The girls now have their own rooms. I have divided up their stuff. There are still a few layers of sorting… but basically we are done. No more shared giggles to sleep.
It seems way too soon.
But goodness it will be useful to have separate rooms for them to go to. Sometimes we need cool off space.
I pushed too hard. My body hurts.
This week I’ve been thinking about how people have very different things to offer and very different things they want. That’s for the best. The world would be boring if everyone was the same.
If you can take people for where they are and accept the best they have to offer, you can call that friendship. Even if what they have to offer isn’t very much. I have folks in my neighborhood I would call friends. We don’t have that much to offer one another most of the time, but we enjoy the conversations we have. We enjoy the interactions we have.
What are acquaintances then? I don’t know. They just don’t exist these days.
There are a lot of sombodies that I used to know. I wouldn’t say I know them any more. I would say I’ve met them.
One of my friends uses the word “pals” to indicate the people you spend time with but with whom you don’t necessarily feel safe.
Maybe I should adopt it.
I want community. I want to watch kids grow up. I want to support people and be supported. I have spent a lot of my life looking for my circle of friends a la The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Where are the women who will take my children aside and tell them everything about me so that they can repair the damage I will inevitably do?
It has never appeared. The window is past. It will never happen. No one has ever been able to see enough of my life. I don’t stand still long enough. People only know hearsay.
Which means I just can’t fuck up very much. Because there is no one who will fix it for me. Not with my kids. With everyone else in the whole world… if I fuck it up… I will move on. They will move on.
I can’t hurt my kids.
Noah has wisely suggested that I take a few days off between now and the road trip. I don’t have a lot to give right now. My attempt to put spoons in my drawer has manifestly failed so far. I only have 38 days to go. I need to change how I’m behaving fast. This is my absolute last chance to stock up.
I’m different than I was. What does that mean? Part of what it means is I don’t want to exist for someone else’s gratification. I want to get pleasure out of my own existence. For years now sex hasn’t been that great for me. It is hard for me to get off. I can masturbate, but that makes sex seem… kind of irrelevant. If I’m getting me off and you aren’t, what good are you?
But I haven’t had the time nor the energy to put into the kind of sex that does get me off. Which… sucks for Noah. Because I’m heading in the lesbian bed death direction.
I mean shit, I’m slacking off to 5-6 times a month really consistently. I’m getting bitter as fuck about the quota. We talked last night about how we should probably kind of back off on that for a bit. This isn’t working for me.
What does work for me? It’s complicated.
I am looking forward to a break. So I can stop worrying about his needs for a while and I can think about what I like and want.
It isn’t really that I want to stop having sex. I want to stop having sex that is taking one for the team. I’ve been doing that for six years, almost seven years and I’m done done done. I need my sex life to be about my pleasure.
And, mixing in with internal physical confusion I have so many external triggers going on. Shanna and I will be going through Texas when she is the same age I was when I was raped in Texas. I’m having feelings. Calli has been… uhm…. rebellious and difficult for a while. I am rereading the 4 year old book. I’m so fucking grateful for these books. The intransigence out of nowhere is common and normal. Respond with humor and not like the kid is misbehaving. Fuck. I’m really not naturally a “respond with humor” kind of person. That takes enormous physical and mental strain for me. I’m tired.
But, I can find a way. Because I want a relationship with this kid in the long-term. I have to get us through rocky stages with grace or I won’t get it. Because I won’t deserve it.
I feel really guilty sometimes because Shanna feels like my idealized self–if things had been perfect I would have been like that. Calli is… more like my real self. She reacts the way I do. Even though I’m very certain she hasn’t been traumatized. She’s been watched too carefully. But she is so sensitive.
Shanna can let things roll off her back. She doesn’t take everything personally. If someone is in a bad mood it is their problem. If I am in a bad mood Calli is in a bad mood. She’s like a weather vane. That’s hard for me.
I have to actually process my emotions in order to not feel them around Calli. I can’t act like I’m not feeling them and call it good. Shanna will tolerate me having feelings and she can still have a good day. Calli can’t. That’s really hard. It feels not fair. I’ve been having a lot of bad days. This means Calli is havig a lot of bad days and… I can see her modeling off of me. And I feel so ashamed. I don’t want to teach her broken ways of being.
Which means I need to work on many of my behaviors again. Frustrating.
Luckily the book says that I need to work on deep breathing and being funny to distract. I wonder if it will help me with my emotions or if I will just have to find a different way of burying them.
And Shanna needs more reminders. Because she is not looking outward the way she did. So, more patience. That’s what I need. More patience.
*beat head on wall*
I’m running dry. I need something. I don’t know what.
When the things you want and need change, it hurts. It hurts because people still want to give you the things they previously gave you. There is an established pattern to the behavior already. Asking for a change is… complicated.
Mostly it doesn’t work. Relationships mostly don’t evolve very well.
Last weekend Noah did something that he has done many times before. It was ok before. It isn’t ok any more. That’s complicated.
We’ve been talking about it a lot. Like we do. Something needs to change.
Really, a lot of things need to change. I just don’t understand every step of how or to what yet. It hurts. It means Noah hurts me without meaning to do so. It means I need to step back from my feeling of hurt and look at intent and forgive. Even though that sticks in my craw.
I don’t want to be one more white bitch defending not-ok-behavior from a white guy.
Life is very complicated.
I have been to see a chiropractor. Someone my friend recommended. I’m having positive experiences! This is… wacky.
He’s super mellow and nice and considerate. He is a good listener. He is very interested in setting appropriate expectations. He is very willing to back off if I feel triggered at all and he knows some specific language around PTSD. Go him! He took his doctors coat off a few minutes into my medical history. He said, “You know what? Some people find this reassuring but I don’t think it will go that way with you. I’m going to just remove it.”
