Thankful for the hard times and what they will teach me

We've been hit with a snowstorm about a month earlier than is the norm for this part of the country. I love the beauty of snow ... how it covers everything in a soft blanket as it sleeps, waiting for the spring. It sparkles and as my daughter keeps reminding me, it surrounds us with snow fairies that we can see only if we believe.

Despite all the beauty of winter I'm frustrated that my running outdoors season has been cut short by almost a month. I love getting outside and running. I was just starting to get past some of my injuries that started last April and seemed to plagued me incessantly, my body trying to explain to me something that is going on which I have yet to understand. I have a 5k on December 7th. It is the same 5k that was my very first ever last year. I want to do well. I want to kick ass at it. Not getting out to run for the next week makes me fear I am not going to do well.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I have all the fixin's ready for dinner. It will be just the four of us, again. It feels lonely. Another time of year when it is impossible for us to be with family. Sweet One is so absolutely excited about tomorrow and the fact that it is almost December. She can't say December without sounding like she is telling me the most magical secret in the entire world. I need to continue to look with her eyes when things are hard.

Ever since moving to this country I have always felt like Thanksgiving is a big celebration that starts off the Christmas season. In Canada, Thanksgiving is just Thanksgiving. That is our focus. But within a few hours of filling up on everything we are supposed to be thankful for, a large portion of the population down here will line up on the cold sidewalk only to barge into a store with their elbows out, fighting almost to the death for that next great deal. I saw neighbours returning home last year after a night of no sleep and a day of crowds. They looked like they had been hit by a truck! I don't really understand it.

When all is said and done, I miss my Dad. On December 15th he would have been a whopping 64 years old. Sure, we would have made jokes, but his candles would never set off the fire extinguisher. So maybe everything right now is all about that loss. Another year when he will be missing from the home of my siblings. A miracle might have happened that perhaps we would have found a way to mend the bridge and maybe he could have been missing from my home at this time of year, but I don't know. "...a miracle is just a shift in perception."

And so again I will take it all breath by breath. Learning to be compassionate and gentle with myself and trying to be open to the Divine Guidance I will be given so that I can see the beauty in all of this.

Two phone calls

Leading up to getting pregnant with Sweet One, I was regularly seeing a counselor who helped me through a lot of anger. I didn't realize I had been carrying it for as long as I had and while it completely shook my foundation I ended up in a much better place. There were moments when I literally felt like the pieces inside of me were fitting back together in a way I had never felt them before. The yoga classes I was also taking helped with a lot of this as well.

While being a mom is amazing, as are my two little ones, I haven't felt my pieces fitting for quite some time. The challenges of being a mom and dealing with a strong-willed 3 1/2 year old, as well as not having any outlet for myself as an individual, has worn on me. And now with my Dad dying, (which I absolutely hate typing every time I have to) I feel absolutely lost. The pieces are all jammed up inside of me and I don't know how to put them together or to make sense of how I move on from here. I'm quick to anger and, unfortunately, it usually happens when Sweet One is pushing me off the edge. It's not fair to anyone in this house.

I made two phone calls the other day. The first was to my yoga instructor. We had been playing phone tag for awhile but finally connected and there's a class I can go to on Mondays from 530-700. I was hoping there'd be an early morning one I could go to so the kids wouldn't feel like I was leaving them, but as my sister is trying to drill into my head,

"Just remember it's actually for their own good. They see you being your own person and having your own life and they're still secure. Then they know they can do the same."

The second phone call was to the counselor I had been seeing. She phoned back the next day and I have an appointment booked for September 17th, with her phoning if she has any cancellations that will help me get in a little earlier. I'll have to drive to another city so the whole thing will take probably a minimum of 2 hours and 15 minutes but I didn't want to find a new counselor here in town where I'd have to go through the whole history. And this woman really helped me. I don't like having to be gone that long but I'm also fantasizing about maybe being able to get to Target all by myself either before or after the appointment!

I've put aside my own needs over the past few years and only looked at them when things felt really bad. Right now I spend the days feeling like I'm walking wounded. No one can really see the giant gash inside of my chest but I can feel it pouring out, asking to be healed. I can't continue as I have for the past few years and so it's time to take care of myself a bit more. My kids will be ok when I'm away from them. Big Love is a great Dad and if I can't leave them with him for that long, well that is just plain stupid. It's hard to admit but I am afraid of putting myself into a vulnerable position where I'm going to have to be very honest with myself. I'm not sure what I'll find out. I only know that regardless of what I have to work through, I'll be a better person when I'm done.

Stepping Back

During a recent conversation with my friend she mentioned that it is ok to step back and let others do the planning. My sister and brother are doing a great job of taking care of things. It's not that I don't want to help but there doesn't seem to be much room for me to do so.

Grief seems to come in waves. I'm hearing so many stories of my Dad's generosity, patience and love for his family. I wasn't always sure if his motives were altruistic but now I'm learning that they were. I'm struggling because he never seemed to have any patience for me but I am trying to hear the stories and learn about a side of him I didn't really know. I do know that he always loved his family as much as he possibly could. What I need to learn in all of this may not become clear for many years.

