I'm done!
I like to blame my bad days on the actual days. "Curse you Monday! You are rainy!" Grrr!! "Dang nab it Wednesday, you are so humpy!" Grrrrr!
I hate to place the blame on me or the kids or the dog or the husband...it always have to be the days.
Thursday...oh Thursday. Why you have to be....as the kids like to say...hate'n? I just feel like I'm banging my head against the wall....& the red spot is getting bigger. I have issues with my kids. That's the nice thing to say. The real story is at sometimes, some kids are WACK! And I...am done. I can't fix it. I can't fix them, I can't even fix breakfast anymore. Oh man I need a fix!
I have a kid I try to discipline & try to have their back at the same time. Yeah....that's a great combo! Well I had their back about something. We went over this nit picky crap their teacher was pulling. Got the whole story. Then proceeded to write a little note to her. I ended the note with a question. "Why do you have a 2x4 shoved in a place it shouldn't be?" No...I wish. I'm sassy...I ain't THAT sassy...only in my dreams! But I was stupid & ended the note with a question, so of course she calls me.
Uggg. I hate when teachers call. She explains her side of the story to me as I sit in silence. I didn't defend my child. Don't worry, it wasn't anything we needed to fix, it was just they were being "charged cash" for not turning in a form I had to sign....even though they still had 5 days before it HAD to be turned in. Yeah....little water torture techniques they hon in school.... is boring HOLES in my head!
So anyway, I didn't ask her questions. I just let her talk. Whatever, I just wanted to get back on FB. I had better things to do then listen to spin. After I got off the phone I was mad at myself. "Self....you didn't even ask her probing questions? Never defended the kid & say "give back their cash you meany mean head!" Oh no...I just said "ok, thanks for calling."
LOSER.
Oh but wait.
A few minutes later we discuss things w/ the Daddy & low & behold....my kid...LIED. Bold faced, straight up lied about what happened. (That was a slip on their part....opps, the cat I was beating in the bag, just stumbled out!") He never was charged $$. That happened to other kids. When we were discussing the stupid note to the teacher...the kid approved it & off it went.
Kid lied.
And I'm the fool. I can't do this. And to think...it only gets worse. Great...can't wait.
So I have decided my kids will be better off without me. Oh sure, they will cry for about 2.7 minutes, but life will go on & they will be fine. FINE! Because if I stay here any longer...they will NOT be fine. So moms, if you feel like you need to get away...come on over. The crazy train will be pulling out of the station & heading out to....hummmmm where can we go? Where do mom's go when they run away? Hawaii? Bourbon Street? Fuji? St. Louis? The bar down by the tracks? My van...locked...parked down the street where they can't find me?
Ah screw it...I can't even run away correctly! Who allowed me to be a mother anyway?
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Mother issues
My mom was...how shall I put this....HOT. As a child I would break into her stash of pictures & stare in wonder at her black & white world. I loved the dress, the hair styles, the really high waisted pants her brother would wear. I became to despise the tacky day-glow ugly around me. I relished dressing in a manner that was more elegant & civilized. Uggg, the 80's...I was SO not into the fashion! Gag me with a spoon! In my mothers pictures I saw beauty & refinement.
Some would say I have Mother Issues....nooooo REALLY? And believe me...it's not because I had to pick out what dress my dead mother would have to wear in her pink casket....oh no. It had more to do with the image I had to life up to. Did I mention my mom was HOT?
How HOT was she?
She was so HOT she had no idea she was hot.
She was so HOT, even when she was 50 she got slapped on the bum walking down the street!
She was so HOT she was a model.
My Mother was a model....how could I compete?! ( her modeling career lasted one magazine article & one newspaper picture, but STILL!)
So excuse me if I have mother issues. After you see my proof, you will understand me better. And hopefully feel sorry enough for me to take me out for Sushi so I can wipe my tears with a napkin covered in Wasabi paste!
Mother, you are loved....even if you were HOT!
Here is my darling mom as the coveted "Yellow Pages Girl". Work that lawnmower! I remember my mom & I laughing so hard at this picture. I love the awkwardly bent finger. She said that finger pose was a doozy! I think she got paid 50 cents.
Here is a portfolio picture. She hated this picture. Why? Cuz she was "fat". I was shocked when I heard that. Look at her! Girl got some meat on her....& it's prime rib! My Dad & I thought she was perfect. Just goes to show you girls had issues with their body image that go wayyyy back.
AWWWWWW YEAHHHHH! Hey! Stop ogling my mother! Who can rock a plunging, orange jumpsuit? My mom, that's who! I swear she dressed that way just to piss off her mother....who can't even look at the camera. Awesome!