That was… a big deal. Thank you for trying to equalize our apparent “standing”.
He showed me a lot of x-rays of my spine. Well no shit I hurt. When things are supposed to be in a straight line they are crooked like a staircase. When something is supposed to have a curve I have the wrong curve. Sometimes all the way in the other direction! Numerous vertebrae have bone spurs and my spine is compacted in several places to such a degree that there is bone degradation.
My hips are 8mm out of whack. (Meaning one leg is trying to merge itself back up with my body. Apparently that’s not good.)
Given that Dr. Woo seems to have helped me quite a bit (I should probably send him a follow up email explaining why I haven’t come back) I’m feeling optimistic. Dr. Chiro has the potential to be a force for good.
I will take every positive association I can have with white guys.
I’m still in the same amount of pain, but he said that is normal after the first day. I’m having a hard time not rotating my neck.
So the top vertebrae in your spine is supposed to be stacked neatly on top of the one below it. Mine is off to one side. (Pushed towards my left ear.) Apparently that isn’t good.
I love validation.
Something happened. I’m upset. Life is like that. I don’t feel like I can or should talk about this.
Today not cutting is harder than it has been for a very long time. Lots of crying.
I thought it was over.
Stuff and fuss. I can’t write about it. So I will lie here and cry.
I didn’t sleep last night. Trying not to feel like I’m drowning in failure.
Why is it so hard to believe that I am capable of doing anything right? Why do I feel like I get everything wrong?
I feel so sad it is hard to find the energy to stir my tea.
Today is clearly maxing out the “depression” symptoms as opposed to the anxiety symptoms.
And I’m off smoking pot till December. Edibles it is. Oh man. They don’t do mood elevation. They level out anxiety but don’t cause me to feel more cheerful.
45 days until we leave. This minute it feels like the most mind-bendingly stupid thing I could do. I am too stupid to pull this off. I’m going to get stuck and hurt my kids and…
I’m very scared. My whole body hurts from fear.
Half an hour into baby sitting and I’ve barely moved. I haven’t finished a cup of tea. This much typing in that length of time is… barely moving. I can type 3,000 words an hour. 150 in 30 minutes means I’m mostly not thinking.
I think I’m going back to bed.
I think a lot about being “nice”. I’m not sure why. I censor a lot of what I want to write because I’m afraid of the negative responses.
Thing is, I get most of the negative responses whether I carefully consider my words here or not. It’s kind of funny. Being paranoid about not saying much doesn’t change my experience of peoples behaviors. It just makes me feel shitty.
I don’t write so that I can try to win friends and influence people. I write so that I can try to create a complete and accurate picture of myself.
I’m not always nice. Sometimes I’m a big asshole.
I feel like maybe I need to be less afraid of that. I’m not sure why I have such a problem with being perceived as not-nice. There isn’t much punishment I can take for it any more that matters.
Not really. I am a privileged mother fucker. The folks I care about already know I’m an asshole. They accept it and tell me to not do it in their direction and things work out.
I need to not care so much about people outside the circle.
This is the Monkey Sphere. It’s shrinking. Maybe my Monkey Sphere isn’t as big as I thought. I can only care about so many people in a day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow isn’t looking good either.
My overwhelming joy at adding Portland to the trip makes me feel like it is the right choice. I emailed folks with confirmation and received responses with lots of exclamation points.
I feel scared. Sometimes being scared means that I don’t feel brave enough to walk near people because I’m afraid that they don’t love me and really they wish I would just go away and stop bothering them. No, it’s not rational. Yes, it is very annoying.
I’m doing my best. I’m reaching out as much as I can. I am traveling as far as I can to meet people. If they want to meet me partway then I can find a way to include them. Partway doesn’t have to be in miles. It is emotional. If people let me know that I am important and they really want to see me…
I’m kind of like a stray dog. If you love me I am yours.
I am very happy we get to see Aunt Cookie. She has been a wonderful lady to me for years. I am very happy that blacksheep will be in Portland. Dad said he is going to take some time off work to spend with us. He apologized for being lame about writing.
I know that most of my friends have as many reasons to have psych problems as me. Ok, maybe not quite as many reasons… but enough. Plenty. A surfeit.
If I can’t love them where they are, how they are… then I get nothing.
I continue to struggle with the fact that people can only do their best. If it isn’t enough that isn’t their fault and you can’t punish them for that.
I get to see my friends. I will get loved on. I will get to hear stories. I will sit with people who have known me for all of the years of my adulthood. I will get to bring my children to the knee of people in their family for stories.
That’s a big deal to me. I want my children to find out about their family. Their aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. I don’t know much about my family and the bits I do know about I mostly won’t share with children this young. Noah’s family is what there is to offer. So I will travel far and wide to make it possible for my children to find out who they are and where they come from. This is as much of your story as I can make plain for you. I’m doing my best.
I have been feeling not ok about missing Aunt Cookie. I’ve been feeling sad about missing my friends.
It’s funny how sometimes making a decision lets you know that it is the wrong decision.
I feel so much gratitude that I get to go through this process. That I get to learn these lessons and see these people and have these experiences. I am going to have a lot of fun.
Today has been another emotional roller coaster. I’m glad it was a happy one.
When I woke up this morning I had 59 days left to prepare for the road trip. Then I spoke to a friend who let me know that she and her family are making sure they are available when I’d like to see them. After I’d counted on not being able to see them.
I’m making the trip longer. It’s not just them. I’ve been feeling really angsty and sad about missing Aunt Cookie. I’m very happy to add her back onto the itinerary.
But we leave in 47 days now. Because that’s just how things roll sometimes.
Good thing I ordered the plug in cooler thing this morning so it can ship in time. I had better go to REI today to get the stoves fixed. All of a sudden I have less than 7 weeks to go.
