It was one of those days...even though there were two runny noses, not including my own, it was a good day. There were no arguments. No meltdowns. No mental desire to run to my room and lock the door at 7:30 in the morning and think, "Screw it, we are starting over!". I lie in wait...figuring the afternoon would somehow rival that of the Waco, Texas Branch Davidian Standoff. Cue the obligatory standoff music about 3:34...nothing.
The Talls came in the back door. Greeted me with their homework in their hands, and immediately sat down and did it. No arguing. No raised voices. No begging to play an iPad. Straight to task, no issues. Okay, I fixed a drink...clearly, I some how tripped into the Twilight Zone, and Atticus was some zombie man-child preparing to eat my brain...
Everyone got cleaned up, ate dinner, and helped with the dishes. I wiped a couple of noses and we started an old kids Halloween movie from the 90's...something we had already seen years ago, no biggie. Then suddenly, it hit me...I quickly figured out how my day was so picture perfect, it was the calm before the storm. They kept repeating a word in this movie...I was praying, I was the only one that was catching it. The Smalls peaced about 40 minutes in, put them to bed and came back to finish the movie with the Talls. I went to turn off the movie, and it happened...."Mom, what's a virgin? They said it like 12 times in the movie...".
Quick thinker, not really. Terrified thinker, most definitely. I covered my face for a moment, it felt like 10 minutes, pondering the answer to this question. How this really wasn't a one answer question...this would then spawn multiple questions. Not only did I not have a strong enough cocktail for this, but then the validity of all major players would then come into question- Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Elf on the Shelf...these are the innocent players in this game. The startling notion that if I answered this wrong, I could somehow end up having to explain sex to my 9 and 7 year old BOYS...these little people, albeit I try to shelter a lot...but, I wasn't ready for THIS.
I...went with my cowardly gut. Thinking to myself, in this instance, knowledge is NOT power. I told them a vastly different definition than that of most of the Western world. The longer it took me to answer, I knew I would look suspect. I didn't REALLY lie, because I figured they'd have to look up some of the words IN the definition of a virgin to even know what it was...yeah, I chumped out. "...um, well, um fellas...um, a virgin is...someone who isn't married...Time for bed."
So...not going to win a parenting contest with this evening. I knew the whole day was beyond bizzaro...the lessons learned here are as follows: Have chilled glasses ready...Try not to scar your children for life, when they could learn the info from someone with at least the same parts...It wasn't the Branch Davidian Standoff, but I'm not going to be ready to answer those sorts of questions this close to Christmas, ever.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
...this isn't a 30 minute sitcom...
Well...hello. It's been a while since I've written you...I've been a little busy. If someone would have told me a year ago, that my life would be how it is today? I would have told them to put down the crack pipe, and check themselves into a program. There would be no way that I would/could ever do half of the things I have done in the last year...but, that's not reality.
We had a conversation about your absence today. I reminded the kids how much they've accomplished in the last year...it fell seemingly on deaf ears. They couldn't figure out what I was trying to say. Nora, of course, said, "...I wish he could just come back for a while...", that's usually her standard response. She could carry on a full conversation just about anything (fact or fiction) but grasping where/why you are gone, not quite there yet.
In this conversation, I was trying to tell them how much they have grown, we have grown in the last year. People comment to me all the time, how hard it must be on my own...it is, but it would be so much worse if these kids weren't so great. I told them how strong they were. I told them how proud I was of them...I told them, "...do you know how amazing you kids are? You have been through one of the toughest years of your life. You have been through a loss that most can't even imagine. Look how you have made it...". What I really wanted to say, but censored myself is, do you know how bad ass you are?!
These kids, without them, I would never have made it. Sure, I long for the ability to just go to my room and shut the door at any given time of the day, but that is not reality. We, together, have somehow gained a strength in your absence...I'm not sure if that is out of necessity or if they have always had it in them...but it's there. We are bound for more difficult things in our path of life, this isn't a 30 minute sitcom, but my hope is that this will always be the glue that binds us...this monumental struggle of our lives changing.
