Lessee...

I told you about the lawn mower laptop...did I mention the electrical fire last weekend? Weell! The kids' dad was over and didn't ask, but decided to run some laundry through our washer/dryer. When he started the dryer last Saturday morning, there was a spark at the electrical outlet followed by the flames of-yes-fire. Sarah, being the member of our brood blessed with common sense, ran to get backing soda; she threw it on the burgeoning fire and quashed it quickly. Her dad yelled at her, told her what he needed was water. You read that correctly. She shook her head in amazement. "Dad," she tried to reason, "I just had a unit about home crises in home ec. You NEVER throw water on an electrical fire." He insisted he was right. What a doofus.

At the time I'd been leaving to work on the set of Sarah's middle school play, happy not to be forced into altercation with "the dad." Happiness quashed. Sigh. I had to fight him to get him away from the damage. We also lost power and I had to call the emergency number for housing on the Arsenal. What a fun Saturday. I had to "lose it" on their dad with them in hearing distance to get him away from doing anything stupid-you wouldn't believe what other "gems" of wisdom he came up with He was lathered up about how misunderstood he was and the kids' time with their dad was in peril. In desperation I called one of my best friends, Mandy. That woman calmed me down by reminding me so calmly and kindly that he is Aspergers. That he is, which is where some of his cockamamie ideas come from. Whew--I was able to take a deep breath, lose my extreme irritation and anger, and deal with it all through a level head. God bless friends. (It helps that she works with profoundly disabled children-she "gets" what stuff like autism does)

Electricity restored. I have to buy a new washer and dryer on Friday. The dryer goes without saying. The washer leaking is what caused the fire. I could try to get them fixed, sure, but my opinion holds that getting them fixed would cost as much as just buying them new. They're old, anyway. What the heck!

The kitchen Sink won't drain AT ALL after having people in TWICE. It stinks in the kitchen and I can't do dishes without bailing water Fun fun. The water is thoroughly disgusting which makes it even MORE fun.

I adore theatre, love every part of it; I'm stage managing the middle school play. The day after we were up on the catwalk, spending an entire day focusing lights just right, the entire house right side of the auditorium went dark. Many hours and days of work later, power restored. That day sound went out. Fantastic! More to do!!! Many many hours and days later, sound is restored...mostly. My knees feel like jello mixed with steak knives-if you get my drift-but I'm not BORED!!!

And who among us has dealt with 30 middle schoolers??? Enough said.

I have internet and phone, but not television yet. With everything else going on I just haven't had time to devote to that, so Rachael has to sit in a certain position in front of the TV to get the channel holding the Oscars. The girl must REALLY want to see the Oscars. Sheesh.

There are more "little things" going crazy in my world, but I don't think I have the time or will to list them all. Hey, it's the nutty stuff that makes life so spicy. Heh heh

*crazy icon*
 

Watching the local news and I'm torn-

Davenport, one of the Iowa Quad Cities on the Mississippi between Iowa/Illinois, implemented a "parent responsibility law" a couple of years ago; I remember when I heard about it then, being glad I didn't live five minutes over the bridge

According to the law, a teenager's first offense gives a "warning" to the parents. The second offense, a second warning. The third means a ticket worth 750.00 plus a mandatory parenting class. Ensuing infractions raise the stakes for parents.

I wonder about the constitutionality of this law to begin; can you really legislate parental responsibility?? The ordnance seems to be working over there since fewer teens than ever have been in trouble, but I can't help wondering how I'd fare with LIZ in a community with this sort of law.

Ask my kids: they'd probably say I'm a pretty fair parent who leans toward "strict." Students I've taught would say the same, I think. I'm no "pushover" and I think it's obvious I've done everything I can think of to get Liz under control. The bottom line remains that you can't dictate what a person thinks, feels, or sometimes how they behave. I wish I COULD and believe me, when she was younger I tried. But it doesn't work.

Sometimes I think Liz hatched from a pod somehow. I raised her to value what she seems not to, I raised her to be so much more than what she IS. I have lectured, cajoled, reasoned, punished, explained, and threw up my hands in despair. Sometimes I'll see hints of what I fill her ears with ad nauseum and I know not all is lost. But please, to be held accountable when the was a minor for every infraction the kid is brain damaged enough to perpetrate? Something doesn't seem right about that.

I know there are parents who DO need to "get a clue" and open their blind eyes to their troubled teens. I work with youth, I get it. But like everything there need to be exceptions. Parents with mood disordered youth should be among those. Believe me, we suffer enough




PS--If you notice more typos from me than ever...well, I haven't shared my latest tech woes. *I have a computer virus in my soul* My laptop, brand new mind you, began to whir weirdly, louder and louder until it sounded like a dang lawn mower!! So it's in for repair and the people gave me a "loaner". Oookay. The loaner sucks. 'Nuff said *eyeroll to the heavens*
 

Thanks to those who, in honor of Valentine's Day last week, gave me some very cool gifts: SouthernDiva sent me a colorful c-note, someone named "Cupid" sent me a sig, and Voxxylady AND laurie_o gave me flowers in the form of sigs--many many thanks

What I like most about recieving new sigs is the compulsion I feel to show them off, hence the accompanying compulsion to review

I'm now fully connected to the internet-even wirelessly!-so I now have no excuse for NOT getting more involved. I DO have that commitment to my daughter's middle school play, which is becoming far more work-heavy than I thought, but oh well! I function best when my schedule is full, so I'm off to fill it.








 

I found Footloose in the bargain bin at Walmart tonight-

It was a voice of my generation. Sarah Jessica Parker and I are almost exactly the same age. That makes her 17 when she was part of the filming of the movie. On one hand it seems so long ago, yet on the other it seems like yesterday...

I'm an overthinker about everything under the sun so OF COURSE I had to start contemplating what was really speaking through that movie...why was it our voice? Why did we choose that and the other dance movie-Flashdance, as the voice we wanted to be remembered by?!? I think I'm on the fringes of "getting it"...

We weren't from the "60s and that "breaking out" generation; even '70s teens were close enough to the era that they could hang on to the threads of "peace and love", riding on the coattails...but we "80s kids? We were on our own in a post-vietnam war culture that had already altered forever. What was left for us??? Ourselves. Self exploration, self expression, and self indulgence, that's what. It's what we were left with in the wake of the '60s...