YAYYYYYYYYYYYY
Oh heating pad, oh heating pad where have you been all my life.
Your blue cover speaks of tranquility. Your heat improves my mobility.
Oh heating pad, oh heating pad where have you been all my life.
Camping was a mixed bag. First: it was a gorgeous location and we will be going back. Second: it really sucks when a group of 29 people shrinks to 5 people within a week of an event. That feels poopy. Every person who needed to cancel had excellent reasons (partner being admitted to the hospital and you don’t know if it is MS, cancer, or something equally as festive… ok I won’t be a bitch about you not going camping). Every single person who cancelled had an equally valid reason and I just can’t be mad at them. But I lost 24 people in a week. That sucks.
Other positive for camping: the one friend who went with us was a treat. I haven’t gotten to talk to her as much as I would like over the years and I got to have extra time. That was nice.
Other negative for camping: I brought two fucking stoves and neither worked so we couldn’t cook. That was incredibly stressful but not actually a big deal nutritionally. I was prepared. Unfortunately, me being me, I wanted to turn the malfunctioning stoves into proof that I am a fucking loser who should be shot. Because I’m awesome at the rational follow-ups and all. My shrink and I talked about this. I am getting better and better about being able to verbalize while I’m freaking out that I “know” that I’m not having trouble with the stove because I’m stupid. But in my head that is the only thing happening. Stupid. Stupid. Worthless. Moron. God you can’t do anything right.
Even though I got us there and we had plenty of food even without cooking. Clearly I am a failure as a human being. Or something!
I’d like a new brain.
I had terrible anxiety all weekend. I was very grateful that my friend said out loud that she was bleeding so funny facial expressions were related to that. I felt so much relief. Thank you for telling me it isn’t my fault that you are having a hard day. Holy shit I appreciated that. I spent half the weekend shaking because I was afraid she was going to hate me for doing so many things wrong.
I can’t even fucking cook dinner. Because I’m a loser. Why would anyone want to be friends with me?
Uhm, she was very gracious and supportive and kind about the whole thing. I’m mean to me more than my friends are.
Also, I spent time being pissed off because Shanna was no help at all. Which really isn’t like her. So I picked up the 7 year old book! Oh hey! 7 year olds are known for being unhelpful assholes. Hurray!
I’m telling you, these books are probably the reason that I am as good of a parent as I am. They are really explicit about which behavior issues happen when and why they are developmentally appropriate and then she tells you how to handle them. Many problems she says, “Ignore it and it will go away. Pay attention to it and you will have it forever.” This woman is a god damn genius. I am so grateful to her hard work.
She is very clear that she is talking about averages and every child is an individual but she talks about the ranges that are common. So far Shanna is about 3 months ahead of the development curve, but she has sat at that point since before she was 2 years old. These books are wonderful.
I shouldn’t say “unhelpful assholes” because that’s… that’s strong wording. Seven year olds are known for being so self-absorbed they become way less helpful for a time. They are too busy looking inward at all the little “mean” things they experience. That’s ok. I’m self-absorbed like that. I can find a way to make room for it.
And I will be much more patient if I have a nice lady from the 1970’s telling me that this is a phase where I cannot expect ready help. I will have to ask for and demand most of the help I get for a while or I can whistle for it. It is good to know that I’m heading into that kind of phase. It changes my behavior a lot.
I have coasted a lot on the fact that Shanna is naturally empathetic, kind, generous and helpful. There are going to be ages and phases where that is less true. If I am compassionate about her not being in the mood… she will get back to the mood. If I remind in kind ways, she will later remind me in kind ways.
You get back what you give. I mean, not perfectly… but in the long run. My kids are very nice to me because I have modeled the behavior I want to receive. When I have a problem with their behavior I meticulously examine my own behavior to see what I need to change about what I’m modeling. I don’t directly address “their” stuff that much.
Ok, I’m working with Shanna on not flipping people off all the time. It’s unconscious. She didn’t even know what it meant. She just likes pointing with her middle finger a lot. That I will directly say, “Ahh. You don’t know that you are making a rude gesture. Let’s talk about that.” I can directly address some issues without shame or fuss. Why do I freak out so much about the forking stove? I think it is tied into my food-nurturing-abandonment-neglect cycle of stuff.
Today I went to therapy and said, “Noah and I had a long chat and we think that I need to work on ______.” My therapist blinked hard and said, “Noah helped you decide what?” Then she listened a bit more and said, “In my 18 years as a therapist I may have said this one other time but I’m not sure–you have the perfect partner for you.” I grinned my shit eating grin and said, “I know!”
We didn’t do EMDR. We decided to do somatic work instead because EMDR can actually trigger heavy suicidal ideation in someone who is already abreacting. Wheeee. If the goal is to help me calm down, I need to calm down before I can do the heavy lifting to calm down.
Sometimes my life seems very unfair.
We talked about grieving the loss of a potential relationship and how that is almost as hard as losing a real relationship. We talked a lot about why I pick the people I pick to try and have relationships with. She flat told me to create more space in one relationship because I can’t fix other peoples problems and I get very enmeshed. If I love someone and they are struggling emotionally… I’m struggling emotionally. Which isn’t actually useful. Not for me and not for the person I would purportedly like to support.
It is weird having my therapist tell me that I should only spend time with a given person if I have set, concrete plans as a back up because I should assume that person will flake. Don’t depend on people to be there to fill your time. Fill it by yourself.
I’m not being much support to anyone lately. I’m not supporting Noah very well. I’m doing… less well than usual with the kids. I think there have been periods of being less engaged, but I’m not doing that much for them.
