of high school. That guy I was going to marry?? Long gone. And married! That house I was going to buy?? Blew those savings, on nothing more than another disabled guy. We dated, shacked up, I paid most of the bills, until I quit my job like he suggested so we could live the "free, entrepreneurial life style" that he was accustomed to, and somehow made ends meet. Sadly, I had no idea most of this mumbo-jumbo was a bunch of druggie nonsense. Yep, of course. I caught another one.
What's worse is I got pregnant. In an abusive relationship. Something I'd watch my mom and my sisters go through and tell myself I would NEVER let that happen to me. I would die first. But sadly, pinching myself to realize I'm alive hurt even more than normal. Even the tears it brought to my eyes stung more than tears ever had before. I let it happen. I let more than I'd like to admit happen. I've allowed myself to be abused. I've quit my job. I've sold my car. I've conjoined my cell phone on a family plan. I have 2 kids and nothing else. I am exactly who I told myself I would never become. And I can't get out.
For a long time, I thought, "If I can just wait it out and stash some money, I'll get out!" But that never worked. Amidst the disgustingly abusive arguments about what a terrible mother/housekeeper/person I am, I would end up having to use the stashed money on the baby's formula or new school clothes because, "didn't I just give you $200??" Yeah, yuh did. 2 weeks ago when there were no groceries in the fridge, no diapers on the door, and no formula in the pantry. Formula, by the way, that costs $35 twice a week. You did give me that, and I'm sure my terrible cooking and cleaning and playing with kids skills don't equate to some more money, let alone the week worth of work I spent at YOUR shop making sure everything's done: FOR FREE! But again, that is my fault. I was always promised a paycheck, but one was never cut for me. And I wasn't able to cash any that were because there wasn't enough money in the bank since there was that huge deal going through. Needless to say, the wait it out trick left me dry and even more torn down. I'm pretty sure there isn't an insult I haven't heard. And all I want to do is get out. But I can't.
Its just the way he wants it. I'm powerless, even feel it inside myself. He's in control of everything. I think about a shelter but am too afraid to even try. I figure out another version of the wait-it-out-then-escape escape. Another doosy. And another after that. As the tears pang my face, I'm always brought back to that one Thanksgiving I spent in Illinois with my sister. Not too long ago, after she'd been diagnosed, but before it won. She knew me. Twenty-something years had passed between us, and somehow, she knew me. I know why. Because I was her. I was broken. I was stuck. I was in an abusive relationship and I couldn't get out. And, Oh! The kids. Except there was one difference. After she had been already expected to lose her battle, and after she found her abusive husband cheating for the ump-teenth time. After she'd gotten so sick from the chemo, and had to deal with her own 5 kids growing up and doing teenage things. After she had lost all of her hair and become a stronghold in her grandkids life. After all of this, she somehow mustered up the courage to leave her abusive, cheating, and, on top of it all, ugly husband and live on her own. I was so proud of her. I was in awe. She would even sometimes talk about his "charm" and blah blah blah, but she did it, and she made it!
More than I can say for myself. I didn't even marry the guy I handed all my earthly belongings to! Of course, I was smarter than that....? Needless to say, my sister, the angel comes to me sometimes. Not in ghost form, or knocking noises. Her face will jump in my head and I hear her say my name. By then, I can tell whether she approves or disapproves of my choices, and this same thing has happened just this week. I heard her last words to me, "Take care of that baby girl!" And I realize I'm doing the opposite of everything I've ever wanted to do. Yes, I'm spending time with my kids, and teaching them, and loving them, and feeding and bathing them, and teaching them rules and consequences, but I'm also allowing them to see me disrespected and broken. I'm not letting them know the happy and funny me. Instead, I'm showing insecurities, lacking self esteem. What kind of mom does that?? So I'm brought back to reality, thanks to God and my beautiful angel, and I'm left to figure out how to finally put an end to it. I've managed enough common sense to realize I'm not a terrible person for getting a 9-5, having to put the kids in day care and live in a not-so-state-of-the-art place. At least I will show them that I can provide for them and that they can be happy with a happy mommy. I know that if I am able to do this, not only will I still be doing all of the things with them I already do, they will also learn me without all the abuse and insults. They will see a mom who has confidence and can smile.
So that brings me to the very important if. I'm no longer scared of a shelter. I'm not incredibly worried about the kids adjusting. So how do I get out of this cycle that, as history has proven, ends up in cancer and death without the opportunity of showing the world and your children your potential?? I honestly don't have an exact answer, but I can see my sister's face and I know that as long as I believe in my faith and myself I will get out of it.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Missed Call: Message Waiting.
Cell phone voicemails can be intimidating. Especially when they pile up. I don't know whom I've missed their call, who's pissed about it, who's got good news, or who is calling emergency status. But lately I've been very good about my voicemail. I've turned my ringer up, for the most part, and what calls I still miss, I listen to my voicemail as soon as I notice the message icon on my phone. Such was the routine today. Missed call: Sister. Message icon. So I dial my voicemail.
