I woke up this morning with the weight of Owen heavy on my legs, Sam's head underneath my hand, and Hannah's leg flung up on the couch next to my head. Eli was on the floor next to the couch as well, so I had all four kids within arm's reach or closer. There are days, too many of them, when this kind of closeness weighs heavy on me; it is difficult to be the primary source of security and stability for four other people, knowing that they look to me for everything. The basics, of course, like food and clothes and money for the movies, but for safety and guidance and emotional security and love. The other night when Owen was ill, Hannah lumbered into the bedroom after me, carting all of her blankets, too nervous yet to sleep in a room without me. I inwardly sighed, thinking nasty thoughts about not having had more than an hour to myself in the last going-on-three-weeks and resigning myself to being up all night, either with Owen fussing or Hannah waking me up at the slightest noise.
Yet this morning, I felt grateful for the very things that are such a burden sometimes. I know that finally getting a decent night's sleep had something to do with it-I slept for a full, uninterrupted 6 hours of sleep, which is far better than anything I have been able to get thus far-but it is more than that. My kids not only love me, but they trust me. They seek me out in the night when they are ill or afraid or lonely, and as difficult and emotionally trying as it might be, I would not change any of it. I would not change the fact that my 15 year old daughter would rather be with us at home than with her friends. I would not change the fact that all of the kids have other adults in their lives whom they trust and can rely on, but at the end of the day it is mom they want.
I know I come across sometimes as a whiny drama queen who is never happy, but really, that is far from the case. I had a comment about this blog being like a soap opera, and while I know that her comment was not AT ALL intended to be a criticism, it made me rethink some of the things I post sometimes. I am not going to change anything, not at all-but I realize that while everything I post is honest and true and very real, there is a greater number of things that I don't post about; I am guilty of not wanting to come across as the sappy, sticky-sweet, life is perfect mommy blogger, because God knows it isn't. At the same time, I think I sometimes appear to hate my kids or resent them, which isn't the case either. I think the reality is that some days really suck and I won't lie about that, but other days are really, really good.
Owen is feeling better, we had a good night's sleep, and now it is time to get serious about getting things ready for the trip. I strictly forbade the kids from wearing any of their new clothes before the trip, so we can at least get those packed up. I have to go to the grocery store tonight to pick up snack items, water, soda, lunch stuff to pack in the cooler (yeah, yeah, I am cheap-we will be those Joad-like people sitting at the rest area eating sandwiches and playing in the dirt. Sue me.), etc... tomorrow night I have to take the car in after work to be washed and waxed and the tires rotated, and then on Friday evening we will start loading the car in preparation for leaving Saturday morning. The kids last night were saying, "Well, now that Owen isn't feeling better, can't you just call in sick for the next three days and we can go now?" Ha, I wish. The excitement level is high and the days are dragging by, but at the same time, I don't think the kids have any real idea how much work is involved in getting a family of five actually ready and out the door. I should have started last week-three days isn't enough.
And to those of you who have asked, the house will be watched while we are gone. Steve is going to be there twice a day to feed the animals, the neighbors know I am going to be gone, and I am going to call the police station on Friday morning and let them know the house will be empty. There isn't really anything else I can do; Steve finished fixing the gate last night so I was hoping to be able to unchain Mama dog and let her run free in the yard, but the bitch is an escape artist; I still don't know how she got out, but I looked over to the neighbor's yard and she and the pup were lounging under their tree chewing on unripe apples. With hope, I can CATCH her getting out and try to fix the problem before we leave.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Tuesday Tiredness
I am so over blogging about CSG; I am tired, tired, tired of totally obsessing about this person's presence in my life, however obvious and compelling a presence as he may be. So for today, I am going to bitch and complain about something entirely different and new.
This is why I am tired today: I am way too old to be the mother of a toddler. Just-way. Last night, once I finally got all of the older kids settled and reassured, after checking the windows and doors three times at their request, after making sure all our defensive measures were in place, after everyone (myself included;four kids=small, weak bladder) went to the bathroom and got our drinks, I was just getting into a good sleep when Owen woke up. He was fussy and feverish, so I comforted him and gave him a drink and some Motrin, and got him all settled again...only to be jerked out of my deepening doze by screams. Not just fusses but out and out screams. Remember that small bladder? I just very nearly wet myself.
A couple of days ago, J. and I found a really cute purse that looks like a spider. Got it for Owen (in which to put his cars and the puzzle pieces he likes and the wing off a plastic airplane that he likes to carry around. And it doesn't LOOK like a purse!), and he has been sleeping with it but for some reason last night it scared the shit out of him. When I went into his room he was hitting it and screaming and trying to get as far away from it as possible. I picked him up and he was burning up (and it took forever for the Motrin to kick in, long enough that I had to give him Tylenol as well before it went away) and shaking, so I got a wet washcloth and took him to bed with me in Eli's bed. The poor kid was, I think, hallucinating, because he was acting like a crack head, picking imaginary things off of the bedspread. And then just as he would start to fall asleep again, something would startle him and he would scream. At one point, he even crawled away from his beloved blanket in fear. He ended up sleeping across both pillows, huddled into a ball so as not to touch the bedspread. Why he would suddenly react this way, I don't know.