I love this photo! My 12 year old mom at the Boardwalk with her beloved father. She's so cute! Her red hair plopped on her little head! Her little bathing top! Her huge bathing bottoms that look like granny panties! Love, love it! Now if you would please direct your gaze to her "popped" knee. She how she pops it out across her other knee. That is her secret to a good pose. She learned early how to arrange her body. So next time you feel a little self conscience about your picture being taken....do the sassy "knee pop" you can't go wrong!
I....am not...knee popping. See the difference? 12 year old mom...knee pop=cute. Me...12 years old....sans knee pop=tragic. Don't let this happen to you. I know you all love the macrame bikini & you can't get enough of that eye sore. Well not to fear little campers....my next blog installment will be "The great & horrible & sad & scarring experience of the Bikini of death!!!!" Where I shall tell you all about my bikini shame. Stay tuned!
One word...stunning. This little hot tamale is my mom....at 17 years old. Yeah...I know. P.S...I still have those earrings w/ matching glass necklace. Be jealous.
Would you like to see me at 17?
Wait for it.
Waitttttt for it.
GOOD Heavens! Agggg! WHY? WHYYYYY? Do you SEE why I have issues? DO YOU?! 
Lets' cleanse our eyeball pallet & end on a good note....& not a note that will be burned into your nightmares. Shake it off...shake it off!
You need not worry. My mother's lessons have paid off. I "knee pop" when I am unsure about how I look right before that picture is snapped. I fake confidence because it forces my shoulders back. I push my boobs out when I walk, because she said it will make me walk taller. That...was hard "Mom! I feel lewd! This is obscene! I feel stupid!" (Note to self...when your boobs point down to your navel...don't push out your almost 40 year old boobs.....lest you end up sticking your tummy out. Just pretend they are up where they were when you where 17....so...soooo long ago) But sure enough...she was right. In fact....she was right about everything she told me. So thanks mom for all the good advice. You...were right.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Cherry Tree
The static in the air entered my finger tips & settled itself in my bowels. It wrapped it's buzzing tentacles around my lungs & slowly squeezed. "Whats wrong now?" I mumbled.
The static was a constant in my life. I don't remember the day it entered me, but I did recognise it began to swell bigger & take over my body around the time I was 8 years old. Maybe that was the age I became aware that I was different from the other kids. I was slow in school. I struggled under the weight of the demands. I became aware that OTHER people knew I was different. I had my first panic attack when I was 10...4th grade (remind me to tell you all of the hell I endured durning that time...it was awesome) I was also 10 when my mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer (aggressive as in "Dr. was a sh%$head & didn't recognise that the HUGE lump in my moms breast was cancer." Another story for another time...just as awesome)
But there was the static. That day....me being a few months shy of 12 years old, it hummed so loud I clapped my hands over my ears. I became detached from the ground & I couldn't feel my steps, even though they were heavy as I paced my room. I felt "off" all day. It had been a sunny, happy day. Why now? What's...wrong?
Mom picked me up from the sitters after work. I could feel her...drain me...as she looked at me & smiled "how was your day Honey?" Static begins to now build in my throat. "fine, mom." But all I can think is...let me go...I can't breath.
I run when I get home. Sometimes I can run from it...the static trailing behind me. I run to the creek. I run to the garden field, the house, the driveway, the sunken garden. My Dad is home...I breath. He smells like heavy equipment oil. I love that smell. But he even...drains me. The static returns w/ thud as I stop. We collide. Damn it...what's wrong?
Moms says "Sweetie, come to my room after your father changes clothes. I need to tell you something. Ok? Ok Baby"
Slam, slam, slam....my heart pounds against my chest. My arm pits shake. I taste acid. I'm in my room. I don't remember how I got there. I'm on my knees in front of my window. I focus on the cherry tree. Pink & soft. God is in my wild cherry tree.
Does God live? I did not know. As my Mom became sick...then sicker...& really super duper sick, I didn't pray. But then I felt, well maybe I should give this thing a shot. I offered up a thanks to whoever would listen. Thanks for the good days with my mom. Thanks for my dog & gerbil. I remember feeling stupid kneeling & praying.
Soon, I became more comfortable talking to God. It did bother me that I didn't know where God was. I had friends & family of different religions. Everyone told me what, where & who God was. At first I felt I was praying all wrong. Trying to conform to what other people believed. Finally out of frustration...... I turned to the cherry tree. That was where my God lived. Forever in a wild blooming cherry tree.