I fully expected an "I can't find a certain Christmas present" message or a "bet you didn't know what happened at my house today" kind of message. Unfortunately, neither of those were the case. To make a long story short, she visited my parent's house today, something neither of us do often enough. She described my mom as "as worse off as she's seen her" and said she is "withering away." Immediately, my mood changed. I withdrew, and just went through the motions. All the same thoughts that I always ponder came rushing back.
To begin with, I've always wondered what would have been easier. Physically losing my mom to her fight with cancer, or what actually happened and losing her mentally for the rest of her life. I still have no idea. But I do know that every time my mom gets more sickly or less manageable, I start to feel guilty. I count how many times I went over to visit her in the last month. I try to remember if I always told her I loved her. Kissed her. Hugged her. And yet, it's never clear and it's always too few times. So today, I began to think about Christmas. What if it's my last Christmas with her, even if she isn't completely there, mentally. What do I give her?? Would she prefer the porcelain doll of the type that she collects avidly, or would she rather have a matted and framed picture of the kids?? Does she want to go to Stinkyface's first tap recital? What would make her understand, that after all these years, I still support her and respect her and love her??
And I've come up with nothing. I don't know if I've visited enough. I don't know if I've told her my feelings enough. I don't know even how she feels about Christmas, let alone what present would mean the most or be the best in the case that it be her last one to share with me on this planet. But I do know that for the rest of the time I'm able to have her with me physically on this Earth, I'm going to make sure to do everything I feel I've slacked on as much as I possibly can until I can't anymore.
I love you mom, and miss your capabilities. But you are still as loving, funny, personable, and great as you always have been and I know that I'm not the only one who feels this way. You are an amazing woman who has survived so much and you will always be admired by women everywhere!!
I fully expected an "I can't find a certain Christmas present" message or a "bet you didn't know what happened at my house today" kind of message. Unfortunately, neither of those were the case. To make a long story short, she visited my parent's house today, something neither of us do often enough. She described my mom as "as worse off as she's seen her" and said she is "withering away." Immediately, my mood changed. I withdrew, and just went through the motions. All the same thoughts that I always ponder came rushing back.
To begin with, I've always wondered what would have been easier. Physically losing my mom to her fight with cancer, or what actually happened and losing her mentally for the rest of her life. I still have no idea. But I do know that every time my mom gets more sickly or less manageable, I start to feel guilty. I count how many times I went over to visit her in the last month. I try to remember if I always told her I loved her. Kissed her. Hugged her. And yet, it's never clear and it's always too few times. So today, I began to think about Christmas. What if it's my last Christmas with her, even if she isn't completely there, mentally. What do I give her?? Would she prefer the porcelain doll of the type that she collects avidly, or would she rather have a matted and framed picture of the kids?? Does she want to go to Stinkyface's first tap recital? What would make her understand, that after all these years, I still support her and respect her and love her??
And I've come up with nothing. I don't know if I've visited enough. I don't know if I've told her my feelings enough. I don't know even how she feels about Christmas, let alone what present would mean the most or be the best in the case that it be her last one to share with me on this planet. But I do know that for the rest of the time I'm able to have her with me physically on this Earth, I'm going to make sure to do everything I feel I've slacked on as much as I possibly can until I can't anymore.
I love you mom, and miss your capabilities. But you are still as loving, funny, personable, and great as you always have been and I know that I'm not the only one who feels this way. You are an amazing woman who has survived so much and you will always be admired by women everywhere!!
Monday, November 29, 2010
The Other Kids
Now, to roundup and conclude the parental situation, my mom stayed that way. She stayed forgetful. She stayed silly. She stayed somewhat in the form of a four year old. My dad, also, stayed the same. The sober increased. The drunk decreased. What did change, however, was the polite. As time went on, my dad's patience with my forgetful mom ran thin. The ugly words came back. But this time, my mom didn't fight back. She didn't remember how to. But she learned. The frequent practice of bickering and yelling taught her to yell again. Not nearly as effectively (at least, what I thought was effective when I was a child) but she yelled back. And these are my parents today. A naive, innocent, forgetful, and sometimes as annoying as a pesky 4 year old mother, and a dad who rarely drinks, but when he does, he does it right. In the last couple "drunks" as he calls it, he actually suffered alcohol poisoning, nearly died from a piece of meat being stuck in his throat for a week, and half of his face stayed numb for about a month. For some reason, he won't swear it off. It will be the death of him.
As I proofread my posts, I realize that I left out the entire rest of my family in all of this venting. I did have five brothers and sisters during all of this, where did they fit in? They impacted me as well, both positively and negatively; I guess just not as loudly. So, here's the condensed version of the most memorable sibling moments.