I looked at the clock the first time at about two, after we had already been fighting this for over an hour, and thought to myself,"Okay, if he falls asleep right now I can get four hours of good sleep." Then at three, it was down to three hours, and so on. In the meantime, he was restless and fussy and still burning up, until finally, at just shy of five, he fell asleep. So I guess I got one good hour of sleep, if you can call it that.
These are the days when I start to feel resentful of this single-parenthood status. You all know I go in cycles, and this is one of them. I am tired; beyond tired. two weeks of broken sleep at best, averaging about 4 hours a night, and now this. I am close to tears because I am so tired, and I know that I still have half the day and the evening to get through. There is dinner to cook, chores to do, at some point we have to start packing, and of course there are baths to be given and books to be read. We will start to go to bed at 10:00, and by time everyone is settled and reassured, it will be at least 11:00 or later. I am glad that the kids are so reassured by my presence, but I resent the lack of back-up; I don't have anyone to do for me the locking up and the prayers and the getting up at night.
I know I am whining; I am tired, this stupid anti-smoking thing really, really sucks (perhaps under the circumstances this isn't really a good time to quit!), I don't function well with no sleep, and I would perform amazing, inventive sexual favors for the first person who would offer to come stay for just one night and let me get a full night's sleep.
This is why I am tired today: I am way too old to be the mother of a toddler. Just-way. Last night, once I finally got all of the older kids settled and reassured, after checking the windows and doors three times at their request, after making sure all our defensive measures were in place, after everyone (myself included;four kids=small, weak bladder) went to the bathroom and got our drinks, I was just getting into a good sleep when Owen woke up. He was fussy and feverish, so I comforted him and gave him a drink and some Motrin, and got him all settled again...only to be jerked out of my deepening doze by screams. Not just fusses but out and out screams. Remember that small bladder? I just very nearly wet myself.
A couple of days ago, J. and I found a really cute purse that looks like a spider. Got it for Owen (in which to put his cars and the puzzle pieces he likes and the wing off a plastic airplane that he likes to carry around. And it doesn't LOOK like a purse!), and he has been sleeping with it but for some reason last night it scared the shit out of him. When I went into his room he was hitting it and screaming and trying to get as far away from it as possible. I picked him up and he was burning up (and it took forever for the Motrin to kick in, long enough that I had to give him Tylenol as well before it went away) and shaking, so I got a wet washcloth and took him to bed with me in Eli's bed. The poor kid was, I think, hallucinating, because he was acting like a crack head, picking imaginary things off of the bedspread. And then just as he would start to fall asleep again, something would startle him and he would scream. At one point, he even crawled away from his beloved blanket in fear. He ended up sleeping across both pillows, huddled into a ball so as not to touch the bedspread. Why he would suddenly react this way, I don't know.
I looked at the clock the first time at about two, after we had already been fighting this for over an hour, and thought to myself,"Okay, if he falls asleep right now I can get four hours of good sleep." Then at three, it was down to three hours, and so on. In the meantime, he was restless and fussy and still burning up, until finally, at just shy of five, he fell asleep. So I guess I got one good hour of sleep, if you can call it that.
These are the days when I start to feel resentful of this single-parenthood status. You all know I go in cycles, and this is one of them. I am tired; beyond tired. two weeks of broken sleep at best, averaging about 4 hours a night, and now this. I am close to tears because I am so tired, and I know that I still have half the day and the evening to get through. There is dinner to cook, chores to do, at some point we have to start packing, and of course there are baths to be given and books to be read. We will start to go to bed at 10:00, and by time everyone is settled and reassured, it will be at least 11:00 or later. I am glad that the kids are so reassured by my presence, but I resent the lack of back-up; I don't have anyone to do for me the locking up and the prayers and the getting up at night.