Comfortable with my idea of God, I look at the tree & begin to talk. To this day, I will never forget the time God talked to me. Never forget the day that we made a deal. The day he gave me mercy. And mercy for my mother.
"God, somethings wrong cuz it won't let go of me today. It's really bad. Can you help me?"
I stay on my knees, happy to be hypnotised by the swaying tree.
Hours, days, months go by. (I'm 11.5 years old....5 minutes is a life time!)
The static drains out my bare toes & melts into my light green carpet. For the first time today, I can breath.
"Ah, there you are God. You are there right? Am I talking to a tree? I don't care if I am. I feel better."
And then.
I feel it. As plain as day. I understand what is happening. I feel the future. And for some reason, I'm not shock. (again... 11.5 yrs old. faith of a child)
Silence broken by my mother "Jenny, can you come to my room now, we're ready!" Yeah Mom, give me a sec!
"Oh gosh, yeah, THAT'S what is wrong! Ok...I got to make this quick. Ummmmm, gosh. Let me think."
God lets me think
"GOT IT! Ok...I need your help. Ok God, I know what's happening. Did you tell me? If you did, thanks...if not....then I'm psychic...cool. Ok, a few weeks ago Mom went to the Dr. to find out if her cancer had gone to her bones. Do you remember? If it went to her bones she would die...like soon. I bet you anything she just heard back from them. Did they call? When did Mom find out? Anywho. i know what they told her. I feel it.
They told her it's bad. It's in the bone. She will be dying soon.
Here's where you come in ok? I know they told her it's in the bone. Let them say it's in the bone BUT let it not be true. Even though they will all believe she has bone cancer...let it not be true. Let it be a mistake. Ok?"
I'm still in front of the window, but I have been pacing. Scheming with God who's in my cherry tree excites me! As I happily pace. I feel...
"ok."
"Thanks God, your the best. But now can you help me to act sad, cuz I just might burst out & tell my mom & that might ruin everything!"
So off I go down the hall to my parents room. I open their door & find them solemn. Sitting side by side on the bed. My heart hurts for her. But I can't tell her my plan.
She tells me to sit by her. I feel like I'm in a after school special. It's all so cheesy. I just about laugh at loud at the absurdity of it all. I play into it. I relax. I try to will my warmth & strength into my mother as she readies to tell me a painful truth...which I know to be a mistake.
Without tears or even so much as a quivering lip she says words no mother should ever have to speak to her child.
"Jenny, it's in my bones, the cancer. They have given me 6 months at the most. I won't be here for Christmas."
We talked for a bit about how hateful bone cancer was. Then I hopped off her bed & walked to my room. I did my best to look crushed, but I had a big smile on my face. I got to my window & did a high five by myself. God & I did it! All would be well.
For about 1 year after that day on her bed, my Mother endured more cancer hell. WE endured cancer hell.
Then
She got slightly better. Tests were taken. Then the words.
"We are so sorry Gail. We don't know what happened. We must have read your x-rays wrong. All the coughing you did all those years cracked your ribs. (my mom coughed non stop for 5 years. I think it had something to do w/ the cancer/meds/illness/arthritis. ) We must have read those healed cracks as bone cancer. You don't have bone cancer. You'll live."
She lived 1 year without cancer.
When the year ended, her cancer returned.
Life went on. The months went by. 1, 2 years? It became a blur of living. Some days were heart breaking, others were filled with fun & happiness.
She died on a beautiful windy July day. And on that day, I physically felt the static rise from the bottom of my feet, wander up through my body, stopping at my shoulders. I felt it crouch down hard, then in an instant it sprang from me. The crushing weight I had carried all those years left me. I still suffer from anxiety, but not like the heart wrenching, bone crushing, vomit inducing static I had before. I am grateful I had it, because if I never would have felt it, I never would have appreciated it leaving me.
One day in spring, when the wild cherry tree was in full bloom, God granted a young girl her wish. "Make it be a mistake. Work with me on this one God. Please?" He granted her a glimpse into the future. He allowed her to have a bit of control of her careening, plummeting life. He even allowed her mom to have a breather from the cancer. That day was a gift for me and a tragedy for my mom. I hope now God has let her in on our little plan! I hope she can forgive me for not including her. I do regret that. It would have been nice to share it with her. I hope she won't spank me for being so...well...childish when I see her again.
God gave me that gift freely. I just simple asked. It was very sweet of Him. And the only thing I felt he asked for in return, was to etch this experience on my soul.
To my God in the cherry tree, I have etched it. Forgive me for allowing the dust of my life to settle into the deep cracks. I will remember.
