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 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
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| It's a big, complicated day for all kinds of writers. Pakistan, next door to India which entertains all sorts of American interests, has the unfortunate bad luck to have allowed into power a President with a God complex. What is WITH these men and women who, once they reach a position with authority, convince themselves that dictatorship with absolute rule is an acceptable way to crush opposition?!? Why is absolute rule so desirable to these warped individuals...and HOW do they con people into putting them INTO powerful postions?!? Too bad there's not a screening that could set off an ear-splitting alarm for narcissism. Media has been cut off, fax machines have been destroyed, foreign correspondents' equipment has been confiscated and/or destroyed. As much as I often lament about the state of journalism and its seeming inability to maintain the objectivity I believe is crucial, I'd hate to live in a country where I wasn't allowed to hear the latest about Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears and...oh yeah, the Pakistan crisis! I'm endlessly impressed by the guts and dedication many of our foreign correspondents and print journalists display in situations like this. I have always wistfully wondered if I could have been a decent foreign correspondent had I taken a different life path, perhaps stayed in college the FIRST time, recieved that elusive degree and journeyed into these danger zones and hot spots. I mean I DID join the army's bomb squad because I'm a born-and-bred risk taker who needs that adrenaline rush like I need air. I don't get that enough these days and the result is sometimes a mind-numbing boredom...but I digress like I'm known to do  Our correspondents took to the internet and have continued to write and report on the happenings in a country that failed to stop free press. Very cool.  And of course the OTHER big news in "writers' world" is STRIKE! The screen writers are on strike and I say "power to the writers!" I think most of us on this site know that writers are the unsung heroes of television and movies. Seldom are their names actually large enough or scrolled slowly enough for us to know who they are, but my writer's mind always gives a silent accolade when I watch something that WOWS me. Unfortunately, those who don't write often don't give them a thought...and we know our writing brethren do not get as rich as the Brad Pitts and Gwynith Paltrows. Like firefighters, policemen, paramedics and the like, screen writers are grievously underpaid and undervalued. What they want from the movie and television industry is simple. They want residuals from internet broadcasts of the shows they write, and they want a larger cut of divd sales. I don't think their requests are unreasonable, although the producers' guild has issued a statement stating just that. It's like asking for a dime from a trillionare and getting your hand smacked  It's basically about power and throwing it around. Hmm. Sounds like what's happening in Pakistan.  |
| I have discovered an interesting little fact. It's difficult to do the work of upper level college classes when the lower level ones haven't been taken. Of course I'm writing about my college freshman daughter Rachael, the one who is plugging away at college courses...from a distance. She's enrolled in what's called "external studies" and is NOT having the best time of her life. She's figured out that getting motivated to read, do work, and e-mail it in is hard to do when there's no concrete due date, no teacher breathing down your neck, no classroom to visit or regular feedback to enjoy. She's even realized that she misses fellow students, though in the past she's rolled her eyes at how uninformed a lot of them are. It's about give-and-take between students and the teacher she misses most--that and being told she's soooo smart  She did get some feedback today which had her beaming the way she used to; it was nice to see a smile on her face! Her "Images of Women" teacher gave her an A for essay answers to questions from her first three chapters AND an A on her first college-level paper. Of course that teacher didn't have to deal with the stressed out meltdowns of this kid before that blasted paper got SENT They never tell you this stuff when you're taking a precious newborn out of the hospital *martyred mother syndrome*  I've had to be her teacher for these classes. At first I was annoyed and frustrated with her because she was acting so lost and confused when she had to write papers. In addition to that first one, which had to be at least five pages in length about women's fashions from a certain time period in history (she chose France during Napolean's reign) and their social impact, she has had to complete and send her first paper for the "history of Chicago" explaining the impact of the Great Fire of 1871 on the architecture of the city, 2-3 pages. This is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the papers she's expected to complete for these classes, but Rachael is a fantastic writer and I couldn't understand why she was having so much trouble understanding what the professors wanted...until I belatedly realized that the girl hasn't had Freshman English Composition-which she doesn't have to take thanks to an AP test-OR Argumention, the second semester Freshman English requirement that I believe is the crucial missing piece to her college delimma. She didn't know how to structure an academic paper on her own, without specific guidelines from a teacher. She doesn't know what is meant when the professor wants a review of something, "not a summary of what you've read." She didn't know how to opinionate and objectify the subject matter! Oh, I figured out after getting so annoyed with her  She didn't know HOW because she hasn't been TAUGHT. Talk about mother/teacher guilt.Now I understand why the woman who set up these classes kept stressing that I should do these WITH her, sit down and "be her teacher." I guess she could tell I'm a teacher of sorts through our conversations, which may be the only reason Rachael was even allowed to attempt these "external studies." Most of the time it's older adults and graduating seniors who take these courses, and now I know why. The majority of them are upper level...poor Rachael is working on second and third year material when she hasn't even sat through a complete college class, much less had the lower level classes that would gradually teach her skills for college writing and how to budget her time with schoolwork more effectively. I think her "classes" will go more smoothly now that I DO get it. I've had to think back and remember what exactly is learned in those lower level classes that she lacks; I've taught her how to structure any general academic paper with what she already HAD learned in her AP classes at high school. She just needed to learn how to combine each skill into a process, and she needed a guide to do that. Once she comprehends what's expected she's off and running, so to speak. She's also having to learn, long distance, how to decipher "professor speak." You know what I mean if you've had college classes Sometimes what they want is so simple, but they use three paragraphs and convoluted vocabulary to express it. Once again I'm doing my best to "show her the ropes" of what I like to call professorspeak. She's coming along with that, too. I had to remember her age and inexperience-and suffer her meltdowns along the way-before I realized what she needed. Oops.She's simply dealing with something all college freshman do--this transition from high school and its clear cut, structured guidelines to university learning with fewer guidelines but higher expectations. In college they expect you to KNOW, and it's nerve wracking when you realize you DON'T. Especially when you were an A student who thought she had the school thing totally under control. Feeling lost in the world of academia is a new experience for Rachael and one she doesn't like. But in true form for my middle daughter, she won't be that way for long. I can already see her, since she's recieved some much-needed explanation, putting that head down and getting ready to make her mark Boy will she be relieved to go back to CLASS in January |