The best part about these kids, is their sense of humor. They are able to find the humor, in what we are going through. The many mood swings of Nora. The boy who wants to be a man who (without the need for hygiene) in Oscar. The slight little fella who is always ready to show his feats of strength in Abe. All of us discussed the future of Atticus at the table tonight. As I was wrestling with him to sit at the dinner table, exchanging forks umpteen times, telling him to sit down...Someone asked what I thought his voice would be like. I said probably echoed in prison...Oscar was convinced Atticus would be able bust out of fairly quickly/stealthily. Nora said she would pray for him. Abe said, "...If he broke out, then I'd have to have him over for dinner, I can't leave my stinking brother out in the cold...".
These, little gifts of you...They are what wake me up in the morning. Argue with me. Drool on me. Wad their laundry up. Pee on the toilet seat. Make me play pool party in our living room. Climb the kitchen drawers to play with the coffee pot/knives. Eat me out of house and home. They are the last things I think about when I go to bed at night. They are these awesome gifts, while they might keep the liquor cabinet stocked, I'm left with the best part of you...with their help, I hope I'm doing you proud.
We had a conversation about your absence today. I reminded the kids how much they've accomplished in the last year...it fell seemingly on deaf ears. They couldn't figure out what I was trying to say. Nora, of course, said, "...I wish he could just come back for a while...", that's usually her standard response. She could carry on a full conversation just about anything (fact or fiction) but grasping where/why you are gone, not quite there yet.
In this conversation, I was trying to tell them how much they have grown, we have grown in the last year. People comment to me all the time, how hard it must be on my own...it is, but it would be so much worse if these kids weren't so great. I told them how strong they were. I told them how proud I was of them...I told them, "...do you know how amazing you kids are? You have been through one of the toughest years of your life. You have been through a loss that most can't even imagine. Look how you have made it...". What I really wanted to say, but censored myself is, do you know how bad ass you are?!
These kids, without them, I would never have made it. Sure, I long for the ability to just go to my room and shut the door at any given time of the day, but that is not reality. We, together, have somehow gained a strength in your absence...I'm not sure if that is out of necessity or if they have always had it in them...but it's there. We are bound for more difficult things in our path of life, this isn't a 30 minute sitcom, but my hope is that this will always be the glue that binds us...this monumental struggle of our lives changing.
The best part about these kids, is their sense of humor. They are able to find the humor, in what we are going through. The many mood swings of Nora. The boy who wants to be a man who (without the need for hygiene) in Oscar. The slight little fella who is always ready to show his feats of strength in Abe. All of us discussed the future of Atticus at the table tonight. As I was wrestling with him to sit at the dinner table, exchanging forks umpteen times, telling him to sit down...Someone asked what I thought his voice would be like. I said probably echoed in prison...Oscar was convinced Atticus would be able bust out of fairly quickly/stealthily. Nora said she would pray for him. Abe said, "...If he broke out, then I'd have to have him over for dinner, I can't leave my stinking brother out in the cold...".
These, little gifts of you...They are what wake me up in the morning. Argue with me. Drool on me. Wad their laundry up. Pee on the toilet seat. Make me play pool party in our living room. Climb the kitchen drawers to play with the coffee pot/knives. Eat me out of house and home. They are the last things I think about when I go to bed at night. They are these awesome gifts, while they might keep the liquor cabinet stocked, I'm left with the best part of you...with their help, I hope I'm doing you proud.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
How often should you eat Chinese?
"...he's very entertaining, slightly aspiring to be the funny guy. He's a kind, caring little fellow...he does however understand sarcasm...quite well..." And so, goes the time of year when we have to face those sainted people who take our kids off of our hands eight hours a day. Those people who see our little 'angels' hopefully on their best behavior...the parent teacher conference.