The static was a constant in my life. I don't remember the day it entered me, but I did recognise it began to swell bigger & take over my body around the time I was 8 years old. Maybe that was the age I became aware that I was different from the other kids. I was slow in school. I struggled under the weight of the demands. I became aware that OTHER people knew I was different. I had my first panic attack when I was 10...4th grade (remind me to tell you all of the hell I endured durning that time...it was awesome) I was also 10 when my mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer (aggressive as in "Dr. was a sh%$head & didn't recognise that the HUGE lump in my moms breast was cancer." Another story for another time...just as awesome)
But there was the static. That day....me being a few months shy of 12 years old, it hummed so loud I clapped my hands over my ears. I became detached from the ground & I couldn't feel my steps, even though they were heavy as I paced my room. I felt "off" all day. It had been a sunny, happy day. Why now? What's...wrong?
Mom picked me up from the sitters after work. I could feel her...drain me...as she looked at me & smiled "how was your day Honey?" Static begins to now build in my throat. "fine, mom." But all I can think is...let me go...I can't breath.
I run when I get home. Sometimes I can run from it...the static trailing behind me. I run to the creek. I run to the garden field, the house, the driveway, the sunken garden. My Dad is home...I breath. He smells like heavy equipment oil. I love that smell. But he even...drains me. The static returns w/ thud as I stop. We collide. Damn it...what's wrong?
Moms says "Sweetie, come to my room after your father changes clothes. I need to tell you something. Ok? Ok Baby"
Slam, slam, slam....my heart pounds against my chest. My arm pits shake. I taste acid. I'm in my room. I don't remember how I got there. I'm on my knees in front of my window. I focus on the cherry tree. Pink & soft. God is in my wild cherry tree.
Does God live? I did not know. As my Mom became sick...then sicker...& really super duper sick, I didn't pray. But then I felt, well maybe I should give this thing a shot. I offered up a thanks to whoever would listen. Thanks for the good days with my mom. Thanks for my dog & gerbil. I remember feeling stupid kneeling & praying.
Soon, I became more comfortable talking to God. It did bother me that I didn't know where God was. I had friends & family of different religions. Everyone told me what, where & who God was. At first I felt I was praying all wrong. Trying to conform to what other people believed. Finally out of frustration...... I turned to the cherry tree. That was where my God lived. Forever in a wild blooming cherry tree.
Comfortable with my idea of God, I look at the tree & begin to talk. To this day, I will never forget the time God talked to me. Never forget the day that we made a deal. The day he gave me mercy. And mercy for my mother.
"God, somethings wrong cuz it won't let go of me today. It's really bad. Can you help me?"
I stay on my knees, happy to be hypnotised by the swaying tree.
Hours, days, months go by. (I'm 11.5 years old....5 minutes is a life time!)
The static drains out my bare toes & melts into my light green carpet. For the first time today, I can breath.
"Ah, there you are God. You are there right? Am I talking to a tree? I don't care if I am. I feel better."
And then.
I feel it. As plain as day. I understand what is happening. I feel the future. And for some reason, I'm not shock. (again... 11.5 yrs old. faith of a child)
Silence broken by my mother "Jenny, can you come to my room now, we're ready!" Yeah Mom, give me a sec!
"Oh gosh, yeah, THAT'S what is wrong! Ok...I got to make this quick. Ummmmm, gosh. Let me think."
God lets me think
"GOT IT! Ok...I need your help. Ok God, I know what's happening. Did you tell me? If you did, thanks...if not....then I'm psychic...cool. Ok, a few weeks ago Mom went to the Dr. to find out if her cancer had gone to her bones. Do you remember? If it went to her bones she would die...like soon. I bet you anything she just heard back from them. Did they call? When did Mom find out? Anywho. i know what they told her. I feel it.
They told her it's bad. It's in the bone. She will be dying soon.
Here's where you come in ok? I know they told her it's in the bone. Let them say it's in the bone BUT let it not be true. Even though they will all believe she has bone cancer...let it not be true. Let it be a mistake. Ok?"
I'm still in front of the window, but I have been pacing. Scheming with God who's in my cherry tree excites me! As I happily pace. I feel...
"ok."
"Thanks God, your the best. But now can you help me to act sad, cuz I just might burst out & tell my mom & that might ruin everything!"
So off I go down the hall to my parents room. I open their door & find them solemn. Sitting side by side on the bed. My heart hurts for her. But I can't tell her my plan.
She tells me to sit by her. I feel like I'm in a after school special. It's all so cheesy. I just about laugh at loud at the absurdity of it all. I play into it. I relax. I try to will my warmth & strength into my mother as she readies to tell me a painful truth...which I know to be a mistake.