I don't think we did that badly. We made it "okay" to listen to that inner voice, to be the "me" generation without shame or apology. We said, through Kevin Bacon's Ren, that it was "our time to dance." And we did. It seems like yesterday.

Now that we, as a collective generation, are launching into "the establishment", what can we accomplish? What mountaintops have yet to be forged?? Weeellll...we will be the first to experience middle age and acknowledge that it's not a death sentence. We can forge on into what was formerly considered "elderly" and realize it's a milestone, but by no means are we finished dancing.

I have a feeling we will NEVER be finished dancing.




And on a completely different note, using my blog to vent...this is SO the mantra to my ex:


Well, you filled up my head with so many lies.
You twisted my heart till somethin' snapped inside.
I'd like to give it one more try,
But my give-a-damn's busted.

You can crawl back home, say you were wrong;
Stand out in the yard and cry all night long.
Well, go ahead and water the lawn:
My give-a-damn's busted.

I really wanna care.
I wanna feel somethin'.
Let me dig a little deeper:.
No, sorry: nothin'.

You can say you've got issues, you can say you're a victim.
It's all your parents fault, after all you didn't pick 'em.
Maybe somebody else has got time to listen:
My give-a-damn's busted.

Well, your therapist says it was all a mistake:
A product of the Prozac an' your co-dependent ways.
So who's your enabler these days?
My give-a-damn's busted.

I really wanna care.
I wanna feel somethin'.
Let me dig a little deeper:.
No, still nothin'.

It's a desperate situation, no tellin' what you'll do.
If I don't forgive you, you say your life is through.
C'mon, gimme somethin' I can use:
My give-a-damn's busted.

Well, I really wanna care.
I wanna feel somethin'.
Let me dig a little deeper:
No, I'm sorry.
Just nothin', you know.
You've really done it this time, ha, ha.
My give-a-damn's busted.

Gotta love JoDee Messina...
I wish he read my blog (or anything)...point is, he needs to heed the words. Big time.


 

This time only a little over an hour away...

NIU, Northern Illinois University, is that far away from where I live. Thousands of students from this area of the state attend. First thought upon reading the scroll at the bottom of the television screen this evening: this shit is getting old. Second thought: thank God neither of my college-age kids attends NIU. Selfish? But quite normal from a mom's perspective. Third thought: Oh my God. What if one of my kids' friends happened to be in the line of fire? What if one of my former speech and debate students was in this demented psychopath's line of sight?? A cold knot formed in the base of my stomach and it won't go away.

They haven't released any names, yet, but I'm assuming our Moline and Rock Island kids are okay...they'd know if any of them had been hurt, right? Right??!! I hate this.

Somewhere in Illinois there will be funerals. There will be parents forever buckled under by the tragedy of a college student's life snuffed out in the blink of an eye, with the passing of a bullet through a gun procured...how?! Dammit Let's take a good hard look at THE BIG PICTURE:

I won't be quiet anywhere anymore. Let's face it folks: guns are used to hunt and kill people. Period. The amount of hunters-for-sport in this country as opposed to the amount of firepower??? Ludicrous to argue the point. There is no argument and I don't care what anyone spouts about "people kill people" and all that bullshit; how many could a mass murderer with a knife take out-let's be real for once. It's not about strict laws to control who gets these weapons of mass destruction, it's about stopping the mass production and I, for one, will not stop voicing my strident opinions about GUN CONTROL in this country until it stops.

I'm a mom, I'm a teacher, I'm a coach and a guide of the younger generation. I'm helping with Sarah's middle school play now, and to look into the eyes of these 12, 13, and 14 year-olds...I will not rest until sending THEM to college won't make me clench inside my gut. Until I don't have to sweat and feel tears trickle down my face as I wonder if any of mine are the ones snuffed out. Until no mom, aunt, grandmother and teacher has to feel that iron knot in the pit of our collective stomachs.

It has to stop.
 

*Any Seinfeld watchers out there?*

That's right, I'm plugged back into the world! I never knew how dependent I am on this blasted internet until I didn't have it for a few weeks-ick I'm weak and addicted to the World Wide Web *hanging head in addicted shame* Thank goodness I have my "connection" back!!!

Ah, the blog entries that have come-and-gone from my little brain, the stories I should have written during this hiatus, the deadlines I missed...I got so mired in wrangling with everyone that I didn't use my down time, so to speak, very productively. But It's hard to be productive, I've discovered, when one's mind is sucked dry by red tape...miles and miles of it. It's even more difficult when those doling out the red tape don't even know where it ends or how to unravel it. Sheesh. It was when I finally called the telephone line office on this Arsenal directly-actually for the fourth time-and complained about my lack of phone service that someone FINALLY came out here and repaired the line. Seems the cable company had cut it *double and triple eye rolls*

But no matter.

In the immortal words of George Costanza: I'm back, baby!!!
 

I am in the throes of Tech Hell.

Since last Friday I was supposed to be reconnected to the outside world. Notice my absence from wdc. Nope, hasn't happened. I feel like Diane Keaton in Baby Boom, the part where she finds out it's going to cost more money than ever to get her house fixed up; she screams and falls over in a dead faint, in the snow in front of the repair man. I have worked really, really hard not to "lose it" on the phone this week, but I can feel my patience wear thin and my voice become more strident and shrill with every call. How much does one human being-one not long on patience anyway-have to withstand before breakdown ensues and the companies responsible have to pay mental health costs?!?!?

There's a glitch between the phone company and the Arsenal where I live. The Arsenal has to switch on my line but the phone company is supposed to call them to DO it...oookay, I have called numerous times to try to make this happen, both to the company and the Arsenal. I'm redirected by every single person I talk to and I am at the end of my rope. FINALLY, this afternoon, the guy from the Arsenal said someone from the phone company had called and they were "working on it." Great. Still no dial tone, still no internet. We have a modem set up and ready for its dsl download. Pretty soon you will see me on CNN. I'm the one they're leading away with drool running down my chin, a wild look in my eyes, muttering "press 7 to speak to repair, press 8 to call billing and business..." Very sad. Oh, and the reason I'll be in CNN is because I threw exploding beavers not only into cable trucks, but into AT&T trucks. Since I live on the Arsenal I'll be carted away as a terrorist threat and locked up on Guantanamo Bay while they slap me with thin noodles and demand to know who provided the beavers. Wouldn't they like to know.