I will be ok. Eventually it may all make sense.

My Dad is either dying or has died. He fell today and his brain injuries are not the kind a person can ever survive from. Our relationship has always been hard but I had hoped so much, in my deepest of hopes, that one day we would be ok and that he could see my kids.

And I can't sleep. And I so desperately wish I could so that we can start planning our trip west.

This just feel too surreal.

40 Minutes of Hell

Almost a month ago now my best friend came to visit. I decided to treat myself to a few hours of child-free time when she needed to be taken to the airport. We left the house at 7am so that we could stop at the local coffee shop and grab a coffee and then be on our way with enough time for her to catch her flight on time. The big city airport is an hour and a half in absolutely no traffic, which I couldn't expect to happen.

I had a great time driving and hanging out in the airport lineups with her. I sent her off into security and headed off to the Swedish furniture store. I was quite excited. We were in the market for some new bookshelves and a few other small things. I used to live a 20 minute drive from one of these big blue buildings and I've missed it.

I arrived a few minutes before it opened and decided to grab myself a 99 cent breakfast. It wasn't great but the sun was shining in the enormous windows and I could take as long as I wanted. Well, not really because I was hoping I'd only take 30 minutes in the store. That didn't happen. An hour later I was on my way, stopping at St. Arbuck's for a decaf Americano and then I was on my way home.

It was a nice drive. I wasn't too worried. I bathed in the quiet time for myself because it hadn't happened in .... well, I had no idea.

When I got home, Little Man was sleeping and Sweet One was on her way to sleep. I crawled in and gave her a snuggle. Little Man woke up and refused to go to sleep without me holding him.

This would continue every day, in varying degrees, until today. I just couldn't take it anymore and so, just like when he was 5 months old, I decided it was time for him to get himself to sleep.

I hate coming to this decision every time but I know that it will only be a few shitty days and a good result. After all, I've had little issues with Little Man's sleeping in over six months. I read to him and snuggled him for almost 15 minutes and put a very calm baby into his crib. I went into Sweet One's room to read her books, hoping that by the time I was done the books Little Man would be sleeping. Twenty minutes later this was not the case. I said prayers and snuggled with Sweet One for 8 or so more minutes and he was still not sleeping. While I hate the idea of making him 'cry it out', I hate thinking of him being by himself even more and so I stay close to him. Maybe it's self-flagellation, penance or loving support, I'm not sure. I went into the bathroom and scrubbed the tub. (I really hate scrubbing the tub. Why do I need to clean it? The shower cleans me!*) Twelve minutes later he gave two hardcore screams which I translated as, "You bitch! Why the fukk are you doing this to me?" and he's been quiet now for about 40 minutes.

I went downstairs, washed my kitchen and laundry room floors and now I'm finishing a very strong gin and tonic.

****
We are making small strides with Sweet One and the biting recurrence. And I've managed to get some sleep in the past two nights so I feel a little better.

*Do you like New Girl? I love it. And this is borrowed, with a slight change, on a very funny moment that had me rolling on the floor.

Guilt

Today was going alright. I was actually happy about how I was feeling after a few days of being unable to shake off some anxiety and depression. We spent a chunk of the morning in health care facilities - Little Man needed a blood test to check on his iron levels (no more anemia!) and then we had his 15 month appointment where he was diagnosed with the start of an ear infection (which explains a lot of his behavior change over the preceding 24 hour). Both kids are also dealing with allergies. Yay.

The afternoon came and Sweet One bit her brother. Again. We seem to be in a regression after a very long time of her not doing it. When the hell will I ever learn to stop getting my hopes up?! I'm not handling it well. I yelled. A lot. "YOU CAN NOT BITE YOUR BROTHER! YOU HAVE TO STOP BITING YOUR BROTHER!"  Desperately trying to scare her a bit so she'd realize how bad it is to bite her brother. He has marks on his face and his arm. I really don't know what the fukk to do at this point. I've felt like I was at my wits end before about things like this and then relief came. But relief has been hard to come by since I yelled. It's almost 8 hours later and I still feel gross. I have no forgiveness for myself. I know damn well that yelling at her doesn't really help but in the midst of it I'm desperately hoping I can find a way to motivate her to stop, perhaps "scare some sense" into her. But really I'm sickened that I remind myself of my father and then I remember what used to happen to me when I'd make him that angry. I didn't take my belt off and lash her bare bottom multiple times leaving welts and a humiliated, screaming child in my wake. Because my anger is my responsibility and no matter what she does, nothing will ever give me the excuse to do that to her. I have to be better. I don't feel like I am. Having as much anger inside of me as I did today scares me. It feels awful. Dark and thick. I still feel sick.

I want to go to sleep, actually sleep through the night for once, and wake up to a new day "with no mistakes in it yet." Please, God. Could you just answer this one and help me stop her from biting her brother? Could you please show me how to deal with this without screaming at her? She doesn't deserve that. She deserves a better mother.