I know I am whining; I am tired, this stupid anti-smoking thing really, really sucks (perhaps under the circumstances this isn't really a good time to quit!), I don't function well with no sleep, and I would perform amazing, inventive sexual favors for the first person who would offer to come stay for just one night and let me get a full night's sleep.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Weekend Update
Soon, the local police officers are just going to build a station right next to our house, with as much as they have been there over the last two weeks. On Thursday night, we just about had a heart attack when at 12:30 a.m. Hannah and I heard the screen door open; I grabbed the bat and she grabbed the pepper spray and were SO ready to beat the shit out of someone...but then the person knocked. And I stopped to think that perhaps Crazy Stalker Guy wouldn't, in fact, stop to knock on the door. Looked out and saw the little neighbor boy run off the porch, which irritated me for a minute; "what the hell is he doing out this late playing pranks? " I thought to myself...but then a few minutes later he came running back, knocking and pounding on the door and crying. He had woken up from a bad dream and couldn't find his parents or baby brother-can you imagine his terror? I brought him in to the house and tried to hug him while he was sobbing, while Hannah was calling 911; there was no way in hell I was going to walk over there and check, not given the things that have already been going on. So the police came and one came in and talked to the little boy while two went over to check on Mom and Dad and Baby Brother (who is just a month or so younger than Owen). They were all okay; apparently Little Boy was still a little groggy when he woke up, plus already afraid from his bad dream, and couldn't see them in the dark. The next day, he very shyly came over and said, "Thank you for saving me," which I thought was very sweet and also kind of sad; I think it made me sad because he obviously has already learned that the world can be a hard, cold place (he told me once that he was afraid of cops because sometime they come take people and send them back to Mexico; I hope our guys reassured him somewhat), and that help is not a guarantee. His dad also spoke to me for the first time since they moved next door when Mom and I were both pregnant, as if he has suddenly decided that we are "okay." Also, it made me sad because Crazy Stalker Guy has got us all freaked out so that I didn't even want to open the door, and certainly would not walk over the house to check his parents. He made it so I was just as likely to look at this 6 year old boy with suspicion as I was him. And I hate him for that, for making me afraid. At the very same time, I am so grateful that this little boy has known us long enough and played with Sam enough that he knew our house was a place he could come for help. I am grateful for that.
We had to call the police for ourselves on Saturday night. Yep, you guessed it, CSG was back. It was funny, but all three of us (Sam, Hannah, and myself) had kind of a funny feeling, so were up late, feeling restless in general and also a little nervous. Not for any particular reason, nothing had happened, but we all felt it; I think it is true about intuition or premonition, because there have been lost of nights where we might feel a little nervous but are comforted by our locked doors and such. Not so that night. So Hannah was creeping through the house and I was fondling my designated bat as if it were a lover, and damn it to hell, Hannah saw him. He was on the back patio, and while she did not see his whole body, she saw the top of his head (the kitchen window is up high, so to see a whole head or to actually see into the house, you have to be actually on the steps, and he wasn't that far yet). Holy shit, that girl of mine has BALLS. She screeched loudly for me to call 911, flipped on the kitchen light, and we both saw the tail end of him as he jumped over the fence. Within, literally, two minutes, the cops were there, and it was all SWAT-team-ish and shit, I kid you not. Three coming in the back gate, two at the front of the house, all with guns drawn. I about pissed myself, I tell you. My poor dog who has to be muzzled because she barks ALL. NIGHT.LONG and pisses the neighbors off was valiantly trying to defend her territory, but one of them just booted her out of the way and kept running. Did they catch him? No, of course not, so it seems more likely that he was on foot that night; it was dark, and from what little I could see he was wearing dark clothes, and it would be very easy to blend.
So we have been nervous and sleepless again, but at the same time, I am comforted by several things: one, the cops are taking this very seriously and are responding in a rapid and appropriate manner. I would not mind a bit if one of them "accidentally"shot the fucker, REALLY. I am comforted by the fact that my daughter and I are both clearly able to keep our heads during a terrifying event, even though we both fall apart after. I am comforted, too, by this: I pray, and have been praying hard and long about this situation, and this is the answer I keep getting: "They will catch him, and you guys won't be hurt." I don't know if that means he will get in the house but we won't be hurt, or if he will be caught outside our house, or even if he will get caught somewhere else-but I don't need to know today. All I know is that I feel better (at least during the day) knowing that all will ultimately be resolved. I hope we don't have to wait too long; I also hope the cops give me a chance to emasculate the cocksucker when they catch him. Is that too much to ask?
We had to call the police for ourselves on Saturday night. Yep, you guessed it, CSG was back. It was funny, but all three of us (Sam, Hannah, and myself) had kind of a funny feeling, so were up late, feeling restless in general and also a little nervous. Not for any particular reason, nothing had happened, but we all felt it; I think it is true about intuition or premonition, because there have been lost of nights where we might feel a little nervous but are comforted by our locked doors and such. Not so that night. So Hannah was creeping through the house and I was fondling my designated bat as if it were a lover, and damn it to hell, Hannah saw him. He was on the back patio, and while she did not see his whole body, she saw the top of his head (the kitchen window is up high, so to see a whole head or to actually see into the house, you have to be actually on the steps, and he wasn't that far yet). Holy shit, that girl of mine has BALLS. She screeched loudly for me to call 911, flipped on the kitchen light, and we both saw the tail end of him as he jumped over the fence. Within, literally, two minutes, the cops were there, and it was all SWAT-team-ish and shit, I kid you not. Three coming in the back gate, two at the front of the house, all with guns drawn. I about pissed myself, I tell you. My poor dog who has to be muzzled because she barks ALL. NIGHT.LONG and pisses the neighbors off was valiantly trying to defend her territory, but one of them just booted her out of the way and kept running. Did they catch him? No, of course not, so it seems more likely that he was on foot that night; it was dark, and from what little I could see he was wearing dark clothes, and it would be very easy to blend.