I’m not playing games. I’m not reading. My throat feels tight all the time. It goes along with the burning belly. I can sit with them and snuggle. I provide food. I talk. I talk about things all day long. I don’t retreat into a dark room any more. But I won’t play the video games they want me to play with them. Just, no. Not my thing.
So I’m telling them no a lot but I’m very certain they aren’t being neglected. I’m not doing as much as I want to be doing.
I’m not being much support for my friends. Once in a while I’ll have a conversation with someone where I work really hard on listening and being supportive. Mostly I’m being a self-absorbed twat.
It isn’t even really that I want to talk about me. I just don’t want to hear about anyone else. I feel like I don’t know who I am and where the boundaries are between me and other people and listening to their lives gets very confusing because I start feeling like I can’t remember if I’m remembering stories people told me about their life or if I’m remembering my life.
I feel permeable. Mushy. Alterable. Unfixed.
But I got to see my Bonus Kids today. We went to the Lawrence Hall of Science. Both kids were very upset that they didn’t get to ride in the van. My heart just about exploded when they both complained loudly about not getting to be with me the whole time. Thank you for wanting to be near me. I want to be near you too.
Even though I was a little mean to the Bonus Baby today. She wanted to take off and run away from us. I picked her up and carried her down the stairs as she screamed her head off. I am very mean. Sorry kiddo, diaper changes aren’t optional no matter how much fun you are having. I’m mean mean mean. I can live with it. So can you. We will both do ok with my strange fanaticism around not sitting in waste products. Neiner, neiner, neiner.
Usually she doesn’t fight me about diaper changes. Her mom says it is normal. Fair enough. Shanna was a serious pain in the ass about diaper changes. She fought like a fish on a line. It was awful. Then I figured out standing diaper changes and they got slightly less hellish.
I am so god damn glad I’m done with diapers. Kids are a pain in the butt. Some day I may have grand kids. I may require serious bribery to change diapers.
Or, let’s be realistic, I will scoop the kid away and say “I’ll do it!” like I did today with my Bonus Kid.
If you take care of the physical needs of a child they will remember you as a trusted caregiver. I want to take care of children. I want them to remember me. I want them to trust me to keep them safe and teach them things they need to know. And unfortunately diaper changes are one of the first things that is a real need that can be performed by anyone, not just mom. So I will continue to volunteer. And feel STUPID the whole time because WHY IN THE HELL DO I OPT IN TO DAIPER CHANGES?! Because then I have a Bonus Baby who sees me and says, “Krissy! I missed you!” as she hugs me fervently.
I missed you too. I’m so glad to see you again.
It was funny talking to my friend while camping this weekend about the amorphous concept of friendship. She is more of an out-of-sight-out-of-mind person. She sees people to keep them fresh in her head.
I still sit down to have a cuppa with Brittney and Anna. I will talk to myself out loud. All the stories I want to share with them. “When Shanna did ___ it reminded me of when we were 5 and we went to ____. Do you remember that?”
I think about my friends. I rehearse their names and remind myself that I love them and … probably… they love me. I think about what I should be doing to demonstrate my love more frequently and I beat myself up for not having the spoons to carry more relationships more fully.
I think about my friends. I think about the people I don’t see much any more because life circumstances have changed. I think about how glad I am that they are in the world even if I don’t see them any more.
I think about all of my lovers. Well… ok there are a few one night stands I have probably completely forgotten. Let’s be honest. People who made it past a third date make it through my mental rotation. I listen to music I associated with them during our relationship and I wish them well.
I have very few people I wish ill on. It’s bad juju and I just try to avoid it. Sometimes I am so mad that it slips out anyway. Mostly I try to get better about having my ill wishing be limited to things like a bird pooping on their head. I would not feel guilty about my joy in that circumstance. Especially if it happened right in front of me. I could not contain my glee. It would be wonderful. But I am working hard on that being the limit.
It is funny how most of the people I’ve had problems with make it through the rotation. I have a cuppa and think about why things went wrong. What did I do wrong? There is always something. Sometimes I did a lot wrong and sometimes I did a little wrong and it didn’t matter that it was only a little.
There is no fair. There is what is.
I got stupid and this week got overbooked. Hoo boy. After camping we have plans with folks five straight days. Long plans. The shortest visit will be three hours.
I want to touch base with a lot of people before we leave. I’m not going to get to everyone who is important to me. I would collapse.
I can literally book 60 hours a week of socializing. But I don’t tend to feel “healthy” afterwards.
Balance is an eternal struggle. I was given permission by four separate people in the past five days to be emotionally dysregulated and upset for a while. Yup, it takes fucking forever for me to calm down. Unfortunately bad feelings can be stuffed for a while and then they must be dealt with. You will pay the piper some day. I have stuffed a lot of feelings for a lot of years. There is no more space for stuffing. Instead, I am safe and secure. I can be kind of a mess and I won’t be thrown out. Even if I am difficult for a few months until I calm down my central nervous system the people I worry about the most will still be there when I stop freaking out.
And the people who aren’t still there… I never had them any way.
I told my therapist that I spend a fair bit of time feeling ashamed of the fact that I’m a bad patient. I’m likely to be in therapy for 50+ years and I will still say the same repetitive, stupid shit I said when I was 3.
She said that whereas she believes that I will probably be in therapy for 50+ years… I’m not saying the same things. She said I’m actually one of her favorite kind of patient–the kind who perseveres even though it is a really awful slog sometimes. Yes, I’m hard to work with. My shit is complicated and I have a lot of problems with transference and projection so I work out a lot of my emotional push/pull issues with my therapists. It is not fun to work with. But if you look at the course of my life, most of the bad parts aren’t my fault and I keep working. Even when it feels hopeless. Even when pretty much anyone else would quit… I don’t. She said she is very happy to work with me. She laughed and said, “You are satisfying in a way most people really can’t be.”
