All I Want To Say

these weeks

2012-02-21T11:49:00.000-08:00

These weeks gone by.

These past few weeks have been interesting. Several key events passed by - events with former meanings now needing to be redefined. And I've been trying. Trying to figure out how to be, what it all means. Trying to not get overwhelmed with racing thoughts that have no purpose for they cannot change a thing. But they might be able to paralyze me and that's not what I need. I need control but only in a manner that steadies me.

I've had some firsts these past few weeks. The first birthday celebration knowing we are not a whole family anymore. My first Valentine's Day with the understanding that I don't have anyone. My first birthday where I had to take my kids out, rather than let my family do for me.

They were all awkward and there were missteps to be sure. But it wasn't all that bad and I made my way through it. I managed. I've kept my thoughts from swirling down a path of depression. Not quite hope though. I'm not sure I have it in me to look to the future. Sure I can move forward, but cannot (or do not want to) see a future. I don't care for that - it sets expectations and I cannot do with more disappointments.

We've come to the point where we've pretty much finalized our settlement agreement. We've been going to a mediator and so far it's been relatively smooth, hardly any antagonism at all. We should only have one more meeting with the mediator if all goes well. Then it will be a function of time - six months to pass until we can declare it officially complete. Doesn't it always come down to time? If you make the time? If you find the time? Time will ease all wounds? Surely it will if you grieve appropriately I think. It must.

These weeks ahead.

As the saying goes, when one door closes another shall open. And it has. These next weeks ahead mark my departure from my current gig. I've given my notice to pursue an opportunity. It's exciting. It's scary. I will have to perform.

You see, I'm moving on to Twitter. As in - I am starting a job at Twitter! The Twitter! I wasn't looking for a new gig. My current position was going quite well. But someone at Twitter tapped me on the shoulder. I interviewed. And interviewed again. And then interviewed some more. Grueling really. But in the end, they liked what they saw, what I had to offer, and so made me an offer. I couldn't turn it down.

So it's interesting how these things work. Truly in the midst of one door closing, another has opened. In the middle of all this sadness and uncertainty comes promise and opportunity. And I need that.

my how time flies

2012-02-06T19:15:00.000-08:00

Today my baby is eight. Not just my baby, but the last baby.

He hangs with his brothers.

Eats huge jawbreakers.

And is now an expert skier.

I've witnessed his first kiss.

He hangs out at Raiders games and loves football.

But will still ride the merry go-round.

And leave his mother love notes.

Happy birthday Henry.

status report

2012-01-28T16:44:00.000-08:00

So last time I posted it was about my year of growth. Time to measure up and be transparent on my progress towards those things. You all have to keep me honest, keep me looking forward. Sometimes it's tough keeping my head up.

And here's the list:

I picked up an additional night of pool in an effort to bring up my game a bit.
      Okay, played my first week. I was nervous as heck even though I know my teammates. Too much pressure on myself but I know I'll settle down.

I will start going to the driving range and get my swing on.
     Fail. But I'm going to cut myself some slack on this one. It IS winter (ssshhhh - don't look at the weather in the SF Bay Area as of late because it hardly feels like winter.)

I will exercise more.
   Fail. No excuses. Oh well.

I will write more.
     Fail, although I will say that I have been practicing better writing habits. In fact, the other night when I was trying to drift off to sleep I had a post whirling around in my thoughts. Instead of being lazy, I grabbed my notebook and wrote it out.  Even in draft form I liked it. It was abstract and poetic, not my typical style but one which I'd like to explore. Unfortunately I took the notebook with me on an errand today and misplaced it! At least I have good intentions. Working on it.

I will read more.
     Sort of. I've been picking up the pace in general with more free time but haven't increased since this last post.

I will have time to be available for those who might need me.
     Yes!  Tonight I am having one of my oldest and dearest friends over to toss back a few and relax in the hot tub. It's not just me having a bad time.

I will focus on my career.
      Not sure I have much choice on this one. I've been going about 100 mph and I don't see any signs of it slowing down.

I will get some new clothes to help me look good and feel better about myself - one article a month. (I already did a little shopping spree!)
     Okay - I'm not counting January because I did my initial shopping spree the day before New Year's Eve. February is right around the corner and my personal stylist (yes, I do have one!) sent me an email the other day asking what I had in mind. This is such a trip. I've never done anything like this. And, for the record, my personal stylist is someone I know from a bar I frequent. I'm not that posh.

I will purge and reinvent and learn.
   This is a bit vague. I definitely haven't purged like I need to. I guess I am in the process of reinventing myself and that will just take time. As for learning, I am definitely learning more about myself and it's a good thing - if I can handle it.

****************************************************************************

On a completely separate note, my last post was my 100th! I don't really pay attention to my stats but when I went to write this one, my summary page said 100 posts.   I actually clicked the new post button before it registered and I had to go back for the double-take. I started this mainly because I wanted to participate in the blogging community.   I had been reading blogs for awhile, first foodie and then writers and moms.   The community was supportive and friendly and convenient. I wanted a piece of that. Now I write more for myself but I'm glad to be here with all the friendship and support. Now I just need to remember to renew my domain name!

growth

2012-01-11T18:22:00.000-08:00

I've seen lots of posts over the past week. Most are reflecting on the past year or choosing a particular word or phrase to define their new year. Personally I'd like to pretend that the year 2011 never existed so I think I need to look forward, but a word on the first 11 days.

I rang in the New Year alone. It seems very appropriate considering the year I have in front of me. On one hand it was perfect, on the other it was depressing. Immediately following the new year (January 2nd) was my nineteenth wedding anniversary - now a hollow and meaningless day.

The first work week of 2012 ended with my primary project getting pulled. This was disappointing on a number of levels. I enjoyed the project and the project team. The work was new and varied, significantly complicated and really kept me busy (which I desperately need). It also meant that I would not be able to travel back east on the company's dime depriving me of a visit with my sister and father that I hoped to squeeze in.

