Today's entry is full of many thoughts and feelings about many things. It is the beginning of the year and we are having major financial difficulties. The major reason for this is because John's hours at Sears are now dropping like a stone, and I am finding that I have to help with some of the bills that he usually takes care of. These are billls that are necessities, so they cannot be put to the wayside.

          I probably could ask my mother, not my father, for financial help, but that would be opening up a can of worms that I do not want to deal with. I have money set aside that is not in my name. I could ask for that, but I would have to endure a twenty page questionnaire as to the reason for the money's need. My "parents", especially my mother, do not believe in just doing something nice for someone, even if it is a family member. It is quite sad that I came from such a coupling.

          Up until five yezrs ago, I, myself, was debt free. I had credit cards. I used them to build my credit score. I paid them off right when the bills arrived. I even still had money left over. I know where I went wrong. It is my own fault. I know I would be yelled at, lectured to, and belittled if they knew the financial bind I put myself in. It is no one's fault but my own. My biggest worry is that Matthew, my son, will have to claim these debts as his if I cannot pay them off by the time I leave this earth. He should not have to do this. I did not have him to pay my bills. I want him to be debt free and have a wonderful life full of health, prosperity, and happiness.

          There is just so many things that we need right now that we don't have the money for. Besides me trying to help pay some of the essential bills, we also need other necessities such as training pants for Matthew, toilet paper, Osteo Biflex for my aching joints, and my medication that I am on. Thankfully, the majority of the medication is paid for by insurance. However, there is a copay which John usually pays. He does not have the money. I guess it is medicine I can go without for a while, but I do not want to go without the other things that are needed. We just cannot.

          It is really something how my sister can "borrow" over $6k from me without blinking an eye and it is not frowned upon by my family. Yes she did pay it back, but this was before she even let me know she was doing it. Her name is on the account that has money in it for me. I know that if she had done something like that where she works, she not only would lose her job, she would also be spending some quality time behind bars for embezzlement. My "parents" just brush the incident off like it was nothing. I do not get that at all. My "father" is a retired police officer who is supposed to uphold the law and abide by it, not weasle his way around it. I see what Donna did as stealing, robbery, or whatever you wnat to call it. I was taken advantage of by a sibling. One of these days, very soon, we are all going to have it out and everything will be out in the open. At this point, I do not consider myself as having a family. The only family I have is Matthew, John, and Shadow.
 

          A new year, a new look hopefully for me. It haws been over a week since I have written in this journal, so I thought I had better get to writing. CHristmas, as well as New Year's, has come and gone. Another year has passed without mush fanfare. I tried the Dr. Phil diet, without much success. The only success I have had in regard to it is that I have cut out a few foods out of my diet completely. These foods are: pizza, hot dogs, sausage, and corned beef. After all of the goodies are depleated, I will begin again to try to accomplish my goal. When I went to the doctor on Thursday, I gained 4#. Not a good idea.

          When we were at my parents' for Christmas/ Matthew's birthday get together, another fight between me and my mother almost broke out. Soon after, my sister and I almost came to verbal blows. It seems that certain members of my family still have not come to terms with the fact that there is a disabled member in the family.

          My "father" never could accept that fact that his first born was not only a girl instead of a boy, but I was also plagued with numerous medical difficulties that would last me a lifetime. There was one incident where I finally realized that he was ashamed of me. I went to an all-girls high school{my choice}. They hosted a Father/Daughter dance. My freshman year, I asked my "father" to go with me. He turned me down flat. He said he had to maybe work. The dance was on a Saturday. The only work he would have done was help hi uncle in his store with deliveries.

          My sophomore year of high school, I finally got him to relent and agree to take me. We decided on the Vineyards for dinner. Two weeks before, my paternal grandparents had celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary there. That was why I suggested we go there. The food was delicious.

          The dance was to begin at 8:00, so my mother thought that making dinner reservations for 5:30 would be plenty of time. I wore a blue floor length dress with a rufflely collar. He wore a brown sport coat with a brown tie amd a brown pinned striped shirt.