 

The insult jar worked like a charm; the house is calm and pretty much insult-free, once again a place to relax instead of tense up...whew! I think the girls simply needed a "wake-up call" about their behavior and how it was affecting the entire atmosphere of our home. Something to keep in mind if any of YOU experience all the negative vibes created by treating other family members with less-than-respect: once I dealt with the overall BIG issue of what everyone was doing to contribute to it instead of getting onto one person at a time they could see it, see what their "defensive response" was doing as a whole. They have returned to taking care of each other instead of trying to stomp on each other. Of course they're normal siblings and have to bicker occasionally but the tone is different, not designed to deliberately wound...there's enough of that going on in the big world, no one needs to feel it in their own home--it's easier to deal with "out there" when you know there's a place where you can let down your guard and just BE. We have that back.

I took that insult jar to another level, hee hee. Another issue of tremendous stress for me has been the way everyone else has broken arms and blind eyes...no one has been picking up after themselves at all!! Jackets lay where they were discarded, usually on the floor; spilled food is allowed to coagulate until I come along and scrape it up with a knife , and the house was basically becoming a PIT when I lost steam and couldn't keep up with grown people who can't seem to figure out how to bend-and-retrieve or grab-cloth-and-wipe. Sigh. Then EUREKA! I started charging for maid service It's amazing-they've remembered how to keep the house from becoming a public health issue, heh heh. Yup, money talks.

Friday became what I call my "comedy of errors" day. I'm so proud that all I threw was a phone book. I began my day at 6:30am, picking up and preparing for a visit from the AT&T guy. I waited. And waited. And waited. I called and waited some more. I called again. Still no one and no dial tone on my phone, no internet service for me. Finally, after the fifth call where I was assured I was still on "the list," I gave up and left. I went to the cable office to find out how I might be able to get their service back under MY name. I found out I had to pay another 318.00-why I don't know, considering I just paid the bill for two months two weeks ago, plus I'd have to pay out another 150.00 to start cable service all over again in my name This was phone book throwing time, but only in the parking lot after getting in my car, where the engine light came on again...I have now figured out where the gas is bad; it's the place where I filled up on Friday. Aargh.

Then the ex called. I feel for him, I truly do. But there have to be limits, ya know?! He wanted to come back and spend the night at my house--I told him no as nicely as possible. He needs to "cut the cord" so to speak. I remind myself that if he were still with his little girlfriend-long story-he wouldn't be missing the family so much. When she was in the picture he didn't even have time to spend with his own kids. I remind myself of this, but when I can tell he's hurting I feel bad. It's who I am, someone who hurts when others do, no matter who they are or what they've done to ME. Sometimes that's a good thing but sometimes not-it can be detrimental to my own well-being. He has spent the week in outpatient therapy which he needed, so I'm glad for that. I wonder, though, how much it really helped because he doesn't like to dig into the heart of what's REALLY going on, prefers to get bogged down in the little stuff that's only symptomatic of the big issue. Oh well, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. Not my problem. So I tell him the girls will see him on Saturday and help him make his apartment look nicer, create more of a home atmosphere for him and he'll start to feel better. I promise him this several times then grit my teeth at myself after I hang up. Seriously, any romantic or "in-love" feelings I ever had for him have been gone for so long, but he's still family and always will be. That said, I don't want him to use me to feel better when he needs to and then "forget" about his kids a month later. But he will because that's who he is. Sigh.

I had to brave WalMart after this because I desperately need a toaster. I hate WalMart anymore. It's too full of people who push and shove and generally irritate the crap outa me. But it's cheap. So I got the toaster with a few other items, stood in line for thirty minutes while my knees screamed and my feet were killing me. Finally I was to the checkout with wallet in hand when the cashier swiped the toaster and said, through chewing gum, that she couldn't sell me the toaster. WHAT?! "See," and she ran it again. Sure enough, sale not allowed it said. I sorta freaked WHAT?! I said in a loud voice; "I came here for a toaster, waited in line for thirty minutes, my feet are killing me and now I can't buy what I came for?!" I was getting "a little" worked up. "It's okay mom," Rachael-thank God she was the offspring with me, the voice of reason-"I'll go back and get another one. You just wait on a bench." I came back to earth at that and noticed the look on the cashiers face. Ah, she thought I was nuts. "It's been a rough day," I tried to explain as I pushed my cart away. Heh heh.

I'll get internet back at my house someday.


 

Stress has had its way with most of the people living in my house...make that ALL the people living there, including the pets.

Even as I've interacted within the household, part of me has taken a step back and watched the change that started when the girls' father returned following his heart attack and again for a brief period before he found his own apartment. While he was gone before that, we had gotten our "mojo" going and were doing fine, to be quite honest. The girls' dad--well, I've described him before so I won't take up time doing it too much now, can be difficult to live with. He holes up in his room and when he did come out of it, he usually became pretty critical and judgemental. He always was that way but I tamped alot of it down. He didn't listen to me anymore and allowed himself to be free with those critical comments and judgements; this after what the girls were quite aware he'd been doing with his own life. In other words, he is in no position to put judgement on anyone.

They started to snipe at each other, then argue, then just constantly be at odds with everyone else in the house. Rachael has become argumenative about everything under the sun and won't let ANYTHING just drop. Sarah has become extremely snotty and takes every opportunity to cut loose with sarcastic "cuts"-no one is immune. Liz...she's been sensitive, actually, unusually so. The slings and arrows of her sisters have affected her self esteem and she's responded to them in kind, with slings and arrows of her own. Needless to say, our household has been more about ducking and covering in between throwing out shots...I feel like I've been watching a movie straight out of the old West. Unfortunately it's been unfolding in my living room.

Today I sat them down and we had a talk--okay, I lectured them. Negative energy pervades this house, is seeping into the walls. I quoted the pasor's sermon from Sunday: Love is a verb and it's what you DO, not what you SAY, that matters most of all. If you can't treat the people you love with respect, how can you respect yourself or anyone else. You have to act right to feel right.

I told them that we now have an "insult jar" with a dollar thrown in by every insulter every time I hear it. We talked about filling the air around us with positive ions that will push us forward and motivate us ALL towards better everything. If we can't work as a unit, I said, we certainly will fall apart as individuals.

It takes time to stop a habit, even one that's only been in play for a couple of months. But I can tell the seeds were planted and a collective deep breath and step back has been taken. The toxins are seeping out and away with a little shove from the mom. Whew.