January 9th marked the 10th anniversary of my mother's death. Every year I always think it's going to be notable. Most years it is not and this one was no exception. The thing is, I feel her loss every single day. The passage of time is irrelevant. The sadness doesn't go away, the pain doesn't lessen. I have simply learned how to push the sadness down and away. It works for me. My therapist might disagree.

But enough of all that. It is, after all, a new year. In the spirit of my "life is how you look at it" attitude, I'm going to focus on the positives.

My life is what it is and I have to make the most of it. I have to get used to having an entire week where I have nothing to do except what I want or need to do. There will be no kids to feed, reprimand or bathe. No homework to monitor. No arguments to referee. No dinner to cook if I don't feel like it. It's really quite an odd feeling. All this free time after 16+ years of doing stuff for everyone else.

Therefore, 2012 will be my year of growth.

I picked up an additional night of pool in an effort to bring up my game a bit.

I will start going to the driving range and get my swing on.

I will exercise more.

I will write more.

I will read more.

I will have time to be available for those who might need me.

I will focus on my career.

I will get some new clothes to help me look good and feel better about myself - one article a month. (I already did a little shopping spree!)

I will purge and reinvent and learn. I (almost) have a blank slate. I can make myself what I want to be. Bring on 2012.

i'll tell you what i did

2012-01-01T10:48:00.000-08:00

It's a new day. It's a new year. Really it's a new life or will be soon for me. I could be all dark and dreary about how awful 2011 was for me. Or, I could sit and try to pull out any strands of silver to line that cloud. Or I could just tell you how I spent my New Year's Eve and maybe you can tell me how you spent yours.

But first I will begin by telling you the traditional New Year's Eve. Tradition had lots of people coming to our house, kids in tow, overnight bags in hand. We would laugh and drink, half watch the random NYE special on the big screen. Little ones would run around and play like mad - even they could feel the excitement in the air.

At 9 pm, we'd call up friends and family on the East Coast and do teleshots. (Teleshots, in case you're wondering, are where we're all on speaker phone toasting and drinking a shot of whatever our favorite flavor happens to be.)   We would munch on the table full of treats, some homemade, some bought. We would crack more beers, open more wine and have a few more toasts.

At some point we'd gather the little ones in the master bedroom. We'd setup the bean bag chairs and sleeping bags and pop a movie in the TV. Little little ones would be put to bed in one of the front bedrooms and the rest would be allowed to stay up til midnight for the celebration, as long as they behaved.

Shortly before midnight I'd scramble to find enough champagne glasses, and there never were enough. Corks would pop and glasses filled. Even the little ones had their sparkling apple cider. When the clock struck midnight, "Happy New Years!" would be shouted, hugs and kisses making the rounds, adults and children alike. Glasses would clink as we would drink our sips of spirits. Music would blast and we'd all get our boogie on, at least for a few songs.

At some point soon thereafter most of the kids would be put to rest. The hot tub would be fired up, if not already, and the night would continue on. I remember several years of being up til 4 am. But eventually we'd all crash.

The morning would start with someone staggering to the coffee maker and getting a pot on. People would trickle out of their sleep and join those of us already awake gathered around the center island in the kitchen. The guys would make their way to the living room in front of the big screen and put some movie on - usually one of the Lord of the Rings or Star Wars. Sometimes a game of Risk would be played instead. The girls would tend to the kids, making them breakfast as we'd clutch our coffee. The hot tub would be fired up again and perhaps a mimosa, bloody mary or two would be consumed. Somewhere around whenever, people would eventually make their way out the door, invariably leaving something behind. And the clean up would begin.

These memories are golden. I cannot think about them without a feeling of warmth and smile upon my face. For me, there could not have been a better way to ring in the new year. Until this year. This year I did something totally different. Many people thought I was crazy but it just seemed like the right thing for me.

This year I farmed out the kids to their friends' houses. The going-to-be-ex left on Thursday and went up to Tahoe for the weekend. And I stayed home alone.

In the afternoon I watched three movies. None were particularly good and, in fact, I dozed off during one of them. Later on, I opened up my laptop and chatted online with some friends. Feeling slightly cheery I pulled out a bottle of champagne I found tucked in the back of the garage fridge. I simultaneously sipped and chatted, watched movies and then read.   I think I was asleep before 11:00 pm. Definitely not the traditional NYE but it was pretty much perfect and exactly what I needed.

To all of my friends near and far, Happy New Year!

What did you do for NYE? Was it your norm? Was it better or worse? Do you have traditions that you could imagine skipping?

and it's the holidays

2011-12-22T09:18:00.000-08:00

I haven't been around these parts much lately. Work, the holidays, work. I'm sure you all can relate.

Have no fear though. I hope to use some of these days off to catch up on my reading and commenting.

In the meantime ...Happy Holidays!

life is how you look at it

2011-12-15T20:01:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here working my way through the muck of it all. I'm trying to take each day, day-by-day or even minute-by-minute. It's a good way to survive. Maybe the only way. I think I'm pretty good at trying to balance and keep things in perspective. I've written about it before - always maintain perspective. A search on my site will show a quite few entries all going back to perspective.

It's good. How do you know if things are good if you don't experience the bad?

So my resolve through this muck is to keep things in perspective. This week I received an email from the room parent of my son's class. My 2nd grader's classmate's father was just diagnosed with a brain tumor. In short order he went from "something is not quite right" to a hastily scheduled biopsy of a brain tumor.

My problems are not of that magnitude. And I just have to keep that perspective. There is a part of me that feels guilty to look at other people's tragedies as something good for me - but it is. It keeps my perspective. Now, more than anything, I need that.

I have my health. My kids have theirs.

I have a good job. It pays well. My boss is great. The work is stimulating. The work can be overwhelming but a great distraction.

I have friends. Lots and lots and lots of supportive friends.

Look at that list. I really shouldn't complain. And I will try not to.

giggles and chuckles

2011-12-06T10:12:00.001-08:00

Last night, as per my usual routine at Henry's bedtime I went in to lie down with him. I plied his book out of his hands ("It's way past your bedtime buddy..."), put the CD player on (a playlist of some favorite pop tunes given as a party favor from one of his friends) and hit the lights.