Sweet One's Mortimer moment

I was happy when we were able to go on short trips and leave the portable DVD behind. In its place we listen to Robert Munsch telling his stories. Sweet One gets very involved and shouts along with the kids who are also in the recording enjoying the catchy lines that Munsch writes into each and every one of his stories. I remember listening to these on a couple road trips with a good friend and her young daughter and the nostalgia of listening to these stories again - well, it's definitely one of my favorite moments.

Three nights ago Sweet One went to sleep as she has for I don't know how long. Stories, lights out and to sleep. After stages where it was a challenge, it was great to have her going to sleep so well again. Then something switched. She wanted a nightlight on in her room and for two nights I obliged. Being a person who is light sensitive at night myself I was worried that it might affect her sleep but it didn't seem to. She slept quite soundly, despite being sick, for two nights.

Last night this kid absolutely did not live up to her name. She was rude, lippy and quite honestly, a little bitch! We took away a few items that are her favorite to play with for today and finally got her quiet. I left her room around 8:15 and was relieved when we didn't hear much more protest.

9:15. "Clang, clang, rattle bing bang, gonna make my  noise all day..." at the top of her freakin' lungs! It was ridiculous both in the hilarity that she was now quoting "Mortimer" and the fact that it seemed to have come out of nowhere. The twenty minutes that followed with screaming and the protests of having the nightlight moved into the closet so the light wasn't directly on her face was a fukking gong show that I really hope is not repeated any time soon. We survived, a little worse for wear and not nearly as relaxed as we often are when we go to sleep.

This morning seems to be off to an earlier start than usual for Little Man and a not-so-Sweet One who is pissed off that we have confiscated her new scissors. It's 7:15 and I have already put her back into her room because I will not listen to her being a rude little bitch all day. Not so sure I'm going to survive her being three and a half. But I know someday we are going to laugh our asses off at our little Mortimer going off an hour after we thought she was sleeping!s

Survival

A quote from this post has been working on me. I only started reading this blog a few weeks ago hoping to find some creative inspiration. But after reading it this morning, I feel like I have shed a little light on where I am stuck right now and can now has a little more compassion for myself and to, hopefully, work through it.

"Most women I know have only one conscious priority: making it through the day. This is a direct result of having been torn in a thousand different directions in any one twenty four hour period ... but acknowledging, recognizing and reordering our priorities so they can give purpose to our days is a deeply personal task that we all must do..."

My children are keeping me alive these days. I wake up solely because they need me to care for them. I eat and prepare meals because they need to eat. I enjoy the outdoors because they need the fresh air. (So do I. It does wonders for all of us.) I'm back here in this place I equally hate and dread. The dark cloud is nagging at me, exhausting me. If I had more energy I might be pissed off about it but I'm just sad. (Fukking dysthymia.) I have nothing for anyone anything unless they rely on me for their daily survival. At the end of the day, all I can do is lie on the couch and watch some of my favorite shows before it is time for bed.

Perhaps this is all amplified by Big Love's absence and having sick kids to care for during that time, or maybe it is because I have been completely wiped out by my own sinus cold/cough/sore throat. I haven't felt this sick in a very long time. I haven't exercised in over a week because I've been trying to rest as much as I can in the morning.

Thank God for my kids. For so many reasons. At this exact moment I am thankful for the look on Little Man's face as he figures out how to walk. Such pride and elation! Sweet One is constantly amazing me by finding new pathways into her world of imagination. I don't think I'd smile or laugh each day if it weren't for all of these magical moments the kids show me. And that is how they are keeping me alive.

Differences that teach me

Call me crazy but I really thought that at 33 (and only a month and ten days away from being 34) I might not be so afraid of people not liking me. That maybe I'd have some confidence in who I am and what I have to offer in a friendship. I still lose my marbles a little whenever I go somewhere that will surround me with people I don't know.

After living in this community for over five years, I still feel like I have three heads. I have friends here but sometimes it is exhausting knowing that most of their world view is more conservative than mine. I keep my mouth shut a lot because I am afraid I may get burned at the stake if I were to voice many of my beliefs  even with the one friend I consider a very close friend. For the most part I have shied away from sharing liberal items on Facebook. I know my friends back home wouldn't have a problem with it, but here is another story. A couple weeks ago I finally took a chance. I was sick of hiding. A woman that I am hoping to become friends with posted this and I shared it. A number of my friends from back home 'liked' it. Just as quickly, another friend from here commented as to why she disagreed with it. (Now I know she is just sharing her opinion, and she believes that as well, but it often comes across like she is ready for a fight.) I struggled for a few minutes as I tried to decide how to word what I thought - terrified that I wouldn't be concise enough with what I wanted to say or worse, sound like an idiot. Luckily, a friend from back home swooped in and beautifully stated an opposing opinion which was exactly what I wanted to say. (I thank her for her thoughts.) I'm not sure if constantly being surrounded by these differing opinions will push me too hard - I already feel stifled.

"Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to
use the tools and gifts we got yeah, we got a lot at stake."*

I'm trying to grow. Rather than avoiding people who hold different views, I listen. I have learned a lot about making connections with people who I don't click with immediately. I met one woman within the first year I lived here but it wasn't until we both had kids that we became friends. I know I wouldn't have been able to friends with her when we first moved here. I didn't understand how to be friends with people who thought very differently than I about some things. I felt threatened by differing opinions but I am finding that there common threads to build friendships on and learning more about myself. When it comes to the really important things, my views aren't changing to what I am surrounded by, I'm learning more why I believe what I do.

"we had to learn how to bend
without the world caving in
I had to learn what I've got
and what I'm not
and who I am."

When I first moved here I went through a lot of culture shock and I struggled. There was a lot I needed to learn about people and friendships. I had spent so many years with people who had similar experiences as I did (school, working in the music community). Those I became friends with rarely had different moral/political beliefs than I did. I took this for granted and truly thought it would always be like this. Perhaps it was about time I learned that this isn't always the norm. I'm not sure if constantly being surrounded by these differing opinions will push me too hard; I already feel stifled. I am trusting that my gut will tell me when I have compromised too much. It's been a pretty trustworthy guide so far.

"I won't give up on us
even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up.
I won't give up on us
God knows I'm tough enough
We got a lot to learn
God knows we're worth it." 

 It is hard to feel so out of place on a regular basis but I am holding on. (Some days, barely.) I'm trying to have faith in myself but it can be harder some days than others when I feel like I'm lacking connection to the people in my life that keep me grounded.

*All quotes from Jason Mraz's song I Won't Give Up.

Enough already!

It amazes me how fully my kids live each moment. If they're happy, they beam and smile with every inch of their bodies. If they're pissed, well the whole world is gonna know. And between these two extremes there is so much that happens. The life I see in their eyes as they learn and explore everything around them is inspiring. I love how much they love their life and how proud they are of themselves and what they accomplish each and every day. I've said it before and I will say it until the day that I die, I will do everything in my power to help them grow and strengthen in who they are; I want them to be courageous in who they are and each step they take.

When she was around 3 I remember holding my niece's face as she looked up at me and I told her that she was beautiful and that I wanted her to always remember that. Today I learned that this perfect girl is being bullied. I am sickened. I am angry. I am sad. I do not know any particulars, only that she has been having major struggles with getting to sleep and is constantly complaining about stomach aches that my sister is relating to anxiety.

The part of my mum brain that finds ridiculous things to worry about before they are even close to being a possibility has always been afraid of my kids being bullied. Big Love was bullied a when he was in school. To what extent he never says. He only says it is in the past and doesn't matter anymore. He was a skinny kid who was a year and a half younger than his classmates. Very smart. And he wasn't very good at sports. He was the kid who often got picked last. I'm afraid that what happened to him will happen to our kids.

Bullying makes me sick. I hate the stories of children committing suicide because they are being bullied in school, I hate everything that comes of bullying. For some children to be raised believing it is ok to treat other people so poorly is wrong and I pray hard that one day it will end. I never want the light in my kid's eyes to be extinguished by anything or anyone. I do not want anyone to tell them they are not good enough or beautiful enough - or worse, that they would ever believe those words. There is not an inch of them I do not think is absolutely perfect in every way.

I hope my niece can get the help she needs to function better. I hope her bully gets the help s/he needs to stop being angry and hurting my niece.

Some people's fathers!

It's not that often I get a thorough update about what's been going on from my sister, but yesterday's left me with a gnawing feeling in my stomach that I can't seem to shake.

I don't know if I've mentioned it before but my sister opened a cupcake/coffee/tea shop just over a year ago. My dad works in home renovation and is often waiting for things to dry and so he spends a lot of time sitting in the shop. Unfortunately, it seems that his presence there is starting to cause her to lose business.

A young boy, about 12 years old, was there with some friends. He couldn't decided what he wanted so he said that he'd like two cupcakes. The kid is 'playfully' smacked on the arm and told, "No, you don't want two cupcakes. You need a sandwich to go with that." My father proceeded to badger this kid until he ordered a sandwich exactly as my father had told him to. After the kid receives his food he realizes that there is no room to sit, as it was lunchtime. He is quickly grabbed and forced to sit down at the table with my father where he proceeded to not eat the food he ordered because he was too uncomfortable.

Later my sister received a phone call from the mother because she was concerned there was a sexual predator hanging out and badgering children at the shop. The staff remembered all of this and were shocked that my father DID NOT KNOW THE KID AT ALL! Not one fukking bit! She profusely apologized, explaining that my father is lacking in social skills and while he is harmless it is frustrating. She offered a free lunch or to mail a gift card in case she isn't there when he returns. The mother thanked her but said her son will probably never step foot in there again.

This is the second time my father has been asked to stop bothering customers. She says that he disappears for awhile, probably pouting, and then returns later on as if he hasn't learned a damn thing. "You just don't touch other people's kids! You'd think he would have learned when he damn near got his nose broken!" The nearly broken nose was a story I hadn't heard.