I didn’t ask for clarification. Better to let that one just kind of be ambiguous.
I think I push people so much partially because I want to figure out who will leave. Who will put up boundaries. Who is safe. Most people don’t have firm enough boundaries to be safe for me. Lots and lots of people aren’t really dependable enough to be safe for me. That doesn’t make them failures as human beings… it just means that I am foolish if I depend on them.
If I can’t do pattern matching by now then I need to just hang it up.
But a lot of people can be dependable within very narrow parameters. I have many friends who can handle about three hours a year of my company. Some of those people frankly can’t handle my kids.
I go back and forth on whether or not those relationships are worth the effort of carrying my side. Mostly I decide that it is worthwhile because loose ties keep you alive. My shrink thinks I should carry fewer of the relationships. I told her, “Said with the smug assurance of someone who has brothers she can call for help.” First she said that her brothers haven’t helped her in decades.
That’s not the point. Most of my friends don’t seriously help me either. But every so often I need help and I toss out the net and I never know who the hell will show up. She can call her brothers if she needs to. The fact that she hasn’t needed to doesn’t change the fact that she can. (Did your brothers come visit you when you were over seas? Then yes your brothers have done something for you.)
I wanted to edit. I wanted to go through and tie a few ideas together. But Noah just walked outside and said, “Dinner is ready!” Internet, you lose when it comes to dinner. Bye!
Ok internet, here is a dirty little secret for you. I have a thing for Sikh men. I think they are beautiful. It helps that there are many who go to my gym. Swoon.
I try not to stare in an obvious fashion. They are just… works of art. Sometimes when I’m feeling sad and I want to cheer up, I google images of Sikh men.
They are so pretty.
But I’m not objectifying them… uhm, right? I’m not beating off. Surely that means it is still ethical just to look at them.
Sometimes a reminder that I’m not the center of peoples lives is useful. I’m not the reason people do or don’t do things. I’m just standing there.
Today went much better than I expected. Phew. I needed a better day with the home school group.
Apparently the remodeling company’s vice president is pretty unhappy that I want to cancel the contract because I’m pissed about how I’m being treated. He was apologetic in Noah’s direction. I ducked the meeting. He offered ways of making it all better.
Delays happen. I have never expressed anger at the people in the company I have simply expressed that I would like things to move along. When the response is “Well it’s your fault” that’s a problem.
Yes, some of the delays have been my fault. It is true. It is not my fault the first contract was stolen out of the car of the first project manager. I’m not saying it is your fault. I am saying it happened. Can we talk about delays without you leaping to saying that it is all my fault? Clearly it is not accurate that all of the delays are my fault.
Unless you are implying that I broke into the car and stole the contract? How would this serve my ends?
It is not my fault that my project manager left the country for a month. Don’t god damn act like everything is all my fucking fault. Fuck you very much.
So they are fired. I get to deal with this when I get back. Oh. Joy. Can’t. Wait.
Grr and whine and fuss. It’ll get done. Eventually. I’m a tight fisted bastard anyway and I’m not that sad about delaying the expense. I’m sad that we will be breathing black mold indefinitely.
Houses are a giant pain in the ass. No I can’t just fix the mold. It involves taking the walls and flooring apart. If I have to gut the bathroom… I need to just do the whole bathroom.
Houses! Oh man!
Feelings. Big feelings. Let’s see how vague I can be.
I can fire you. That’s easy. You… you are not worth the stress. Thank. Fucking. God. I can fire you.
I can’t fire you. I wouldn’t if I could. I don’t know what I would do to you.
I don’t want to go.
I want to go so bad I can taste it.
I’m really sad about logistics.
I’m so happy that everything is falling into place.
My stomach hurts. My head hurts. My arms hurt. My shoulders hurt. My back hurts. My hips hurt. My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. My jaw hurts. My hands hurt. My heart hurts.
When I think of you, I cry. Because this pain is never ever going to stop.
I am not being a very good wife lately. I am not hitting quota. I don’t feel whole, safe, sexy, or fun. I feel damaged, scared, weak, and pathetic.
Don’t get upset. Or you will be punished.
I don’t want to be touched and I don’t want to be alone. I want to stop shaking.
I want my belly to stop hurting. It hurts and hurts and hurts. I don’t think I will puke tonight. It’s a shame. That would end the pain.
9.5 weeks. Then I will run away.
Run away. Run away. Don’t be here. Be gone. Go away.
I want to say that no one wants me anyway. But that’s a lie. Noah wants me. Sarah wants me. Jenny wants me. Kira wants me. Pam wants me. The kids are coming with me.
I just came up with five people without even trying. Stop bitching that no one wants you, whiner.
My children tell me, “I’m allowed to whine. I learned it from you.” I glare and don’t argue.
We are all punchy and difficult. It’s… a week. I should go re-read the 7 year old book. 4 1/2 is not as rough as it was with Shanna. I remember a lot of time spent with my jaw locked. I remember really struggling. We are at disequilibrium… but it’s not that bad.
Hey self–house remodel is in flux, Noah’s job is in flux, social stuff is in flux, trip stuff is changing and scary and soon. Maybe don’t be so mad about having feelings? Big feelings. Mixed feelings.
It’s ok. It will all be ok in the end.
Plug along.
I asked a lot of people about camping this weekend. Between other engagements, work, and illness… it’ll be us plus one friend.
Good thing I’ve been telling Noah for weeks, “I’m prepared for this to end up being just us.”
It means I get one bonus friend and I will celebrate that all the more.
At the maximum there were 29 people saying they wanted to go. Life is complicated.
Noah, Shanna, Calli and I spent the morning talking about our upcoming Disney cruise.
I have a surreally privileged life.
All three of them need to update their passports. I’m good for six more years.