After he finally settled in and scooted over, I tucked his big, blue blankie all over him and lay down for snuggle time. Often I am conflicted during this time. Usually it's a long day and I still have things to do, or I just need my down time. But not last night. Last night I was keenly aware how short-lived this time will be. Part of this is simply a function of his age. Of course, the other part is knowing that there soon will be many nights when he will not be in my house and I won't be able.

We knocked heads as I laid down, my glasses cracking against my nose. We both agreed that I should take them off which, of course, I did. And then the conversation ensued.

Henry: So can you not see without your glasses?

Me: No, I can see, just everything is a little bit fuzzy.

Henry: Can you see my hand?

Me: Yes, I can see your hand?

Henry: What am I touching?

Me: You're touching the wall.

Henry: Okay what am I touching now?

Me: You're still touching the wall.

Henry: Okay what am I touching now?

Me: You're not touching anything.

Henry: Okay, what about now?

Me: Ssshhhhhh sweetie. I can see okay - it's things like, see the clock on your wall? I can't read the time.

Henry: What am I touching now?

Me: Ssshhhhh. You should be looking at the back of your eyelids.

Henry: What am I looking at now?

Me: The back of your eyelids.

There is a pause. No response - I must have got it right.

Henry: What am I looking at now?

Me: Ssshhhhh. Come on now - you need to settle down. You should be looking at the back of your eyelids.

He laughs and tries to talk more. Slowly I start scratching his back, still my baby I'm trying to soothe with the essence of touch.

Henry: Giggle, giggle...

I continue scratching - and the giggles continue. At some point there's a nice hearty chuckle. Then two. Then more.

Henry: Giggle, giggle, chuckle, chuckle...

Henry: Giggle, giggle, chuckle, chuckle...

Henry: Okay now mama can you give me a ma-sausage?

Me: A what?

Henry: A ma-sausage.

Me: Oh, you mean massage?

Henry: Yeah, a massage.

Me: Okay.

And so I do. First the shoulders, then the neck, across the arms. Gently trying to coax him into relaxation.

Henry: Did you get trained on how to give a massage?

Me: Oh - nope. Sure didn't.

Henry: Then how do you know how to do it?

Me: Um, I don't know. I just do.

Henry: Well, you're good at it. Now, can you go back to doing what you were doing before when you were dragging your nails on my back?

Me: Sure sweetie pie.

And I do for a few minutes more but it's clear that this could go on forever and he needs to get to sleep. He senses my departure and wraps his arms tightly around my neck.

Henry: No mama - don't leave!

Increasing his grip tighter and tighter he starts cackling with laughter. The challenge is on.

I wiggle and squirm managing to get my legs over the edge of the bed. I struggle trying to break free of the long limbs and sharp elbows but he is holding on strong. Like a game of chicken, as I'm pulling free, away from the bed dragging him with me, he finally releases knowing that if he doesn't, he might just land on the floor. Of course I wouldn't let that happen but he doesn't need to know that.

I turn and give a quick kiss goodnight and a final tuck-in careful to not become ensnared again. Until the next night.

minute by minute

2011-12-02T12:13:00.001-08:00

One of my biggest problems is that I think too much. I just can’t turn my brain off. It is especially challenging when there are abunch of unknowns. I dwell and imagine,usually the worst case scenario. I tryto predict and plan. I try to understandwhat to expect. I can’t do that rightnow. All I can do is live minute byminute.

One minute I’m incredibly sad, crushed under the blanket ofsorrow in my loss. The next minute I can’t get out of thisrelationship fast enough.

One minute I can’t believe I’m here. The next minute Ifeel okay.

One minute I’m searching the local listings wondering ifthere is anything I might possibly be able to afford. The next minute I’m accepting the realitythat we need to sell our house before I can do anything.

One minute I’m stubborn and determined to make him “own”this and make it happen – this is hischoice. The next minute I’m the onecalling the realtor and scratching out a draft of a settlement agreement.

But there is no minute where I envision anything everreturning to some semblance of my old normal. And these are the minutes where my thoughts spin wildly out ofcontrol. These are the minutes thatproduce so much anxiety I can’t eat or sleep.

The outpouring of kindness and support has buoyed meup. I feel lighter with the weight of the secret no longer occupying my thoughts. I no longer have any minutes ofshame. For that I am most grateful. Reminders that I am strong, that I will beokay help boost my confidence, even if it is only for a minute. It keeps memoving forward. And that’s what I needmost – to move forward – minute by minute.

independently verified

2011-11-22T10:49:00.001-08:00

Coming out on my blog last week was a really big deal for me. I'm sure you all realize that without the statement, but the extent to which I've hidden and tried to deny the reality is significant.

Why?

First and foremost was my holdout in the hope that things would change back to normal. Keeping things on the down low would have made it easier to reconcile. The fewer people who knew we were having problems, that he wanted out, would mean fewer people to explain how the break-up never materialized.

Another is that this stuff is hard to talk about. Hard to talk without triggering a quiver in my lips, or a crack in my voice, or tears puddling in the bottom of my lids only to stream freely as I lose control.

Then there is the shame of being dumped. Of being a failure. Of knowing that this is going to cause irreparable damage to my children. There will be scars.

Of course there is also the obvious, I didn't want it to get back to the kids. People talk. That's what they do.

It was much more preferable to pretend.

I did it well. Only my closest, most trusted friends knew - some real, some virtual. I needed some people for support, advice and to help maintain my sanity. But the majority - co-workers, pool league friends I've known for years, friends in town - remained in the dark.

I often wondered though, could people see through the facade? I would stare in the mirror wondering if people could see the fake-ness of my smile or the dark sadness in my eyes. On the surface everything seemed normal. I would engage in conversation, laugh at jokes, go to lunch. But underneath it all I was hurting, am hurting, the worst pain imaginable.