          When we arrived at the restaurant, we waited for over forty-five minutes to be seated. After we were finally shown to our table, it was another ten minutes before we received our menus. Fter we decided on what to order, my "father" tried calling for a waiter three times before one arrived. After the order was taken, we laid bets as tp how long it would be before our meals would arrive. That was about twenty minutes. I kept wondering what time it was so that we would not miss the dance. By the time we finished our meals, it was 7:45. It would take a good thirty minutes to get to the school and proceed with the dance.

          He talked me into not attending the dance because of the late hour. The dance itself would only last till 11:00. I reluctantly agreed, not knowing what his ulterior motive was. Years later, I finally realized the real reason for his backing out of going to the actual dance with me: The school did not allow smoking, and he did not want to be seen with me. If I were to introduce him as my father, he would feel shame and embarrassment.

          In 1979, when my sister was in her sophomore year at the same high school, she too, asked him to attend the same dance. I could have gone along, but I did not. They not only went to the restaurant, but arrived at the dance and had a good time. It just goes to prove who he wanted to be with more.
 

          There are only three days until Christmas, and I am not in the mood at all. I have not been in the mood for many years. I really do not the real reason as to why. It could be due to so many deaths in the family that are connected to the season. It could also be due to the fact tht I come from such a dysfunctional family. I do not know the reason. There was a time when I can hardly wait until Christmas arrived. Now, I could care less.

          The other subject for this journal entry is leadership, and my inability to be an effective one. The thing I found out about myself is that I am a good follower, but a horrid leader. It has been that way all of my life. It stems from my childhood. My "parents", the people who were supposed to guide and assist their offspring to be better individuals, did everything they could to guide and assist their "normal" offspring to make better individuals of themselves. When it came to me, their perception was that since I am physically challenged, I needed to be "taken care of". I needed to be "protected".

          I was never shown how to do the basic things. Oh sure, I was shown how to make a bed, clean a bathroom, load a dishwasher, wash a dish, set a table, dust furniture, and how to cook a meal. The reason for them showing me those tasks or duties was that I was going to be treated like "Cinderella". I was even told by my "mother" the summer before I was to go off to technical school that going to school would not happen. I would just stay home and clean and cook and be a "maid".

          The way I see things, and mind you, this may be the wrong way, is that a child is supposed to be taught by his/her parents how to be able to fend for himself/herself. How to be independant of his/her parents. My "parents" did not have it in their mindset to allow me to be normal and independant. They want me to be dependant on them, on their offspring, and anyone else who would be willing to take on such a herculean task.

          I have never been liked or popular. When I was placed in a leadership role, I was like a fish out of water. I did not know what to do. I did not know how to motivate others to do what I asked. I could delegate very well, however, I did not have a clue as to have others follow me and my lead.

          Watching shows like the APrrentice and Survivor make me keenly aware to this bare fact of me and my life. It is a sad state of affairs when I have a Masters in Leadership and Public Administration and I do not know how to lead. The question that I have for myself is: What do I have to do to be a leader? Is being a leader something you are born with?
 

          It is one week until Christmas and I do not feel in any way, shape, or form festive or happy. I just wish that the holiday would quietly pass by and disappear without incident.

          I am the spawn of two people who made a huge mistake. For the past forty-five years, they should have not been married. They do not get along. while I was growing up, any argument they had originated with me. It seemed as if my "father" wanted to be able to just go and do various avtivities. Having a phyiscally challenged offspring would always get in the way of his plans. As a result, an argument would ensue between him and my "mother". As seen, I do not consider them my parents. As far as I am concerned, I do not have parents. I am an orphan.

{indent] I am starting to babble and I have to discontinue doing this. There are so many things that make my "family' dysfuntional. First and formost, my "parents" never wanted to talk about anything. To them, life was just a bowl of cherries. All I saw were the pits. We were never allowed to talk outside the home about problems in the home. Now, my "mother" wonders why I feel the way I do.