For me, it's an interesting time. I'm nearly upon the last 'event' where I can say, "...I've never done this by myself before...". Tonight's conference and then Halloween, and it's like we've started a new year. I've done my best to make sure that with each passing month, we've tried to acknowledge our accomplishments (however lost they are upon me at times), and made it through another month. We are approaching a year since all of our lives have changed...
I broached, with each of the Talls teachers, the subject our lives. I wanted them to know that we are approaching an interesting time. No matter how I spin the month-to-month 'accomplishments', some of the issues I'm currently dealing with as a parent have me baffled whether it's nature or nurture. Does ever 9 year old act like I did when I was 13? Or is this our situation specific. I wanted the Talls' teachers to know that while they seem mild mannered, things could get interesting (insert reference to acting like ass clowns here). I'm not a delusional parent that feel like my children are the picture of perfection...it's lame, boring, and not half as much fun.
This house we live in, for example, has changed around us. I can sit in any room and really have to rack my brain, to find memories. In the beginning those memories were everywhere. Anything I saw, certain times of day, reminded me of Jason. It's as if we've filled it up with new ones. New memories of our new life, ones that leave you smiling instead of aching. The world, our world has changed around us, maybe because it had to. Maybe because we needed it to. Maybe because life has to go on...never-the-less, while I know Jason will always be here in our hearts, I'm actually looking forward to the approaching holidays...something I never would have considered a year ago.
We no longer are able to have anything of value within reach of Atticus. Hell, I can't even store things without his prying little hands exploring every nook and cranny of this house. He went from being this baby who could barely crawl, to a power-house of excitement with juvenile delinquent tendencies in a year. The boys have mastered door frame climbing. Nora is no longer scared of the vacuum. What once was this massive place, we've grown into, filled out...with toys and books and art supplies and school projects and Legos and Barbies. Having surprise parties for smelly stuffed animals. Running from room to room playing keep away from Atticus (Atti Attack!). Eating Chinese too often. Not eating enough vegetables. Watching movies and making fun of them. We are coming up on a time when we will no longer be able to say, "...remember last year when Jason/Dad did this?"...it's a weird feeling...
I was reminded by a my sainted friend the other day, my statue of limitations is about to run out for my situation...I won't be able to use the excuse of not doing this whole thing alone anymore. Our lives have been altered for sure. For me, the day-to-day that everyone might credit me for getting done, really is a beard. The stresses of raising four kids, alone, I at times hide behind so that I don't have to face things. Do I really want to go to family fun night? With four kids, one of which is 20 months old? NOT ON YOUR LIFE...because I'm doing it alone. Do these decisions hurt my kids? Maybe. But there is sure to be another family fun night next year, we'll see how my mental state is then.
We are about to hit this 'mythical time' everyone has told me about, the YEAR mark...it's fascinating how THAT measurement of time means, something? The YEAR mark for me, taking into consideration my day-to-day, mentally happened about 5 months ago. Fact of the matter, it's time. Time to stop making excuses about being a single parent. Time for a gut check. Time to delegate. Time to look at the new year ahead of us...I need to take more time to celebrate our accomplishments...learn from our mistakes...understand that goals are not always met...and appreciate the art of sarcasm, that has apparently gotten us through this far.
For me, it's an interesting time. I'm nearly upon the last 'event' where I can say, "...I've never done this by myself before...". Tonight's conference and then Halloween, and it's like we've started a new year. I've done my best to make sure that with each passing month, we've tried to acknowledge our accomplishments (however lost they are upon me at times), and made it through another month. We are approaching a year since all of our lives have changed...
I broached, with each of the Talls teachers, the subject our lives. I wanted them to know that we are approaching an interesting time. No matter how I spin the month-to-month 'accomplishments', some of the issues I'm currently dealing with as a parent have me baffled whether it's nature or nurture. Does ever 9 year old act like I did when I was 13? Or is this our situation specific. I wanted the Talls' teachers to know that while they seem mild mannered, things could get interesting (insert reference to acting like ass clowns here). I'm not a delusional parent that feel like my children are the picture of perfection...it's lame, boring, and not half as much fun.