So we have been nervous and sleepless again, but at the same time, I am comforted by several things: one, the cops are taking this very seriously and are responding in a rapid and appropriate manner. I would not mind a bit if one of them "accidentally"shot the fucker, REALLY. I am comforted by the fact that my daughter and I are both clearly able to keep our heads during a terrifying event, even though we both fall apart after. I am comforted, too, by this: I pray, and have been praying hard and long about this situation, and this is the answer I keep getting: "They will catch him, and you guys won't be hurt." I don't know if that means he will get in the house but we won't be hurt, or if he will be caught outside our house, or even if he will get caught somewhere else-but I don't need to know today. All I know is that I feel better (at least during the day) knowing that all will ultimately be resolved. I hope we don't have to wait too long; I also hope the cops give me a chance to emasculate the cocksucker when they catch him. Is that too much to ask?
*****We leave on vacation in, count them, 5 days!*****
Thursday, July 17, 2008
It's Not Exciting When It's You-Crazy Stalker Guy Update
I just went home on break and pulled into the driveway just as Hannah and Sam were pelting down the sidewalk; out of breath and flushed from heat and exertion, they both started telling me that yes, they think they saw Crazy Stalker Guy. We have a canal two blocks from our house to the west, and the kids were up there swimming; a white Ford F-150 was driving along the canal and slowed way down to look at them, then when Hannah pulled out her cell-phone, he took off north, gravel flying everywhere. When asked, she said, "I can't swear it was the same guy, because it was dark when I saw him the first time, but he has the same hair and goatee, and he made me feel scared when he slowed down to look at us..." Seems reasonable to me, under the circumstances.
I came right back to work (I live just two blocks from where I work) and reported it, and within seconds, four police cars tore out of the parking lot. I work right across the street from the Cop Shop, and I would normally be all nosy and shit, wishing I had a scanner so I could know what is going on and who they are after. Yes, guys, I am a rubbernecker, too, slowing down at the site of accidents (and I don't want to hear the lecture. Yes, I know it's wrong, yes, I know I am a sick person, thanks.). Somehow, though, it is a lot different when you look outside and know they are responding to a call you have made. It isn't exciting at all; instead, I feel sick. And grateful that they DO have such a quick response time, grateful that they are taking seriously this event which has shaped so much of our lives these last two weeks or so. In the past, two weeks ago, I would have laughed and made not-so-subtle fun of the requisite Pudgy Cop as he ran out to the car, commenting about whether or not he would make it without having a heart attack along the way, but today I thought, "Damn, for a fat guy he sure can MOVE!" and was so goddamned GLAD.
They didn't catch him. Detective M. called a few minutes later to let me know that they didn't see him anywhere, which I didn't really expect anyway. Probably ten minutes passed between the kids seeing him and me calling it in. Ten minutes doesn't seem like a long time, but it is long enough if you are running from someone. And we live in a rural, mostly agricultural and manufacturing; do you know how many new white Ford F-150's there are around here?
If this IS, in fact, him (which, like I said, seems a reasonable assumption given his behavior), he is clearly getting MORE brave, not less so. It is full daylight, the kids go swimming there all of the time and there are usually a dozen or more kids around at the same time. Did he just plan on scaring them? I don't' know-but now I know we are going to be on High Alert again for a few days, just when things were seeming to calm down some.
I have to go to an AA meeting tonight. HAVE to. It has been two weeks without any meeting, which is really difficult for me even when things are running smoothly. So the kids are all being carted over to Jacquie's, even the teenagers (Eli is pissed), because it seems CSG might be escalating and I am not taking any chances. At the same time, I can't stay home another night; these are the kinds of times when I need my own support network, because I can't keep giving the kids what they need if I am not getting what I need, either.
Then another long night at home....send up good thoughts, please. I am scared.