Coming out in some ways has been a huge relief. I no longer have to pretend, but it hasn't changed my underlying emotion of wanting to keep quiet. I haven't posted any blog posts on Facebook since I revealed the truth. To do so will open the flood gates and I'm not sure I'm ready. Maybe this post will make it there. Maybe it won't.

Slowly I'm letting people in. I'm trying to get comfortable and move forward, understand the life that is in front of me is what I have to accept whether I want to or not. And telling people makes it real. But it is oh so hard.

As it happens, in chatting online with a co-worker, I mentioned my blog. He asked for the link and I hesitated knowing what was out there. I stalled but then finally said fuck it. People are going to know sooner or later and it might as well start now. Later, his comment to me, he could tell something was wrong by my eyes and the laugh that wasn't really a laugh. He saw.

It seems pretending didn't work. The light has gone out of my eyes and is for all to see, independently verified. I know in my head it will return. Hopefully. Someday.

this seems appropriate

2011-11-20T09:08:00.001-08:00

I find it amazing that in the midst of all this devastation and pain there remains some semblance of normal. It gives me hope that eventually I'll be okay. And that is good.

i'm coming out

2011-11-14T19:05:00.000-08:00

We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned,
so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.

Joseph Campbell

Today is the fourth day I haven't worn my wedding ring. I am painfully aware. My husband hasn't worn his since February. He wants a divorce.

I am very much a person who wears her heart on her sleeve and to keep this secret has been intentional. Maybe if I don't say it, it won't be true. But it is and I cannot believe I am in this place now. At some point every day, usually in tears I cry to myself and wonder how did I get here? Almost 19 years of marriage and more than that of him being my best friend and he has shut the door - just like that. It takes two to make a relationship but only one to break it apart.

I know this because I was the one who broke us 10 years ago. I was the one who left. I was fortunate enough to realize my mistake and most fortunate for my husband to forgive me - except he never really did and that is the crux of the issue. I thought that because we made it through that mess we would always be solid. We were really good for many years. A fight was just a fight; a disagreement just that - not the end of the world and, for sure, nothing to end our our marriage They were opportunities to practice arguing, practice saying I'm sorry and, well, just arguments.

Clearly I am wrong.

I spend my commute days wiping away tears and choking back the vomit I feel in the pit of my stomach. Anytime I have too much time is bad for me but the weekends are the worst. These are the days when I have no idea what to expect. No idea if we are going to pretend to be a family under strained circumstances. No idea if or when he's going to come home.

Oh right! He actually hasn't left yet. Not only is he still here but we are still sleeping in the same bed. We are still pretending. Or more accurately, I am still pretending. Still pretending but still knowing. Trying to figure out what this will mean for my sons - one a junior in high school, one in 8th grade and one in 2nd grade. Trying to figure out how I can best manage this situation.

The practical questions keep flowing. How am I going to be able to afford to live in this same affluent town to keep my kids in the only school district they've ever known? How are we going to manage "together" things like the Back-To-School Nights? Who do I have to turn to when every_single_person is married and with family. No more couples gatherings. No more family BBQs with other families. People will feel awkward and unintentionally, quite naturally, choose "sides". It reminds me of a post I read from BigLittleWolf's Daily Plate of Crazy titled "Which is Worse - Death or Divorce". I quote from her post:

Bruce, of Privilege of Parenting, was kind enough to point me to the Washington Post, a particular piece of writing describing divorce as a sort of death.

Read it.

Or should I say – read it and weep.

Citing from Rabbi David Wolpe’s post, from his own former wife Eileen’s words to a friend:

Divorce is a hard path, a long, circuitous journey that is not something you can control…and your married friends look at you like you have leprosy. It threatens their world view for you to divorce. It threatens their marriage… everything changes. In ways you can’t imagine or anticipate. Everything. Everything. Everything.

Eileen Ansel Wolpe goes on to say that divorce is:

… the destruction of together-dreams, forever-dreams, family-dreams, love-dreams. You cannot leave a marriage without doing violence to all those things, no matter how amicable the divorce.

And the truth in that has broken my heart into a million pieces - destruction of together-dreams, forever-dreams, family-dreams, love-dreams...

I am grieving and it is the worst grief I've ever experienced. I remember the feeling well from the death of my mother and, more recently, the death of my Uncle. My friends are supportive. My sister is awesome. Unfortunately, as anyone who has dealt with grief understands, it's just a hole in your heart that no one can help heal. It is incredibly lonely. No matter how many people I have around me, this is mine to deal with alone.

I feel so, so sorry for my children. I've let them down. I feel like a failure. I feel like an ass for writing posts like this and this. What a fucking joke. I am 41 and I've been with this man for 20 years - half my life. I have no idea what to do. I have no idea what's going to happen. Maybe we will recover, although I doubt it. I know my husband and when he sets his mind to do something, he typically follows through - and he is determined to leave me. I've hoped before, only to be crushed. I don't think I have it in me. I can no longer pretend that my life isn't total shit. And so I am coming out.

thinking

2011-11-07T19:18:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in the TV room, feet up on the coffee table. The TV is on, Henry is playing Civilization on the XBOX. Danny is back in his bedroom with a friend studying for their science test. Sam is here on the couch impatiently waiting for 7:00pm so he can have the TV.

And I am sitting here thinking. I have this time, precious time that I know will not be here forever. Time to engage. Time to visit. Time to talk. Time to understand. And all I do is think. I watch from the periphery. I do what needs to be done but I live in my head.

And I'm irritated. My thinking time is being disrupted with Sam yelling at Henry - ordering him around. Henry has non-stop babble. He is a kid who can carry on a conversation with no one but himself - and he does all the time. It is never quiet.

But I shouldn't be thinking. I shouldn't be wondering how I got to this place. I shouldn't be arguing with Sam, but I am.

Interrupted.

All. The. Time.

Unpleasant.

The angst around here. Boys fighting with boys.

"Go away."

"Get out of my room."

"Put my video games away."

"Wash your hands before you use the controller - it's all greasy now."

And I think, how did I get here?

"Mom." Interrupted again.

But I should be here. The problem is that I'm not.