Without tears or even so much as a quivering lip she says words no mother should ever have to speak to her child.
"Jenny, it's in my bones, the cancer. They have given me 6 months at the most. I won't be here for Christmas."
We talked for a bit about how hateful bone cancer was. Then I hopped off her bed & walked to my room. I did my best to look crushed, but I had a big smile on my face. I got to my window & did a high five by myself. God & I did it! All would be well.
For about 1 year after that day on her bed, my Mother endured more cancer hell. WE endured cancer hell.
Then
She got slightly better. Tests were taken. Then the words.
"We are so sorry Gail. We don't know what happened. We must have read your x-rays wrong. All the coughing you did all those years cracked your ribs. (my mom coughed non stop for 5 years. I think it had something to do w/ the cancer/meds/illness/arthritis. ) We must have read those healed cracks as bone cancer. You don't have bone cancer. You'll live."
She lived 1 year without cancer.
When the year ended, her cancer returned.
Life went on. The months went by. 1, 2 years? It became a blur of living. Some days were heart breaking, others were filled with fun & happiness.
She died on a beautiful windy July day. And on that day, I physically felt the static rise from the bottom of my feet, wander up through my body, stopping at my shoulders. I felt it crouch down hard, then in an instant it sprang from me. The crushing weight I had carried all those years left me. I still suffer from anxiety, but not like the heart wrenching, bone crushing, vomit inducing static I had before. I am grateful I had it, because if I never would have felt it, I never would have appreciated it leaving me.
One day in spring, when the wild cherry tree was in full bloom, God granted a young girl her wish. "Make it be a mistake. Work with me on this one God. Please?" He granted her a glimpse into the future. He allowed her to have a bit of control of her careening, plummeting life. He even allowed her mom to have a breather from the cancer. That day was a gift for me and a tragedy for my mom. I hope now God has let her in on our little plan! I hope she can forgive me for not including her. I do regret that. It would have been nice to share it with her. I hope she won't spank me for being so...well...childish when I see her again.
God gave me that gift freely. I just simple asked. It was very sweet of Him. And the only thing I felt he asked for in return, was to etch this experience on my soul.
To my God in the cherry tree, I have etched it. Forgive me for allowing the dust of my life to settle into the deep cracks. I will remember.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Drink the Kool-Aid
I did something that makes me uncomfortable. I defended The Religion. It made me uncomfortable because...at the end of the day I don't know everything. I ain't a scriptorian (I much rather eat my own eyeballs then read the scriptures) I have bad spelling. I ramble. I swear. I get a blank look in my eye when people ask me about The Religion. (trust me...blank look is better then seeing red. DO NOT ask me ANYTHING about ANYTHING when I am on a bender...I will strip your flesh off with my teeth & eat your soul...just warning you now)
I think everyone feels uncomfortable when they are asked to defend something they don't understand. But dang nab it...don't you dare talk smack about crap you know nothing about. I may not know much....but I know more then you, you little bigoted worm (judge much? I sure do!)
I use to read a forum about mothers & all the great crap mothers do...whatever. It did help me out for awhile. I helped me with questions like "Do I use fleece or wool to catch my babies flaming poo. Did I really kill my Daylilies because I ignored them & didn't talk to them all winter?" Ya know, crunchy stuff that I use to be into....then I had 4 kids & crunchy went straight to Hades along w/ my sanity. Anywayyyyyy, I hardly read the site anymore because it just ain't my thang. I grew up & moved on. But sometimes when I'm bored (idle hands make for the devils workshop) I'll read it. They have a religion forum which always cracked me up. They are the type of people who would believe in Fairies but would call a Christian a freak of nature & a murder...fun stuff.
Well My Religion peeps no longer post in this forum, because people HATE us. Yes, even crunchy, tree hugg'n, cloth diaper wear'n, baby sqirt'n out people...hate some religions. So, my peeps fled. But then I saw it....a post...a question about The Religion. I read it......It made my blood boil, my head pop & my teeth grind.
I will be very controlled when I say this...deep breath.......
You stupid mother falkers. Really? Reallyyyyyy. You know nothing about The Religion. If you are going to bash it...at least get your dang nab it fact straight you lint lickers! Why do people feel the need to speak about things they know NOTHING about? As I was reading this crap, I felt like the goofy girl in the corner that people were talking about....I can HEAR YOU!
I waited.
& waited.
& waited.
Not one of my "cult" followers spoke up. & I know they were there. Just shaking their heads saying "well, it's a lost cause. They never believe us. I can't defend The Religion as well as they can tear it apart."