This house we live in, for example, has changed around us. I can sit in any room and really have to rack my brain, to find memories. In the beginning those memories were everywhere. Anything I saw, certain times of day, reminded me of Jason. It's as if we've filled it up with new ones. New memories of our new life, ones that leave you smiling instead of aching. The world, our world has changed around us, maybe because it had to. Maybe because we needed it to. Maybe because life has to go on...never-the-less, while I know Jason will always be here in our hearts, I'm actually looking forward to the approaching holidays...something I never would have considered a year ago.
We no longer are able to have anything of value within reach of Atticus. Hell, I can't even store things without his prying little hands exploring every nook and cranny of this house. He went from being this baby who could barely crawl, to a power-house of excitement with juvenile delinquent tendencies in a year. The boys have mastered door frame climbing. Nora is no longer scared of the vacuum. What once was this massive place, we've grown into, filled out...with toys and books and art supplies and school projects and Legos and Barbies. Having surprise parties for smelly stuffed animals. Running from room to room playing keep away from Atticus (Atti Attack!). Eating Chinese too often. Not eating enough vegetables. Watching movies and making fun of them. We are coming up on a time when we will no longer be able to say, "...remember last year when Jason/Dad did this?"...it's a weird feeling...
I was reminded by a my sainted friend the other day, my statue of limitations is about to run out for my situation...I won't be able to use the excuse of not doing this whole thing alone anymore. Our lives have been altered for sure. For me, the day-to-day that everyone might credit me for getting done, really is a beard. The stresses of raising four kids, alone, I at times hide behind so that I don't have to face things. Do I really want to go to family fun night? With four kids, one of which is 20 months old? NOT ON YOUR LIFE...because I'm doing it alone. Do these decisions hurt my kids? Maybe. But there is sure to be another family fun night next year, we'll see how my mental state is then.
We are about to hit this 'mythical time' everyone has told me about, the YEAR mark...it's fascinating how THAT measurement of time means, something? The YEAR mark for me, taking into consideration my day-to-day, mentally happened about 5 months ago. Fact of the matter, it's time. Time to stop making excuses about being a single parent. Time for a gut check. Time to delegate. Time to look at the new year ahead of us...I need to take more time to celebrate our accomplishments...learn from our mistakes...understand that goals are not always met...and appreciate the art of sarcasm, that has apparently gotten us through this far.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
...not a red flag, but a red badge...
Sometimes this 'pleasure cruise' is not one I actually want to be on. Sure, I find the humor in the little things...Mainly because no one would believe them, and because they keep me from the liquor cabinet. I try not to whine, or carry on about feelings, I don't seek out situations to be sad or upset. I tend to run from them, as I see it as a waste of my time to be miserable...Make no mistake, Mother Nature makes sure I have a nice melt down a couple of times a month, I'm no cyborg, but that's not really anything new.
Then there have been times in the last months or so when I've realized that there is nothing worse than not knowing how you are supposed to feel. You have no idea what emotion you are supposed to display? My life has slightly become this messed up equation, of which I have avoided math most of my life, ironic, huh?
The equation is run down as such...knowing how you feel divided by (*/*), how others feel. Multiplied by (x,) how your true feelings might elicit judgment plus (+). How you might hurt others by what you are feeling, minus (-) the fact that life is hard enough...Equals feeling tired, stressed, and just wanting to get on with real life, or something you see that is better just in the next room, if nothing else. Math, it sucks, right? So, what's the answer? How do I show my work on this problem? Can I just skip it and go on to the next? I took some advice, and I did...but it's time for some unvarnished truth...
So, here's the thing...it's easy to write about my kids, they are hilarious, and take the edge off of my side of the story. Their ability to trudge through this new life has been an inspiration to me...but I needed more. I needed to talk to an adult...someone who didn't know my present/past, someone who didn't know all about me...because in reality, I've had to start over. I was someone before I became a wife and mother...and I had to sort of find her again. So, that was my mission. Talk to people that I could just be Kate to first, then if they were worth talking to they would hear my whole story...because, let's face it, nothing kills a room like, "Hi, I'm a widowed mother of four...".