I came right back to work (I live just two blocks from where I work) and reported it, and within seconds, four police cars tore out of the parking lot. I work right across the street from the Cop Shop, and I would normally be all nosy and shit, wishing I had a scanner so I could know what is going on and who they are after. Yes, guys, I am a rubbernecker, too, slowing down at the site of accidents (and I don't want to hear the lecture. Yes, I know it's wrong, yes, I know I am a sick person, thanks.). Somehow, though, it is a lot different when you look outside and know they are responding to a call you have made. It isn't exciting at all; instead, I feel sick. And grateful that they DO have such a quick response time, grateful that they are taking seriously this event which has shaped so much of our lives these last two weeks or so. In the past, two weeks ago, I would have laughed and made not-so-subtle fun of the requisite Pudgy Cop as he ran out to the car, commenting about whether or not he would make it without having a heart attack along the way, but today I thought, "Damn, for a fat guy he sure can MOVE!" and was so goddamned GLAD.
They didn't catch him. Detective M. called a few minutes later to let me know that they didn't see him anywhere, which I didn't really expect anyway. Probably ten minutes passed between the kids seeing him and me calling it in. Ten minutes doesn't seem like a long time, but it is long enough if you are running from someone. And we live in a rural, mostly agricultural and manufacturing; do you know how many new white Ford F-150's there are around here?
If this IS, in fact, him (which, like I said, seems a reasonable assumption given his behavior), he is clearly getting MORE brave, not less so. It is full daylight, the kids go swimming there all of the time and there are usually a dozen or more kids around at the same time. Did he just plan on scaring them? I don't' know-but now I know we are going to be on High Alert again for a few days, just when things were seeming to calm down some.
I have to go to an AA meeting tonight. HAVE to. It has been two weeks without any meeting, which is really difficult for me even when things are running smoothly. So the kids are all being carted over to Jacquie's, even the teenagers (Eli is pissed), because it seems CSG might be escalating and I am not taking any chances. At the same time, I can't stay home another night; these are the kinds of times when I need my own support network, because I can't keep giving the kids what they need if I am not getting what I need, either.
Then another long night at home....send up good thoughts, please. I am scared.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Girls and Their Friends
My daughter changed friends like she changes her underwear. She has this constantly rotating cycle of friends, and I can no more keep track of them than I can keep track of, I don't know, an energetic spider monkey. If I had one. There seems to be endless drama, drama which I cannot understand. About a week ago, we saw her friend B. walking down the sidewalk to Summer School, so I honked and waved; Hannah looked at me as if I had grown a third head and said, very disgustedly, "What did you do that for?" Jesus, you would have thought I did something really horrid like take out my false teeth and lick them off in a restaurant (I don't HAVE false teeth, but you get my drift). "Um, I thought she was your friend?" "That was SO last week, mom. That was before I found out she was a skanky slut." While my head was still reeling from hearing my daughter use the words skanky and slut in the same sentence (correctly), she proceeded to give me a minute by minute playback of all of the occurrences that led up to this falling out. Believe me, by the time she finished, I was not only sure that I hated her as well, but thought maybe I needed to go slash her mom's tires just for good measure. She is THAT skanky.
But I went home for lunch and Hannah asked if she and Sam could meet up with B. in the park this afternoon. "What happened? I thought you hated her," I said, very casually. "Oh. Well. It was a misunderstanding. We are fine now." I just shook my head, because this stuff happens ALL of the time. Next week or month it will be someone else, some new problem, and they will eventually come back around to being friends again. I should be used to it.
I still don't get it, though. Is this a typical teenage girl thing? Because Eli is 14, he has had the same friends for the past 5 years, and shows none of this kind of behavior. In fact, he loved his friends so much the three years ago or so, one of his best friends (who was actually more part of the household than friend) moved to Maine and they STILL talk on the phone regularly. The main pack stays the same, and every once in awhile a new person gets added, but for the most part, Eli's friends hang pretty close. It appears to be shaping up the same way for Sam; this little nine year old was reduced to tears when his best friend "all the way since kindergarten, mom!" moved to a town 40 miles away. They talk on the phone daily, and I am sure that next time we go to Costco, I will have to make arrangements for a play date or he will never live through it. So is this a gender thing, or does it simply have more to do with individual personalities?
I said on someone else's post this morning that I didn't have any friends in high school, but that isn't strictly true. I had two really good friends, and a lot of people who thought I was their best friend. and that seems to be the pattern in my adult life as well, and always has been. I have two "best" friends IRL (I don't include April in that, though she is definitely my best Internet friend), and I have always had two best friends. That's it. When my friend Angie died, I actually only had ONE, her, and I now have two again, but it has taken me three years to get this many. And none of us have to have each other in order to traipse through a restaurant to get to the bathroom, I might add. So I wonder what made me immune to the same dramas of teenage female friendships, or the running in a pack mentality of teen boys? I seem to be lacking in something, because I only have enough emotional stability or generosity or whatever you want to call it for two people. That's it; that is my friendship threshold.
