Fighting (A Rant)

It's so tough to fight with the closest ally in your camp. I mean really, we're all tired, playing the same stupid games, and ultimately working toward the same goal. Right?

It would seem, this evening anyway, that we were not on the same team. We are transitioning to a new "routine" and this has Wood quite tense. It takes him some time to adjust.

Mornings go something like this: 

5am Wood wakes; shower, coffee, breakfast, etc.

6am Wood leaves

7am Twig and Wonelle wake up; Wonelle makes breakfast, lunch, dinner, cleans up from yesterday's leftover lunch or dinner dishes in the kitchen. Wakes grandma, gets her medicine and heating pad together, ensures she brushes her teeth, and is ready for the bus when it arrives. Ensures Twig is dressed, teeth brushed, clean clothes, food, lunch, etc. and gets him to his day activity du jour as close to on time as possible. Arrives to work, on average, 30 minutes late.

It used to be that Wonelle also rushed from work at 5pm to pick up Twig from his day activity and was home by the time Grandma made it home so that she could get dinner ready for everyone, too. But as of last week, Wood is the adult in charge for the evening pick up and meet grandma at home routine. No, he doesn't have to cook dinner. I typically have that arranged for him - all he has to do is heat it up when he gets home and serve it. I now leave the office at 6 so that I'm ensuring I've put in my full 8 hours per day. 

He and Twig arrived home after I did tonight. This leads me to believe he's working more than he should be. But I digress.

After this evening's Complete and Total Breakdown about what's happening at Acting camp this week (read: it's not going the way Twig thinks it should and he's not the center of attention so he's disappointed and waiting until he gets home to explode at me about it), I made dinner...when it was time for Twig to hit the sack, Wood exclaimed something to the effect of "I don't want to put him to sleep". But, because I don't "offer" to put the boy to sleep, we get into a fight instead. About what? Wood doesn't want to stay in the bed after he's finished reading to wait for him to fall asleep because Wood always falls asleep too and when he does, his back hurts. And, rightfully (no really, I'm not being sarcastic here), he doesn't like that.

But, I am at a loss for what it is that I should do. He didn't and doesn't ask me to do something before the situation occurs. He makes blanket statements about how things will and won't be. And then gets mad at me for his being the responsible adult in charge - for not taking charge of his feelings, I guess.

I believe my response to him tonight was "I can't be responsible for the morning and evening routines; it's too much." 

So it turns out we fought about his feelings about what it takes to get our child to sleep. And how he doesn't want to do it. And I probably shouldn't have said, in response to his frustration about him having done this evening routine for months and months (and months), that I did it for years. That wasn't helpful. But it is true. 

And I'm not terribly sympathetic. I got yelled at, screamed at, punched, sassed and finally kicked in the knee this morning during the hour long temper tantrum about washing hands and flushing the toilet. 

I'm not parenting my husband. If he needs something, he needs to ask for it directly and succinctly. No beating around the fucking bush. Mean what you say and say what you mean. 

We're in it together. Do your part when you're called upon. It's not always going to be split 50/50. Suck it up. Or fight. 

He Said It

At the end of June, Wood and I were to meet with the Palliative Care Nurse that we were referred to by Grandma's doctor. Unfortunately, it was scheduled the day I had my emergency appendectomy, we had to cancel at the last minute. We finally had the meeting, with all three of us (Twig was at camp), a couple of weeks ago.

We talked all of the major issues - our stress level, our stress level, and our stress level. We really feel as though her health and lack of interest in anything besides sitting in the chair in the living room hinders our ability to do much. Unless it's a Tuesday or Thursday evening, or a Saturday morning when the Home Care Worker is with her, one of us must be home with her.

She hates to go out to eat unless Wood is there, she doesn't want to take a walk (I'm tired - from sitting?), and asks to leave if we are doing anything other than eating out. It was so difficult during the baseball season; she couldn't sit and watch the game. When Twig was acting with his traveling troupe, Wood and I could only go to a show together if grandma came. And the invitations to visit with friends as a family have lessened significantly because of grandmas needs.

We are tired and continually talk about how it seems that the living situation is good only for her. We all feel resentful of the constraints we are forced to contend with as her caretakers. We felt like having her living with us was the right thing to do. But as of today, Wood said we are starting the process of moving her to a facility.

Strangely enough, I don't feel good about it. But I am looking forward to it.

Time Out

A few weeks ago - actually, over the past few months I noticed that consuming alcoholic beverages was becoming a bit too easy, a bit too frequent, and a regular coping mechanism. At the end of a long day, the first thought on my mind was a drink. I'd pour or Wood would pour, and before you knew it, I'd have tossed back three of the drink du jour. In restaurants I noticed that it would take two of just about anything for me to feel something resembling a buzz.

When I was in the hospital, answering questions about my health status and personal habits, particularly around drinking, I heard myself say "More than two drinks, yes more than two drinks daily." A pregnant pause, no judgement, and... moving right along...

In my morphine mind, I flashed on a conversation with some close friends a couple of months ago. I had expressed my overindulgence as somewhat of a problem and that both Wood and I needed to slow it down. My friend responded, behind a slightly uncomfortable giggle, that if drinking was the only solace we have right now, he encourages drinking - more, in fact.

Right after my surgery, booze was the last thing on my mind. After all, I had been given oxycodone for the pain, and was taking them and tylenol or advil in between doses religiously. I didn't need booze. So, I decided to quit.

The few times I had a grown up silly drink after the surgery, my body retaliated something feirce! Swelling of my hands, feet and face with the consumption of one beer. Roughly the same with wine.