 

Why I like the church we attend--

This morning as we were walking into the sanctuary we were handed a paper plate. The pastor was already standing at the front and instructed us to draw our "church face" on one side. "You heard me," he said. "Draw the face you plaster on when you walk through these doors, the one you think you should have because you're in church, don't you know. Anyone who attends church is always happy and never has problems." There was uncomfortable teetering following his words. Then we all drew our happy faces on the plates.

We were then insturcted to draw, on the other side, our real faces. "Tell me how you are really feeling. Be real, be honest, don't hold it back." Ookay...the girls and I had some fun, heh heh; I drew gritted teeth, wide eyes and an "aah" comment to the side. We were to hand our plates with the real side up to the person next to us; I could tell the man who recieved my plate didn't know what to make of it. "I'm a little stressed," I smiled. He uncertainly smiled back.

After the singing-I love the songs we sing, very contemporary with electric guitars and drums-he launched into his sermon, beginning with the meaning of "hypocrite" and how it comes from Greek acting, back in the days when they would wear masks to portray a character and only take it off after the play was done. "It literally means pretender," he said.

Then he talked about stripping off our "church faces" and being who we really are. He talked about church needing to be a place where no question is off limits, no person walking through the doors should feel inferior or "out of his element" just because he hasn't picked up a bible lately and doesn't know that there's a book called "Habbakuk" in it. He talked about genuine love and how it's not what we think, how love is a verb and takes doing for us all to feel it. How walking throught the doors of our church should give every single person the sensation that "you are loved." That he/she is not being judged, but embraced. He mentioned that we should commit ourselves to shedding the "whiny victim" persona when problems rear their ugly heads and just honestly share our burdens with each other, find solutions together, and strip off those ridiculous "church faces."

He told us to focus on one person who came to our minds and work to show that person love in ways that count, like asking him how he is and really meaning it, really listening to how he is without shifting around uncomfortably and trying to figure out how to get out of the conversation. "Sometimes," he said, "What we need is to know someone cares."



Amen.
 

Life is all about the curves you're thrown...

For as far back as I can remember I've always had to be "the strong one." I guess I'm pretty good at it because family members everywhere, from my own blood relatives to the ones I married into got into the habit of looking to me for whatever was necessary...strength in crisis situations, taking charge and doing what needs to be done, getting it all ironed out by making phone calls, visits to offices and drs and teachers, etc. Just anything that needs a firm hand and a take-charge attitude coupled with some lectures or "reaming" as my sister-in-law used to say , there I was.

It's irritating as much as it's often gratifying. Sure, if I didn't want to be "the strong one" would it really happen? It's nice to know I take care of things and people and they start to think of me as the go-to girl and then...it gets tough. I start to feel taken for granted because no one says, "thanks for everything you do." It just doesn't happen. Sometimes I'm resented because I think "I know everything" even though I was ASKED and often REQUIRED to "fix it" and did. I get mentally tired and frustrated and sometimes angry, and I want to scrape them all off my back.

So I do. With the family I married into, I sort of orchestrated the move away from St Louis to establish distance. I didn't want to be their "go-to" girl anymore, was frustrated by what I felt were too many people there willing to constantly look to me and want my help and advice, but they never took it and always came back for more carry-time on my back! I could feel myself buckling under the weight of too many, too much. What galled me was how they STILL tried to look to me for salvation from five hours away, and when I didn't provide I was wrong Typical.

I've backed off, these days, from being too strong-some would use the word controlling-with my girls. They must learn to make their own choices and fall on their faces. I'm getting really, really tired from too much on a gigantic level. I've burned myself out and am working to recharge my own batteries. I simply have to back up and away from being "the strong one" sometimes. I wonder, occasionally, how it would feel to find someone else who could be a "strong one" for me. Delicious idea while I'm so mentally exhausted, but I know it would get too old too soon; I'm not someone who could be content with "being taken care of" for too long. I've been the careTAKER all my life.

The girls' dad, my soon-to-be ex: He's having a very hard time dealing with life on his own, how ironic is that? He and I are oil and water, ducks and chickens. Not only has his past behavior nullified any "wifey" feelings I had for him long long ago, but our personalities are worlds apart. Our ideas about life and what makes it good are eons apart. But-shocking-I carried him for over nineteen years, and he hasn't been too good at carrying himself since our split.

He called every day this last week, expecting me to "fix it" and verbally abusing me when I refused. He's not happy so it must be my fault because I'm the go-to girl, right?

When he and I were together, I guided him in social situations and told him how to respond to people every day, because he really doesn't know--he has Asperger's Syndrome, as do his brothers, his father, and three nephews; it's a family affair. If you don't know what Asperger's Syndrome is, I'll condense the explanation for now and link an article I'm writing later: In very elementary terms, it's a sort of high functioning autism. Most with the condition don't have a clue about how to respond to others and find communication on any level a great challenge. Be prepared-if you converse with an Asperger's person and he's not facing you while you speak he will only hear half of what you're saying, if that. They have to be told something over and over and slowly and patiently. Yeah, and me being all ADD and stuff with serious patience issues Match made in heaven *tongue-in-cheek*

Besides being his social coach, I brought him any food he ever ingested for all nineteen years, I kid you not. If it's not handed to him, he doesn't eat. I washed all his clothes, picked up after him...pretty much did everything but wipe his rear and sometimes I think he needed THAT It's understandable that now, when no one is there to coach him, guide him, and take care of him, he's lost lost lost.

For years he resented his need for me to run his life, became very verbally abusive and downright mean at times. I was wrong if I did and wrong if I didn't. I cried "uncle" and I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want him on my back. But he won't get off. He's called and called and doesn't sound good. I've told him to get counseling, get help. He's in denial. Yesterday afternoon he called sobbing to "say goodbye" to his girls; he just can't take it anymore, he says. He's done this before because he craves attention, but this time it was different. He never got counseling after his heart attack, and you can shove your life's problems off on everyone else for only so long before they back up and slam you in the face.

With a sigh and knowledge that my "strong one" routine would NOT be rewarded, I "did the right thing," had him tracked down by sundry officials. He's currently in a psychiatric unit of a hospital and hopefully getting the help he needs so desparately. As a result of my hours of effort yesterday afternoon and into the night, he called to shut off our entire cable before they got to him--his "ha ha" moment for me "ratting him out". I have been inundated with phone calls and personal visits from counselors, local police officers, and even the Army Garrison Commander for the military installation on which we live.