There was a hockey game going on. In the small town I grew up in, hockey games are a big thing. A huge portion of the community usually ends up there. Something happened that made my father grab a kid. I guess my father picked the wrong kid to mess with this time as his father wasn't too pleased when he heard what had happened. My father was punched in the face five times. It was rough. My brother was officiating at the hockey game. It was the talk of the town for a long time. Charges were almost made by the kid's family. This situation should have never happened. My father needs to get over himself and back the fukk away. Leave other people alone! (Also, why a 30 something guy thought it was appropriate to punch a 60 year old, I don't know.) Such a mess.

Sometimes I wonder how me and my siblings survived being raised by my father as well as he did. I feel sorry for him. He is lonely, doesn't have a functional relationship in his life and doesn't do a thing to make his life better. My niece and nephew don't want to spend time with him and only do when they have to. When your children have to 'explain' your behavior to strangers ... I don't know. I'm finally at a loss for words about it. To quote my sister, "Yeah ... it was rough. Harder to see him afterwards, tho. Everything about him is rough, sad."

And this is a man who once upon a time was the pastor of a congregation. What seminary wouldn't weed out its applicants a little better! He can't even function in his own life, never mind fulfilling the roles of a pastor!

Day 11 is here

Today is day 11 and Sweet One is sick with a cold so she never got to go with me to the mom's group. I can honestly say that I felt a huge amount of relief when I realized she'd be staying home. I also feel guilty for feeling this way. I'll still be nervous about her going again in two weeks but the idea of having a longer stretch of no biting before she goes back gives me some confidence that maybe she'll make it through the 2.5 hours.

Big Love and the kids had a good morning together and as a mother who rarely leaves both kids at home with their dad, it is good for me to do this and return to a house filled with happy kids and a husband who still has a full head of hair!

Six days and counting

On Sweet One's calendar she has six days in a row with stickers on them. When she doesn't bite, she gets a sticker. This is the longest she's made it in awhile! A few weeks ago we were up to 5 and then having two other kids over to visit ended up with a bite. She gets a cookie after supper as another reward (because she loves them and is very upset when she can't have one),  and then when she covers up 7 dots in a row on her calendar she gets a bigger prize. The first is a little toy Abby Cadabby or Big Bird to add to her Sesame Street Scene.

Every day when I am preparing lunch my anxiety levels skyrocket. This is usually the time of day when Sweet One will bite Little Man because she's not getting enough attention from me. It is very difficult to run between my kitchen and living because in the 40's an open concept kitchen didn't exist. So I prepare a bit, do my best to keep her talking and knowing that I'm right there, then I run into the living to make sure things are ok. Over the past few days I'll often find Sweet One sitting on Little Man's ride on train while he is standing behind it, trying to figure out how to push and then catch up to it! So cute. Such a relief to see them playing like this!

Yesterday I got a phone call from one of the women (I'll call her J) in the mom's group. J is also my stylist and her child was one of Sweet One's first victims! I had a hair appointment the next day so we talked about it a lot. Another role she plays is the co-organizer of the kids program that happens simultaneously to the one for mom's. Up until this point I wanted to leave Sweet One in the 2 year old for a few reasons - I felt comfortable with the women who were in charge of it and how they were supporting us in this biting fiasco, and I didn't want Sweet One to get scared/nervous being moved to a new class with new faces. (I think my fear of being in a room with people I don't know, where I don't feel like I belong, makes me afraid Sweet One feels the same way.) While J has heard my reasons for wanting to leave Sweet One with the 2 year olds (her daughter has also just turned 3 but she's leaving her in with the 2 year olds as well), J and her partner, as well as the woman running the entire shebang, have talked about it and think I should put Sweet One in the 3 year old room for February and see how it goes. The idea is that with a little more structure and less free range playing with toys, it might help Sweet One to not get so overstimulated. The thought did cross my mind a few days before I got the phone call but it still didn't take the sting away. My kid is the problem kid!

I felt sick about it all for about an hour. Nervous about her being scared in a new class, frustrated that I haven't been able to 'fix' this, exhausted from worrying about whether or not she is going to bite someone 24/7, and embarrassed that our problem was big enough that others had to address it/talk about it. Breathe woman! I feel like I haven't been able to fully breathe properly in days because of all of this! All I can do is keep hoping that six days will become 7, and it will keep going until Thursday comes around and I can say that we made it to 11. I want so much for my daughter to make this accomplishment. Please God, send her guardian angel to help her through that time so we can celebrate her accomplishment and I can breathe a little more again. I'm planning on getting her a special prize to help motivate her to make it through those 2.5 hours. And if she does, we will dance and celebrate all. day. long! I will let her eat a dozen cookies and cover her whole wall in stickers!

Drowning

On Thursday I was kicked out of my mom's group early. Actually, it was my daughter who was kicked out because she bit three kids. Three! Since she can't drive herself home, I had to go as well. My second cup of decaf coffee spilling out of my cup because I didn't get the lid screwed on tight enough.

We've been battling this biting stage on and off since the fall and the more she bites, the more I feel like I'm drowning. After those hard few weeks of potty training she went a full two weeks without biting and I thought that we were through that one. I drew a conclusion that the two were connected - the physical strain of what was going on was being reflected in her mental state. Then it started up again. Little Man had more bruises on his cheeks but I did think that it was just a short setback that we'd get through quickly.