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! Probably my favorite holiday lands on the 31st of October and thank goodness the bad health happened LAST week instead of this one  See, silver linings!I've written about Halloween in this house before, but to refresh your memory: I love the kids stopping by our house while we play scary music in the carport and plunk our "scary" Scooby in the big pot outside our door; every time someone walks by it he says "happy Halloween" in that silly Scooby voice. We also have a jack-o-lantern that opens its eyes and utters "give me some candy" in a gutteral sort of tone, but I've learned to be careful with that one...I don't like scaring little ones  Rachael and Sarah are carving a jack-o-lantern as I type and we'll put a pumpkin pie scented candle in it, hee hee. After Sarah trick-or-treats around here, it's off to our church where they provide hot dogs, chips and bucket loads of more candy They also provide all kinds of games and a hay ride. Fun stuff!! After all that we'll have a great time watching the Halloween shows dvd of the show Roseanne Those are the BEST Halloween shows I've ever seen. Yup, I DO love Halloween BOO!!! I thought I'd offer a few of my more "Halloweeny" stories if you are in need of some reading; none of these are my best offerings, and I edited one of them quite nicely but the edited version was eaten by the computer monster --but here ya go:
PS--thanks to finnley and kelly1202 for some fantastic gifts I'll show off with my next entry. I do love this site with all the great people I'm lucky enough to know |
A quick entry to spread the "mea culpas" around for my absence  The day after my birthday, where I had taken a pain pill from my doctor for the knee issue and suffered atrocious side effects , I succumbed to a stomach virus. I spent two days thinking I might die, then as soon as I felt better it was everyone else's turn. Lovely week. A few days ago the coughing and breathing issues kicked in. I must say, the beginning to this year-older thing has not been auspicious, but I figure it can only get BETTER from here...I shouldn't say that. Sigh I'll write a much better entry soon, providing that the seven sins haven't invaded my home...other than these DAMN GNATS I can't seem to get rid of...I think the bleach cleaner I'm diligently using has only made them stronger. GRRRR!!!! |
| How crazy is life?! HI to everyone after another protracted absence...what is it they say about "life is what happens..."? First of all, Happy Birthday to ME  I'm gettin' old! I'd joke about needing a cane but at this point I really DO need a cane so that cuts too close to the bone--or joint It's been topsy-turvy this week and a half; primarily the "big one" began with several phone calls last Thursday when we returned home from Sarah's band concert. One call from their dad's commander, one from the hospital in Peoria...their dad, my almost-ex, had a heart attack. I was shocked but not-does that sound strange? Heart disease is prevalent on both sides of his family and he smokes. Being in the army you'd think he has to exercise He's always done the bare minimum and even THAT is difficult for him. His eating habits suck and he drinks nothing but mountain dew, no kidding. I've nagged him for years and predicted this very event over and over again. It really doesn't feel good to be proven right. He's 47 years old.After getting hold of him and determining that he's okay-for now-I asked if this was a wake up call. "You'd think," was his sarcastic reply. I discussed with my kids the fact that we can't change who their dad is, he may or may not change his awful habits, and they need to spend time with him when he comes around but not dwell on his health issues. What will be will be. I want them to be prepared if the worst were to happen, but I don't want them obssessively worried. How humbling this whole thing is to me on so many levels. I've been lucky in my life and I've always known it; no one in my family has had cancer or heart disease. No one has died before shriveling from a ripe old age. The fragility of life is a concept I was aware of in my head, but I've never actually been faced with it. I knew it, but to experience such simplicity in the truth that life is precious. It's a gift we all take for granted more often than not. And then there's my kids. He's been a jerk this last year--seldom visiting them, barely showing up at Rachael's high school graduation, the kids knowing that when he DID show up it was usually after I threatened him with grave bodily harm...but he's their dad and he wasn't always like this. Besides, the beauty of parenthood is the fact that no matter how much we screw up and don't deserve it, our kids will love us fiercely. Their dad's health crisis isn't really surprising to them either; we've talked about this very possibility. But it's scary and it hurts them to imagine him gone. Now my revelation is about what I'm powerless to shield them from...there's no hiding their dad's mortality and the way he currently lives in denial-about every little thing, including his need to change those horribly unhealthy habits. It's weird to admit, but I've never felt so out of control about everything--my own knee problems are worse and I can't work until it's resolved. I HATE acknowledging this "weakness." I can't earn a living of my own yet, I have no idea what's going to happen concerning HIS work status, Liz is gloriously unstable and driving me so crazy I may smother her in MY sleep, and it all just seems to be spinning beyond my grasp. In the midst of it all is that concept which once eluded my soul--life is precious. Even when it's spinning out of control. THANK YOU Thomas for the upgraded membership Is he a cool friend or WHAT?!? |
| Today is my brother's birthday. He is Freddie E , an excellent writer who doesn't post enough on this site, but maybe that's a good thing for me...no comparisons I won't tell you how old he is today, but I WILL tell you he's four years older than me, and I'm going to be 42 on the 20th of this month; heh heh, if you can count, now you know Hey, I'm still a little sister! In honor of his birthday I thought I'd reminisce just a little, share a memory or two about the person I shared my growing-up years with: My big brother was really intelligent, much like my oldest daughter (they share the same IQ weirdly enough), and mild mannered like my middle daughter. He didn't experience the mood swings of my mother like I did to a lesser degree, and since my parents divorced when I was a year old and he was five, he was the lone male and stuck between two firey-some might say crazy-women When I'd push the limits of my mother's patience and temper, which I did quite often (I know that shocks you all), my brother thought I was certifiably insane. His blue eyes would widen and he'd utter in that incredulous tone, "Susie, what are you DOING??" I'd grin at his shocked disbelief and keep pushing it...until I'd get caught *gasp*, and become rightously indignant while rubbing a sore butt. I'd persuade him, more often than not, that I'd been grossly mistreated and we'd tell my mother that we were going to call those family services people on her! She'd hand us the telephone and a phone book. Oops. I was not the nicest sister sometimes. I'd deliberately do what I knew would distress him and garner evil satisfaction from the deed. Sometimes I could get away with blaming a misdeed on him, but not that often because my mother knew my work, heh heh And I had my backup last-resort retaliation of a good swift kick to the shins when he REALLY ticked me off and I needed something quick. Yup, I could be hell-on-wheels as little sisters go. Sorry, Fred!But there was the time, when I was about five, that I pulled a bloody, um, residue-thing from my nose and asked him in a frightened little voice if I was gonna die. He nodded solemnly. "Yup." That was all I needed to get hysterical beyond measure and go screeching into my mother, "I'mgonnadie I'mgonnadie I'mgonnadie!!" She got so scared by my hysteria that HE actually got the butt-warming that time, but if you'd asked him then-or now-I think knowing he got ME for once was worth it. He also told me, when I was about six, that for a mother cat to have kittens with tails she had to walk across cattails. Those are weeds with fuzzy ends for those of you who don't know. For years I believed him totally and would watch in puzzled consternation as pregnant alley cats would side-step those important plants, hoping I wouldn't see some deformed tailless cat in a month or two. Many, many years later my brother came to live with me and help with his nieces. Their dad had a job with long hours and I had a job and was trying to go back to college; he was just out of the army and willing to come...that's my brother, always willing to give when he's asked. At first he was sort of befuddled and kind of overwhelmed by two toddlers named Rachael and Elizabeth, but he was enchanted too. So much so that his nieces, especially Elizabeth-again what a shock-had no problem winding him around their small fingers! He was really interested when, after I had Sarah and he was still with us, he was able to watch her grow and reach those milestones every infant does. I'll never forget his calling to me, so excited the first time she became mobile and was rolling from one end of the room to another. I was glad he was there for those milestones of hers; to her dad and I those milestones were kind of old news because we'd seen them with the other two, but for her uncle it was all new and he let her know how impressed he was when she mastered another ability He was very present and important to his nieces in their formative years. He's back in Oklahoma these days and now helping my mom and aunt as they age and need more care. I'm so grateful he's there because it takes some of the load off my mind, and I need that! My brother is a computer genius, a fantastic writer, a football whiz, and a weather fanatic...but most of all he's a really good person who I'm proud to claim as my brother. Happy Birthday, Fred. |