Sometimes there's no way around it. Being "the strong one" sucks.
 

I currently have no internet connection at my house...

And have tried to deal with the situation, but I can't believe how depressing it is! I haven't been able to get to the library until today; in the ensuing days I found out how pathetic my entire family is without the internet. It's not pretty

Here's the deal: we have two modems the cable company gave us, one being the original and one was installed as its partner when we added wireless service to the wired. Ever since we've had them, we have periodically gone offline with troubling regularity. Now it seems the cable company's main system refuses to recognize one of the modems as compatible with their system, hence our inability to connect. Now the worst of this issue...the company will not be able to service us, as in provide us with a new modem, until sometime NEXT WEEK!!! I have paid out so much to this company I could buy my own cable company, I have a sneaking suspicion. When I mentioned, as calmly as possible, that I should not have to pay for services I'm not recieving until I RECIEVE THEM, the company acted like I was being unreasonable.

Once I replaced my head after steam build-up blew it off following this lovely conversation, I called to have my phone service switched. My internet service will be switched within the next few days and all will be well. Which leads me to ask an obvious question: how many consumers put up with unreasonable customer service and little-to-no consideration from companies we pay BIG money to?! Someone has to put up with it or they'd be so much more understanding *scratching head*

I just read Janet Evanovich's latest offering of the number mystery series, Mean Thirteen. How well I could identify with an excerpt-in fact I believe I laughed so hysterically tears fell down my face as I rolled around on the floor-about the cable company. A hapless individual, pushed to the brink by the cable company, threw an exploding beaver into a cable truck.

If only I had one...*dreaming mistily of exploding vermin*



 

I am proud to be a woman.

It took me a while to feel that way. When I was small I was impatient with being female, thought it wasn't as good as being male because I wanted to run outside, climb trees, and collect worms without my mother and stepmother shaking their fingers at me and saying, "that's not what girls do."

I was a child in the late '60s and '70s so it was a bit different than today-I wore dresses, knee socks, and had long brown hair that tended to be curly; I didn't like to sit while my mother worked the tangles out of it and I made sure she was aware of my protests, heh heh. I was in dance and wore tu-tus and makeup-I liked dance but not all the trappings of it I certainly didn't like the trappings that went with being a girl!! I did, however, embrace my female side when it came to boys...

When I learned how fabulous it is to be female...probably when I was in basic training in the army, an experience that, ironically, put me in touch with what it truly means to be a woman. To be a woman you have to be strong, stronger than you ever thought possible. To be a woman you have to endure males who challenge your right to be an individual. Too many men fail to understand women, see them in only one context, but we are so much more than that. We are the ones who stand in the face of constant harassment (nowhere is this more true than in the army) and gather the will to rise above it. We rise above a lot.

I was reading some of Rachael's "history of Chicago" book, the part about the women of Chicago history during the early 20th century. There were the upper crust types who single handedly created the "magnificant mile" district of Chicago. Without them there would have been no need for a shopping area that is now one of the most famous in the world--because of these high class women with ability to spend money on luxury and new technology meant to make a woman's life easier...the first automated vacuum was sold in Chicago. These women also were among the first to cross the lines of "class" and reach down to give a hand up to their lower class sisters...they were very active in the creation of a settlement house designed to bring education, culture, and even cleanliness to the poor-Hull House-and most Chicago women of the upper classes were instrumental in cleaning up the city, which went a long way towards improving the lives of the working class-

Then to read about working class women Until the city was cleaned up and ordnances created to ensure safe working conditions and living quarters, they were pretty much treated like throw-aways! There was often no plumbing or electricity in the homes or sweat-shop type establishments where most Chicago women had to work; over half of Chicago's working class were immigrants whose husbands would wander into saloons at the end of a workday, spending wages and sometimes never making it home. Many wamen from slum areas were forced into single motherhood before the term was coined. They had to work in factorys and sweat shops while they still maintained the home for their children; it was a nonstop working life full of backbreaking labor and practically no time for entertainment or frivolity of any kind. These women, however, did what they had to do to grow their children up the best way they knew how; they didn't have the time or energy to complain about "no alone time" or "lack of ME time." They probably wouldn't have known what that was. Wow.

Women like that make me proud to be one of them. They also remind me of just how strong we truly are, all of us. We are the caretakers, the nurturers, the people who learn how to "make do" and sacrifice...and we should never, ever forget who we are:

Deserving of respect. We have the right to own our bodies and say "yes" or "no" as we see fit. We have the right to expect proper treatment and then get it. We need to expect appreciation for everything we do from our spouses, significant others, children. We have to remember our value as women and be proud of every single aspect that entails-the women of tomorrow are watching the women of today: what are we teaching them about their worth? Don't settle for less than you deserve. Ever.

No matter what we do
No matter what we say
We're the song inside the tune,
Full of beautiful mistakes
And everywhere we go,
The sun will always shine
And tomorrow we might awake on the other side

Cause we are beautiful
No matter what they say
Yes, words won't bring us down, no
We are beautiful
In every single way
 

My life needs a jump-start.

I've written about it before, probably ad nauseum. The most recent entry was the one from New Year's Eve when I listed some short term goals for the first MONTH or so of the year instead of THE YEAR. So far the short term goals have been doable. I really have been sending out writing and writing every day, and I've been kind to myself by demanding that crucial alone time, resulting in a more calm, tolerant person who can handle the annoying behaviors of those around her

But still something is missing, doesn't feel quite right. I'm actively job hunting and think I might have hit upon one; it certainly isn't a dream job but one that will pay bills and give me some choices, like returning to college classes so I CAN be worthy of a job I would really want instead of tolerate. And there is yet this niggle in the back of my head-what's missing? What is it I need to feel more--like myself, again?

That's it. I'm restless because the life I've been allowing to lead ME just doesn't fit. I've always thrived most and been more content when I'm busy, so why, for the last few years, have I stopped...everything? I don't teach at my church anymore, I don't lead the youth drama team, either. I myself don't participate in the adult drama team. I'm not an active parent at Sarah's school. I haven't been a part of anything at all for a long time. The gradual retreat into a shell of isolation began when Liz fell apart during her senior year of high school. At first I felt the need to focus on her in the hopes she'd get better and graduate; when it was obvious that wasn't going to happen, I kept thinking I could make things okay if I were present, if I could do enough to get her better...but of course it didn't happen. You know what? I think I've been punishing myself Good grief. I've retreated from the world because I couldn't "fix" my daughter, have imposed exhile upon myself for almost three years. That's a long time for someone who used to be an avowed extrovert. No wonder I'm bored, restless, dissatisfied and started to feel seriously resentful of Liz!