          Another reason my "family" is dysfunctional is that my "parents" thought that if I befriended certain individuals, then I would be so niave that I sould just follow blindly and not be smart enough to question anything. I have a friend that I have known since freshman year in high school. When we were juniors, she ended up pregnant. As soon as my "parents" found out about this, they wanted me to totally drop her as a friend. Their reasoning was that her "bad" influence would rub off on me and I would follow in her footsteps and, therefore, become pregnant myself.

          My "mother" and I have unresloved issues that have never been addressed. She refuses to acknowledge that there are any problems. "Outsiders" have noticed, over the years, that when it came to me, she was very overprotective. Now tht I am an dult, I see what they were seeing. My "mother" and I never had any time alone where we just had "girl talk". Anytime we talked, it was so she could either lecture me or tell me what I did wrong in her opinion.

          When it came to my "father", there were other issues that surfaced. He has always made me feel unwanted and a burden to him aand his "family". Anytime we went on a "family" vacation, he would roll his eyes when it came time to decide on where to goa and the attractions we would see. He was always ashamed of me. When I was in high school, there was a Father-Daughter Dance. I had to twist his arm to go to the dance. After much pleading, he finally relented. Againm he rolled his eyes. We had to decide where to go to eat. Just prior to the dance, his side of the family had an anniversary party for my grandparents at the Vineyeards. After much discussion, it was decided that that would be where we would dine. He called and made the reservations for 6:00. the dance would begin at 8:00.

          The night finally came for the dinner and dance. This was the first time that I was able to have my "dad" all to myself. I was excited. We arrivec at the restaurant early. We weren't seated until 6:30. By the time we received our menus, it was already close to 7:00. By the time our orders were taken and the fod was served it was after 8:00. By the time we left the restaurant, it was close to 9:00. I knew this was not my "father's" fault. However, what happened next was. After we got in the car, he asked me if it would be all right if we just went back home. I was quite disappointed and it showed. When we arrived home so early, my "mother" was shocked. She asked if anything was wrong. My "father" blew it off by saying that it was too late to go to the school and enjoy the dance. I did not realize till years later, that the real reason he did not want to be seen with me out of shame and also because he could not smoke at the school. Knowing that your"father" is ashamed of you really puts a hole in your ego. Mine really took a shot when i woke up.

          There is so much more to write about, but I am getting writers cramp at the moment. I will write more about my dysfunctional "family" in future entries. This is very cathartic.
 

          Today on the Oprah show, brought back some memories to em. Mostly, these were bad memories. The show itself was about stage parents and how they try to live a dream through their children. The main focus was on a father of seven who moved his family from a spacious five bedroom home in Vermont to a two bedroom apartment in New York.

          Listening to this story reminded me of when I was growing up. I was in Brownies, took ballet classes, and took piano lessons, and was in Girl Scouts. I enjoyed the ballet lessons. That was until they were abruptly taken away from me. This was totally my parents doing. The way the ballet season went was much like a school year. It would start in September and conclude in June. Then it would culminate all over again. I went for one year, along with my brother, who took tap lessons. When the year concluded, there was a recital tht showcased all of the students in the different levels of dance. I really enjoyed the recital, and was looking forward to the next year. I also was looking forward to possibly advancing to the next level in the ballet classes.

          When the next year was set to begin, I was more than ready. When it came time to get ready, I was informed by my parents that I would not be attending ballet classes in Miss Shirley's class. I was sadly disappointed, and wanted to know why. The reason U was given was that my parents could not afford the extra two dollars a week for me to take classes. I accepted this explanation. Years later, I was told the real reason as to why I was not allowed to continue. Apparently, Miss Shirley had pulled my mother aside and told her that me being in her class was both a waste of time for her as well as my parents . She felt that I would be better off with private dance lessons or somewhere where it was at no cost.'