| How's my new picture instead of the plain ol' yellow suitcase? The fitting-I thought-depiction of a bomb (former army bomb squad, ya know) is courtesy of my wondrous, generous pal kelly1202 and I think it looks quite snazzy...thanks to her I recieved a wonderful gift in the mail this afternoon: a journal with one of my stories in it! I'd forgotten sending the story in and being accepted because it happened probably six months ago, so grabbing my mail and opening it up to find a small printed magazine with MY name on the cover as one of the contributing authors--  No, I didn't get monetary compensation for it, but at this point I don't care; seeing my name in PRINT is enough!The magazine is called Stellar Showcase and it's published in Ontario, Canada. One thing I've been doing-with exception of the last two weeks when being in pain has sort of halted all my activities-is sending out work and/or queries to every publication that might, maybe, perhaps publish something I've written. I really have figured out that unless I do the work to get my writing OUT THERE it won't happen. So that's what I've been doing. Putting it out there and out there and out there...with a small pay-off here and there that really makes those late nights in the dark, when I'm submitting or querying in the rare quiet of my house into the early dawn hours totally worth every lost hour of sleep Now I'm off to seriously judge the romance contest I planned to finish judging LAST weekend...heh heh. I'll post results when I'm done. It's a good day. |
| Have you ever had a feeling of "been there and done that?" Have you ever had the feeling that it's getting old, too old, and something must change before you're taken to your very own room in a psychiatric facility because you'll be blathering and drooling down your shirt? Then you'll know where I'm at. It's Liz again, tra la tra la. She got herself a job...I knew this was not a good idea, she's just not ready or able to functin in the "real world" without serious therapy which she has not yet recieved. I was again, unfortunately, proven correct. She tried to walk off the Arsenal one evening which she knows is not allowed. I'd known earlier in the day that something was wrong with her-she wasn't right. Arsenal cops tried so stop her, she screeched obscenities at them, frothed at the mouth, had to be thrown onto the ground and cuffed. A policeman came to my door and "escorted" me to where she was sitting in the back seat of a police car. I gave her some extra meds, looked her straight in the eye and told her to "knock it off," and she started to cry, then sob, then bawl loudly...the crash. Just another day of fun in my world She was released into my custody on the promise that I would take her straight to the hospital. I did so but they didn't keep her, kicked her back into my court while she was still alternately sobbing and raging because, in their opinion, we have that appt. in Chicago and they just didn't want to deal with her anymore. To be honest the hospital in our area has nothing for her, anyway, which is why I have to travel two hours to get her ANY help at all. This decision was reinforced by a useless hospital visit and my continued "fun" with a completely unstable person in my home for the last 24 hours.I'm tired of everyone telling me how "strong" I am for dealing with this. What is my option? Kick my daughter out into the streets? God knows it's been an attractive thought more than a little, but I can't. It would be like kicking a defenseless, albeit mean and ornery, puppy out of a moving car without any way of surviving. So I have to put up with her scenes, the embarrassment, the way I'm held hostage by her because I'm the only one who seems able to control her on any level at all. I love my daughter, I feel for her in some ways-although she admitted to smoking AND drinking caffeine at this job, two activities which negated the effects of her meds and she's well aware of this-but I am so damn tired it's unreal. They don't want her on the Arsenal anymore and I don't blame them. They will, at some point, tell us we have to leave and I'm not prepared yet. With my knee situation, which will culminate in surgery very soon, I'm unable to get that all-important job until it's been resolved. Right now I can't even properly walk; I felt vindicated-which I know is so silly because the pain has been excrutiating and I shouldn't need "an excuse" for how I feel-because the dr. read me the radiologist's report...seems I have "degenerative joint disease," no cartilage left whatsoever, general disintigrating knees to sum it up. "Okay, I'm not a wimpy whiner," I assured myself...yeah, I'm crazy. Life in the fast lane. |
| Don't you love the month of October?? Crisp cool breezes float in from the North, colorful leaves coat trees, sidewalks, and driveways (this is before they turn into brown garbage that drive me crazy, of course), and yes, it's time for one of my favorite holidays-perhaps my FAVORITE of all the holidays-HALLOWEEN I remembered when I saw WDC's lovely fall/scary display. Ooh I do LOVE this month! Probably has something to do with my birthday landing in October too, a throwback from childhood when birthdays were so cool, but mostly I just love it all. I remember, as a child, outings with the Girl Scouts and my church-hay rides and bonfires crackling up from recently-harvested fields. Field fires get rid of excess from the harvest, and they're a GREAT way to get warm after a hay ride around farm/ranch land. We always had some marshmallows and hot dogs to roast over the blaze, and once I even remember burying potatoes in the leaves and corn stalks before they lit the fire. Some of the potatoes exploded before we dug them out--more interesting than fireworks And there's always FOOTBALL which I was groomed to adore from the time I cut my first tooth...I'm from Oklahoma/Texas, after all! Nothing's better than a nippy Friday night and a great high school football game...I was in the band when I was in high school, carrying around big tri-tom drums on my 5'2" frame and loving every minute of it (eep, could have something to do with my recent knee issues, heh heh). The smell of burned popcorn, hot dogs, cocoa and soda pop mingled into that unique football stadium scent. After the game there was usually a high school dance to attend or at least a gathering somewhere for some serious fun. Those were the days, don't you think? The ones when we could go all day, half the night, then get up the next morning and do it all again? I miss possessing that kind of energy Friday nights are still fun when I attend those high school football games, although now I'm in the stands watching my kids while they march with the band. If they don't have plans after the game we usually try to stop off somewhere to purchase the all-important hot dogs, french fries, nachos, you name it, then we rush home to watch game highlights on the news--sometimes we can find ourselves in the stands of our own game, it's a blast! Sometimes my kids' friends come along with us...I have the reputation of being a fun mom-not the "I'll-go-clubbing-with-you fun mom , but the mom who's a little wacky and pretty cool in limited doses I still love those Dallas Cowboys and Boomer Sooners, too...and if you don't know who THEY are, you SO aren't a football fan!!! October = fun in my world HAPPY OCTOBER!!!!!PS: To those who entered my "romance" contest do not lose hope...results posted by Monday evening I PROMISE!!! |