Or has been until the last year or so, anyway. I seem to have so MANY people in my life now that the mind boggles, it really does. I still have my two BEST friends, but there is a whole other cast of supporting characters whom I can still call friend that it never fails to amaze me. Crazy Stalker Guy and the support and caring-in practical AND emotional ways-I have gotten from people has reminded me again of how blessed I really am in the "people who love me" department. I don't have the drama of Hannah's friendships-in fact, I cannot honestly recall the last time I got into a fight with a friend, beyond a minor annoyance. I don't run in groups-I have several distinct groups of friends, and they do stay pretty much separate due to different beliefs and lifestyles. But what I have is something amazing.
You bloggy people, you people who have been reading and commenting and emailing me to check on me-you are part of it. You are part of this wonderful, messy thing which is my life, for better or worse. Mr. Lady made a comment about being emotionally invested in me, and I snickered but at the same time I get that. I think about you people when I am at home; I remember something you've written, I have had similar experiences and thought of you, I have worried for and about different circumstances. This whole blogging thing has opened my eyes up to so many different people, different thoughts, has expanded my world. So this is, I guess, a half-assed thank to all of you. It really does help.
But I went home for lunch and Hannah asked if she and Sam could meet up with B. in the park this afternoon. "What happened? I thought you hated her," I said, very casually. "Oh. Well. It was a misunderstanding. We are fine now." I just shook my head, because this stuff happens ALL of the time. Next week or month it will be someone else, some new problem, and they will eventually come back around to being friends again. I should be used to it.
I still don't get it, though. Is this a typical teenage girl thing? Because Eli is 14, he has had the same friends for the past 5 years, and shows none of this kind of behavior. In fact, he loved his friends so much the three years ago or so, one of his best friends (who was actually more part of the household than friend) moved to Maine and they STILL talk on the phone regularly. The main pack stays the same, and every once in awhile a new person gets added, but for the most part, Eli's friends hang pretty close. It appears to be shaping up the same way for Sam; this little nine year old was reduced to tears when his best friend "all the way since kindergarten, mom!" moved to a town 40 miles away. They talk on the phone daily, and I am sure that next time we go to Costco, I will have to make arrangements for a play date or he will never live through it. So is this a gender thing, or does it simply have more to do with individual personalities?
I said on someone else's post this morning that I didn't have any friends in high school, but that isn't strictly true. I had two really good friends, and a lot of people who thought I was their best friend. and that seems to be the pattern in my adult life as well, and always has been. I have two "best" friends IRL (I don't include April in that, though she is definitely my best Internet friend), and I have always had two best friends. That's it. When my friend Angie died, I actually only had ONE, her, and I now have two again, but it has taken me three years to get this many. And none of us have to have each other in order to traipse through a restaurant to get to the bathroom, I might add. So I wonder what made me immune to the same dramas of teenage female friendships, or the running in a pack mentality of teen boys? I seem to be lacking in something, because I only have enough emotional stability or generosity or whatever you want to call it for two people. That's it; that is my friendship threshold.
Or has been until the last year or so, anyway. I seem to have so MANY people in my life now that the mind boggles, it really does. I still have my two BEST friends, but there is a whole other cast of supporting characters whom I can still call friend that it never fails to amaze me. Crazy Stalker Guy and the support and caring-in practical AND emotional ways-I have gotten from people has reminded me again of how blessed I really am in the "people who love me" department. I don't have the drama of Hannah's friendships-in fact, I cannot honestly recall the last time I got into a fight with a friend, beyond a minor annoyance. I don't run in groups-I have several distinct groups of friends, and they do stay pretty much separate due to different beliefs and lifestyles. But what I have is something amazing.
You bloggy people, you people who have been reading and commenting and emailing me to check on me-you are part of it. You are part of this wonderful, messy thing which is my life, for better or worse. Mr. Lady made a comment about being emotionally invested in me, and I snickered but at the same time I get that. I think about you people when I am at home; I remember something you've written, I have had similar experiences and thought of you, I have worried for and about different circumstances. This whole blogging thing has opened my eyes up to so many different people, different thoughts, has expanded my world. So this is, I guess, a half-assed thank to all of you. It really does help.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Planning the Vacation
It has recently occurred to me that in less than two weeks, we will be going on vacation. The first ever family vacation. We will be leaving on Saturday, the 26th of July, and won't be coming home until Sunday, August 2nd. I keep thinking of things I need to make sure I remember to take, and I make a mental note, and yesterday I actually thought it might be a good idea to, know, write them down. So what do I have on my list? Diapers and sunscreen. As if I am going to get halfway to Washington and realize I forgot to pack diapers. Yeah.