Oldest sister. I wasn't extremely impacted by her as a child. Moreso, it was her children I was close to, as we were the same age. She, too, had an abusive and addicted husband from a young age. But I do remember she was beautiful. And she had a laugh you would never forget. She finally left the jerk after a handful of ugly years, met another stand-up character, and moved away to Japan with him, taking my best friends; my nieces. That was pretty much the extent of my childhood memories with my oldest sister until recent years, where in her early 40s she was diagnosed with colon cancer. This is when I really learned who she was, and what she stood for. She was sooo much like me, and I felt like someone really understood me finally. But then, she was taken from me. I was struggling with a brand new baby in a toxic period of my relationship, and I got what was to be the last phone call I would ever get from her. I could barely understand her because she was so sick from the cancer, and I was so mad that she couldn't just get over it like my mom did. I was just getting to know her and she was the only one who understood me. But nothing changed anything. She passed away in the next couple of days. It was only a bit later I received the baby blanket she made for my little Stinkyface. Needless to say, that was just a couple of years ago. The healing is still in the process.
Second oldest sister. Again, not many memories. I remember, again, that she was beautiful. I also remember her as tough. She wouldn't be bullied. She fought back the most against my belligerent father. I thought she was so brave. And she had some of the cutest kids. Again I was close to my nephew more than my sister, but I remember her fondly because she had a pet name for me. She unfortunately was hindered by addiction as well, and I got to see her very randomly and with very different attitudes. I remember the day I stopped thinking she was so wonderful and protective with my dad, as if it were yesterday. That was the day I realized she was an addict. Needless to say, I didn't see her for around 10 years until just recently. I feared I would never see her again, and I am now very thankful that she is safe and we are in contact. But, she missed so much. And, she missed the passing away of my sister; her sister. Again, the healing is still in the process.
Oldest brother. He was definitely around. He was loud. Obnoxious. Handsome. Funny. We shared the same birthday, 15 years apart. I loved his girlfriend, who became his wife. I loved his children like they were mine. And then reality hit. He too, was an abusive alcoholic addict. He had serious problems. This is when I really started to worry. I didn't understand why all of these people had these addictions. I didn't even understand addiction. Just stop! Why can't you just stop? But he couldn't. He tried. And then he didn't. It was so sad to watch so many great people around me turn into monsters that I knew wasn't really them. But there was nothing I could do or say to change anything. Fast forward. My brother is still loud, obnoxious, handsome and funny. We still share the same birthday. He is still an alcoholic addict. Really, the only thing that has changed is that he is no longer married and I missed out on a bunch of years with some of my favorite nieces and nephews...of course, that is the case with almost all of my nieces and nephews.
Second oldest brother. He was so much fun. He flew all of us on his legs and did flips. He taught us how to play all of the latest video games, and when I was a teenager, he would let me hide in his room and use the computer or watch the latest dvd. He never became an addict or even drank an ounce of alcohol as far as I knew. But, we never really became too close. Just pleasant sibling encounters.
Third oldest sister. This was my closest sibling. She admittedly hated me when I was little. I stole her thunder. All of a sudden, 7 years later, she wasn't the baby anymore. But I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to do what she was doing. I wanted to tell her all my problems. I wanted, again, to do her homework for her. With her, I have the most memories. We fought dirty. She got in trouble for it. She would get in trouble at the dinner table, or coming in late as a teenager, and I would think of some way I could take any of her trouble and put it on me instead. That never worked. She talked back and stood her ground, even if it was within moronic teenage reasoning. I admired that. When what happened to my mom happened, my sister controlled what she could of the situation. That's what she did. She controlled. Again, I admired that. She kind of became my mom. She made sure I got to school, did my homework, got A's. She payed attention to me and my moods, and would drive me around until I finally told her my problems, and force me, then, to eat ice cream until I felt better. Okay, maybe not forced. But I did the same for her. I interviewed her boyfriends; her friends even. I made her open up and communicate, something controllers don't like to do. Fast forward. We have kids at the same times. We promote each others healthy individualism. We vent to each other. We joke together. Basically, we're two decently adjusted products of our environment, who subsequently became great friends through it all. I'm thankful I've had her through it all.
As I proofread my posts, I realize that I left out the entire rest of my family in all of this venting. I did have five brothers and sisters during all of this, where did they fit in? They impacted me as well, both positively and negatively; I guess just not as loudly. So, here's the condensed version of the most memorable sibling moments.