| The Untouchables became one of my all-time favorite movies way back during the summer of 1987, when I was first riveted by Chicago's violent history in a Kansas theater. I caught a showing of that movie last night on the AMC channel, and I discovered, to no surprise, that the movie still rivets me, fascinates me with its dark premise about our human heroes. The Eliot Ness of the movie was doubtless of "hero" quality, but he crossed boundries and legal lines in ways he never thought he would or could...in the end, the movie questions wordlessly: How far will we sink into the pit, ourselves, when we are confronted with and forced to battle real, unadulterated evil? The REAL Eliot Ness was no movie hero, of course, and thus not quite the romantic figure Kevin Costner potrays on the "big screen." But he WAS a man of integrity, sworn to uphold and protect the law, and to that end he worked tirelessly to put Al Capone behind bars when he was sent to Chicago in 1929. Unlike the movie version-or television version-the real Ness didn't run around Chicago brandishing weapons and nobly risking his own life so overtly. He did it behind a large mahogany desk. While he and his crew routinely disrupted Capone's lucrative alcohol trade, a canny band of accountants unraveled Capone's creative accounting habits. While Ness's efforts could have addtionally charged Capone with many counts of illegal alcohol transportation if the income tax evasion hadn't jailed him, it proved unnecessary. And in reality, Capone and Ness never met in person, although Capone did put contracts out on Ness and his band of "untouchables" which thankfully went unfulfilled. They were, of course, considered "untouchable" because they were probably the only officials in Chicago who couldn't be bought. After his stint in Chicago Ness was sent to Cleveland, Ohio to clean up the city's mess, which included a corrupt police force that Ness was intrumental in cleaning up. Unfortunately though, the real Eliot Ness, in a fine twist of irony, battled a surprising demon...alcoholism. Most real heroes are so disappointingly human. In learning about the real Eliot Ness and his very real problems, I couldn't help thinking about myself and my own problems; I don't pit myself against entire cities or grandly stand up for some cause to promote "the greater good," and yet my everyday family issues wear me out! How exhausting and mind-numbing must it be to put oneself into true "hero" mode? Enough to turn a hero into a broken alcoholic who was divorced twice before divorce was prevalent. Eliot Ness died in 1957, presumably of a heart attack. He was barely past the age of 50. I think he gave his life to promote that "greater good" he saw in his idealic youth. I think he might have wanted to be as noble as Kevin Costner portrayed him. Being human got in his way.  I encourage you to read more about the real Eliot Ness because he's an interesting historical figure, a man who really did try to make a difference. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** PS: When Al Capone (Robert De Niro) is walking down marble steps and Ness (Costner) confronts him after the shooting death of one of his men...that marble staircase and lobby are actually part of Roosevelt University!!! How COOL is that to ME that I've stood and walked along the same paths?!? |
| Computers are funny little characters. On one hand I love them for linking me to the friends I've found online, mostly you people who read this here crazy blog , but at the same time they can make me madder, more irritated, more upset, and frustrated than I ever thought I'd be at an inanimate object!!! Yes yes, you guessed it. Computer distress combined with library card glitches and all kindsa life glitches have created a silence in this corner of Blogville, the likes of which I don't think has ever visited any part of anything I've been responsible for writing in or talking to In other words, I write like I talk...ALOT!!! So I figured this "simple" blog entry-heh heh-will entail a sort of update in the "Life And Times of SusanL...should be quite stimulating Lessee...Rachael recieved her packets for "external studies" and initially had a kind of meltdown because she didn't know what to begin first or how to organize herself. Sigh. Mom to the rescue--we sat down and I started a sort of lesson plan and then had her continue it. She needs to get less dependant on me, I know, but it's gonna be hard since her only teacher for this external studies program will be me. She's great with moving along academically once someone points her in the right direction. Well, she IS only eighteen so I think I can give her a break in that area. Organizing her time will always be a challenge for her, but I do think she'll get better with time. And this first semester of "self discipline" might actually be very good for her that way. Plus she has cool classes so I don't mind being "teacher" About Liz: I'll be honest here. This last summer I almost gave up on her. I just didn't know how to get through to her about the importance of her own need to tap into her treatment process when it comes to Bipolar Disorder. I can want her "okay" till the damn COWS come home, but until she sees the necessity of stabiity it will never, ever happen. That and I had no help from any sector which totally SUCKED. For so long I've had the feeling that I'm the only one on earth who cares if this kid makes it or not. I got into major burnout mode over the whole thing. Then of course begins the endless cycle of "mother guilt" because I know I should keep trying but how long is TOO long to suffer along with her?!? So I'm going for that "happy medium" I've heard so much about but never seem to hit in any way about anything. She has an appointment in Chicago next Thursday, at the University of Chicago Psychiatry division. I'm so glad...they advertize that a TEAM of people will evaluate a patient's condition and make decisions based on a consensus...GOOD because she NEEDS a team. Oprah had a show today about Bipolar Disorder and it was great. I made Liz come and watch it too...she needs to STOP the denial about her condition and own it. Kay Redfield Jamison was on, my guru, who is considered THE top authority on Bipolar Disorder in this country. She has it herself, and her father has it. She's so intelligent and "in-tune" with herself AND the disorder that I bow at her feet, ha ha. An African American actress was also on who has a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, and she was amazing. I told Liz that if she doesn't remember anything else, to remember these words she said: "I wanted to be ALIVE, not just LIVE. And it's possible to have good life with bipolar disorder, but it takes doing the WORK." Amen. "The work" means therapy and meds, in that order. From her lips to God's ears. Someday my daughter will truly get it. Sarah is thirteen, need I say more? She's an 8th grader, a cheerleader, totally into clothes and boys and all that...but she still does her schoolwork, watches her tv shows and needs to be tucked in at night. Thank goodness! She's growing well and I'm proud of her, although I have to lecture her about junk food and the need for sleep...great, another teenager!!And me. I started taking this herbal "anti-depressent" called St. john's Wort. It took a few days to kick in, but so far I think it's working for me. I haven't had to deal with those deep, dark black abyss moments that have been my companions for a month or so. Good news. And I'm trying to just give myself a break here and there instead of constantly berating myself for "chores undone" and all that. My knees SUCK says the orthapedist...well big freaking DUH. He said I have the knees of a 70-yr-old and I need knee replacement, but he wouldn't possibly do one on someone my age...good, cause I wouldn't let him! So weight loss and exercise are my solutions for now. I feel like a cripple and I hate every minute of it. I'm not good with "helpless" AAAARGGH!!!! There, that was my frustration release about the stupid knees. Sigh. There you have it. My life in a blog entry. Whew |
| I feel mildly productive today. I googled freelance writing this morning and...there are more opportunities than I knew It's a matter of taking the time and making the effort to get my work out there, suffer the rejections, and keep trudging along that well-trod writer's path. It's full of brambles and prickly pears and the stings and arrows of editors' harsh criticisms, but I resolve to keep going; the view up ahead is rumored to be breathtaking One ad for reelance writing actually requested that a list be written on a certain site and linked for them to evaluate. Ookay, sure, what the heck. I chose a list topic many of us can relate to, heh heh, and in true Blogville form (and Scarlett  's), there are HOW many items in the list? I'll bet you guessed it--more than our magical five would just muddy the water. Right Scarlett?? http://www.onmylist.com/category/personal/Reasons_To_Embrace_Middle_Age_1 |