Shanna will be Noah’s Best Person. We negotiated for a while about a tux and how sharp Shanna would look. She’s contemplating. Calli wants to be my Best Person. I think that sounds divine.
We think red and blue will be the colors. Outfits maybe kinda sorta Dickens-costume-like so they can be multi-purpose.
It doesn’t really matter if anyone else likes it. Jenny has said she will try to bring her family. I’m barely close to counting on that because Jenny doesn’t bluff. Outside of that I’m not sure that we will have more guests. I don’t think anyone else will be up for paying for it. And it interferes with school.
(But going this week is way the heck cheaper than going during the actual summer break season. And this is our real anniversary. Small is fine.)
I talked to Disney. We are booked for a vow renewal. We have our cruise line details. I’ll talk to a wedding coordinator this week.
We’ve paid deposits. (And insurance in case of cancellation because whoa.)
If Jenny ends up not being able to go I will recover. I’ll be sad and disappointed, but I’ll recover. It’s ridiculously expensive. It is not ok to expect people to hemorrhage that kind of money to prove their love. I do not expect anyone to come with us.
No matter what the four of us are going to have a very good time. I’m very glad I get to hang out with them.
It is weird finding out what living in the walled garden is like. This is what the protected, safe, security feels like. I may not have hoards of people but I have safety, love, and so much privilege.
I feel kind of ashamed of myself for spending this much money like this. I could pay down my mortgage. I could remodel my house. I could donate it to people who actually fucking need the money. Instead I will be a selfish piece of shit and go play on a Disney cruise with my family for my 10th anniversary because I really want to. We will have a lot of fun together.
It will be very relaxing and snuggly and loving.
I even got us a veranda. So we can wake up in the morning and sit outside in our PJs on our veranda above the ocean.
Because we can. Because why not? Because it’s wasteful. Everything is wasteful. I want to. I’m selfish. I’m going to.
It will be so much fun.
You just know that Noah and I will be having sex on that veranda. It’s a way of having semi-privacy on a boat.
That will be fun.
Noah wants to do this. He’s been poking at me for a while. It’s funny that he wants to do it… but really he wants me to do it. It’s not like he’s going to handle details beyond what I force him to handle.
You know what? He’s busy earning the money to fund it. I can be uhm magnanimous about the time division here. Ahem.
Noah treats me like a very expensive pet. It’s both lovely and weird.
I like it.
I had a thought about the euphoria of my Bonus Kids. It wasn’t like that early on. I’ve been keeping them for extended periods for years. The early visits were flat out nightmares. Screaming, crying, awful. They were so hard. When they were over I would hide in a dark room with a cool cloth on my head and shake.
Now things are a lot better. Now we’ve figured out how to get along. And that feels euphoric. Now we have snuggly giggle fests full of cuddles and kisses.
When I’m comparing my first visit with a new set of kids to the experience I have after years of work with my Bonus Kids… that’s unfair to everyone involved. Maybe this experience is less euphoric because these kids have never made me suffer.
How does that play into bonding?
Part of what I like so much about taking care of kids is that you have to deal with different layers of your own “shit” in order to look at them as individuals. The wonderful kids who visited last night have an entirely different structure to their lives compared to most of the kids we hang out with and as a result it was neat seeing some of the social differences.
These kids… respect authority. Holy shit. And they are capable of sitting still and focusing. Whoa. Unschoolers that I know are capable of intense focus but it’s kind of random when it happens. It is an accident rather than how they approach most problems. These kids sit down and do an activity to completion then do another activity to completion. They aren’t hummingbirds.
I think it is good for my children to learn how to deal with this very different attitude towards life. The kids who visited last night are being socialized such that they will be capable of being successful in a school environment. They show me some of the layers of why I think I would fail at teaching my children how to be successful in that environment.
Hell, these kids have a better attention span than me.
And I could assume that they just aren’t comfortable enough to be sassy yet (probably partially true) but I think it is mostly true that they just aren’t permitted to be assholes in the way I let my kids get away with pushing boundaries. I see layers of learned behaviors that I couldn’t even begin to duplicate. These kids are not rule breakers in the same way. I don’t think they’ve been told that breaking rules is part of life. *Ahem*. (I won’t tell them.)
I think I uhhh disrupted the social order enough by telling them that actually, yes men can be queens too. Doesn’t matter if you’ve heard of it before, I’ve met some.
I will barely wave my gender-freak flag. Just a little bit. A tiny bit. Just barely a wave. No, boys don’t have to be one way and girls don’t have to be another way. Uhhhh Forget-That. (Which is way better than Fuck That to my friend’s children because boy howdy are they not allowed to talk like that. I was good!)
It is very hard to be a good example when these children need to turn out in a way that I completely failed at. The life they are leading is a life I am singularly unqualified to be a good example of living. I fail. Over and over at school after school. I don’t know how in the hell to handle that social dynamic. I hate jumping through hoops just for the sake of jumping. I get very angry with busy work. It’s taken multiple decades to squash my rage over being bitched out because I was “doing art wrong” and it’s hard for me even now to do group art activities.
I have finally learned how to make art for myself. I still can’t bear to have anyone in control of what or how I am doing my art because I’m fucking tired of being told I’m doing it wrong.
These kids are a challenge to me because I have to manufacture behavior I have specifically rejected. Oh shit. I have to watch my fucking mouth. Which is obviously not something I enjoy doing. But I do it for them because they would be in a lot of trouble if they picked up my language. That’s not fair. My kids don’t really get in trouble for saying fuck. So they do sometimes. I can’t slip in front of these kids because they would get no end of trouble and that’s just shitty and awful. I don’t want to be a bad influence for them.
I want to be a good influence. And that means consciously choosing behavior that is opposite of my normal priorities.