So...I snapped. I posted. The weird girl that you have been speaking for & speaking about... that was stuck in the corner...came out...guns blazing.
I knew as I posted, I could possibly ridiculed. Or they would discover I was a fraud who has the IQ of a sloth. I knew I couldn't compete. But by golly, I will say what I believe, what I hope to be true. I will defend my friends, I will speak up the best, with the little information I got rattling around in my brain. I will lay it at your feet. Then I will walk away....knowing it will be trashed. But at least I spoke up....even though it hurt my brain.
I hate Mondays.
I think everyone feels uncomfortable when they are asked to defend something they don't understand. But dang nab it...don't you dare talk smack about crap you know nothing about. I may not know much....but I know more then you, you little bigoted worm (judge much? I sure do!)
I use to read a forum about mothers & all the great crap mothers do...whatever. It did help me out for awhile. I helped me with questions like "Do I use fleece or wool to catch my babies flaming poo. Did I really kill my Daylilies because I ignored them & didn't talk to them all winter?" Ya know, crunchy stuff that I use to be into....then I had 4 kids & crunchy went straight to Hades along w/ my sanity. Anywayyyyyy, I hardly read the site anymore because it just ain't my thang. I grew up & moved on. But sometimes when I'm bored (idle hands make for the devils workshop) I'll read it. They have a religion forum which always cracked me up. They are the type of people who would believe in Fairies but would call a Christian a freak of nature & a murder...fun stuff.
Well My Religion peeps no longer post in this forum, because people HATE us. Yes, even crunchy, tree hugg'n, cloth diaper wear'n, baby sqirt'n out people...hate some religions. So, my peeps fled. But then I saw it....a post...a question about The Religion. I read it......It made my blood boil, my head pop & my teeth grind.
I will be very controlled when I say this...deep breath.......
You stupid mother falkers. Really? Reallyyyyyy. You know nothing about The Religion. If you are going to bash it...at least get your dang nab it fact straight you lint lickers! Why do people feel the need to speak about things they know NOTHING about? As I was reading this crap, I felt like the goofy girl in the corner that people were talking about....I can HEAR YOU!
I waited.
& waited.
& waited.
Not one of my "cult" followers spoke up. & I know they were there. Just shaking their heads saying "well, it's a lost cause. They never believe us. I can't defend The Religion as well as they can tear it apart."
So...I snapped. I posted. The weird girl that you have been speaking for & speaking about... that was stuck in the corner...came out...guns blazing.
I knew as I posted, I could possibly ridiculed. Or they would discover I was a fraud who has the IQ of a sloth. I knew I couldn't compete. But by golly, I will say what I believe, what I hope to be true. I will defend my friends, I will speak up the best, with the little information I got rattling around in my brain. I will lay it at your feet. Then I will walk away....knowing it will be trashed. But at least I spoke up....even though it hurt my brain.
I hate Mondays.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Is it something in the water?
Do you ever look around at the young girls in your neighborhood/school/church & say to yourself "What the Hades?! These girls are cute...really cute! What happened between 1985 & 2010?"
These girls will look back 20 years at their school pictures & say "Hey, I was cute in my black H & M shirt & my shiny hair."
They won't be saying things like...
What the heck was my mom thinking?! WHY the boy hair cut? That really damaged me. Mother "It's a pixie cut." Me "Good Goober women...It's a BOY cut...have you no shame?"
These girls will look back 20 years at their school pictures & say "Hey, I was cute in my black H & M shirt & my shiny hair."
They won't be saying things like...
What the heck was my mom thinking?! WHY the boy hair cut? That really damaged me. Mother "It's a pixie cut." Me "Good Goober women...It's a BOY cut...have you no shame?"
What was I thinking?! This awesome sweater/tight/headband/really freakishly long bang (I have a long forehead...so shoot me...no really, shoot me) look was my first attempt to dress my 8th. grade self up for my first dance. I actually went back to my old school in the country, 30 minutes away to see everyone I left behind 2 years before. P.S. the dance sucked...but I did love those white rectangle earrings.
.
.
Did I really get upstaged by a dog? Note the curl/bowl like haircut. And to the right...is a little blue bow clip stuck into that hot mess. Oh & that purvey dog...belonged to my parents purvey friends. The dude was always trying to kiss me & show me crude,nude pictures. Good times! And yes, that is the dogs tongue permanently hanging out the side of his mouth...just like his owner. The look on my face...."Purvey friend wants to hug me...so I'll hold this dog which hates him allll night long." Note my eyes...I kid you not, I was trying to silently communicate with my Mom. "Your friend is grossssss!"