| I know I know, more stuff about my kids, but bear with me because I find this interesting not just on a "mom" level, but in a human one... First a flashback *wavy lines and all that* In early 1992 I was oh-so-young (sorry, not important to the story but I had to mention it, heh heh) and the mother of one toddler barely three and another who wasn't quite two. These little cherubs are, of course, Elizabeth (as she was known then), and Rachael. The younger of these two has always been small for her age, but at this time in her young life, she was still in possession of a soft layer of baby fat. Both girls had round, dimpled faces and rosy cheeks thanks to frigid German winters. Elizabeth's face was framed by soft brown ringlets to accompany snapping brown eyes, while Rachael had recently sprouted straight blonde wisps of hair to complement the vibrant blue of her eyes...almost a yin and yang of each other. To backtrack further, from the time Rachael was born these two have been almost like twins. They're only fifteen months and two days apart; baby books and pediatricians warn parents to watch out for vindictive youngsters when a new baby is brought into the home for obvious reasons, most especially because of the toddler's anticipated jealousy. When Elizabeth met Rachael, she stared at her intently for a full minute, then she smiled and began to chatter to her while, of course, the newborn slept through it all. I never had to be concerned about Elizabeth's behavior with baby Rachael-she didn't become aggressive with her till she could defend herself and they could both drive me crazy , but from the day she met Rachael, toddler Elizabeth would squat beside her infant seat and simply chatter to her younger sister. Sometimes she'd reach out to pat her tiny head or act silly to get a baby laugh out of her, but never did she behave as if she didn't want Rachael there. Now she misbehaved for ME as "payment" for loss of attention, sigh, but never did she focus the negativity on Rachael It was wonderful but unexpected; even then Elizabeth was not an easy child, believe it or not!Back to 1992: It was winter in Germany and I had brought the children outside to play for a bit. I sat on a park bench behind our apartment building while the two frolicked in snow the way young children will. Another mother came out with her child and sat beside me on the bench. I turned to speak with her for a few minutes, and then we heard the most unearthly screech-I turned and stood at the same time, rushing to a spot about ten yards away where my two bundles were located. As I neared I noticed Elizabeth's face, a mask of terror streaked with tears, and I could hardly believe what I saw. Little barely-three Elizabeth was hanging onto Rachael's pink coat with all her strength while that stinky almost-two-year-old was trying to wriggle through an open basement window!!! Of course the drop to the basement floor was easily six feet...and somehow little Elizabeth was fully aware of the danger while her younger sister was not. Wow. We call that day the one when Elizabeth saved Rachael's life. There was another day about six months later when, at my grandmother's non-childproofed house, Rachael got it into her head to have a drink of bleach in the laundry room and once again, Elizabeth's screech brought an adult posse. Day number two when Elizabeth, the boistrous, impulsive, challenging child saved quiet, staid, well-behaved Rachael's life. When Rachael left last week Liz destabilized and I was annoyed. She was agitated, snappish, and generally unpleasant to be around while at the same time she started sleeping too much. I knew she was taking her meds and I knew she hadn't been out with friends who would have provided substances that destabilize her, so I didn't get it. Then Rachael returned, and when the little blonde kid walked in the front door, that big, dark-haired "wild child" jumped out of her computer chair and grabbed her sister in a bone-crushing hug that went on for probably a full minute. She's been pretty stable ever since. They've had their share of massive sibling battles, believe me, but at the core, Elizabeth and Rachael, through all their differences and Liz's battles with her mental state, have always been and WILL always be each other's salvation. And of course Sarah makes sure she's in there, as do her sisters, but what Liz and Rachael share...I think it may someday save Liz's life. Payback. |
| Part of becoming a success in life includes knowing when overwhelming situations dictate actions we would never have imagined to be necessary. Here's the story: Rachael, my college freshman daughter, decided to request a dorm room at a new facility that's only a few years old--it's called "University Center" and houses Roosevelt, Columbia College, and DePaul University students. The building is a vast skyscraper full of amenities meant to create the finest in "away-from-home-living"...and I knew this buidling was not for her. But as mature in her thinking as she can sometimes be, my middle daughter is still a teenager, and she went against my strongly worded advice. Roosevelt University also has dorm rooms available in its own downtown building only a block and a half away from the University Center, but it might as well be a lifetime away. The UC is raucous, loud, and without much in the way of adult supervision; even the "monitors" on duty are college students, themselves. Security gaurds are supposed to walk the halls hourly in this sea of thousands of college students, but it's been my observation that they don't adhere to this policy. The result of the UC is this: freedom out the BUTT for many college freshman unused to even a portion of what they're suddenly given, unruly and sometimes nasty behavior by young people which goes totally unchecked by anyone, and because the UC is shared by three different universities, the feeling of comraderie that normally exists in a college atmosphere is notoriously absent. Into this atmosphere came my daughter, the one whose goal is academic success and cultural enrichment. What she found at the UC were a bunch of hormone-crazed adolescents hell bent on "partying" like mom and dad weren't gonna be home for a while. The Roosevelt University dorms would have been different; the comraderie is there, the quiet college atmosphere is prevalent, and the university library is three stories above...exactly where Rachael belonged, bigsigh. I am not happy to be proven right. Every day from the day I dropped her off, she cried. This is the girl who, when she was an infant, wouldn't even cry from hunger This is the girl who walked into her first preschool experience with her back to me as she waved, clearly dismissing me from duty, ha ha. She had a roommate who kept locking her out to be with her boyfriend. Once the girl and her boytoy actually locked themselves in their bathroom with Rachael ten steps away  Poor Rachael felt completely out of her element. Her other suitemates kept talking about how they could get beer even though one of them was more like Rachael, but she had to follow the pack. When they did bring beer into the room one night and asked Rachael if she wanted some, she said "um, no," in the tone of voice meant to convey her disgust with them...and it did. Hence Rachael wasn't the most popular suitemate. She felt isolated and alone and increasingly miserable.I was really worried about her on Friday, when she called me in tears again that she couldn't stop. She said she couldn't do anything normal, like read or listen to her music or even drink diet pepsi, the beverage of choice that she and I share. I knew it was time to intervene. All through the week I'd hoped she could "tough out" this first difficult transition to being on her own, and I think if she'd been in a more "collegiate" atmosphere she would have been. Sure, she'd encounter that sort of reckless behavior anywhere, just like she did in high school, but most of the time she could at least find someone or a group of someones who are more like her and not ready or willing to participate. But not at the UC. She felt adrift and achingly alone, and for the first time in her eighteen years of life, she didn't know how to deal with it. How ready was she to leave the UC after a week: my procrastinating packrat was packed and ready to go from the time I told her Saturday morning that we were