We are all getting really, really excited, though, and the planning has provided a necessary and welcome distraction. We are stopping halfway both coming and going (did you all know that Owen gets carsick? Ugh.), so that we don't have a miserable toddler the whole time. That way, we can stop whenever we need or want to, and not worry so much about time. We are staying the night in Baker, Oregon, where we are planning on taking a ride on a restored steam engine. The train takes you up to one of the many ghost towns, and we will have about 45 minutes in which to wander around and look at things before heading back down. None of the kids have ever been on a train, and riding one has been something they have all expressed and interest in at one time or another, so I am excited to be able to give them the opportunity. In fact, this is the real reason why we are stopping in Baker; there is the train ride, of course, and a really neat restaurant called Sumpter Junction that has electric trains running throughout the entire building. It is going to be so much fun. The hotel has an outdoor pool, too, which will be a nice way for the kids to unload some of that pent up energy.
I don't know where else we might stop on Sunday, but we are going to visit Snoqualmie Falls, which is only about, oh, and hour or so from our final destination. I haven't been there before, despite having lived in that area all through high school and beyond, so I am particularly excited about that. There are some hiking trails (again, getting rid of some energy!), and a viewing platform, and of course the inevitable Gift Shop. From there, we will head to C. and D's house. I am a little nervous about that; I know that they WANT us there, and are looking forward to it immensely, but I am not sure how prepared they are to have five people-four of whom are children-descend upon their household. I sure hope they are not expecting quiet during the five days we are there, ha ha.
We are also going to do a ton of great thing while we are there; again, can you say Cheesy Tourist? The Aquarium, the Pacific Science Center, a boat tour of the harbor, the Space Needle, the Pikes Place Market...all of that stuff that I have always loved even long after I moved there. And this is part of it; this is what I want to show my kids, that this place is part of me. I want to show them where I used to live, go to school, point out the different places and things I fell in love with while I was there. I want to be able to give them a glimpse of who I was before I was a wife and a mom. There is one place right in downtown Kent I want to take them, a little oasis of sorts right in the middle of town, with a path and a pond full of huge goldfish, where I used to go sit and journal, or read, or just sit; where my friend Angie and I would go late at night full of bad Denny's coffee, feeling like we knew so much about everything. I am not egotistical enough to think that any of it will be a huge deal to the kids, but it seems important to give them a bit of my history.
I just keep thinking that in a very few short years, both Hannah and Eli will be gone. Hannah will be a Sophomore, Eli a Freshman, and I want to be able to do more of these kinds of things while I can. We have always been good about doing things like going fishing and swimming and camping, I have tried really hard to give them good experiences and fun memories, but never a vacation. And very soon they aren't going to WANT to spend ten days with the whole family; very soon, too soon, they will be off living their own lives and working and starting to pull away from me. I know I am lucky that they haven't much yet, but the time will come. I feel like I need to take every opportunity that presents itself to create good memories for the kids, for myself, and this is one huge opportunity.
That said, I am also going to put duct tape on the list. I mean, four kids in a car? Four kids that can't get through an entire hour without fighting? Surely under the circumstances that wouldn't be considered abuse, just self-preservation.
We are all getting really, really excited, though, and the planning has provided a necessary and welcome distraction. We are stopping halfway both coming and going (did you all know that Owen gets carsick? Ugh.), so that we don't have a miserable toddler the whole time. That way, we can stop whenever we need or want to, and not worry so much about time. We are staying the night in Baker, Oregon, where we are planning on taking a ride on a restored steam engine. The train takes you up to one of the many ghost towns, and we will have about 45 minutes in which to wander around and look at things before heading back down. None of the kids have ever been on a train, and riding one has been something they have all expressed and interest in at one time or another, so I am excited to be able to give them the opportunity. In fact, this is the real reason why we are stopping in Baker; there is the train ride, of course, and a really neat restaurant called Sumpter Junction that has electric trains running throughout the entire building. It is going to be so much fun. The hotel has an outdoor pool, too, which will be a nice way for the kids to unload some of that pent up energy.
I don't know where else we might stop on Sunday, but we are going to visit Snoqualmie Falls, which is only about, oh, and hour or so from our final destination. I haven't been there before, despite having lived in that area all through high school and beyond, so I am particularly excited about that. There are some hiking trails (again, getting rid of some energy!), and a viewing platform, and of course the inevitable Gift Shop. From there, we will head to C. and D's house. I am a little nervous about that; I know that they WANT us there, and are looking forward to it immensely, but I am not sure how prepared they are to have five people-four of whom are children-descend upon their household. I sure hope they are not expecting quiet during the five days we are there, ha ha.