But, oddly enough...I met this person. He asked all these interesting questions...at times questions I had never even asked of myself. They weren't prying. They were questions that really spoke of who I was, much like the person asking. He asked about Jason, in a way that wasn't sad, which is unusual. He didn't fear what I had been through, he admittedly admired how I had handled it, and how I was coping. He is interested in my past, curious about my future. He said to me recently, "...it must be hard to find Kate Van Gilder, she's been away for a while..." and he's right.
I forgot how nice it was to feel appreciated. Worried about. Heard by another adult, a cheerleader... He laughs at my jokes. Listens to my parenting woes. Gives me advice. And thankfully, understands that it's overwhelming at times...and usually tells me to write about it. He is this warm, sweet person, who cares what I'm making for dinner, and wants to know how I drink my coffee so strong. He is the first to message me in the morning, and the last at night. My life has become better after meeting him...he understands me in a way that I never thought I'd find again, and sorely missed. Of course, I'm sure he sees me as a widowed mother of four, but it's not a red FLAG to him, it's a red BADGE...and that is priceless.
Thus, we are back to the equations again...the part that I keep getting hung up on is other people's perceptions. There is a strange fraction of people in this world that either, want to see you miserable when you are not. OR they want to see you happy when you are miserable...I guess, the weird thing is, it's not for them to choose. I have to remind myself...While I don't want to hurt anyone, or let anyone down, my happiness is for me to choose, and I don't believe in coincidences...While every day isn't a' pleasure cruise', I feel like I've been given a gift to be happy again...and while on this cruise, I'm at the bar wanting my $9 souvenir cup refilled...
Then there have been times in the last months or so when I've realized that there is nothing worse than not knowing how you are supposed to feel. You have no idea what emotion you are supposed to display? My life has slightly become this messed up equation, of which I have avoided math most of my life, ironic, huh?
The equation is run down as such...knowing how you feel divided by (*/*), how others feel. Multiplied by (x,) how your true feelings might elicit judgment plus (+). How you might hurt others by what you are feeling, minus (-) the fact that life is hard enough...Equals feeling tired, stressed, and just wanting to get on with real life, or something you see that is better just in the next room, if nothing else. Math, it sucks, right? So, what's the answer? How do I show my work on this problem? Can I just skip it and go on to the next? I took some advice, and I did...but it's time for some unvarnished truth...
So, here's the thing...it's easy to write about my kids, they are hilarious, and take the edge off of my side of the story. Their ability to trudge through this new life has been an inspiration to me...but I needed more. I needed to talk to an adult...someone who didn't know my present/past, someone who didn't know all about me...because in reality, I've had to start over. I was someone before I became a wife and mother...and I had to sort of find her again. So, that was my mission. Talk to people that I could just be Kate to first, then if they were worth talking to they would hear my whole story...because, let's face it, nothing kills a room like, "Hi, I'm a widowed mother of four...".
But, oddly enough...I met this person. He asked all these interesting questions...at times questions I had never even asked of myself. They weren't prying. They were questions that really spoke of who I was, much like the person asking. He asked about Jason, in a way that wasn't sad, which is unusual. He didn't fear what I had been through, he admittedly admired how I had handled it, and how I was coping. He is interested in my past, curious about my future. He said to me recently, "...it must be hard to find Kate Van Gilder, she's been away for a while..." and he's right.
I forgot how nice it was to feel appreciated. Worried about. Heard by another adult, a cheerleader... He laughs at my jokes. Listens to my parenting woes. Gives me advice. And thankfully, understands that it's overwhelming at times...and usually tells me to write about it. He is this warm, sweet person, who cares what I'm making for dinner, and wants to know how I drink my coffee so strong. He is the first to message me in the morning, and the last at night. My life has become better after meeting him...he understands me in a way that I never thought I'd find again, and sorely missed. Of course, I'm sure he sees me as a widowed mother of four, but it's not a red FLAG to him, it's a red BADGE...and that is priceless.