coming, to the afternoon a few hours later when we arrived. SO not like her! When I first saw her the only word I have is "shell-shocked." That's what she was. Quiet, almost little-girl in her behavior, and it scared me a little to see her so beaten down. But within an hour she made a clever remark, flashed her dimpled grin, and I knew she'd be okay. While we were driving back Saturday evening, I reflected that I briefly, Friday evening, considered trying to make Rachael "tough it out," but I knew in my heart, with a mother's instinct, that she would never be okay where she was. Sometimes, when we find ourselves in situations that are beyond our ability to handle, the brave thing is to acknowledge it and work to change it. Rachael was worried I'd think her a failure, worried she WAS a failure, but no. To fail would be to ignore what your inner core is telling you is best for your well-being. She did the opposite, quickly acknowledged when she needed help, and she'll be okay. She won't be one of those college statistics of anorexia, bulimia, drug abuse, or, most likely in her case, a depression so deep and lasting it would have altered who she is. The University has been fantastic; she's taking classes through correspondence this semester and will once again travel to Chicago for next semester in January--to the Roosevelt dorm building, an older roommate who will mentor her, and an alert counseling center that will schedule her for sessions before she ever gets there. I'm not surprised she had trouble acclimating to that University Center, but I am surprised at the level of anguish she experienced because she never experienced it, before! I'm proud of her, actually, for knowing herself well enough to know she couldn't be happy or even functional where she was. It's another example of instincts and how humans need listen to them instead of trying to overrride them. When every nerve in you is saying, "get out," heed the warning signals--save yourself. As for the University Center, I'm disturbed. Rachael's personality would never match with the place-too many young people, too little academic environment, not enough quiet space-but there is way too much freedom, there. Curfews don't exist, guests can come and go as they please as long as they sign in, and the "gaurds" are a joke. They stare vacantly when asked to actually DO something and don't patrol the halls even close to what they're advertized to. I think part of the problem lies with the fact that three universities share the place; I don't think any of them take responsibility for what goes on there or for how the students are monitored. I wonder how many parents know how "free" the place is...scary. |
| Ambition: How We Manage Success and Failure Throughout Our Lives authored by Gilbert Brim...I stumbled across this publication and just had to share part of what he did: "Five of the best selling books in [the twentieth century] were first rejected more than a dozen times. Dr Seuss-rejected 23 times with his initial offering; Richard Hooker and his drama called Mash-rejected 21 times. Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull-turned away 18 times; Patrick Dennis and his famous Auntie Mame-rejected 17 times." Kind of puts it in perspective, don't you think? I've mentioned it before but it really is so very true: the only difference between an unpublished writer and a published one is persistence. I liken the experience to my middle daughter's trek to Chicago, mostly on academic shcolarships, and her entrance into the Honors Program within that institution (no I'm not being a braggy mom, I really have a point...okay maybe a little braggy). I sat on her new bed in the dorm room she's decorated in mostly blue hues and drank in the surroundings. She had gone to the cafeteria to "check it out" so I was alone. Her room is on the twelfth floor and the huge picture window looks down on a courtyard where students can take their meals or study. It's attractive, a small oasis of calm in a bustling city. I stared at the ceiling and started to think about everything in store for my daughter; the culture, the education, the adventures...and I initially formed the words in my head, "wow, she's so lucky-" and then I stopped myself, because she is not lucky. What she is, is someone who worked really hard in high school. She sat at the computer for hours to create written work that got consistently better, because instead of running around with peers, she sat at that computer and demanded it of herself. She is someone who had to figure a way around her attention defecit issues, the issues that caused her elementary teachers to pucker their brows with concern. "Her head is too often in the clouds," was what I heard a LOT. And she did it herself without meds or any crutch provided by anyone else. She conditioned herself to remember when papers were due, to keep herself on track. Believe me, it was hard for her. Sometimes she'd "melt down" when the stress got to her, but not real often. She's like a little bull with her head down in grim determination. So she has reaped what she sowed. I want to be like that. I don't want to give up so easily or allow my own attention defecit issues to sidetrack me. I am learning from my daughter, ha ha. And from people like Dr. Seuss and Richard Bach, and even Samuel Clemens, aka Mark Twain. His work was rejected something like 80 times before anyone would give him a chance. Now that's perseverence, and look where it got him! I don't think there's any adult in this country who hasn't read Mark Twain. Food for thought. |
| I have a headache. Rachael is in Chicago, housed at the University Center smack in the center of downtown...she's called once, seems a bit homesick, but she'll get through it. Transitions are tough; there will come a time in the very near future when she'll come home and feel weird--she'll be used to calling her own shots! I was feeling great earlier today, really jazzed about the future and what's in store for me, then Liz and I had a talk. Yeesh, I should have known better than to ask more about her father's ridiculous statements Friday night He complained that I should have been here for her, not spending the night with Rachael, then he complained that I "won't get a job." Why does this even phase me?! Here's the deal: according to the father of my children, I'm supposed to "be here" anytime Liz has any crisis of any kind; I'm supposed to take care of the other two, the house, the yard, the trash, the cars and their maintanance (yes he's complained that I purposely break automatic windows when I never sit in the back seat where they break), any need any of the kids have in school, with illness, etc etc, and somewhere in there I'm supposed to get a job so he doesn't have to spend any money on anyone but himself He's always been this way so why am I soooo angry? I've known he truly thinks like this from practically the first day we got married, which is a HUGE reason I always knew I could not stay with him forever...I mean please, I wonder how I slipped into "martyr mode" so easily for years I really don't want to badmouth their father to my kids, but after the weekend's fiasco I've determined that shielding them from his behavior and what I've dealt with all these years may not be so right either, and Liz was surprised to hear from me this evening a little about my experiences with her dad: I always start with this picture I'll never purge, the morningI walked in from 24 hours of army duty dirty and exhausted, and my husband uttered, "oh good, you're home," slapped six month old Liz into my arms, and went back to bed. I sat on the couch and sobbed because that one incident brought home to me, with stark clarity, what my life was going to be like with him. From the day we married he didn't lift a finger in the kitchen, very seldom with the laundry, and almost never with anything else. He did change diapers, but he'd leave them for me to throw away. Even when I worked full time in the army he was like this. Even when I worked full or part time anywhere he was like this. We would both come home from a hard day (of course during his unemployment periods he sat), and I was expected to cook dinner, do laundry, give baby Liz her bath and do whatever else needed doing. He played video games. My mother and father divorced when I was a year old, I never lived with my father. I was unpleasantly surprised by my marital situation but cautiously accepted it because I truly didn't know if that's what marriage was about--the wife as pack horse. Then there was my mother-in-law, who after Rachael was born, visited us in Germany (which my grandmother paid for). Upon seeing me instructing