Oldest sister. I wasn't extremely impacted by her as a child. Moreso, it was her children I was close to, as we were the same age. She, too, had an abusive and addicted husband from a young age. But I do remember she was beautiful. And she had a laugh you would never forget. She finally left the jerk after a handful of ugly years, met another stand-up character, and moved away to Japan with him, taking my best friends; my nieces. That was pretty much the extent of my childhood memories with my oldest sister until recent years, where in her early 40s she was diagnosed with colon cancer. This is when I really learned who she was, and what she stood for. She was sooo much like me, and I felt like someone really understood me finally. But then, she was taken from me. I was struggling with a brand new baby in a toxic period of my relationship, and I got what was to be the last phone call I would ever get from her. I could barely understand her because she was so sick from the cancer, and I was so mad that she couldn't just get over it like my mom did. I was just getting to know her and she was the only one who understood me. But nothing changed anything. She passed away in the next couple of days. It was only a bit later I received the baby blanket she made for my little Stinkyface. Needless to say, that was just a couple of years ago. The healing is still in the process.
Second oldest sister. Again, not many memories. I remember, again, that she was beautiful. I also remember her as tough. She wouldn't be bullied. She fought back the most against my belligerent father. I thought she was so brave. And she had some of the cutest kids. Again I was close to my nephew more than my sister, but I remember her fondly because she had a pet name for me. She unfortunately was hindered by addiction as well, and I got to see her very randomly and with very different attitudes. I remember the day I stopped thinking she was so wonderful and protective with my dad, as if it were yesterday. That was the day I realized she was an addict. Needless to say, I didn't see her for around 10 years until just recently. I feared I would never see her again, and I am now very thankful that she is safe and we are in contact. But, she missed so much. And, she missed the passing away of my sister; her sister. Again, the healing is still in the process.
Oldest brother. He was definitely around. He was loud. Obnoxious. Handsome. Funny. We shared the same birthday, 15 years apart. I loved his girlfriend, who became his wife. I loved his children like they were mine. And then reality hit. He too, was an abusive alcoholic addict. He had serious problems. This is when I really started to worry. I didn't understand why all of these people had these addictions. I didn't even understand addiction. Just stop! Why can't you just stop? But he couldn't. He tried. And then he didn't. It was so sad to watch so many great people around me turn into monsters that I knew wasn't really them. But there was nothing I could do or say to change anything. Fast forward. My brother is still loud, obnoxious, handsome and funny. We still share the same birthday. He is still an alcoholic addict. Really, the only thing that has changed is that he is no longer married and I missed out on a bunch of years with some of my favorite nieces and nephews...of course, that is the case with almost all of my nieces and nephews.
Second oldest brother. He was so much fun. He flew all of us on his legs and did flips. He taught us how to play all of the latest video games, and when I was a teenager, he would let me hide in his room and use the computer or watch the latest dvd. He never became an addict or even drank an ounce of alcohol as far as I knew. But, we never really became too close. Just pleasant sibling encounters.
Third oldest sister. This was my closest sibling. She admittedly hated me when I was little. I stole her thunder. All of a sudden, 7 years later, she wasn't the baby anymore. But I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to do what she was doing. I wanted to tell her all my problems. I wanted, again, to do her homework for her. With her, I have the most memories. We fought dirty. She got in trouble for it. She would get in trouble at the dinner table, or coming in late as a teenager, and I would think of some way I could take any of her trouble and put it on me instead. That never worked. She talked back and stood her ground, even if it was within moronic teenage reasoning. I admired that. When what happened to my mom happened, my sister controlled what she could of the situation. That's what she did. She controlled. Again, I admired that. She kind of became my mom. She made sure I got to school, did my homework, got A's. She payed attention to me and my moods, and would drive me around until I finally told her my problems, and force me, then, to eat ice cream until I felt better. Okay, maybe not forced. But I did the same for her. I interviewed her boyfriends; her friends even. I made her open up and communicate, something controllers don't like to do. Fast forward. We have kids at the same times. We promote each others healthy individualism. We vent to each other. We joke together. Basically, we're two decently adjusted products of our environment, who subsequently became great friends through it all. I'm thankful I've had her through it all.
Me. Volume 2.
After a little recovery time, on, on we go. Looking back into my childhood, before age 8, I remember very little past what I've already described. A few other memories include my brother and his girlfriend allowing me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street at an age appropriate 6ish (my own nightmares of Freddy lasted a good 5 years after that!), as well as a few games of tether ball in the front yard, and that pitiful day my favorite tree was dug up while I was at school. I remember knocking on my sister's locked bedroom door begging her to let me help her with her homework (of which I couldn't read or write, and she, being 7 years my elder, probably had algebra or some other "Greek" studies I couldn't begin to comprehend.) Anyways, the memories continue, this random, and this vague.
A little later, we find out my mom has lung cancer. Probably from the pack a day habit she had for as long as I was alive at least. Being so young, I don't remember much of the technical hospital stuff, as I wasn't involved, but I do remember they had to perform surgery to remove my mom's lung, and the chance of recovery they gave her was slim to none. This changed everything. My dad stopped drinking, kinda. We started eating dinner as a family at the dinner table and saying grace. None of these changes were comfortable for me. I didn't have my mom at home. All of a sudden I had no idea what to expect from my father, and I had no clue what saying grace was or why we had to do it. Life, as I knew it, was forever changed. And I was angry.