Fast forward to last Wednesday when she melted down about an hour and a half into a playdate, followed by Thursday, and I have never felt as lacking in my mothering skills as I do now. I do not know what to do anymore. I am doing everything the references I've found online say and I'm even in contact with the counselor I had in High School because she specializes in kids.

Yes, indeed, these things do come in waves and old habits are the ones we all go to before anything else. Try to imagine her behaviour as a path that is familiar and easy for her to walk. What you are trying to do now is form a new path. It's going to be a tough go and she'll trip over brambles and roots as she begins. But, the more she walks it, the smoother it will be and the easier it will become. And, all the while, the old one will start to become overgrown. 

Her words are so wise and bring much comfort but at the same time I'm afraid we'll never get to the place where she has found her new path. As I re-read her email, I try to focus on the fact that there will be a day again where the teeth are not bared. After sharing the idea that stages come in waves, a friend brought my focus back from "this will never end!" to the comforting idea that "waves do end eventually". I needed that, and I continue to need the reminder almost every moment of the day, it seems. I feel like I am being thrown about by this wave; I keep getting tossed about, my head flailing from side to side, desperate to get some air, not really sure if I ever will.

Letting go and moving on

Three and a half years ago I made a decision to cut my father out of my life. I had struggled since my teenage years with his emotional abuse and his complete inability to take responsibility for his anger. He phoned at Christmas for the first few years and I took his phone call but other than that, the only communication we have is when I send him his birthday card and Christmas present.

There are moments when I wish I could have made a different decision but for my own mental health I had no other choice. Having children has only made my decision stronger as I do not trust him around them. Big Love and I decided to state in our will that my father is not allowed to be with my children unsupervised, even if I am dead.

I know I have tried to post about this in the past but was never ready. I went back into my drafts to see what was there and this is what I found. I am ready now. By posting it, I hope to let go more.


September 4, 2009
If I've ever understood the idea of an albatross around my neck, it was him. Casting shadows of anger and sadness through everything I did. I hope that one day there will be so much sunlight and the shadow will be obliterated. Without being able to do this I will not be able to find my own path. Without being able to find it, how will I ever teach Sweet One to have the courage to find her own?

His anger may have defined my past but it does not have to define my present or my future. There is a little girl asleep in her crib and she will wake up with the biggest smile on her face for me. Me! Of all the people in the world, I am the lucky one who gets to be her mother. To help her have the best childhood she possibly can and to watch her grow into the woman she will one day be. This is the present and future that matters. 

I hate it that there are moments where I am sucked into the past where I did not feel free to be who I am. I was afraid that I would anger him and that would result in being screamed at, with hisspit accumulating on my face ... or worse. "Because it stung good" was the reason there was a foot long, plastic shoe horn hanging in the utility room. His inability to deal with anger or confrontation is why I still get sick each time of think of it - my stomach turns, I get dizzy and my chest tightens. At the age of 31 I no longer want his anger to have such power over my life.

The bookends to our visits were often a bottle of wine and huge amounts of anxiety. The person to blame was always me, or so he said. The last time I was voluntarily in a room with him he directed the conversation solely to my husband. When I tried to be involved his reaction was one of annoyance. After my sister and brother had joined us neither Big Love nor I were involved in the conversation. My husband is a man of few words but when I heard him say, "That was bad," I knew it wasn't all in my head. As I left the house it was final - I was done. Done being the one to blame and done putting myself in a position where I would leave feeling like shit.

Almost ten years ago I mentioned in passing how I got a lot more beatings than my sister or brother. His response was this : "When i0t's your first child and you're at your wits end, what do you do?" Me? If I ever feel like I am too angry to react in a respectful manner to my child I will leave the room. Take some responsibility for my own actions and then return to finish dealing with the situation. But a complete lack of responsibility in any relationship he has is MO. Three years before his second marriage failed he told me that if it were to end, it would be the fault of her daughter. Really? A stepdaughter can decide whether a marriage is a success or fails?

And so each day I do my best to let go of the hurt and the anger that is left. My father will never truly hear what I have to say. I have tried so many times to get him to hear me since I was just a wee child and it has never worked. But I refuse to let him blame me. I refuse to allow the kind of violence his anger can produce to be near my daughter. One day down the road it is possible that I will let him in our lives but not now.

Prior to becoming pregnant I spent months grieving for a little girl who was wounded from her father's violent outbursts. No matter what I did it was never good enough and if I pushed him far enough he would scream until his spit covered my face, or even worse, beat me until I screamed in agony and humiliation - unable to sit down because of my burning ass. Recalling them immediately makes me sick to my stomach as the little girl inside of me desperately tries to hide.


There are moments in my mothering where I feel overcome by anger but I am proud to say that I do leave the room. I have never hit my daughter, nor will I ever. I have yelled but never directly in her face and I always apologize. I still have a ways to heal my own wounds but I know I can get there. There are moments when I hold my children and I feel sad that he does not know them. But quickly after this thought, I try to figure out how anyone could ever harm a child and I know my decision is the one that I needed to make.