**Post inspired by Just Write.**

come visit me!

2011-10-27T08:35:00.000-07:00

Today I'm posting over at Momalom! Jen and Sarah have quite the site and following. It was their Five for Ten series that motivated me into this blogging world. Now I have the honor of posting for their MomMamaMommy! series. I owe them lots for this wonderful community I've discovered.

Head on over and see what I have to say about the dynamics of three. While you're there, check out their writing in the archives, subscribe to their feed and add them to your Twitter list. Enjoy!

stifled

2011-10-24T12:07:00.000-07:00

My heart is here but my head isn't. Words and ideas swirl in my head like the dead leaves outside on a brisk fall day. They click as they rustle never seeming to settle down.

I am disconnected, outside looking in. Lurking. I sit on the periphery engaging only sporadically. Unfortunately in both the real and virtual worlds.

I am not living up to the title of this blog. I am not saying all I want to say. I've written before about how I cannot wear a veil. I can make excuses but mostly I am stifled. It appears that if I cannot write with honesty about things that matter, then I cannot write at all. It feels false and unworthy of my time.

I need to find a balance though because I miss the community. I miss the engagement at a time when I need it the most. Of course my real-world friends are here for me but there's something to be said for the online world. It is always "on" with no need to coordinate schedules, drive anywhere or find babysitters. You can reach out and find people to connect with regardless of, maybe even because of, your idiosyncrasies. At any given time you can find someone. And it's good to have someone even if there are words left unspoken.

My Pink Network

2011-10-04T19:23:00.000-07:00

Christine over at Coffees and Commutes wrote about her Pink Network and inspired me to write about mine.

I've always considered myself to be "one of the guys" and valued that classification. It was difficult for me to make friends with girls. Their interests were not my own; their games repulsive at times. But I've always had a few girl friends - and a few good ones at that. So few that I can recount everyone of them since elementary school.

Of course my first girl friend was my sister. Growing up we had this love-hate relationship but if either of us was in trouble, we had each other's back - no questions asked.

And then there was Laura. We played Barbie dolls forever, took rides around the block, got stung by bees and swam all summer long. Brenda and I stole cigarettes from our mothers' packs and hid out by the barn, coughing and hacking away. Iris was there as we hung out and did science projects together. We fell out of touch but as weird things go, we ended up renting rooms in the same house our senior year in college. Freaky.

High school was such a miserable time in my life. I hated it. I hated the girls. I hated the popularity contest. I didn't fit in with any click even though it was a school of 1,600+. But there were a few shiny pinks in the midst - Ellen with her gorgeous hair - dark auburn with this natural curl you could never fake with a bottle of perming solution. Michelle, Kathy, Heather - those were my girls - and thanks to Facebook we had a bit of a reunion a few summers ago. I don't keep in touch as much as I'd like, but I still feel close to them.

College was a small but awesome pink experience. There were really only two friends for me - Rebecca and Kim. All three of us RAs. You know, Resident Assistants, those pesky annoying people who made you follow the rules in your dorm. We were all very different then, and yet not so much. We shared less than ideal childhoods and we all took that damn job because we needed it to get through school. Interestingly enough, we all got degrees in education. I've lost touch with Rebecca even though we still exchange Christmas cards. But, I know if I picked up the phone and we both (miraculously) had a spare minute to talk, we'd be right back in the thick of it.

Kim I'm a little more connected with courtesy of Facebook. Here is another freaky story. Kim is still back in Connecticut and she married her high school sweetheart, Tim. Tim has a brother Jonathan. Jonathan lives in California. One day I got a note from Kim saying that her brother-in-law moved to my town. Not only did he move to my town, but he moved to about a mile away and now Kim's sister-in-law is one of my trusted friends, and part of my pink network. Small world, huh? Kim also was my first real pink experience. She is a survivor - going on 10 years now.

And my pink network - we are a grounded set of girls. I have friends like Cheryl (who married my ex-boyfriend - I know another freaky), LouAnne, Dee and Kim who have been friends for life - at least my life in California. They have seen me at my worst and they have seen me at my best. I have Leslie, Shawn and Erin - pool teammates I'm out with every Wednesday. It's my one night out a week whether I need it or not. Then there are Andrea, Jules, Brooke, Sonia, Larra and Barbara - the local girls always ready for a cosmo and a conversation. And last I mention are the women who have bumped me up professionally. Lucy, Susan (also a survivor) and Alisa, Valerie, Hope and Megan, most recently Barb. These are the girls in my life and I would like them to stay here.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Do something. For me, I support Susan G. Komen For The Cure. Be aware. Be generous. Be true to your pink.

today i am

2011-09-21T12:29:00.000-07:00

Today I am the mother of two teenagers. TWO. Oh my gosh. Help me now. Question of the day: how many gray hairs will I have when I'm done with this batch of three?

Many bloggers write notes either to or about their children on their birthdays. My first was just this summer - one about my oldest. It seemed to go okay so I thought I'd do another for my boy who just entered teenage wasteland.

I want to start this post with the story of how he was so, so close to not reaching this milestone. It is categorized as the worst parenting experience of my life. It was the day he almost died. For real.

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I went back to work about three months after he was born. I used the same childcare provider that watched my older boy as a baby. She is loving and kind; a nice Persian woman who cooked the best food. Her house was only two blocks from my office and she had no issues with me popping over at lunch to go nurse my sweet boys. Sometimes she even fed me. Bonus!

My childcare provider was, however, a bit dramatic about illness. Or maybe I was too cavalier. Or too worried about keeping my job. Or doing my job well. Whatever it was, it always seemed like she was calling me telling me my child was sick and I needed to come pick him up. My definition of sick and her definition didn't match and it was often a source of irritation with me.

So one January day, when Danny was about four months old, she called. She has a thick accent and was talking very quickly telling me I had to take my child to the doctor. Slightly irritated with yet another call, I found it difficult to make sense of what she was saying. Between her accent and English as a second language, she was talking too quickly for me to understand her. She just kept repeating that I had to come now and take my son to the doctor. I asked her what was wrong and she said that she had to do CPR. That didn't make sense, or perhaps I didn't want to believe. She again repeated that she had to do CPR and I had to come right away.