Long story short, the surgery went okay. And my mom was home but on extreme chemo and medication. She was very sick. But she was there. She wasn't yelling and screaming all the time anymore. And randomly, I don't really remember what was going on with my dad during this time. Life kind of just stopped.
Fast forward a couple of years. My mom was doing well. The cancer was gone and my mom was in a much better mood than prior to the cancer. My dad was sober more often, but that meant more attempts at discipline from him, which, in my preteen condition, made me more rebellious. And if it wasn't enough, my sister was a seemingly perfect example of a child. I had to live up to her amazing grades and good behavior. Around this time, my mom started spending some of her hoarded money on me and after school programs. I was able to dance and play sports because my mom saved money she was given for groceries for the family. But then, something else happened.
My mom started having migraines. Serious migraines. Migraines that affected her day to day. It was chalked up to depression and stress. Until the seizures started. Now, diabetes doesn't run in my family, and for all I knew, seizures were only linked to diabetes. I had no idea what was happening, being only 9 or 10 and never witnessing anything even as remotely serious as a seizure. My mom just started convulsing. My sister called 911 and I freaked out. By the time the ambulance got to our house, my mom showed signs of being conscious again. I sighed in relief. Then, I just observed. I watched the EMTs lock my mom down on the gurney and then they wheeled her down the driveway. I followed like a lost puppy dog. They asked her questions like, "What's your name? What year is it? Where are you?" She answered all the questions correctly. Then I took charge. "Do you know my name?" I asked her. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Umm....I...it will come to me." All I could think is, "How does a mom forget her own daughter's name?"
The only thing I remember for the next couple of years is crying. My mom's cancer came back in the form of brain cancer. She had multiple surgeries, of which some were not completely necessary come to find out. They took out part of her memory, which left her with minimal long term memory and practically no short term memory. We had to teach her everything all over again. And this is why she didn't know me. But she learned. And I learned. And one day I stopped. I stopped all my adolescent nonsense. I saw my mom for who she was finally. She wasn't depressed and resentful because she forgot she was. She wasn't angry and spiteful because she forgot she was. She was happy. She was loving. She was maternal and caring. She was personable and entertaining. I was able to see my mom outside of the abusive shadow and all of a sudden she was in a glowing beam of light. I was happy.
My dad became increasingly less drunk and participated more. We were able to talk more. The trust we built during the sober times could almost be considered the demise of the trust during the drunken times, however. I would cry to him while he was drinking. I would explain what his alcoholism was doing to me. To the family. To him. He cared. I knew he did because he cried. I knew he did because he said he did. I knew he did because he vowed to stop.
But he didn't. He kept drinking. He kept drinking until he was mad again. He would explain to me how he really only wanted my oldest brother; how he never really wanted me. And that would continue into how his behaviors had affected my brother's life, and that would continue into what a terrible childhood he, himself had. This is what my dad's binges were made up of. But the sober was good.
A little later, we find out my mom has lung cancer. Probably from the pack a day habit she had for as long as I was alive at least. Being so young, I don't remember much of the technical hospital stuff, as I wasn't involved, but I do remember they had to perform surgery to remove my mom's lung, and the chance of recovery they gave her was slim to none. This changed everything. My dad stopped drinking, kinda. We started eating dinner as a family at the dinner table and saying grace. None of these changes were comfortable for me. I didn't have my mom at home. All of a sudden I had no idea what to expect from my father, and I had no clue what saying grace was or why we had to do it. Life, as I knew it, was forever changed. And I was angry.
Long story short, the surgery went okay. And my mom was home but on extreme chemo and medication. She was very sick. But she was there. She wasn't yelling and screaming all the time anymore. And randomly, I don't really remember what was going on with my dad during this time. Life kind of just stopped.
Fast forward a couple of years. My mom was doing well. The cancer was gone and my mom was in a much better mood than prior to the cancer. My dad was sober more often, but that meant more attempts at discipline from him, which, in my preteen condition, made me more rebellious. And if it wasn't enough, my sister was a seemingly perfect example of a child. I had to live up to her amazing grades and good behavior. Around this time, my mom started spending some of her hoarded money on me and after school programs. I was able to dance and play sports because my mom saved money she was given for groceries for the family. But then, something else happened.
My mom started having migraines. Serious migraines. Migraines that affected her day to day. It was chalked up to depression and stress. Until the seizures started. Now, diabetes doesn't run in my family, and for all I knew, seizures were only linked to diabetes. I had no idea what was happening, being only 9 or 10 and never witnessing anything even as remotely serious as a seizure. My mom just started convulsing. My sister called 911 and I freaked out. By the time the ambulance got to our house, my mom showed signs of being conscious again. I sighed in relief. Then, I just observed. I watched the EMTs lock my mom down on the gurney and then they wheeled her down the driveway. I followed like a lost puppy dog. They asked her questions like, "What's your name? What year is it? Where are you?" She answered all the questions correctly. Then I took charge. "Do you know my name?" I asked her. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Umm....I...it will come to me." All I could think is, "How does a mom forget her own daughter's name?"