I couldn't understand my anger through the months of October and November; I was snapping at that girl way too much and being too unforgiving of little things she does. I was ashamed of myself but I didn't know how to stop it or why I was doing it. I DID back off and regain control by visiting my friendly neighborhood therapist and a dr. who prescribed anti depressents for a temporary solution, just so I wouldn't rip my daughter's head off My "ah-ha" moment, realizing the punishment I was inflicting on myself for failing to "fix" Liz, has gone a long way towards dissipating the anger I was mostly feeling towards ME! I don't think wasting away in a self imposed prison, disguised as a house, is going to do Liz or me or anyone else any good.

Isn't it crazy what we do to ourselves subconsciously?!? Now that I understand why I've been hiding out, so to speak, I resolve to quit it and get back out there, start being ALIVE instead of just existing from day to day. I've already called our local public radio station and volunteered to read over the air to the visually impaired. Not only will get to do something I love-be on the radio-but I'll be helping someone else, to boot I'm also making a plan to return to our local community theatre, something I adored before this exhile thing began.

In hindsight I realize that not only did I impose this isolating punishment on myself, I sort of dragged my kids with me, especially Rachael. For some reason she started doing the same thing, retreating farther back into a hermit shell until it's very difficult to pry her out of--she's always had that tendency anyway, isolating herself with books, writing, music...I think I encouraged it with my own recent behavior. Durn it. I've already talked with her, told her the hermit life is over. She will have to be dragged out of her shell, but I'm going to do it. She needs human interaction as much as I do, but for her it's easier and safer to hibernate...

Shaking off the cobwebs, I step out into the sun, squinting at its brightness, and for the first time in a while, embrace the dawn of a new day.
 

Highly Defensive People-
I wish I'd known this term about an hour before I discovered it, because I could have avoided making a mistake I've made more than once. But now I do know so I will strive to implement this new knowledge...

When I was first married, I became appalled when I discovered how my mother-in-law treated her daughter, the youngest of four childen. The daughter, my children's aunt, was only sixteen at the time; she was an overweight girl who wore nothing but homespun skirts and blouses someone picked out of the "old woman's" section of some bargain basement warehouse. Even her shoes were those three dollar flats with wedges that are mostly seen on females of advanced age--and she was sixteen! It didn't take me long to unravel the mystery.

Not one day went by when my mother-in-law didn't mention her daughter's weight to her. "Do you really need that much food, dear?" said derisevely as we were all at the dinner table. "Soda pop is the last thing you need in you condition." Sometimes her comments were more direct: "You are going to have a stroke if you don't do something about that weight." "You'd look better if you dropped some weight, you know." It went on and on like this until I couldn't take it anymore-not a shock if you know me

I addressed the older woman--"Do you realize that you're not helping her in the least when you make comments to her about the weight? In fact you are doing her much more harm and no good at all. You need to stop!" Her response was that she was "trying to help." Well you're NOT, I shot back. I informed her that she was shooting down her daughter's self worth with every weighty remark that tripped off her tongue to the point of no return. I asked my sister-in-law how SHE felt about the remarks and comments. Finally communication was opened up and the remarks mostly stopped. But not completely. My mother-in-law just couldn't let go of the notion that she was "helping" her daughter by making sure she knew she was overweight. I guess the woman forgot about all the mirrors in the house. I think my sister-in-law did start feeling a little better about herself anway-off went those hideous skirts and shirts, and they were replaced with more age appropriate attire. It's no surprise, though, that twenty years later she's still overweight.

I let my kids' father know I was appalled by his mother's treatment of his young sister and found out her brothers had been encouraged to do the same thing when they lived in the house...Oh My God. It's amazing she didn't throw herself off a bridge

Until two years ago Liz was svelte and fit. Once she started taking lithium, however, her weight started to increase alarmingly; today she is significantly overweight. I was worried for her health because she gained weight so quickly in such a short time but I always have tred so carefully in addressing the situation. It's something I want a therapist to handle for the most part because I know I'm not equipped AND as her mother she needs to see me as nothing more than her cheerleader, her support and positive reinforcement...enter the father.

For the last month and even before that I believe, Liz's father has not ceased to mention her weight when they are in the same room. "What are you doing about the weight?" "How much exercising are you doing?" "You need to start losing weight." From her father, the man every little girl looks to for her first bit of male approval, he has no idea how devestating his comments have been. He thinks he's "helping."

He is not someone who accepts criticism of HIMSELF well on any level. When Liz started sobbing the night of her birthday, however, about her weight and how unlovable she was because of it, I couldn't stand it anymore. I went to him and said, with no anger or lashing-out, "you have got to stop harping at Liz about her weight." That's as far as I got before he leapt out of his seat and began to rage about how awful I am towards him and how he can't ever talk to the kids without me butting in...you get the picture.

After the altercation, for which I did fault myself because I know how he reacts, I picked up, yes, an Oprah magazine. "Highly Defensive People" was the article which caught my eye...gasp! I began to read. The first nerve-tingle came with this sentence: "Defensiveness is the bastard child of shame. For people who have survived harshly judgmental environments, shame-the sense that they're basically inadequate-dominates them. Virtually anything causes them to explode Oh really. But that "harshly judgmental environment" thing? Bells were going off in my brain and I read on: The primary driving force is fear, two main ones--"I don't have enough" food, money, credit, glory...the second, "someone's out to get me!" To an HDP, enemies are everywhere. Oh, boy. I'd been living with this kind of warped thinking for too long, and for those of us who are not HDPs, it's exhausting and infuriating. To be basically attacked when making one comment or asking a simple, benign question--it's weird!