          When I was in Brownies and later in Girl Scouts, this again happened. When I was in Brownies, the years were fairly uneventful. It was when I began Girl Scouts that the trouble began. I was in grade school when Girl Scouts was in session. I was nine years old and the troop was lead by the mother of one of the girls that went to the public school where our meetings were held. All during the early fall, a camping trip was being planned for and learned about, along with selling cookies and doing other fund raising. The camping trip ws to take place in a lodge up north right after New Years. I was quite excited and really looking forward to going. At the last minute, Mrs. McCurie, decided to tell me that if I wanted to go, I would have to have my mother accompany me. None of the other girls had to have their mothers tag along. Her reasoning for the decision was that she did not want to be responsible for any medical problems that would possibly arise.

          As a result, I ended my relationship with that particular troop. I did not like the fact that I was being singled out. Even though I was nine, I knew what was going on. It was me who personally called Mrs. McCurie and informed her that I would no longer be a member of a troop who discriminates against certain members. Her respose was that it would be in my best interest to find a troop for disabled girls. My mother took her suggestion to heart, and began a search for just such a troop. She did find one, but it was I who chose not to become a member. I did not end my scouting experience at this point . I wanted to find a troop that was comprised of normal girls who would accept me for me and allow me to participate in all of their activities.

          After much research, I finally found the troop that saved my life. The troop number was 900 and the names of the troop leaders were Don and Marie Palmer. They never had any children of their own, but they took time out of their lives and donated it to helping the younger generation. After the first meeting, I asked if there would be a camping trip being planned. When that was affirmed, I asked if there would be any trouble if I attended. I was welcomed with open arms. I wish I could find this couple and personally thank them for the best time in my life. The time was too short.

          Another incident that happened was when I took piano lessons. I do not remeber my mother asking me if I wanted to take lessons. It was just automatically assumed tht I would. First, I started with an old player piano, then my parents purchased a second hand reconditioned piano.

          The lady who was chosen by my mother lived about four blocks from where I atended school. At first, I was learning the scales, as well as, other beginning pieces. I studied with Mrs. Panoritis for a total of two years. It seemed as if she never wanted to advance me to more difficult pieces or any other books.

          There was another girl who started taking lessons. She was also my best friend at the time and her name was Rita. Rita was studying piano with another teacher. For some reason, she decided to discontinue lessons with that teacher and commence with Mrs. Panoritis. Within six months of starting with her, Rita was scheduled to do a recital. At that time, I was studying with Mrs. Panoritis for over a year. This infruiated me and deflated my ego. My mother was not happy about that either. She blamed me for it all. I became disillusioned quickly. I wonder if Mrs. Panoritis ever took my mother aside and tried to explain that I was not worth her time and my mothers money.
 

          There are so many things to write about today. Matthew had to deal with death this morning. One of his goldfish died. John said it did not look good yesterday before he went to work. Being three and having to deal with the death of something you take care of is difficult, at best. Matthew has handled it well.

          Well, it is thirteen days until Christmas arrives. We have the gifts purchesed, but nothing is wrapped. The cookies are not made yet, the tree is up but not decorated, and I feel like time is slipping away. Gifts will be wrapped tomorrow. Cookies will be made and decorated Thursday. The tree will be trimmed probably today.

          Matthew does not have school tomorrow. John has to go Thursday to get the gifts from Toys for Tots. It'll be interesting to see what Matthew gets this year. I am secretly hoping that he gets something that I already got him. I can return that, and get him something else. One of the things I thought of is a kid's size flashlight. I know he would enjoy that.

          I do not know what he will be getting from my family. The one thing I wanted to get him but was unable to was a Fisher-Price Medical Kit. The primary reason for this is because he will be going for his annual check-up on his birthday and, unfortunately, he will have to have booster shots along with the weight check and height check. I thought that having the mendical kit would allow him to "play" doctor. His birday is a month away, so hopefully, I will be able to get the kit before his birthday so he can emulate and role play.

          Christmas, for me, is not a holiday that I want to celebrate anymore. It is not because of the commercialism. It is because the holiday brings back bad memories for me. My maternal grandmother passed away on December 24, 1987. That was the first Christmas I was living on my own. I had moved out on my own in March of that year. Ever since that happened, I have been depressed about Christmas and have not been in the mood to celebrate. Now that I have Matthew, I have bounced back somewhat, but not totally. It is quite obvious that John and I are vastly different in a great many ways.