The only thing I remember for the next couple of years is crying. My mom's cancer came back in the form of brain cancer. She had multiple surgeries, of which some were not completely necessary come to find out. They took out part of her memory, which left her with minimal long term memory and practically no short term memory. We had to teach her everything all over again. And this is why she didn't know me. But she learned. And I learned. And one day I stopped. I stopped all my adolescent nonsense. I saw my mom for who she was finally. She wasn't depressed and resentful because she forgot she was. She wasn't angry and spiteful because she forgot she was. She was happy. She was loving. She was maternal and caring. She was personable and entertaining. I was able to see my mom outside of the abusive shadow and all of a sudden she was in a glowing beam of light. I was happy.
My dad became increasingly less drunk and participated more. We were able to talk more. The trust we built during the sober times could almost be considered the demise of the trust during the drunken times, however. I would cry to him while he was drinking. I would explain what his alcoholism was doing to me. To the family. To him. He cared. I knew he did because he cried. I knew he did because he said he did. I knew he did because he vowed to stop.
But he didn't. He kept drinking. He kept drinking until he was mad again. He would explain to me how he really only wanted my oldest brother; how he never really wanted me. And that would continue into how his behaviors had affected my brother's life, and that would continue into what a terrible childhood he, himself had. This is what my dad's binges were made up of. But the sober was good.
Me. Volume 1.
I put my makeup on today with more fervor than I ever remember before, you would think it was Christmas morning. But, it's only November 29th. 8:07am. Making coffee this morning, I had a brilliant idea. Why not use this blog to it's potential?? Why not allow this venting to be more than my take on politics or ethics, but also use it to heal me. So that I may become the strongest me I can be for me and my children?? It's not like my one, single reader will mind a little personal info here and there. And through this personal vomiting of emotions, I should be able to recognize habits and make solid changes. Enough rambling.
I don't remember much about being a child, especially a small child. One of the two of the earliest memories I have of my life was when I was approximately 4 or 5 years old, in tears, climbing the big tree in my front yard to hide and get away from the yelling and screaming going on inside my house. The other memory was being yelled at by my sister's husband when I was around 3 or 4, while playing with my nieces on one of those tiny Fisher Price slides, because children aren't supposed to be laughing, having fun, inside the house. Yes, this is the disfunction I call my upbringing.
I'm sure I don't remember anything because it was all so terrible. An alcoholic, abusive father. And a victimized, enabling mother. I was the baby out of six kids, all who were, in today's view, practically grown when I came around. My days, of which I can remember, were saved first, from afternoon soap operas, and then from school. My mom wasn't yelling as long as she was watching her soaps. And I couldn't hear any yelling while I was at school. Another saving grace was that my father worked long days most of the time, I think. The beligerent screaming and emotional and psychological abuse didn't start until well into the night, typically. But we knew when it was about to start. There were common precursors, the most common of which was my frantic mom scrambling to get the house immaculate and screaming out orders that we kids should clean or else our rear-ends would be in pain. It was never enough though. My dad wasn't satisfied if we had baked cookies. It wasn't enough that dinner was ready for him on the table if he decided to be sober enough to stumble inside once in a while. Why is there a fur ball on the floor. Stupid cat. *Cue the cat getting thrown across the room* But my mom was our martyr. She took most of the abuse. Of course until he started in on the oldest kids, of whom most stood up for themselves pretty well. Needless to say, there were a lot of broken dishes, holes in the walls, and that poor cat took a few herself.
Not only that, my mom was given a ridiculously measly allowance for the family. A family of three couldn't survive off what my dad gave her for the two of them and the six kids. But she did her best. She cut coupons, and made sure to shop only where they doubled them. She got the government milk and cheese. She made what I remember to be gourmet meals off a dime. And she saved the rest. Well, in reality, she hoarded the rest. Along with a lot of other stuff. But who could blame her. When my dad got home, she was given the third degree on how every single penny was spent, and how dare she spend SO much here and SO much there. I just remember feeling sorry for her and wondering how I could take some of the blame to make it easier.
Now, I have good memories too. I remember taking my brother to CAP and laying my head on his shoulder. I remember my dad being home one day, and racing me down the sidewalk. (Of course, I don't remember how he got to the finish line without falling, but it was funny enough to remember as happy.) I also remember teaching myself to read the little beginner yellow books (See Spot Run) and showing it to my mom and dad in one of the other habitual actions my dad would do in his stupor; sit next to my mom and slur the words, "I love you. Do you know how much I love you?" And it would eventually turn into a much louder, "How do you not know how much I love you?? I do all of this for you." But needless to say, I read about Spot running, what seemed to be a marathon, in the middle of my mom and dad, on the couch in the dark living room. Another positive memory.