My heart started racing. From this point forward, everything is a blur. I told her I'd be right there, hung up the phone, babbled something to someone on the way out of the office that I had to go because my childcare provider had to do CPR. I didn't know what to think. Clearly she must be mistaken or exaggerating. But I flew like the wind anyway.

I ran up to her door and knocked furiously. I will never forget the sight when that door swung open. There, in my childcare provider's arms, was my dear sweet baby boy. Purple hands, purple feet, purple lips. He kept trying to pick his head up off her shoulder but it kept flopping right back down. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I grabbed him out of her arms and into mine and started asking questions. Question number one - did you call 9-1-1? She had not. I think I yelled at her, asked her why not and yelled at her to do it NOW! Call 9-1-1 NOW! And she did.

Waiting that interminable wait for the ambulance, my sweet baby's head flopping up and down on my shoulder, only then did I see how distressed was my childcare provider. Yet another knock that this is real. We talked. I got more of the story - my baby had been napping and she just felt like checking on him. She opened the door to find him blue and unresponsive. She did what she was trained to do and called me.

First the fire truck arrived, then shortly thereafter the ambulance. I could tell by how the paramedics were acting that they knew the situation was serious. More reality check - this is real. We went off by ambulance to the hospital - well I know he went. I honestly cannot recall if I was in the ambulance or not. I have no idea.

I know I called my husband at some point but he was all the way in San Francisco and it would take him some time to arrive. I was alone and scared and then I remembered. One of my first friends after moving to California is a trauma nurse - she works in the ER. I inquired and she was working that day. She came to me. She held my hand and would not leave me alone. She gave me real information. Information that helped me think logically. Information that calmed me down.

We made it past the crisis and spent the next five days in the hospital. They ran every test imaginable with no conclusive results. Finally the pediatrician said the only thing they would say was that if Danny had died it would be classified as a SIDS death.

There is so much more to this story - the following months, monitors, nursing gone awry, relationships with childcare providers - for now, though, this is enough.

This is enough for me to know every single day that I am so damn lucky to have Danny here. How things could have turned out so differently if not for the happenstance check my childcare provider did at that critical moment.

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He is my boy, who at the age of four, cried many nights because he didn't want to grow up. He is easy-going with a (more) quiet nature than my other two, but at times will flash with anger. He is affectionate, loving and curious. He is so different than either of my other boys, but of course that is to be expected, I think.

I've always described him as my boy who skips through life. Happy birthday Danny.

one long weekend

2011-09-11T20:28:00.000-07:00

You'd think with a title like that something good will follow. Well, that is not the case. My husband is out of town to meet up with friends and watch a college football game back in Tennessee. This means that I have three children and all their activities to coordinate. It means relying on help from neighbors which I hate. I like to be self-sufficient.

But my weekend was long not because of the endless tasks needing to be accomplished (which I did by the way!). It was long because of the seemingly endless sadness. I think it's a conspiracy.

Saturday, after the soccer game and crew practice, but before the birthday party, I was catching up on some blog reading and watching tweets as they popped up. One from Kristen at Motherese caught my eye. It was a link to a post on Listen To Your Mother. A post for Anna See. A beautiful post, exquisite really, about the journey of grief and the idea that no one is alone and yet there are times when we are. I've walked the path of grief and I know this to be true.

I've found myself to be quite emotional over the past few weeks and finally made the connection. I am a sensitive soul. I feel what others feel and can sense it even if they don't speak it. All the chatter and stories about 9/11 were affecting me. Are affecting me. I personally knew no one affected on that terrible day but it doesn't matter for me. Even without television in my home, just the few catches of conversations on the radio, the town sign about the remembrance on Sunday, the brief glimpses while catching up on the news on the internet - all of it was bringing back those feelings. Feelings of uncertainty. Feelings of insecurity. Feelings of fear. Feeling that something had changed forever.

Saturday when I got home from the birthday party, my teen came out to tell me that Aunt Amy called - his aunt, my husband's sister. She called to let us know that my husband's uncle passed away that morning, suddenly from a heart attack. This is the second uncle in less than a year.

And this evening, just as I was sitting down with my three lovely boys for dinner, my phone rang. It was a friend and former co-worker. In tears. She called to let me know that another friend and former co-worker passed away yesterday morning. He was 38 years old and went out for a run. A cyclist found him collapsed on the side of the road, the paramedics came, but he didn't make it. A friend, a co-worker, a husband and father to two beautiful young children. To think about these beautiful children, children we talked about throughout the day. Children whose pictures I saw regularly on Facebook. Children who no longer have a dad. It breaks my heart.

And what I am going to take from all of this is perspective. After dinner I went into my son's room on my way to give him a bath and saw the bright blue marker all over the cream-colored carpet and it didn't matter. It's just carpet.

pretend

2011-09-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

How much do you pretend?

Life is good - that's an easy out.

I pretend that tears are not streaming down my face.

I pretend that my life isn't falling apart in one piece.

I pretend that my life isn't falling apart at all.

I pretend there is nothing wrong.

I pretend life is normal.

I pretend that the the decaying and leaking gutters don't have any symbolism in my life;
nor chipped paint on the exterior of my house;
nor the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen faucet;
nor the flaky television in the bedroom;
nor the mattress that doesn't provide support;
nor the towels that are thread-bare and thin.

The symbolism is disturbing.

I pretend. Do you?

should i let them sleep (revisited)?

2011-08-23T14:57:00.000-07:00

It's back-to-school time again and I've been thinking about this topic I wrote and shared last year. It is appropriate for me again so here it is re-posted, with a few edits.
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These past seven days or so have been busy with all those back-to-school tasks. Go through clothing and toss that which no longer fits or simply is not presentable, throw out old markers run dry through use or time and, of course, get new stuff for the new year.