Bob in a cranky tone-well good grief, he had to be told at least five times to do something before he did it-she informed me that I was being too demanding of him. Of course I'd just had a c-secton a few days before, thus a newborn AND a fifteen month old, but I was being too hard on HIM. Yeah, wonder how he got this way. Another incident I remember clearly is the time I begged him to take out the trash and he adamantly refused. Again I cried angry tears and wondered how I'd gotten myself into this. I could go on and on and on with moments similar, but reliving these humiliating interchanges doesn't do much for my ability to let it go, and that's what I have to do. I don't want to be in this place anymore ever; I don't want to be disrespected and feel used. I don't want to hate this person I used to care about. I told Liz tonight that I love the father of my children but I really don't like him. It's sad. I don't think he ever would have been someone I could spend the rest of my life with-we just think too differently at the core of who we are-but as his inner jerk grows, he's losing the better parts of who he was. He was gentle and nurturing with babies and the elderly, he really was. He was friendly, personable, and willing to give people the benefit of the doubt (which unfortunately turned him gullible but that's another story). Now he's sulky and so busy feeling sorry for himself that's all he's about. Ick. Thinking about him gives me a headache. Okay, I solemnly promise that if you've lasted this long into the entry, I'll write about something ELSE from this day forward...no more dwelling, no more whining, NO MORE!!! |
| What a mess. This weekend would be scream inducing if it all wasn't so blasted ludicrous. Friday...Rach's father actually took the time to be a presence for Rachael's exit from home, although mostly because he had to be in the area for a dental appointment, but whatever works to my kid's advantage...cool. Friday afternoon went smoothly. We got to the dorm buildying late but not TOO late and we got her stuff moved in. She has lovely suite mates, they call them, because each room is occupied by two people with a bathroom between another room, thus the "suite". Nice girls and they seem like almost perfect matches for Rachael, although I can see her getting a little clausterphobic-the girl must have her alone time. But she'll work it out. Friday night we planned to spend the night in a hotel. Rachael had one picked out from hotels.com and thought she knew the way. Um, for anyone who needs directions to "the projects" in Chicago, we now know where it is. Two and a half scary hours later we decided not to worry about the phantom hotel that never materialized and settled for a Super 8 way out of town--whatever, I was exhausted. I was worried and kept getting that psychic niggle about not being able to call and check in with Liz, but I was too tired to deal with it. Saturday we found out Rach doesn't even start classes until Wednesday and her roommates weren't even going to be in residence...most of them only live thirty minutes away. Then Rachae had a terrible time trying to get her laundry done--the machine to use for a laundry card would not work properly, thus she spent a couple of hours with it until I came down to the laundry room and we gave up. Rachael was so upset at the idea of staying throughout the weekend alone...I decided it would be easier and cheaper to bring her home and take her back tomorrow, Monday. So we drove home last night, Rachael included. Crazy weekend and I "lectured" Rachael that life is what happens while you make plans Okey dokey, now the worst. Upon my return I walked into the bathroom and found little sticky tabs the hospital places to check heart rate and all that...uh oh. I went into Liz's room and tried to get an answer out of her...yes, she went to the hospital, she mumbled. What...!??! Oh crap. Here's what happened in the twenty-eight hours or so I wasn't here: Liz, on Friday night, did not take her medication while she furiously IM'd with some guy who got her worked up because "she's fat." If you've ever known a bipolar person...it doesn't take them long to get worked up about very little, expecially without their meds. During the night she worked herself into a frenzy and became an emotional wreck. She threw up and called her dad crying, begging him to come and help her, blah blah. He said no. Why this surprises her I do not know. He adamantly refused to come to her aid, didn't give her what she needed which was simple reassurance and emotional support, then told her if she needed help so badly she should call 911. She did. Then the poor excuse for a man actually had to make the trek to the hospital and bring her home from the emergency room. The entire time he did this, he ranted and raved about ME, how I should have been there and Rachael should be able to take care of herself, and how Sarah needs to "be a man" (his words) and quit dancing classes to save money. He gave Liz another panic attack with his venom and resentment. Wow, what happens when I'm gone for a day. He's always been like this since right after I married him...he can't be counted on for anything emotional or physical. The only thing he's EVER done is provide financially, and then only after I've screamed and ranted at him in an endeaver to make him "step up." I can't take it anymore. I'm filing as soon as I possibly can, Arsenal housing be damned. Living in a shelter would be preferrable to living under his thumb for one more second. I have tried so hard to NOT badmouth him to my children because there were once parts of him very redeemable and of value, but somewhere along the way he lost his own path and has become self centered to a level that takes my breath away. He can't see what he has become and what his extreme neglect has done to these peopl who are supposed to be his children. If he can treat his children with such disdain and brush them off with rationalizations about how everything on earth is somehow MY fault, he is in really sad shape, indeed. And I need to be purged of this person so my kids and I can move on with some semblence of peace. That's been my weekend. How about yours?! |
| HELLOOO! *speaking into the cavernous emptiness that is my blog* I hate being absent for this long and having no real explanation for it other than my own stagnation *wiping cobwebs off myself as I type* Tomorrow I will be escorting my college-bound daughter to Chicago and her dorm room..EEP It feels like this shouldn't be happening, it came too soon, what happened to her childhood years and where the heck was I when she was doing all this growing up stuff?!? Sigh. I've said it before and I'll probably say it again: parenthood is rife with contradictions.I was sure I'd be SO ready for my kids to grow up and move on in the world. So why do I feel this urge to grab my middle kid and hang onto her?? I don't REALLY want to; I'm happy for her and so proud as I sniffle, sneak a wipe at my nose, and wave her onward and upward. As crazy/insane as her older sister drives me, it's a good thing I'm not waving them BOTH goodbye at the same time. That could very well create a flood in the quiet of my room--shhhh!!! Liz will most likely be making the then-familiar trek in January and I'm glad she was talked into that. I really don't think I'd do well losing them both at once Sarah is relentlessly growing up, too. She made the 8th grade cheerleading squad for both football and boys' basketball-she didn't sign up for girls' basketball season because she's going to try out for the school play instead. She has dived into her dancing classes, making ready for contest season...and dang it if she isn't now TALLER than ME and talking about next year and high school already. Sigh. You spend all this time nurturing them, raising them, pruning them back, watering, feeding, fertilizing (with words and food, mind you), and if you do it right they grow up and leave you. What a conundrum parenting is. |