Thus, we are back to the equations again...the part that I keep getting hung up on is other people's perceptions. There is a strange fraction of people in this world that either, want to see you miserable when you are not. OR they want to see you happy when you are miserable...I guess, the weird thing is, it's not for them to choose. I have to remind myself...While I don't want to hurt anyone, or let anyone down, my happiness is for me to choose, and I don't believe in coincidences...While every day isn't a' pleasure cruise', I feel like I've been given a gift to be happy again...and while on this cruise, I'm at the bar wanting my $9 souvenir cup refilled...
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
...still hate the jazz clarinet...
So, there I am...in a hospital gown, consenting that I don't have any hidden metal objects, and preparing to lay down on an MRI bed. This technician told me the same things as the last MRI technician ...Lie still. This will take about 45 minutes.We'll talk you through it as we go. Are you comfortable? Clearly, the last question was rhetorical, however I wonder if anyone ever says, "...um, hell no?!". Before she laid me down, she asked if there was anything I would like to listen to during the scan. I think I jokingly said, "...got any Black Sabbath?" to which she just blankly looked at me. I said, how about easy listening...and then I was entombed.
The MRI started. It was as loud as I remember it, so loud it's almost creepy. Like at some point the Boeing 727 that you are hearing will brush up against your face. The technician voiced into my head phones that we were going to get started, and she turned on the music. Then, all of the sudden...the infamous jazz clarinet came on...you know who I'm talking about, Kenny G. I thought, okay, I can get through one song. Then, there was another. Trying to mentally catalog what I'd gotten for my 10th birthday to pass the time. No, it wasn't easy listening, it was the Kenny G station. I must have been fidgety, because she stopped the music, and said, "...Katherine, is everything okay?" To which I think I yelled (no, I know I yelled), PLEASE JESUS NO MORE KENNY G...I'd rather listen to Rush Limbaugh!!
When my body deals with pain, it does funny things. After a while, it doesn't even process the level of pain, I just deal. To me, it's just added to the list of things I have to tweak in my daily life. It's one of the toys I have to step over to get to the coffee pot. The pants I turn right side out before I load the washer. It's, unfortunately until I can have further work done, part of me. But, as I was climbing over one of the mandated-Atticus-gates in my house the other day, it got to me. Not sure if it was pain. Not sure if it was stress. Not sure if it was exhaustion. Not sure if I could blame it solely on hormones. Things for a moment caught up, and slightly kicked me in the behind...and good ol' self doubt came knocking...he's as welcome as Kenny G up in here...
Then the craziest thing happened...my phone stopped working. Okay, that's not crazy to many. But, my phone has become my portal to the outside world. Where no one is yelling, "SAY MAP" or asking why we are eating THAT for breakfast. It's my sanctuary, mainly because it's portable, and I'm pretty sure they frown on making toaster strudels while IN bed. I was without. While it was sort of foreign to not to have a predawn check-in with my friend, it was a time when I didn't have to check the weather for no reason. I didn't have to see who posted what on Facebook. I could carry on a conversation, not because I had to, but because I actually wanted to. It was weird but nice to be unplugged. After I sorted out my problem, I realized it sort of jump started me in some weird way...though it was nice to see that I had a few missed calls verifying if I was alive...
The self doubt, the exhaustion, the pain, the hormones...they are all like the girl that crashes the party that no one likes. You're not sure who invited her. You'd think sooner or later you'd just get used to her, but you can't stand her. She's the constant reminder that you could 'do better' or 'don't measure up'. And then about the time you think you can tolerate her...she spills her beer on you and says, "Do you got any Kenny G?!"...and then it's just on.