          Sometimes I wonder what ever attracted me to John. In the beginning, I liked country music, and in some ways, I still do. My first love of music is easy listening and oldies. John is very inflexible, and not just in his musical interests. there are other areas where he has no room to change. I do not like being around people who are that way. I am very plyable to change and am willing to go with the flow of the situation. John, on the other hand, is not. There are so many things that John and I should have talked about BEFORE the marriage, and we did not. We put the cart before the horse in regard to the marriage and also in regard to having and raising a child.

          John had never babysat for or been around children very much. I, on the other hand, did do both of thos things. At one point, John and I got into an argument, and during the course of it, he told me that he was going to take Matthew and totally disappear. Then he would try to have me declared as an unfit mother on the basis of the fact that I am physically challenged. I told him, in no uncertain terms, tht that would never happen. I also told him that I would get a lawyer, and make sure that he received visitation rights. But he would not receive custody since he was the one who said that he would just leave and, as a result, live as a street person. He still says that. I know that no judge, in his or her right mind, would award him custody when he dos not have a stable place to live. I think it is nothing but an intimidation tactic.


 

          Yesterday was a day that I would rather forget. My sister called me from work to ask if my son had a certain toy. I told her that he did not and she was thinking of getting it for him for Christmas. During the course of the conversation, my mother got on the phone.

          The three way conversation began innocently enough. However, it soon became quite heated very quickly. It seems lately that every time my mother calls me on the phone, she tries to slip in tht she wants me to move back to the old house that I lived in as a child. I will never move back into that neighborhood let alone back into that house.

          My sister will soon be moving out of my parents home inot her own home. My mother is looking for an excuse not to sell the house. My sister is the last to Leave the "nest". My mother has a home on a lake which is a home, not just a cottage. This home has been in existance for twenty-four years. Up to this point, it has been used as a second home, but now it is time to either put up or shut up.

          My father has wanted my mother to sell the house in the city for several years. She has always come up with an excuse not to. First, there was the fact that we were not all done with school. My youngest brother finished high school in 1983. After that went by the wayside, her next excuse ws her parents. My maternal grandmother passed away in 1987 and my maternal grandfather passed away in 1993. My father kept looking at her with wondering eyes and wondered if she was ever going to sell and make the big move.

          Fast forwarding a few years to me. As many of the members here on Writing.com know, I am disabled and have been all my life. My mother has used this fact to control me and my life. Unfortunately when I still lived under her roof, I sat back and allowed her to do this. When I moved out at age twenty-seven, she still felt it was her duty to tell me what to do, where to go who to talk to, and what to say. This brings me to my present situation. The lake house is a two hour drive from where I presently live. If my family were to move, it would be father away, not closer to her.

          I told her during the conversation yesterday that she needs to sell that house and get on with her life. I have. I made the hige mistake of giving her a key to my apartment when I first moved here in 1987 and when we moved to the two bedroom apartment in 2001, I did the same thing. I am so stupid. I want her to give me back my key and I will gladly giver her back her keys to her houses.
 

          Today is the second entry in this journey of life. Today is also the birthday of the first pet I ever had. She was a dog, a cockapoo. She was brown amd white, and her name was Sandy.

          Sandy was well loved by everyone in our family. From the first day we got her, January 11, 1970, she took the role of being there for me and that was a role she never relinguished until her death in May, 1983. She was the cutest little girl around. We have pictures that my parents took of us when we first got her. The picture with me, I was looking down at Sandy and she was looking straight at the camera. The picture with my brother, he's looking at her, and she stole a kiss. He was almost seven. The picture with my sister, Sandy is still giving kisses. The picture with my youngest brother, he is holding her and she fell fast asleep.

          To this day, my mother says that all of the responsibility for Sandy fell on her. This is not true. Although she did take her for her initial check-up and first shots, most of Sandy's daily care was shared by all of us. My father would give her baths in the wash tub in the laundry room in the basement, then brush her till she was a ball of fluff. I would make sure that she had her food and water. My sister and brothers would help somewhat, but not as much.