.
.
.
Sweet Jesuit preist....There...are
....no....words.
I'm.....sorry. I was...blinded...by pity for that poor, deeply embarrassed 12 year old. Let me explain. My mother bought me that monstrosity. She thought I looked great (really mom?) It is a hideous...brown....knit.....bicini.
Sweet mercy...I'm having flash backs...excuse me for a second.
This picture was taken on a terrible trip to Florida. Dear Florida, I am sorry my mother inflicted such pain on your sunny state. This is proof of what I thought the whole time.
My saint of a mother was butt drunk out of her MIND and she had no SHAME!
This bikini lasted only for 1 more outing. I'll have to tell you all about it in graphic detail one day. But until then....look upon me with pity. Look at my still developing awkward body. For the love of all that's holy....I have ONE boob! I have ONE! Not 2, ONE!
I....Just....I.........
So young girls of the 21 century. You are cute. You will never have to go through the pain your mothers had to endure growing up....& that makes you a weak generation. So WAAAAAAAAA, you had a bad hair day......LOOK AT ME you spoiled brats. Look & pray to the one that made you that your mothers sacrifice so you didn't have to!
Now I will go to the best web site ever....To purge my bikini from my mind & look upon others who had the misfortune of living in the 20th century. Seriously, if you want to pee your pants & feel better about your family photos...please visit http://awkwardfamilyphoto.com/
You will not be disappointed....unlike I was...with my one boob!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Dr. is in!
My friends & I joke about "going to my happy place" whenever we get anxious or sad or overwhelmed. How many of us say that but don't do it?
As you now know, I am riddled with issues. Yes, it is official. I have a paper stating such. And I also have a therapist. (Jealous? You should be!) My issues have calmed down tremendously since I got older. I no longer vomit in public when I'm nervous or have anxiety attacks....much (My first attack was in 4th grade...in front of my class..as my teacher screamed "I can't teach you, you are so damn stupid....kid you not!)
I am learning how to rethink. I'm trying to make new pathways in my brain so I can have more options then just careening down the tortured, twisted path I normally tread. But to do that...I must be submersed in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy ( a psycho therapeutic approach that aims to solved problems concerning dysfunctional emotions, behaviors & cognitions through a goal oriented systematic procedure......get it? )
One thing my fairy dust sprinkling therapist (yes...she does have a waned!) has taught me is how to ease anxiety by going to my happy place. It's very simple. At first it feels stupid....really stupid. But the more you practice...the more it works. So lets get going to your happy place!
Think about something calm that you enjoy doing. For me, it's wandering in nature. For you it might be sewing, swimming, singing, jogging, playing an instrument, sumo wrestling.
As you now know, I am riddled with issues. Yes, it is official. I have a paper stating such. And I also have a therapist. (Jealous? You should be!) My issues have calmed down tremendously since I got older. I no longer vomit in public when I'm nervous or have anxiety attacks....much (My first attack was in 4th grade...in front of my class..as my teacher screamed "I can't teach you, you are so damn stupid....kid you not!)
I am learning how to rethink. I'm trying to make new pathways in my brain so I can have more options then just careening down the tortured, twisted path I normally tread. But to do that...I must be submersed in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy ( a psycho therapeutic approach that aims to solved problems concerning dysfunctional emotions, behaviors & cognitions through a goal oriented systematic procedure......get it? )
One thing my fairy dust sprinkling therapist (yes...she does have a waned!) has taught me is how to ease anxiety by going to my happy place. It's very simple. At first it feels stupid....really stupid. But the more you practice...the more it works. So lets get going to your happy place!
Think about something calm that you enjoy doing. For me, it's wandering in nature. For you it might be sewing, swimming, singing, jogging, playing an instrument, sumo wrestling.
What do you see around you?
What do you smell?
What do you taste?
What do you hear?
What do you feel?
You have just invoked all 5 senses. Your brain is trying to make new pathways in healthy thinking. After you have imagined all of this, pick a word. This word needs to be something that is not used often. If it's a common word, 1 of 2 things will happen. The word will lose all meaning or you will suddenly find yourself in a meditative, drooling, relaxed state when someone says the word to you. "Hey Jane! Cute puppy you got there." relaxed word.... puppy...suddenly calm & warm as dog drags you chasing after a squirrel....what would your neighbors think?!
Now you go through your meditations say the word over & over again. (yeah, yeah...it sounds stupid, just keep at it) Over time you have trained your mind to relax. In times that you can't sit, relax & daydream about your happy place...all you have to do is say the word. And like Pavlov dog, your brain will associate warms fuzzies with that word.