The article, written by Martha Beck, offers a solution for dealing with an HDP, and that would be...not becoming defensive in response. It's hard, she acknowledges, to remain calm in the face of an unwarranted attack, but here's her advice for that--think about something unemotional; what color you are going to paint your living room, the square root of 244...the idea is to disengage from the attack so that your own emotions won't encourage you to engage in an unwinnable battle. HDPs will not change, but they can be quickly defused with words of relentless kindness and calm. Who knew? So I put the magazine down and went to the girls' dad. I apologized for "attacking" him and said very softly, "we may not be together as a couple anymore, but I'm not out to hurt you. We need to be on the same side." To my surprise, after a minute he said, "I'm sorry too," then apologized to the kids Ooakay...I may not always be able to control myself with him and his kin, who suffer from the same thing, but at least I feel empowered in a way I didn't, before...of course thanks to Oprah

I shared the article with my older girls. I think it helps them to understand their dad's behavior and those "comments" he just can't help making to be "helpful"...easier to brush those off when one is empowered with understanding. I'll share it with the youngest too, so she won't have to be wounded before she gets it.

We do our best with what we know, and when we know better, we do better. Maya Angelou.






 

Today is my oldest daughter's birthday. She is 20 years old. I've said it before but I can't help feeling it today: when did I get so OLD?

Chronologically Liz is now out of her teens. Mentally it will take a bit longer. Something I spout to all my girls regularly, ALL of them, goes something like this: Everyone grows and matures at a different rate. Don't ever compare yourself to anyone else and think you're moving too slow or too fast, don't think you have to keep up or slack because of where your peers seem to be. First of all, looks can be deceiving-what a person seems to be on his "public" face usually doesn't tell the tale. it's good to remember that when you think someone else seems better/perfect/mature. Being unique, as we all are, means that we can't look at others to gage our own lives and/or worth.

Liz has been pretty stable recently, a result of not doing what negates the effects of her meds. Even as someone with bipolar disorder she's different. There are those with the disorder who aren't as affected as her by caffeine and nicotine, but her system is sensitive any drug-type substance, something she just has to learn to accept and deal with. As she ever so slowly matures I see her doing that. Right now acceptance of herself comes in patches--acceptance of her condition, her need to take care of herself on every level, and acceptance of who she IS, the whole package.

I've noticed her, for the last couple of months, starting to embrace her intelligence, something she hasn't done since before middle school. For years she's worked very hard to hide her brain power from her peers AND herself, but recently she's told me things like, "I'm so glad I found my old friend Tim from high school. We started talking and it's great because I can actually converse with him." I perked up at this simple sentence. Tim is someone she met in her accelerated classes at middle school, someone she would have avoided like he was diseased before; she never wants to be reminded of the abilities she tamps down with grim determination, of course to her own detriment.

For too long she's refused to pick up art supplies-she's always been an amazing artist-or write anything of substance. She has contributed to so much of her disorder by pushing away the very essence of herself that would calm the storms inside her. Of course at first I was appalled when she ceased her creative work, but then I realized the more I argue, the more she'll purposely hurt herself by turning her back on what could heal her, and so I have remained mostly mute and remind her only occasionally that her soul is suffereing because she won't feed it. Recently she began to write on sites other than myspace, airing her views about world events, politics, and other current news stories... When she nonchalontly tells me she's done these things I nod my head with mild interest, but my inner self jumps for joy and feels a heady surge of hope for who she'll eventually be...

The steps are small and sometimes she backs up after taking them, but ever so so slowly she's going to get there. I remind myself to cheer her forward movements but not TOO much, hope for her but not TOO much, and basically let her be the one who picks herself up. I'll stand beside her always, no question, but I've learned "in the trenches" that carrying her does more harm than good, trying to impose my control upon her is damaging to us both, and keeping my mouth shut instead of constantly lecturing, wheedling, or yelling at her is what's best. That last one is hard for me

It goes so much faster than you ever think it will. Trust me, parents of younger children, Liz should not be this old and neither should I! I've written this before but I'll risk repeating myself: don't think your "job" as a parent gets easier when your child ages because it doesn't, even without a mood disorder. There will always be something, believe me. Don't labor under preconceived notions of what your child will be and do-our children tend to be individuals who will surprise us when we least expect it. No one's child that I know has ever followed "the script" of what he SHOULD do or SHOULD be. As much as they are our children, they are also people who will choose for themselves where their own life path takes them...we as parents need to make those choices easier for them by giving our advice when it's asked, then standing in support as they begin to journey and write their own life stories. When I was able to let go of what I thought Liz AND Rachael would be and do...that's when I was able to truly enjoy who they are with no strings attached. Literally.

Happy birthday to Liz. I'm interested to see how her story begins...
 

It's been a great couple of days--

I talked ad nauseum to my wonderful friend Thomas yesterday *wonder if he's sick of me yet*, and this morning I read Ŧĥē Beŋ 's latest story...it is too cool and the first story I've read in a while to seriously test my mental powers. I had to THINK while I read and was relieved to discover that I still CAN, ha ha. I have a difficult time finding reading material that feels challenging to me, something I really enjoy. Thank you, Ben, and if you haven't read the story here's a link so you have no excuse:

ID: 1366251 Invalid Item  This item number is not valid. by Not Available.

ID: 963815 Invalid Item  This item number is not valid. by Not Available.

Yesterday was my mother's birthday, a young woman of advanced age who still giggles, dances a jig when she's so pleased about something she can't help it, and just eccentric enough to be labeled the "cool" grandma by my kids

In honor of her special day I'll once again "wax eloquent" about the woman responsible for the ME you know in every single way...

She was born in Wichita, Kansas to Lillian and Nelson Funk, a spunky little character from the beginning. Named Bonnie, she was an angel to look at with a devilish ability to drive her mother crazy from practically day one (it's been said I take after her but who REALLY knows). She was able to wrap her grandparents around her little finger, to the chagrin of her mother, and was able to pretty much get what she wanted in many ways...but as spoiled as she could have been, she retained a good heart and was open and friendly to almost everyone.

She sang, she danced, and she played the drums with flourish. She performed in her aunt's dance studio, sang on the local radio station, and later went on to dance professionally for a short amount of time in Oklahoma City with the "Huntley Adorables." She was a beautiful woman, my mother, with thick, curly dark hair, big blue eyes, and curves I have only been able to envy from afar! She was a beauty; I'd say that even if she WEREN'T my mother...in fact, my mother being so striking made it kind of tough to be her daughter. I've always been what I think of as "cute", but I never had her beauty...ah, well!