The MRI started. It was as loud as I remember it, so loud it's almost creepy. Like at some point the Boeing 727 that you are hearing will brush up against your face. The technician voiced into my head phones that we were going to get started, and she turned on the music. Then, all of the sudden...the infamous jazz clarinet came on...you know who I'm talking about, Kenny G. I thought, okay, I can get through one song. Then, there was another. Trying to mentally catalog what I'd gotten for my 10th birthday to pass the time. No, it wasn't easy listening, it was the Kenny G station. I must have been fidgety, because she stopped the music, and said, "...Katherine, is everything okay?" To which I think I yelled (no, I know I yelled), PLEASE JESUS NO MORE KENNY G...I'd rather listen to Rush Limbaugh!!
When my body deals with pain, it does funny things. After a while, it doesn't even process the level of pain, I just deal. To me, it's just added to the list of things I have to tweak in my daily life. It's one of the toys I have to step over to get to the coffee pot. The pants I turn right side out before I load the washer. It's, unfortunately until I can have further work done, part of me. But, as I was climbing over one of the mandated-Atticus-gates in my house the other day, it got to me. Not sure if it was pain. Not sure if it was stress. Not sure if it was exhaustion. Not sure if I could blame it solely on hormones. Things for a moment caught up, and slightly kicked me in the behind...and good ol' self doubt came knocking...he's as welcome as Kenny G up in here...
Then the craziest thing happened...my phone stopped working. Okay, that's not crazy to many. But, my phone has become my portal to the outside world. Where no one is yelling, "SAY MAP" or asking why we are eating THAT for breakfast. It's my sanctuary, mainly because it's portable, and I'm pretty sure they frown on making toaster strudels while IN bed. I was without. While it was sort of foreign to not to have a predawn check-in with my friend, it was a time when I didn't have to check the weather for no reason. I didn't have to see who posted what on Facebook. I could carry on a conversation, not because I had to, but because I actually wanted to. It was weird but nice to be unplugged. After I sorted out my problem, I realized it sort of jump started me in some weird way...though it was nice to see that I had a few missed calls verifying if I was alive...
The self doubt, the exhaustion, the pain, the hormones...they are all like the girl that crashes the party that no one likes. You're not sure who invited her. You'd think sooner or later you'd just get used to her, but you can't stand her. She's the constant reminder that you could 'do better' or 'don't measure up'. And then about the time you think you can tolerate her...she spills her beer on you and says, "Do you got any Kenny G?!"...and then it's just on.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Family Visiting Day
Atticus J Hunt...named after the larger than life character "Atticus Finch" from Harper Lee's novel To Kill A Mockingbird. Of course Gregory Peck playing him in the movie didn't at all hinder the name choice either. He's two foot nothing. Faster than lightening. Has already mastered a shit-eating-grin. Has a way with the ladies. Knows how to get what he wants, or drive you insane trying. Loves brushing his teeth. Tasting toilet water with his hands. And always wants YOUR utensil while eating...
I'm sure people think I embellish some of this guy's antics. Not. One. Bit. I have become so accustomed to them, the other night when we had company, they were marveling at what he was doing. We were in the kitchen, I sort of had zoned him out, as he was wanting in some locked drawer. I turned to look, upon my friends request, to find him trying to pry open one of the locks with a spatula. While I wasn't at all shocked by his actions (the kid is an evil genius), it was however gratifying to see that someone ELSE was catching an eyeful of him first hand...
But, a lot of what he does, okay maybe only 7% of it, I mentally write off. I owe him that. When our lives changed last November, he was sort of my unlicensed therapist. At the time I'd be up with him in the wee hours feeding him a bottle, then again, in the twilight of the evening. In the soft light of his room I would whisper things...mainly just think out loud, thankful at times that he couldn't answer. I would look up and see the picture of his Dad in his room. I would at times feel sorry for him...the fact that he would not only not remember him, but also that any story he would hear would never really be his own. We did a lot of therapy sessions in the beginning, he and I, and I was grateful that he was so little, just so that if I wanted to cry, he wouldn't be the wiser...that was then.