          Over the years, Sandy would get to know the different motors on my parents' cars. When she would hear a car coming up the drive, she could tell who it was by the sound of the motor. If her tail wagged furiously, then it was my father who came home. If her tail wagged just a little bit, it was my mother who came home.

          Sandy had four litters of puppies. Out of her first litter, we kept the runt of the litter, which was a female. I remember the day we were trying to give the puppy a name. My father was sitting at his place at the table. He had her on the table, her tail wagging furiously, and she was giving him kisses like there was no tomorrow. He first wanted to name her "Skeeiks". We all looked at him with dismay and disappoointment. After much discussion, we settled on the name "Bobo".

          Sandy was a great mother. She took care of her young very well. When she had her first litter, I was in high school. After I was dropped off by my ride. I noticed that both of my parents were home early. I wondered what was wrong. It was spring and I walked through the front door. My mother greeted me and I asked her what happened. SHe told me that my brother had called my father and her at work and told them both that Sand had had the puppies in my parents bedroom, on a plush rug that my mother loved. Sandy only let my father move her and the puppies to the kitchen. He was the only one she trusted.

          During my high school years, I had a major back problem. To this day, I do not know what caused it, but it disrupted my life in a major way. I had to spend a great deal of time in the hospital because of it. Sandy did not like this at all. She knew that when I was hospitaized, I would be away for an extended period of time. During the fall semester of my senior year, I spent it bedridden due to my back. I would get continuous spasms that would be excrusiatingly painful. Both Sandy and Bobo would lay on either side of me and they would simultaineously squeeze againstme when these would happen to help alleviate the pain for me. The other reason for their constant companionship was because I would have lunch sitting on a little red table in between my bed and my sister's. They always wanted to mooch whatever I ate.

          The weekend that Sandy died was the worst for me. My sister was graduating from high school and we were having a family party at the house in the city. The weekend before the party, my parents and I went to the lake house to make cookies and check on things there and get any and all supplies that would be needed for the party. At the time, my parents did not have a telephone, but that is another story in itself. When we arrived back hom on Sunday, my father was the first one told about Sandy's death. After she died, my brother put her body in a plastic trash bag and placed it in back of the garage. I went back there and balled like a baby. My best friend had died. Why did I not talk my father into taking her with us? Looking back, she would have died at the lake, and I would not have wanted to go back there again. I was sick with grief. To this day, when I think of her, I still get misty eyed.
 

          Today is the start of a new journal for a new group that I have joined. This entry is to introduce myself to other group members and tell them a little about myself. I am not sure where to begin, so I guess I will start at the beginning.

          I am a female member of Writing.com who has been a member since March, 2003. I am a married mother of one, who will be four in January, thus the handle. I have been married for four years to a fellow member of Writing.com, who is employed part-time at a major retail store. He is a Shipping/Receiving Clerk.

          I come from a family where I am the oldest of four. My parents have been married for forty-five years, and were both employed outside the home. My father was a police officer, and my mother was a medical technologist. I am disabled and my siblings did not handle this fact well. My youngest brother was the only one who seemed to overlook my challenges and accept me for the person I was meant to be. The sibling I never got along with and still do not to theis day is three years younger than myself. He has never been able to come to terms with the fact that his older sister is "different". My sister, who is four years younger than myself has treated me with ambiguity and indifference.

          The brother who I do not get along with is married and has been for twelve years. He works as an engineer at a major auto company. His wife, who has a graphic arts degree, has been a stay-at-home mom for the past ten years. They are the parents of two children, a boy age ten, and a girl age eight. These two children are the only niece and nephew I have and the only cousins that my son has on my side of the family.

          My sister and my younger brother are both single and never have been married. All three siblings are employed at the same major auto company. My sister is in the process of closing on a new home that she recently built. I have seen pictures, but have yet to see it in person. My youngest brother owns his own home and has done this for at least eight years. I envy my siblings in that way because I would love to be a home owner.