Weird.
I think this is part of what being community means. We don’t have to be exactly alike. We don’t have to be on exactly the same path. We are very different and that’s ok because it takes all kinds. Being these different ways involves different skill sets so we don’t act very similarly day-to-day and that’s ok.
It might even be optimal and make the world a better place or some shit.
I talk to my kids about the fact that I am a stay at home mom because *I* want to do it. Because *I* have things to learn here that I won’t learn in other environments–about patience, forgiveness, trying and failing, and attachment. Those aren’t lessons other people need to learn at the same time in their lives so staying home is NOT the right path for every mother.
They are very curious how the dynamics work in other families and I’m really grateful we are being allowed this window into how it works. I don’t pretend we understand from one night of visiting…. but we got a peek.
These kids are different from my bonus kids. The only people who got into trouble for screaming last night were my progeny. Because we are so fucking loud all the fucking time. Ahhh, I’m so proud. These borrowed kids…. would not be permitted to be loud like that. They looked a little stunned by the volume. We did work on it. I’m so sorry. I hope we didn’t burst your ear drums.
We really need to learn how to tone down better. It wasn’t as upsetting as it was to my niece, Jenny’s daughter, but it was… over the top. We get so excited about seeing people and then our volume just goes up. It’s not a good approach to life.
I’m starting to work with Shanna on such things and I haven’t really started working with Calli yet because I think that the easiest developmental window for dealing with the loud is 5-7 when they are doing an awareness shift, cause/effect thing in their brain. Clearly it could be taught much younger. But you sacrifice other benefits if you squash this young.
I want kids who are capable of being as aggressive as they need to be. You can’t develop that later if it is squashed out of you young. You also can’t be very good in a school environment while young if it isn’t squashed out of you. Life is complicated.
I say you “can’t” and that’s bullshit. Lots of people learn how to be more aggressive as adults because they have to do it. I would prefer if my kids just have that force of personality from the get-go.
I asked Shanna why she is so good at knowing that other peoples feelings aren’t her fault and she laughed. She said that I taught her. I laughed and said that is funny because I’m not very good at actually believing that. She said, “I’ve noticed. You should work on that.” I said I was not very good at listening to my own advice. She said, “You know, you should listen to you. You are a pretty smart lady.”
I started crying and she hugged me. I don’t know if she is 6 or 26 sometimes. I’m very grateful for these children I have born. They make every day a pleasure and a joy. Even when they bug the shit out of me.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to deepen our relationship with these kids. I’m afraid I didn’t reach out as much to them as I wanted to. My back hurts wicked bad and I spent part of the visit lying on the ground trying not to cry. That sucked. I am going to call local chiropractors on Monday. I’d like to not be hurting like this before the trip. It would be very hard to do the work.
The older girl plays with my two very easily. I’m going to have to work harder on finding games and activities for the two youngest (my youngest and the borrowed youngest) because they aren’t figuring out friendship as easily. The two oldest and Calli are all bossy, pushy kids. The other younger girl is… just not. She’s not “LOOK AT ME” in the same way. I’m going to have to work really hard at getting to know her over the years because she doesn’t shove her personality in everyone’s face and say, “NOW LOOK AT ME” the way the others do. I will have to decide to work at getting to know her. I only know her a little at this point and I feel kind of ashamed of that. Maybe I should have asked to hold her more as a baby. I don’t like asking to hold babies. I feel presumptuous. I take offers. I help when people need help. This mama is very competent when she has her kids so I would never presume to snatch her babies from her. So I didn’t bond as young with this kid.
That’s ok. We aren’t dead yet. There is still time. She’s a nice kid, just a lot more shy and reserved. That personality type isn’t really my specialty but I am always in the market for new skills. I’ll figure something out. It will be something that will require thought is all.
They have much better manners than my kids and they can sit still. It’s a bit dreamy. They sat in a chair for a meal without needing to be pestered.
swoon
I have some parenting envy right now. HOW DID YOU DO THAT?! But to some degree I understand part of how it was done and it was done in a package with stuff I don’t want and so… I have to deal with some behaviors I don’t like as much because I get so much that I do like. That’s life. I can live with the end of the stick I’m carrying these days.
I don’t feel like I have the short end of the stick any more. Not that I think this mama does. Maybe that’s a bad metaphor. Uhm, I don’t feel like I’m parenting all wrong because my kids are much more annoying than these kids. I feel like I have very different goals. I don’t think that my goals mean my kids will be “more successful” or “happier” or “fill in the blank”. Well… I think my goals are aligned with creating people I can live with. That means very weirdly attuned to the world. It doesn’t mean better. It means better-for-me which is SO MUCH not “BETTER”. If you know what I mean. It wouldn’t work for everyone.
I like these kids and I can see how their mom is doing a good job of preparing them for the life they lead. They are learning the skills that will allow them to do the things their parents want for them. It’s really neat to watch. It is fascinating having that next to my kids for a day. We want different things and that’s very ok. It’s good. It’s wonderful. It is how the world should work.
The world requires folks like their parents. IT workers and engineers. They are important. They build things and keep things up and running so other people can get the health care they need. Those are real skills that are actually impacting the world. In order to get to such a point you have to have a whole framework of skills… I pretty much lack.
Starting with the sitting still. That’s been a problem for me all my damn life. I can’t teach it to my kids because I haven’t mastered it. I can’t model it. Sometimes I feel kind of ashamed of myself when I deal with five year olds who can sit still and I just fucking can’t.
I try to just feel happy that their mother is past the horror of car seats. I too will someday arrive at the coveted world of booster seats.
I hope.
Please, oh god, oh god.