These tasks and to-do's as a parent are so easy and clear. There's no questioning, no debate. However, there's been this one back-to-school item that's been nagging at me for a few weeks now and that's the schedule and being on a schedule.

As an aside, any parent out there can tell you all the advice they rain down on you about getting your kid on a schedule. I am a very scheduled person. I like schedules. I like knowing what to expect and when to expect it. The concept, while appealing, doesn't necessarily hold true for all kids, but there was a time in my kids' lives where we were pretty darned scheduled. While it was good when they complied, it was nerve-racking when they didn't. No one ever told you what to do when your kid wouldn't stick to the schedule.

Anyway, now that my kids are getting older, they are naturally staying up later. No more 8:00 pm bedtimes. Even the ~~six~~-seven-year-old has been staying up late, well past ~~10:00~~ 11:00 pm almost regularly. That's what you get with the third kid. And who cares? He can sleep as late as he wants. I like that. I like that a lot because that means on weekends, I get to sleep late. Win-win if you ask me.

But that all needs to change, starting tonight. And hence my dilemma for the past week. I kept saying, the kids need to go to bed earlier and get up earlier so the start of school is not a shock. My husband and I agreed, but secretly I struggled. I mean, hey, it's their summer vacation. Shouldn't they be allowed to stay up late and sleep in late, especially the teenager? It is particularly difficult for me because I remember being that age and I remember sleeping until noon, until my mom came in and made some wisecrack about sleeping the day away. It was wonderful and I still enjoy long mornings snuggled under the covers.

And so I've waffled and been indecisive. And husband was no help. He doesn't care. And guess what? The kids really haven't been going to be earlier. Well, I've had them shutdown the computers and stop the TV and get in bed. But the sleep-time is still basically the same - way late, especially when I think that school starts tomorrow.

So last night, as I'm laying in bed trying to fall asleep, I convinced myself that I needed to wake the boys up before I left for work. Wake them up at roughly the same time they need to be up tomorrow, so it isn't such a shock. But then as I was going through my motions in the morning, I somehow convinced myself that they didn't need to wake up. That depriving them of sleep for an additional day in the week would only make them more tired tomorrow. After all, the adrenaline of the first day of school will take care of any residual tiredness, right? ~~And I let them sleep.~~ Nah, I made them get their butts out of bed! And now you know they call me mean old mom.

it was an onsgulstraf

2011-08-11T17:06:00.000-07:00

It all began many years ago when a teenager was just a little boy child afraid to learn how to ride his bike. As much as his mother and father tried to convince him of the fun it could be, the little boy child was as stubborn as they come. The more the parents tried to convince the little boy child, the further entrenched the little boy child became which eventually led to tears and frustration and a stand off.

Now the Mama and the Papa were no ordinary parents. Before their married years, the Mama often found herself associating with the boys and learning their love of childish, crude and wicked humor. The Papa, well, he is a boy and that's all the explanation required. Together they formed a perfect pair. They called their house "the Jerky Hut" and even hung up a sign to proclaim it so.

Bathroom humor, of course, is a favorite of boys. It is no surprise that the Papa carried into their married years funny jokes and odd quirks established during his youth. One such quirk is the tradition of "slugging" a fellow if he breaks wind and fails to call "no slugs". There were times when the winds were silent and the offender could attempt to go unnoticed. However, in the event the winds were silent but deadly and the offender discovered, he best be quick-lipped or endure the penalty at hand.

The Mama, often considering herself to be one of the guys, took to this game heartily. And so it came to be that the Jerky Hut played the No Slugs Rule. No longer was there a requirement to be demure and polite or even say "excuse me" upon releasing gas. The "No Slugs" response was expected and, in fact, needed or there would be consequences - namely a sore arm.

The Mama and the Papa upon having children, and being the stellar parents they are, necessarily indoctrinated the baby boys with the No Slugs Rule at a very young age. Perhaps things would have turned out differently had a child of the female persuasion been born unto this family, but they will never know. And so it came to be that this family of all boys regularly entertained themselves slugging away every chance they could, which is a lot with four boys (Papa included of course).

Dear reader you might be wondering how this applies to a little boy child learning to ride his bike so here is the connection. Given that these parents were stellar, stubborn and had this wicked sense of humor, they concocted the word "onsgulstraf". They explained to the little boy child that riding the bike was an onsgulstraf. When the curious little boy child inquired about the meaning of said word, the stellar parents explained that it means something that at first appears scary and intimidating but once learned becomes a great source of enjoyment. The stellar parents went on further to explain that the word onsgulstraf is "no slugs fart" spelled backwards and with that, the fear of bike riding washed away amid uproarious laughter resulting in the little boy child hopping back on and mastering the two-wheeled creature.

The Mama and the Papa continue to use this word, each little child boy having his own onsgulstrafs to overcome every now and again. The Mama may have even used it for herself.

expressions that get on my nerves

2011-08-01T11:59:00.000-07:00

Amy's latest edition to The Correctionists got me thinking. If you don't know the Correctionists, get a brief history and then come right back. I encourage you to visit these ladies who know their grammar and are pointing out mistakes that will make you cringe (but probably only if you like grammar). Amy posted on the misuse of quotes and for some reason I immediately thought of the use of air quotes and how they bug me.

For reference: Air Quotes is a gesture - two fingers, typically index and middle, bending in the air while the person speaks.   According to Wikipedia: "Air quotes are often used to express satire, sarcasm, irony or euphemism, and are analogous to scare quotes in print." I don't know why but they annoy me.

I started thinking about other speech habits and irksome terms.

1.) "At the end of the day..."   Overused by my former manager, this expression immediately triggers a shudder. I remember being in meetings and literally counting the number of times he spoke that expression. I don't recall the actual number but it definitely was double digits. "At the end of the day" is not at the end of the day. It's at the end of the project, when we are done, when it is supposed to be completed, etc... It never is at the end of the day.

2.) "The bottom line..." Also another overused expression by the same former manager. Maybe he should read a thesaurus or learn some new vocabulary.   We are not talking about accounting and balancing the books.