I suppose if that is enough for me for the day, that is plenty for my one reader. I will make sure to continue the group...I mean...personal therapy tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
I don't remember much about being a child, especially a small child. One of the two of the earliest memories I have of my life was when I was approximately 4 or 5 years old, in tears, climbing the big tree in my front yard to hide and get away from the yelling and screaming going on inside my house. The other memory was being yelled at by my sister's husband when I was around 3 or 4, while playing with my nieces on one of those tiny Fisher Price slides, because children aren't supposed to be laughing, having fun, inside the house. Yes, this is the disfunction I call my upbringing.
I'm sure I don't remember anything because it was all so terrible. An alcoholic, abusive father. And a victimized, enabling mother. I was the baby out of six kids, all who were, in today's view, practically grown when I came around. My days, of which I can remember, were saved first, from afternoon soap operas, and then from school. My mom wasn't yelling as long as she was watching her soaps. And I couldn't hear any yelling while I was at school. Another saving grace was that my father worked long days most of the time, I think. The beligerent screaming and emotional and psychological abuse didn't start until well into the night, typically. But we knew when it was about to start. There were common precursors, the most common of which was my frantic mom scrambling to get the house immaculate and screaming out orders that we kids should clean or else our rear-ends would be in pain. It was never enough though. My dad wasn't satisfied if we had baked cookies. It wasn't enough that dinner was ready for him on the table if he decided to be sober enough to stumble inside once in a while. Why is there a fur ball on the floor. Stupid cat. *Cue the cat getting thrown across the room* But my mom was our martyr. She took most of the abuse. Of course until he started in on the oldest kids, of whom most stood up for themselves pretty well. Needless to say, there were a lot of broken dishes, holes in the walls, and that poor cat took a few herself.
Not only that, my mom was given a ridiculously measly allowance for the family. A family of three couldn't survive off what my dad gave her for the two of them and the six kids. But she did her best. She cut coupons, and made sure to shop only where they doubled them. She got the government milk and cheese. She made what I remember to be gourmet meals off a dime. And she saved the rest. Well, in reality, she hoarded the rest. Along with a lot of other stuff. But who could blame her. When my dad got home, she was given the third degree on how every single penny was spent, and how dare she spend SO much here and SO much there. I just remember feeling sorry for her and wondering how I could take some of the blame to make it easier.
Now, I have good memories too. I remember taking my brother to CAP and laying my head on his shoulder. I remember my dad being home one day, and racing me down the sidewalk. (Of course, I don't remember how he got to the finish line without falling, but it was funny enough to remember as happy.) I also remember teaching myself to read the little beginner yellow books (See Spot Run) and showing it to my mom and dad in one of the other habitual actions my dad would do in his stupor; sit next to my mom and slur the words, "I love you. Do you know how much I love you?" And it would eventually turn into a much louder, "How do you not know how much I love you?? I do all of this for you." But needless to say, I read about Spot running, what seemed to be a marathon, in the middle of my mom and dad, on the couch in the dark living room. Another positive memory.
I suppose if that is enough for me for the day, that is plenty for my one reader. I will make sure to continue the group...I mean...personal therapy tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Lorena Bobitt Anyone
So my sister tells me story after story about her terrible class of first graders this year. They just don't listen. They talk all the time. They're about as smart as the light pole outside the house except they probably wouldn't think to turn on when the sun goes down... These children put full cups of water in their backpacks in order to bring them home for later, and you know what happened?? Thats right folks, the water poured out of the cup onto everything in each of their backpacks. I agree with her, somethings lacking. But what is it that allows a seven year old to completely ignore the fact that there is no lid on a cup and OBVIOUSLY whats in the cup will come out without a lid?? I'll get to that.
The next rediculously outrageous story I'm told, is about a boy who apparently just realized he had a weener, and for some reason thought it was a great idea to keep pulling it out of his never zipped zipper. Even after he was repremanded multiple times, the idea to just leave it in his pants didn't occur to him. Eventually, as I figure most ignorant, inexperienced seven year olds would do if presented with a Vienna Sausage, another child bit the flashers never covered weener. Not hard enough to draw blood, mind you, but this is still happening in the middle of a school day in a public school classroom. What do you do at this point if you are in charge of these children?? The child was sent to the nurse and directly to the principal's office after that. My sister, hoping for some type of repremandation for this child who refused to listen to authority and successfully reaped the consequences, came to find both the hungry first grader and the flasher back in class the next morning at 8am, without the slightest memory of what happened yesterday since there was not even a slap on the hand.