| This entry tonight encompasses a day's worth of thought; situations occurred earlier in the day that had me once again feeling that now-familiar crushing weight on my chest and I asked myself for real: How did I get to this place in my life?!? I wish I were one of those people who can surge forward without having to look back at where I've been, but unfortunately I'm not. If I don't get a grip on how I came to be HERE, then I can't get to a better place THERE. And I want to get to a better place for myself and for everyone in my life, because emotions are contagious--I want to give away better vibes than what I am right now. I've pondered these issues of mine seperately throughout my blogging experience but I've never connected them the way I did today. It has something to do with that psychologist and his talk about "the martyr syndrome," and with my wonder about how and why I became trapped in it. Hopefully my revelations and the recording of them will purge my soul to the point that my skin and I will be reunited I was so deluded when I was young, this is just a fact. I had a misty "future" notion of what and who I wanted to be, but no realistic plan of how to get there. I guess I thought it would just happen by magic . Consequently, no matter how much "potential" I had in any form, I made poor choices and took missteps in big ways. By the time I figured THAT out, I had a child to consider, then two, then three. Okay, I thought to myself, so this is to be my life's calling right now. I'll pour myself into creating the "perfect" environment for their growth and enrichment, and then the mistakes on my own path won't be for nothing (and I thought I wasn't a perfectionist...I am, just in a different way). So I set upon my task. I glossed over growing distance between their father and me as the children grew because it wasn't in my plan...when I realized ten years into the marriage that I couldn't continue with it forever, I reasoned with myself that I could deal with it--by burying it--until the children were older. I was able to bury HIS issues because doing so was vital to my vision of the "perfect" environment for my kids. I was a drill sargaent when it came to that vision and any deviation from it. Sheesh. Then a year and half ago, my vision got derailed in the most profound way and I just didn't know how to handle it. Because this "perfect" environment I slaved to create couldn't fix Liz, I was crushed. More than that, I felt like a failure. All that time and energy, all the sacrifice and sweat, the tears and the private anguish--in the end, I failed...at least in my head I did. When she was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder I took it on like I did everything else--this too shall be overcome and the "perfect" environment which will create successful, "perfect" people will be a reality...but it was not to be. I couldn't even get her to graduate from high school, and the wild behavior her mania caused REALLY didn't fall into my plans; I hid my devestation in emotional turmoil. The real deal with me was the notion of my failure. Their dad's and my seperation was just another derailment of "the plan" because it happened before it was supposed to. Never mind that it was the best thing for all of us--one thing I've learned and want to impart to parents everywhere is that "staying together for the kids" never, ever works. They know and they're not stupid, and it's a relief when honesty finally prevails. But my "perfect" environment was gone and I failed. This is where my head has been since Liz broke down and got really sick--it's certainly not her fault by any stretch; she can't control her illness or its symptoms any more than a cancer patient can. The notion of a "perfect world" and how my self worth was tied into it--that all came from my crazy brain I've been struggling to find a road to travel ever since and I didn't even know it. "The plan" died, and with it went my drive, my motivation.Rachael will be officially in college next week. She followed that plan spectacularly, graduating from high school with honors, college being largely funded through academic scholarships, her endless quest for knowledge...! She's an amazing person and yet I'm sad. I'm sad because she's leaving and really freaked out--I didn't expect to be sad. I thought I'd be satisfied, job well done in her case, one down, two to go...but no. I already feel an ache from her absence. So I'm not following that blasted "plan" again! Okay. Time to throw out "the plan" in a big way and get back into the business of living. I've always known, intellectually, that I'm not responsible for Liz's bipolar disorder, but I AM responsible for inadvertantly putting way, way too much pressure on a person with a mood disorder. She's uncomfortably smart and she felt my disappointment, knows my inability to motivate myself has alot to do with her--that has to stop. The last thing she EVER needs is pressure. I want my kids to be happy, but MY happiness and fulfillment shouldn't be tied in with theirs; that's too much pressure for ALL of them, and too much for one person to take on the responsibility of three extra lives to that extent. No wonder I'm so freaking tired!!! Ah, now I'm purged and it feels SO GOOD "Today is the first day of the rest of MY life"...corny but true. |
| It's about perspective. That's what Oprah's guest said today, a psychologist-very humorous Brit, by the way-who has written a book on "how to be happy." I was skeptical when I started to watch and listen. The subject is of some interest to me; I want to be positive, I want to enjoy life, I want to embrace it like I used to. So despite my skepticism, I continued to watch and listen... She had five people on her stage and told the audience to vote for the one who was the happiest. Before she show each of them had been given a simple survey test to determine their level of happiness. During this segment Oprah mentioned having taken the test and how she was really, really happy! Duh yeah, I thought snarkily to myself. I'd be happy too if I had the number one talk show and a bajillion dollars *green-eyed monster arises* Later she shared that she'd actually taken it on a "down" day for her, when one of her dogs was gravely ill and she learned it would have to be put to sleep--oh. But STILL...!The guests onstage all had their share of adversities, some more than others. Three of the five scored on the test as extremely happy. The two who didn't--here is where it got more interesting for me--a divorced mom of two and a mother of six. Big surprise, I thought dryly. But not really. So what was different about them? Unexpectedly I recieved another one of those "ah-ha" moments when the psychologist began to talk to them... He addressed the divorced mom; her main issue, he felt was her inability to understand that she deserves to be happy. She's made some poor choices in her life as a result, and instead of fixing those resulting issues and moving on, she tends to continue punishing herself for past mistakes, basically piling stress and pressure on herself...oh. Heh heh. Let go of the past, said the psychologist, and surround yourself with people who build you up and know what a great person you are, then you'll start to believe it and see that you DO deserve happiness. The big thing for her: Be Kind To Yourself.The mom of six...he told her that her biggest challenge was what he calls "The Martyr Complex." (At this point in the show I really sat up and felt that "ah-ha" prickle begin to tingle; I remembered vivacious 's comment below about having given to everyone but me...) And yes, that was exactly what he meant. It's great, he said, that you are so THERE for your kids. You are a wonderful mother, but guess what? You've left yourself out of the equation. She gives and gives until she's a shell to herself, he said. (UGH--major squirmy moment for ME!) Well, he said, we are a planet of over six billion people; it's ludicrous to think you can "do it all" and be everything to everyone. Your kids don't have to have a perfect mother--in fact, they SHOULDN'T. The best gift you can give to your children, said the psychologist, is to be happy. You need to ask for their help in this, let people know you're not "Super Mom." Just a really good mom who has needs, too. MAJOR GULP!!! Big thing for her: Be Kind To Yourself.Who knew the answer could be so deceptively simple? After this show I walked around whispering it: "be kind to yourself." You'd think that would be easy, but I'm out of practice. I talked about this show with the kids and they were very understanding about how I need to let go of my lofty vision, this need I've had all their lives to make their world as "Brady Bunch" as possible. When I was little I had no father, just a mother and grandmother who were always yelling at each other. I decided that The Brady Bunch was how kids lived when everything was "just right." Yeah. I have issues. It's another "squirmy moment" that my kids know it.I'm letting go of the Brady Bunch and I'm going to stop expecting myself to be "just right" as a mother or anything else. I'm going to let the kids know when I have needs, too, and stop being that Martyr...one step at a time. This evening I'm still having to remind myself over and over: "Be kind to yourself." |
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