She was in her twenties and teaching at her own dance studio when she met my father, a writer and editor for the local newspaper; she met him when she went in to place an ad for her studio. I think he was smitten from the beginning and worked hard to win her heart, which he did. Unfortunately, they were very different people from very different walks of life. My father grew up in harsh surroundings with an alcoholic father who beat his mother while the children hid under the bed and watched. HIS father walked out on the family eventually, but not before inflicting damage that couldn't be undone. The kind you carry inside your soul. My mother came from a sheltered environment of privilege. How did those two spectrums mix? Not well

She was divorced in an age when divorce wasn't so popular. It was 1966 and much more "politically correct" to suffer through a bad marriage with smiles on the outside and tears that ripped ulcers in stomachs on the inside. But my mother, as much as she liked to "put on airs" in her younger years, was too authentic to live a lie. She also knew how she wanted her children to grow up, and it wasn't with violence and fear. Instead she took the harder, more honest avenue and forged out on her own with a one-year-old handful, heh heh, and a five year old boy who'd been subjected to some traumatic events in his young life.

She didn't have it easy from that moment on--ever. She moved with her children back into her parents' home, opened up her dance studio again for a short time until she had to face the simple fact that such an endeavor just couldn't pay enough bills. We moved into her grandparents' house when I was seven and my mother ran a daycare for several years. Then she went to work as a nurse's aide at the old folks' home in our town, and that's where she retired last year. Her entire life from the time she married my father was all about taking care of my brother and me, then other people's children, then the elderly patients lucky enough to be in her care.

As a mother and a caregiver my mother's way was firm but fair. There was a line you didn't cross and the line was clear. Too bad for YOU if you tested her! She was also fun, witty, and refreshingly different-her sense of humor is dry and sarcastic; she always had "quirks" and little obssessions that I now know to be manifestations of bipolar disorder, something they didn't recognize back then, or maybe it was just my little rural town that didn't! Our family doctor would periodically put her on valium to calm her down, but she had dark periods when she would literally sit in the dark without moving. Sometimes her ups and downs were tough to deal with, but I could also see her fight inside herself to maintain control...more than anything in the world she wanted to be a good mother. She was. She IS.

She has always made me feel important, loved, and accepted without strings of any kind. No matter what I do or where I go, I know I can always go home. She will be there with open arms just like she has been since the day I was born. She never hesitates to tell me how proud she is of every single thing I do. I still roll my eyes when she "gushes", but I also know that without her constant support I wouldn't be the confident person I am.

She is amazing on so many levels and in so many ways. If I'm unbelievably lucky I'll be just like her when I'm...er, advanced in age!!!

I love you mom. "Thank you" doesn't cover it.

 

I've been doing a lot of crying lately...

For a silly movie about a teenager and her mom-
For Mr. Rogers, whose biography I watched on A&E last night-
For a friend who's had a very hard time lately-

But it's not BAD crying, not feeling-sorry-for-myself, not exhausting or unhealthy...more the healthy kind, the cathartic kind, the kind that cleanses your soul and makes you ready for whatever life decides to hand you next...

I will be on my own this year, for the first time in my entire life. First there was my mother, then the army, then my ex-husband. Now I am alone. I embrace it.

I'm ready.


When you're standing on the edge of nowhere
There's only one way up
So your heart's got to go there
Through the darkest night
See the light shine bright
When hero's fall, in love or war
They live forever

This is a song - for the lonely
Can you hear me tonight?
For the broken hearted, battle scarred
I'll be by your side
And this is a song - for the lonely
When your dreams won't come true
Can you hear this prayer?
'Cause someone's there for you

Well, love don't need a reason
She can pick you up
Or leave you bleeding
I've seen a strong man cry
I know the reason why
We all forgive, we all forget
We just keep believing


So let it find you
Wherever you may go
I'm right beside you
You don't have to look no more
You don't have to look no more, oh

It's gonna be alright
It's gonna be alright
It's gonna be alright

This is a song
A song for the lonely
And that's not you only
Through the darkest night
You're gonna see the light

Love don't need a reason
Just to leave you bleeding

Can you hear this prayer?
Someone's there

This is a song - for the lonely
Can you hear me tonight?
For the broken hearted, battle scarred
I'll be by your side
And this is a song
For the lonely

For my friend. And myself.
 

It's very early in the day to be thinking about implications in this, the last day of the year, but reflection seems to be where my brain is stuck...

I just spent quite a long time perusing through my blog's past entries. I found them interesting, depressing, sad, funny, and nostalgic, all mixed together in a hodge podge of what my head has spit forth over the last few years. It's that pesky passage of time I find most disturbing, because it doesn't SEEM like I've been writing in this "brain pool" that long...HEY! I think I just came up with my next blog's title Only 83 entries to go after this one *shaking my head in disbelief* It's like watching one of my kids grow up!

Time has passed but I feel like I've been standing on the sidelines, watching it go by with an absentminded wave here and there while I clean house, cook, and lament about "where my life is going..." Well, nowhere because I'm awfully busy lamenting about it I'm NOT whining, I really do think I've done that enough. Whining DOES have its place but not here and not now...not for me.

At the same time I don't want to be caught in that trap of lofty goals. I don't want to think about the FAR future anymore, because if there's one thing I've learned while I've been blogging in this lifetime journey-through-print, it's that life has a way of interfering with "lofty goals." I don't know what will happen in a month or a year or in ten years, so while I have a distant end-point in mind for where I want my life to ultimately be, for now I'm going to concentrate on the baby steps I must take to eventually GET THERE. Is this making any sense??

Here are some of my "baby steps" with which to begin 2008:

1. I will send out at least one piece of writing every single day. It doesn't matter where, just that this task is accomplished for procrastinating ME.

2. I will write every single day, whether it's in this blog (I've actually "stolen" entries from myself and submitted them elsewhere as articles, so blog writing IS productive) or something else.

3. I will force the older teenagers in my house to start making more and more of their own decisions. They will not mature until they are given a PUSH out of my tired nest, and they will get more than one, heh heh. The time has come for them to fly. Because I'M reaady to fly, too!

4. I will carve out time for myself to "decompress" every single day, even if it's only for fifteen minutes. I NEED my "alone" time and I'm a better parent, not to mention person, when I get it.

5. I will remember to put a smile on my face and treat every single day like the gift it so IS. I have great people in my life *that includes you*, fantastic daughters on the verge of writing their own life stories, and a whole world in which to live the rest of my life.

From being a "spazzy" kid in Oklahoma to a big grown-up in, eventually, Chicago...not bad and CERTAINLY nothing to "lament" about.