Then, there's the daily update of the serial theif and her deskful of five finger discounts. This child not only steals things that look fun or shiny or interesting to some level from other students, she also steals chewed off erasers and random things from the teachers desk. She wouldn't be in my gang, that's for sure. But this girl steals so often, she is on a daily contract. That is, the teacher fills out a contract everyday, and she is to bring this to her parents to sign every afternoon and return the following school day. Therefore, her parents are informed on a daily basis of the haps going on with Smooth Fingers. She has been sent to the principal's office more than a handful of times, and is at the point where, if she does it again, it seems inevitable that she be suspended, or maybe even expelled.
But that straw that should have put more weight than that camel could bear, apparently didn't weigh enough. She stole again, and once again, admitted to it. She was sent to the principal's office, and Godwilling, would probably not be in class the next couple of days. Why would a seven year old be a thief anyways?? When my sister confronted the principal about the exceedingly lax moral code, she was informed that Smooth Finger's parents said she was being picked on (because I'm sure their child's SO important that ANYONE would spend an extra 30 minutes after work hours to write up a contract) and they wondered what the other parents would think if the weener story were to leak out to, I don't know, the papers. And this principal gave in to this!! Amazing the ability parents these days have to prepare their children for complete and utter failure when they hit middle school age!! I mean, seriously, bribery??
So what if everyone knew about a little boy being curious and mischevious in one breath. So what if another little boy acted on impulse rather than thinking about the proper thing. As if this type of thing doesn't happen every single day. But, in reality, what leads to so many kids lacking the mental capability to tell them whats right and wrong??
Could it be the lack of quality time the parents spend with these young ones, and therefore they will make excuses not to repremand their children as if making up for their obvious failures as parents?? Is it the complete selfishness these adults show in not practising proper moral code at home?? Maybe these parents have no morals?? I shiver at the thought of how many children really are being set up for failure if you compare the proportions. 5-8 first graders, at the same school, in the same class with such extreme behavior and common sense hinderances...Times that by however many 7 year olds there are in this nation. When are we as parents and role models going to realize we aren't doing our duty if we continuously excuse improper behavior and don't teach basic common sense and morals?? What is it going to have to come to??
The next rediculously outrageous story I'm told, is about a boy who apparently just realized he had a weener, and for some reason thought it was a great idea to keep pulling it out of his never zipped zipper. Even after he was repremanded multiple times, the idea to just leave it in his pants didn't occur to him. Eventually, as I figure most ignorant, inexperienced seven year olds would do if presented with a Vienna Sausage, another child bit the flashers never covered weener. Not hard enough to draw blood, mind you, but this is still happening in the middle of a school day in a public school classroom. What do you do at this point if you are in charge of these children?? The child was sent to the nurse and directly to the principal's office after that. My sister, hoping for some type of repremandation for this child who refused to listen to authority and successfully reaped the consequences, came to find both the hungry first grader and the flasher back in class the next morning at 8am, without the slightest memory of what happened yesterday since there was not even a slap on the hand.
Then, there's the daily update of the serial theif and her deskful of five finger discounts. This child not only steals things that look fun or shiny or interesting to some level from other students, she also steals chewed off erasers and random things from the teachers desk. She wouldn't be in my gang, that's for sure. But this girl steals so often, she is on a daily contract. That is, the teacher fills out a contract everyday, and she is to bring this to her parents to sign every afternoon and return the following school day. Therefore, her parents are informed on a daily basis of the haps going on with Smooth Fingers. She has been sent to the principal's office more than a handful of times, and is at the point where, if she does it again, it seems inevitable that she be suspended, or maybe even expelled.
But that straw that should have put more weight than that camel could bear, apparently didn't weigh enough. She stole again, and once again, admitted to it. She was sent to the principal's office, and Godwilling, would probably not be in class the next couple of days. Why would a seven year old be a thief anyways?? When my sister confronted the principal about the exceedingly lax moral code, she was informed that Smooth Finger's parents said she was being picked on (because I'm sure their child's SO important that ANYONE would spend an extra 30 minutes after work hours to write up a contract) and they wondered what the other parents would think if the weener story were to leak out to, I don't know, the papers. And this principal gave in to this!! Amazing the ability parents these days have to prepare their children for complete and utter failure when they hit middle school age!! I mean, seriously, bribery??
So what if everyone knew about a little boy being curious and mischevious in one breath. So what if another little boy acted on impulse rather than thinking about the proper thing. As if this type of thing doesn't happen every single day. But, in reality, what leads to so many kids lacking the mental capability to tell them whats right and wrong??
Could it be the lack of quality time the parents spend with these young ones, and therefore they will make excuses not to repremand their children as if making up for their obvious failures as parents?? Is it the complete selfishness these adults show in not practising proper moral code at home?? Maybe these parents have no morals?? I shiver at the thought of how many children really are being set up for failure if you compare the proportions. 5-8 first graders, at the same school, in the same class with such extreme behavior and common sense hinderances...Times that by however many 7 year olds there are in this nation. When are we as parents and role models going to realize we aren't doing our duty if we continuously excuse improper behavior and don't teach basic common sense and morals?? What is it going to have to come to??
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