We are also going to do a ton of great thing while we are there; again, can you say Cheesy Tourist? The Aquarium, the Pacific Science Center, a boat tour of the harbor, the Space Needle, the Pikes Place Market...all of that stuff that I have always loved even long after I moved there. And this is part of it; this is what I want to show my kids, that this place is part of me. I want to show them where I used to live, go to school, point out the different places and things I fell in love with while I was there. I want to be able to give them a glimpse of who I was before I was a wife and a mom. There is one place right in downtown Kent I want to take them, a little oasis of sorts right in the middle of town, with a path and a pond full of huge goldfish, where I used to go sit and journal, or read, or just sit; where my friend Angie and I would go late at night full of bad Denny's coffee, feeling like we knew so much about everything. I am not egotistical enough to think that any of it will be a huge deal to the kids, but it seems important to give them a bit of my history.
I just keep thinking that in a very few short years, both Hannah and Eli will be gone. Hannah will be a Sophomore, Eli a Freshman, and I want to be able to do more of these kinds of things while I can. We have always been good about doing things like going fishing and swimming and camping, I have tried really hard to give them good experiences and fun memories, but never a vacation. And very soon they aren't going to WANT to spend ten days with the whole family; very soon, too soon, they will be off living their own lives and working and starting to pull away from me. I know I am lucky that they haven't much yet, but the time will come. I feel like I need to take every opportunity that presents itself to create good memories for the kids, for myself, and this is one huge opportunity.
That said, I am also going to put duct tape on the list. I mean, four kids in a car? Four kids that can't get through an entire hour without fighting? Surely under the circumstances that wouldn't be considered abuse, just self-preservation.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Double Post Monday
Special thanks go out today to Amanda over at Shamelessly Sassy; I won the Nintendo DS Giveaway she had a little while ago, and it came in the mail today, along with a Crossword Game. Thanks for getting it to me so soon, and for having the contest! Here's to some mindless entertainment, which I sorely need. My son will be sad that it isn't PINK; he was hoping it would be so that I would be too embarrassed to play it! He forgets that the one that finally broke irreparably was actually cobbled together with duct tape-camouflage duct tape, no less!
I also forgot to mention that I started taking the anti-smoking drug, Chantix, this morning. You start out taking a low dose in the morning, and after three days of that you take a larger dose, and by Week Two you are taking the full dose. Supposedly titrating the medicine increases the chances of success, as well as reduces the side effects. One of the biggest side effects is "significant nausea," which boy howdy, is SO true! All day i have felt ill, as if I am either just coming down with or just getting over the stomach flu. Ugh. This first week, you are supposed to follow your normal smoking routine, and then the target date to actually stop is the next week. But what they don't tell you is that to light up a smoke even after just this low dose makes you feel sicker. Like, the world's worst hangover, the kind where you throw up so much your throat bleeds and there is nothing left in your stomach (or am I the only one who has had those?) but raw nerve ends, coupled with not having eaten for three days sick. Believe me, if I keep feeling like THIS, it will either be really, really easy to quit next Monday, or it will be really easy to quit taking the drug and keep smoking.
But there is one other side effect that concerns me more than the nausea:
I also forgot to mention that I started taking the anti-smoking drug, Chantix, this morning. You start out taking a low dose in the morning, and after three days of that you take a larger dose, and by Week Two you are taking the full dose. Supposedly titrating the medicine increases the chances of success, as well as reduces the side effects. One of the biggest side effects is "significant nausea," which boy howdy, is SO true! All day i have felt ill, as if I am either just coming down with or just getting over the stomach flu. Ugh. This first week, you are supposed to follow your normal smoking routine, and then the target date to actually stop is the next week. But what they don't tell you is that to light up a smoke even after just this low dose makes you feel sicker. Like, the world's worst hangover, the kind where you throw up so much your throat bleeds and there is nothing left in your stomach (or am I the only one who has had those?) but raw nerve ends, coupled with not having eaten for three days sick. Believe me, if I keep feeling like THIS, it will either be really, really easy to quit next Monday, or it will be really easy to quit taking the drug and keep smoking.
But there is one other side effect that concerns me more than the nausea:
"Some patients have reported changes in behavior, agitation, depressed mood, suicidal thoughts or actions when attempting to quit smoking while taking CHANTIX or after stopping CHANTIX. If either you, your family, or caregiver notice agitation, depressed mood, or changes in behavior that are not typical for you, or if you develop suicidal thoughts or actions, stop taking CHANTIX and call your doctor right away. Also tell your doctor about any history of depression or other mental health problems before taking CHANTIX, as these symptoms may worsen while taking CHANTIX."
Yeah. How comforting is THAT for someone like me, who already feels whacked out and emotionally unstable a good part of the time? Good thing I was smart and got a full two weeks of the anti-depressant on board before starting this. I mean, come on; do I NEED more agitation? However, I was thinking there might be a plus to that. After all, I am already pissed at Crazy Stalker Guy; can you imagine how pissed I might be NOW if he shows up? He will get a faceful of pepper spray and the cops better hope they get there before I beat him bloody and to death with my ALUMINUM baseball bat. Gotta think positive, right?
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