It was good for me to read this post this morning (and the link in the post). To help me understand that I am not alone in my struggles with this relationship. While we all get to a difficult place in different ways, it all sucks. But we don't have to let it continue ... we can do better for our own children.

Perhaps one day I will allow him into our lives, but not until I know he has taken some measures to deal with his issues and his anger. But he is a child and behaves as one in many situations. So I'm not expecting any miracles any time soon.

Crappy Mothering

I've been struggling over the past few days. I desperately want Sweet One to be potty trained and seem to be completely devoid of patience.

The biggest problem is when she says, "Get back in there, poop!" Seriously? A kid who can feel her poop on its way out and then commands it to stay inside can't just decide to go and put it where it belongs? I was feeling like things were coming to a head Sunday night when Sweet one spent over an hour crying due to her discomfort. I started getting my hopes up that eventually she would decide to go and it would be that moment. The moment the switch flips and we finish the process of potty training.

But nothing happened that day. And so the next I spoke to another woman who had gone through this with her child. Her instructions were to basically sit the kid on the potty and make her go. Well, to make a long story short, we had two days of some screaming, hitting and biting that resulted in some success. She was proud of what she did and I got optimistic. But on the third day we ended up with me running into the kitchen screaming and Sweet One throwing her potty across the room. Not something I am proud of. I was so frustrated and cried while I held my 7 month old baby boy. Sweet One didn't like it that I was crying and told me so by slapping me across the face.

I want to relax and calmly wait for the day Sweet One decides to go in the potty for this. As the doctor once said, and my friend recently reminded me, 'you can't make them go poop in the potty'. Well, for a brief moment I thought I could .... and then I learned how completely wrong I was.

This morning I went to the moms group and sat at a table. Three other women were talking about potty training and I am not alone. Sometimes the words I need to hear aren't in the formal 'lesson' that we hear at these meetings but in the conversations that surround me. "It's probably one of those things where in 6 months I'll be wondering why I got so worried about it. It just isn't worth it."

So I will try hard. I will listen to those around me who say that one day it will all click. She'll just decide to do it. And I desperately hope that I will stop feeling like I am failing as a mother because Sweet One isn't potty trained yet.

I'm a Mom and it's all about the glamour

"Get back in there poop!" my daughter says after not pooping for at least four days.

I know eventually things will just click for her and it will all be wonderful but right now I'm at my wits end. And not because she won't shit in the toilet but because she spent an hour crying, screaming and flailing because she is so uncomfortable.

And next Sunday we have a time change. Last year the time change caused months of her waking up way too early.

Parenting is glamorous. I'm gonna start having people call me Marilyn Monroe.

All dressed up

Little Man was baptized last Sunday and this is the outfit I made for him.I really had no idea if I'd even have the time to sew but after searching online for something appropriate, I realized that anything somewhat dressy for baby boys was rather expensive. In the end, it really didn't take me that long and I was happy with what I did. (I wasn't all that meticulous with the snap tape which is why the shorts hang somewhat uneven.)

My friend found a Simplicity pattern which I used (thank goodness it wasn't McCalls because I always do a better job on a Simplicity pattern) and the rest is history. A texture polyester material on top and a linen blend navy material on the bottom.

***
Day 1 of helping Little Man self-soothe. Good lord do I hate it! 49 minutes of him crying but thankfully the last half was on and off. I took the first 20 minute shift and I am not kidding when I say that as I sat on a stool, resting my head on the railing, I cried and asked God He had to make it so fucking difficult! I loathe the idea of leaving my baby to cry it out at all but luckily one of the sleep references I use recommends sitting beside the crib for the first three nights. Gradually, we'll make our way out of the room.

I use one other reference as well and mix the two together to find what I feel works best for us. In the end,deciding that tonight was the night we'd start him getting to sleep on his own came from my gut. (Shit, he just sneezed.) I've been working myself up to it for a few weeks. Prior to August he had been sleeping so well. An average of 9 hours at a time at night with a few nights where he'd sleep through the night. Since August has started I am lucky if he goes 5.5 hours. I don't expect forcing him to sleep on his own will cure this as it is quite common for babies his age to wake twice a night, but I do hope it will help him in the long run.

One hour after he fell asleep, one gin and tonic and some popcorn and I'm feeling a little better. Hopefully things won't take quite as long tomorrow night.

Motherlode

It is impossible to pinpoint a time when my relationship with my mother started to decline but I know it wasn't always like this. The actual moment when I no longer felt like my mother would actually listen to me and hear what I'm saying is gone. It's rather sad. Quietly, I've always hoped for an idealized relationship with my mom. You know, the kind you see in the movies! Despite struggles, miscommunications and emotions, it always ends up being resolved after reaching an intimate honesty that can only be found between a mother and daughter. Well, maybe not exactly like the movies but similar to some I've seen between my friends and their mothers.