Now, be gone, I'm off to my happy place!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
You cut me. You cut me deep
Winter has arrived. Christmas looms around the corner. Snow is itching to fall. I do my best to show my kids I enjoy this time of year...which is a big fat lie. But there is one thing I enjoy....cooking & baking. And even a cold scrooge as me, can't deny the happiness that baking cookies bring this time of year. How many people say "Aww geezzz, it was a nightmare...mother baking cookies into the night. The smell of chocolate wafting through the air. The anticipation of waiting to "test" the chewy warm treats....aggggg what a horrible memory! I could just puke!!!" I mean really? Can you go wrong with the memory of mother baking tasty treats? Really? Realllyyyy? And if for some reason that is a bad memory...well then....there are some other issues involved here. Anyway, on to the subject at hand...cookies.
I began a dinner conversation with a question (doing my best to embrace the season & make cookie memories for my kids) "Darling children, what is your favorite cookie I can make you this time of year? Wouldn't it be Jim Dandy if we got together & made your most loved cookie?"
Children. "Oh yes mother dear that would be neat-o!"
As the children thought long & hard about their most beloved cookie, I smiled at myself. Happy that I could give them a wonderful cookie memory.
My 10 year old son said "OOhhh, I know! My favorite are those cookies w/ all the colors...ummm, you know with the shapes.
"Spritzes that my mother use to make? (I was excited! He loved MY mommies cookies that I try to recreate each year)
"No, not those...ummm, they are round."
Macaroons?
Good O' chocolate chip?
Ginger snaps?
Snicker doodles?
Peanut butter?
Minty delights?
"No....Ya know the one's that come in the package w/ the pictures inside of them"
You mean these.............
I began a dinner conversation with a question (doing my best to embrace the season & make cookie memories for my kids) "Darling children, what is your favorite cookie I can make you this time of year? Wouldn't it be Jim Dandy if we got together & made your most loved cookie?"
Children. "Oh yes mother dear that would be neat-o!"
As the children thought long & hard about their most beloved cookie, I smiled at myself. Happy that I could give them a wonderful cookie memory.
My 10 year old son said "OOhhh, I know! My favorite are those cookies w/ all the colors...ummm, you know with the shapes.
"Spritzes that my mother use to make? (I was excited! He loved MY mommies cookies that I try to recreate each year)
"No, not those...ummm, they are round."
Macaroons?
Good O' chocolate chip?
Ginger snaps?
Snicker doodles?
Peanut butter?
Minty delights?
"No....Ya know the one's that come in the package w/ the pictures inside of them"
You mean these.............
Ya....let THAT sink in.
The children erupt with "oh yes! I love those! So much fun!"
And I shot daggers out of my eyes as a piece of me died.
Let me explain myself. First, I have issues. Second, I grew up w/ a mother that baked from scratch. I never had canned veggies (I love canned greened beans..because my mother poo-pooed them!) My mother never lowered herself to make boxed Mac & Cheese (which I couldn't get enough of when my kids were little...because my mother poo-pooed mac & crap) My mother was a cooking Goddess & I have wonderful memories of her cooking. (there was a time she lite her eyebrows on fire cooking her famous spaghetti sauce....but that's a story for another day)
So for me.....cooking is my thang. One thing I think I do well is bake. I scream at my kids. I swear like a sailor. I lock myself in my room & throw temper tantrums. I fart & dart. I am self deprecating...But by golly I can cook dang nabIT!
So here I was, being out shined by a package of crappy, tasteless, pre made cookies (cookies I made ONCE YEARS ago because my M-I-L left them...I felt too guilty to throw them away. And yes I cried when I baked them.)
So what did I do? I bought them the cookies. I cringed & cried on the inside. Then I let my older son cook those cookies all by himself when my husband & I went on a date.
When all was said & done I heard my mom say to me. "It's not about what you make, It's about the memories of the joy you had baking & caring for your family. It's about letting your kids have a say in what they like & not shaming them. It's about a boy taking his first steps into the world of warm ovens, happy tummies & the feeling of accomplishment"
"But mom...those cookies are of the devil! They are tasteless & gross!"
"I know Sweetie. Just do your best to grin & bare it. Grin & bare it."
So I took my moms advice. The cookies were eaten while I was away (I didn't have to witness the monstrosity of it all) My son enjoyed baking them. Clean up was a cinch. & the best part...
My son said..."yeah, they don't taste that great like I remembered them. They were pretty tasteless. My favorite cookies is the minty delights."
My spirit & my ghost of a mother high fived.. Our job here was done.
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