It is hard feeling like you are doing the right thing. Especially when everyone around you is on a different path. It is hard to see what the path even is. The path I want to be on includes community building. Which means figuring out having community members who aren’t friends. It means supporting my friends. It means figuring out how to support people in gaining skills they need that I do not have. It means being supportive of all different kinds of ways of handling situations.
It’s hard. Because I’m really a judgmental asshole and I have these kneejerk, “I couldn’t sustain that” feelings about behaviors and then I want to loudly comment on how they aren’t sustainable. When really they aren’t sustainable for me and other people don’t have a problem. That’s kind of embarrassing to announce out loud. (Ask me how I know. Or don’t. Just assume it is an embarrassing story, ok?)
If my back pain were below a 4 I would feel like I was having a party. My back pain is hanging out this minute around a 6 and yesterday was up to 7/8 so I didn’t feel like I was having a party. I didn’t feel like I was having that much fun. But it went really well anyway. I tried hard to be aware that my cloud of “ugh” was pain.
Also, my period finally started. Only a measly 7 days later than expected. And it is slow going this month. Hardly anything is coming out of me and that’s kind of weird. At 36 hours into my period this time I’ve lost about as much blood as I usually lose in the first 6 hours. I know because of how fast I soak the pads.
I haven’t been able to eat much lately. And most of what I can eat without feeling really sick is fruit and vegetables. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH MY BODY?!?!?! THIS IS NOT LIKE ME. I’ve been a carbitarian for most of my life. I live on wheat, meat, and dairy. Those are my three main food groups. I grudgingly eat vegetables because I have to and I rarely eat fruit. I just…. don’t really do it. The textures bug me.
Until now. When dinner is artichoke and orange. Or strawberries and fennel. I ate fucking strawberries and fennel for dinner. What the motherfuck is wrong with me?!
I’m not feeling ok. I’m eating what I’m craving because if my body is craving fruits and vegetables after 30+ years of treating them like poison… ok I’ll go along with this but I don’t feel ok. And my digestive system is so fucking whacked. I’m barely pooping because there isn’t enough mass to move. I can feel my system feeling pissed off at me.
I’m eating what I can eat. It’s just not a lot right now. I feel like I’m dropping weight again. I might actually buy a scale just because I feel like it is bad to not know when I’m doing these sudden intense weight drops. I feel like I should “work harder” at keeping my weight stable and I don’t know what that would mean.
I’ve never had a not-eating-month in the spring before. It’s always October. It’s usually around my dad’s suicide. I have always thought it was partially emotional and partly that I don’t handle that weather transition well. October is the most miserable month weather wise where I live. This year the weather is awful in spring…. maybe the weather transition impacts it?
I don’t know. But I’m eating like a fucking vegan and this isn’t working for me.
I feel like shit.
(Not saying veganism is bad or that no one should be vegan. I have nutritional issues. It would be very hard for *me* to be a healthy vegan given the texture issues I have and aversions to some flavors.)
You have to deal with the whole system you have. Even if it is annoying. One of the things I feel most comfortable about as I get older–life is annoying and that’s ok. Just breathe through it.
I went to Outrageous Outgrowns yesterday morning before the folks arrived. I was actually tardy getting home because the line was insane. Good thing Noah was here. I would have timed differently if I hadn’t had the slack.
The girls are mostly set on dresses through size 10 now. Yee haw. And I got a whole huge stack of neat looking books. Yay! If you can get 20 items of clothing and 30+ books for $200 that’s a good shopping day. Especially because most of the items of clothing were fancy dresses because that’s what my kids live in. I really got the daughters of my dreams. I wanted to dress like that as a kid and I couldn’t. I’m very grateful I can buy them a closet full of fancy $5 dresses they can wear any way they want without getting in trouble. That’s a special kind of privilege.
And legging. Always leggings because you little twerps never keep your legs down. Under clothes should be under your clothes and if you can’t keep your skirt down, pants! Yay!
Then I got home to a box from Amazon. Because I’ve been on a book buying spree. All multi-cultural stuff. In the past few weeks I have picked up a bunch of books on Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism for kids. I already have Christian stuff aimed at kids because I had it from my childhood. Books on mindfulness and meditation and Zen and all that good stuff.
I will be reviewing them on the kid-friendly blog because most of them are excellent. I’ve perused them all but I haven’t shared them with the kids yet. I’m excited about reading these together.
I’ve gotta say, it’s convenient that there is a Hindu temple on the corner because the more I read about the faith the more it actually sounds the closest to the hodge-podge of my beliefs. It’s kind of funny. I should go more often. They are happy to have sincere visitors of any stripe.
These kids do not provide the euphoria of my Bonus Kids. That’s partially my fault. I spent a lot of time holding my Bonus Kids when they were really tiny because I went over to their house and helped their mom do work. That creates a very different kind of bond.
These kids instead provide a different kind of opportunity. I missed the window to get in on the baby-bonding. I didn’t understand that I was missing it. I didn’t understand how I should have tried to assert myself. The oldest girl is older than my kids and I really didn’t have the confidence to assert myself as “someone who should hold babies” then. That doesn’t mean all hope is lost! Hey, I’m good friends with their mom and I met her as an adult. Clearly the possibility of a relationship isn’t over.
But it is interesting seeing how I will have to work for these relationships. I will. I want to. It is a specific thing I have as a goal in this lifetime. I knew when they were born that these were kids I wanted to know for a long time. I just didn’t know how to insert myself into their life. That is hard.
I have learned from this visit that I am not who I want to be to these kids yet. I will have to work harder. Good thing I know how to work hard.
The visit has gone very well. I hope this is a sign of many wonderful visits to come. We are a long way from grown up. There is a lot of time left to bond before they run off to the wonders of their own lives. I haven’t missed the window yet. But I better not get snotty about that belief or I will miss the window.
Thank you so much for the gift of time with your children.