Tonight, as he was wearing mac-n-cheese in his ears from dinner, I took just him up for a bath, usually it's a co-ed affair with Nora. His vocabulary is growing, and two words like 'ice cream' or 'bath' elicit a gleeful gasp from him. That is also to say, you never turn your back on him when the tub is filling up, as he will jump in (toothbrush in hand of course), as if he is in an Olympic size pool. As he was sitting there, filling up cups, brushing his teeth, splashing around...those old feelings sort of flooded in.
Feeling like his life story already is something out of a Greek Tragedy. He has lost a parent he'll never remember. He's told regularly that he looks like his Dad (which I know is at times astounding, however it is also slightly hurtful to the other kids in this house that are in earshot). He's left with his screw-ball mother. And lastly, his three siblings, who lets face it, would at times allow him to play with a badger for some beef jerky....But then, as I was having one of our old silent tear sessions, it occurred to me...While no, he won't remember his Dad, he's not really left with as much loss either. He will be able to hear stories about this really colorful person. However, these stories won't have the same emotional connection, as they will be stories about a great guy who he has no recollection of meeting. His 'loss' as everyone else, including myself, might have seen it, really doesn't have to be.
And as I am talking to him, 20 years from now...using the sanctioned phone, looking through the bullet proof glass on 'Family Visiting Day', complimenting him that all of his tattoos are spelled correctly, at some fine penitentiary...I will remember those hours of twilight that we shared, how much he has taught me, how blessed that I am to have him, and how grateful I am that he's my last.
I'm sure people think I embellish some of this guy's antics. Not. One. Bit. I have become so accustomed to them, the other night when we had company, they were marveling at what he was doing. We were in the kitchen, I sort of had zoned him out, as he was wanting in some locked drawer. I turned to look, upon my friends request, to find him trying to pry open one of the locks with a spatula. While I wasn't at all shocked by his actions (the kid is an evil genius), it was however gratifying to see that someone ELSE was catching an eyeful of him first hand...
But, a lot of what he does, okay maybe only 7% of it, I mentally write off. I owe him that. When our lives changed last November, he was sort of my unlicensed therapist. At the time I'd be up with him in the wee hours feeding him a bottle, then again, in the twilight of the evening. In the soft light of his room I would whisper things...mainly just think out loud, thankful at times that he couldn't answer. I would look up and see the picture of his Dad in his room. I would at times feel sorry for him...the fact that he would not only not remember him, but also that any story he would hear would never really be his own. We did a lot of therapy sessions in the beginning, he and I, and I was grateful that he was so little, just so that if I wanted to cry, he wouldn't be the wiser...that was then.
Tonight, as he was wearing mac-n-cheese in his ears from dinner, I took just him up for a bath, usually it's a co-ed affair with Nora. His vocabulary is growing, and two words like 'ice cream' or 'bath' elicit a gleeful gasp from him. That is also to say, you never turn your back on him when the tub is filling up, as he will jump in (toothbrush in hand of course), as if he is in an Olympic size pool. As he was sitting there, filling up cups, brushing his teeth, splashing around...those old feelings sort of flooded in.
Feeling like his life story already is something out of a Greek Tragedy. He has lost a parent he'll never remember. He's told regularly that he looks like his Dad (which I know is at times astounding, however it is also slightly hurtful to the other kids in this house that are in earshot). He's left with his screw-ball mother. And lastly, his three siblings, who lets face it, would at times allow him to play with a badger for some beef jerky....But then, as I was having one of our old silent tear sessions, it occurred to me...While no, he won't remember his Dad, he's not really left with as much loss either. He will be able to hear stories about this really colorful person. However, these stories won't have the same emotional connection, as they will be stories about a great guy who he has no recollection of meeting. His 'loss' as everyone else, including myself, might have seen it, really doesn't have to be.
And as I am talking to him, 20 years from now...using the sanctioned phone, looking through the bullet proof glass on 'Family Visiting Day', complimenting him that all of his tattoos are spelled correctly, at some fine penitentiary...I will remember those hours of twilight that we shared, how much he has taught me, how blessed that I am to have him, and how grateful I am that he's my last.
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