Last Thursday my mom and step-dad came for their first visit since Little Man was born. I was excited for the kids to see them and I thought that it started out well. We went to a zoo-type place on Friday where Sweet One had an amazing time and then on Saturday my mom and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen preparing the brunch that would follow Little Man's baptism. Sweet One absolutely loved having her here and I loved watching them together. I will especially remember how much Sweet One loved to walk hand in hand with my mom. But then it all suddenly went to shit. I didn't even realize what was happening. One of those moments where it is almost impossible to grasp what is really going on.

Let me set the scene with a little back story. My kitchen sucks. It is small and the space is poorly designed. Very little counter space to do anything. My mom made many comments about how difficult it is to work in my kitchen on Saturday and I agreed because we were working. I often complain to myself or Big Love while I'm working in there. On Sunday there were a total of 10 adults and 4 kids eating brunch and we pulled it off nicely. In the evening I was looking forward to some relaxing after such a busy day but my mom seemed to want to spend more time consumed by how shitty my kitchen is and what she would do to fix it. I asked her to stop. It wasn't only this visit that she has told me over and over how bad my kitchen is and I just wanted a break for a bit. I was tired. It had been a long day. She went off her rocker! Suddenly saying, "you have to let me be me" and a myriad of other things that made absolutely no sense. The more I desperately tried to get her to listen to what I was saying, the more she pursed her lips and stiffened her face. I wanted to scream, "wake the fuck up! I am not trying to criticize! You are putting words in my mouth!" but as my sister later told me, there is no point. She's in a point in her life where she is wrapped up so tightly in her own things that she doesn't hear what people are saying and it's annoying. There is nothing we can do about it.

Monday morning she came to me and said that she and my step-dad were thinking of leaving early "because we haven't seen much of [the area just north of the US border]. You're so busy with the two kids and I think we're wearing out our welcome." I was sick to my stomach. As if all the struggles in our relationship are solely my fault! (As my sister also told me, my mom acts as if she never does anything wrong.) They did end up staying for one more day but after that you could cut the tension with a knife. I couldn't say anything without her reacting negatively. When they left the next morning, my step-dad said good-bye to everyone but me and pretty much ran out the door as fast as he could.

I sometimes wonder if we put too much expectation on these visits. With such a huge distance of space between us, it's as if we want a perfect time together to make up for how little time we spend together and how much money we have to invest in order to see each other.


Unfortunately, I think I need to lower my expectations. Both for these visits (if there are anymore!) and my relationship with my mom. I wish she was my 'go to' person but if I am honest with myself, she really hasn't been for many years. It is obvious to me that at this point in our lives we are not going to meet in the middle any time soon. My sister also struggles with my mom's deaf ears and so it is not just me being targeted and this helps me feel a little better.

I can not change her, I can only change myself. I will learn to let go. But the disappointment this realization brings is hard.

"Oh, Mother. I loved her at that moment, but what a motherlode she is."

Remembering the Bones, Frances Itani

(Today I put together a tumbling composter that my step-dad had bought me while he was here. Shortly after it was done I began to fill it with compost and about 5 minutes later it broke. I can almost guarantee you that my mom is thinking it is a symbol of our visit! "Because everything is a symbol to her.")

A small change with huge results

I had a couple of days that forced me to reevaluate my current mindset. Sometimes I need this. A kick in the pants so hard that it leaves my legs wobbly long enough for me to figure out a new way to stand firm.

A week or two ago I first saw some news about Somalia. I wasn't aware of what was going on there and after about two minutes of AC360 just before going to bed, I felt nauseous. As a child I would see World Vision programs on the tube and my little heart would ache. I didn't understand why there were people out there who weren't getting enough food. It seems that my reaction as a mother is even stronger. It is beyond my comprehension why there are women out there who have their children dying.

For as long as I can remember, it has always been a challenge for me to look at the positive before the negative. And then it is just as difficult for me to let go of the negative and not let it overwhelm me. I have found varying degrees of coping from time to time, but unless I am constantly applying my tools I revert back to my old ways, feeling like there is a dark cloud hanging over my head. (The lack of sleep with an infant in the house only makes this more difficult.)

After reading this article and letting it work its way into my gray matter, I became disgusted with myself. I have the luxury to feel my emotions. I have a roof over my head and can provide for my children each and every day. There is nothing in my life that could be considered a hardship at. all. Why the hell can I not find a way to be happy where I am?

"If you don't like your life, change it." For awhile now, I thought that I can't. It would require a geographical change and that is not an option. I erroneously believed that any change to help me be happier would have to be on a large scale. Then something clicked. I can change my negative thoughts. And I would. I owe it to myself, to my children and to my husband. After trying to figure out just how to go about this, I remembered some things I learned awhile back. While eating a Dilly Bar on our porch while the rain came down, I watched my family playing together and silently committed to stop negative thoughts in their tracks. Some were a "that's bullshit, it isn't really as bad as it looks" and others were "this is how I'm going to change it so that it doesn't continue". Perhaps it was all the work I did while doing the Tools to Life program, but after only a week or so I am already feeling better.

I can not change the world but I can change my world.