3.) "Honestly..." Honestly, if you have to say honestly, does that mean you typically lie to me?

4.) "I'm not going to lie..." See number 4 above.

5.) "I have to say..." (alt. "I must admit..."). Actually there are very few circumstances that require you say or admit. Less is more.

And those are just a few. I hope the Correctionists don't find this an overuse of quotes. If so, they can quote me and put me to shame.

How about you? Are there certain terms that make you shudder like when hearing fingernails on a chalkboard? Do tell.

i've never done this before

2011-07-26T19:49:00.000-07:00

Oh my gosh. I am getting weepy. My oldest turned 16 today. What does that mean? Holy crap I am old. Hah! Just kidding. Seriously though. Wow. Just wow.

It's still an experiment in process. But it's soon to be over. F*ck. Did I figure it out? I only have two years left. He's a good boy and he's irritating as hell. Anyone that tells you boys are easier than girls at the teenage years, well, I dunno. Maybe they are right, maybe not. I don't have a girl so I'll never know.

What I do know is there is a lot of drama. A LOT of drama. Even with a boy.

And he has a girlfriend. A real girlfriend. What does that mean anyway? What are they doing? Do I really want to know what they are doing? "Un"fortunately she moved to LA this summer. He's attached. Technology helps ease the heartache I think. Unlimited texting is a good thing, at least for my wallet.

And the mouth. Always had the mouth. Since he was a newborn. He knew what he wanted and don't even. No. I am serious. 100% serious. It's how I describe him time and again. And he is still...to this day... as stubborn as he was a newborn. Of course now he can speak. And back to the mouth. It never stops.

But he's awesome. He may be a pill for the family but I never EVER hear a bad report on him. [Okay that's a lie. I've heard plenty of complaints for cryin' out loud! Boy scout camp. Reports of "impulse control".] Let's focus on reality.

Something recent. For the first time he went away with another family for a ski vacation. An entire week with another family. I wasn't worried. I knew he'd behave himself. What I didn't know was how well he'd been taking those lessons. He was a model guest. From the mom and dad I received nothing but over-the-top complimentary texts and emails, almost daily. Further conversations months after the vacation, the parents specifically recalled with detail his acts of kindness, thoughtfulness and generosity. His ability to be "in tune" (their words not mine) with what other people might need or think. I was speechless. I am proud.

He is was an avid reader. At a parent-teacher conference when he was in 5th grade I remember his teacher telling me that his reading level was at grade 11 and his vocabulary was at college level. But he doesn't read anymore. I tried and tried and tried to find books that interest him but I've been unsuccessful. I know he would continue to read but he needs something to grab his attention. Ugh! The frustration of it all!

And he can be so frustrating! He is just like me - always has to have the last word - argumentative to a fault. He should be a lawyer. [That's actually a running joke in my family.] He argues. He beats me down with his words. [Should I expect anything less?] He is comfortable with adults, even preferring their company over boys. He is wise beyond his years - and yet not.

I want to believe that he is still a child. I want to believe that he is mature and grown up. Neither is the case. Such is teenage wasteland.

I am churning out random thoughts on this special day. I've never done this for one of my boy's birthdays. I see it all the time - letters from bloggers to their children. They are beautiful to read but I've never done one. But now I have. This isn't a tribute - it's just who he is. And, this is my life with him.

i was in the picture mood

2011-07-19T16:37:00.000-07:00

I snapped off a few photos this weekend with my trusty iPhone - photos of things that I like and make me happy.

First up:

I mean really, who cannot melt at the sight of this? A little note for no apparent reason, except of course to tell me he loves me.

This is the fog coming over the hills, darkening the sky and bringing in a chill. Some folks might not like that, but I love the wind whipping and seeing the mist materialize before my eyes bringing sweet relief on warm summer days.

And then the fruit from our plum tree this year! Holy cow that's a lot of plums. Help?

A little preparation for my annual backpacking trip with the boy scouts. Always be prepared which means set the tent up once before you go!

And last, a little bit of creativity from the 7yo. Introducing "The Shield Generator".

the grades game

2011-07-16T09:46:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we attended a gathering at a friend's house here in town. Although the family has two boys the same age, the parents are a bit older than my husband and me. I find this often with other parents with teenagers. I had my first child at age 25 but it seems most women in my town held off until 35 or 40 to start having kids. Realize that this puts 10-15 years of an age gap between myself and the moms of other teens. I don't really care but I think it is one of the reasons I don't hang out with many mothers in town. There is a big difference between 41 and 56.

When it was time to eat I ended up sitting at the patio table with the "girls". All of the women were in the upper 50's and all had children who recently graduated from the local high school and were on their way to college. Naturally the conversation surrounded the kids. We talked about the differences between boys and girls, the colleges their kids were going to and the "grades game".

In talking about the high school, I mentioned that my son received a D in his AP European History class but passed the AP exam. I was questioning if the teacher might have been a little harsh on the grading. All four women, almost in unison, said to me "he has to get that D off his transcript". Failure to do so would result in him not being able to get into a 4-year college.

The conversation continued on with further detail about the grades game. Apparently to get into college the number one factor is GPA, with SAT scores taking second. Further, and this is what is most disturbing to me, these women - these experienced having just been there, done that - all agreed that my son should drop his honors classes and take the simplest classes possible just to get the higher GPA. That unless he can guarantee he is going to get an A in an honors class, he'd be better served taking some bullshit class like Foods. My son liked chemistry this year and has signed up for AP Chemistry. Now I think he should drop it. That is sad and it disgusts me.

These women all agreed that colleges don't look at the classes the kids took - they only look at the GPA. The fact that my son passed his AP exam is irrelevant - that D is all that matters. These women must have said to me twenty times that we have to do something to get that D off his transcript, even if it means taking a follow up class at some private academy to the tune of $3,000!

How can this be? How can course content not matter? I sit here and I am still slightly skeptical although I think I would be a fool to dismiss advice from four women who all said the same exact thing. Women who have just lived through this experience. I am so disappointed if this is true, but can I risk it?