I told Wood I'd climbed on the wagon, to please support me. I told my pals at work. Yep, the body don't like it so I will not be drinking any more. So, I kinda lied; I will have a glass of wine occasionally.

Drinking will no longer be my time out.

The Boy pushed and prodded and rang all of my bells tonight. He wouldn't settle and just wanted to engage me to stay awake. I tried to reason with him. Tried to express my frustration. Kept my cool. It was so hard to keep it together. After about 40 minutes of his shennanegins, I quietly got out of bed, put on my coat, grabbed my phone and keys and told him I was leaving to take a time out from him. That I was upset and I needed to walk away to think about it.

He chased me and said he was coming with me and that I couldn't leave him alone.

I sat on the porch and typed this here blog post on my phone and wondered if the non-alcoholic time out business is really where it's at. It is. And so is the porch.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Once upon a time there was a little boy who was smart and verbal and very talented at many things. He thought he knew everything there was to know and always felt like adults were bossing him around and doing so for no good reason.

He believed that it was the obligation of everyone around him to cater to his every whim and to wait on him. In particular, his mother was obligated to do his laundry and clean up after him at all times. He answered "No!" to requests to do simple things like clear his dishes from the dinner table "you can't make me!" brush his teeth "It isn't important!", put his dirty clothes in the hamper "it's your fault the dirty clothes are on the floor", and talk respectfully to his parents -"blah, blah, blah, blah" while simultaneously rolling his eyes was his general demeanor inside the house.

While his mother felt an incredible urge to slap him across the face when he did the "blah, blah, blah" business, she refrained. But she was regularly pushed to the brink of her sanity with his indignant, entitled behaviors, especially when he felt it acceptable to raise his hand to her, as if to punch, or on the regular occasion that he ignored "stop" and "no" and continued his annoying behaviors for the sake of attention. 

The "I hate you", "I wish you were dead", and "I want only Dad" remarks were tough to swallow but all part of the package, she recalled from the conversations she'd heard. Nothing made this person listen to anything she said. He was opposite boy - not everyday but on certain days it was beyond intense.

She couldn't grasp when it all began or how it got out of hand (initially or for each instance, that is) much less what to do about it. She tried respectful communications, noticing when he did things the way she expected, paying allowance (for doing what he was *supposed* to do), offering good times and restricting, modeling, and lots of other stuff. None of it worked and she was at a loss (and physical child abuse seemed over the top - but certainly crossed her mind) so she became more restrictive, more punitive, more childlike in her responses. Even that backfired. It would make him acquiesce for a moment or two - to resume his acceptable tone and use of niceties, to be cooperative and helpful even. But the restrictions just made him need her undivided attention even more. And that made her need her independence, his independence, even more. It was an awful combination.

She saw the pattern, understood it in the context of history to some degree, and didn't know how to get her to change it when she was a kid. As an adult, she's still at a loss. She knows he loves her, that intrinsic kind of love a child automatically feels for a parent. But these interactions are weighing heavily upon that love. Canceling it out even - she knows he's beginning, as it happened for her, that he loves her not, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

Oh, Man

I just realized that the start of my period will coincide with the upcoming full moon. It is good I noticed now; I can prepare myself and respond logically instead of emotionally. Mercury retrograde + full moon + menstrual cycle = That week could be epic! Let's make sure its the good kind of epic!

An Apology

Sometimes, especially when Mercury is in retrograde and I've been sleeping much less than normal, I wait to do things like respond to my boss's childish temper tantrum and blaming escapades via email immediately after they take place. It's good to listen to my intuition. Even though I fret about the interaction and disdain for it, and what I should do about it.

I waited to respond. Deleted the email. Stayed up too late. Slept well and woke to a dream, a bad dream? that featured two black cats, one with a broken tail, one that leisurely sat and watched me walk past; an open window on my house, and two black men walking away from my place. It was clear that they had just robbed my house but they were cool so I fumbled with my keys to get in. 


Sometimes I'm not clear about how to handle something - I'm bossy, verging on aggressive sometimes - and this has landed me in hot water a lot in the past.  But at this point in my life I can't afford to be so fiery that it gets in the way of my career and stuff. Besides, my way isn't the only way, and being nice is better than being right. Usually. Except when I'm right. Which is usually. 


Anyway, my boss came into my office first thing this morning and apologized. Fairly profusely, too. She talked about how things have been tough lately. When I agreed and said that this week had been particularly intense for everyone, she responded by telling me that she's been having a shitty year and nearly cried. I feel for the lady, not knowing what is happening in her life, despite my gripes with her, she's a person. But I can set that aside and not get personally involved. 


The conversation that ensued was a darned good one. We talked philosophy, vision, and approach. She heard me loud and clear, and even seemed to respect my view. Particularly when I reminded her that my momentum had to do with her directives. Gosh, she's so difficult to manage.

I'm still working on my resume and cover letter. This place needs much more than I've got the energy for. I ain't young and there's too much other stuff to do.

Work Blues

If it weren't for my staff and a few colleagues, my job would completely suck ass. Right now it only kinda pretty much sucks ass.

My boss is the most emotional, non-planning, play both sides of the fence, talks out both sides of her ass, can't make a decision that doesn't please everyone (or at least her current favorite) or take a clear side, untrusting, doesn't get it, spineless, sometimes obviously lying to get what she wants micromanager I have ever worked with. She flits and flitters all over the place and doesn't get that we're overworked and can't take on a new project. And she certainly doesn't get that we all work our asses off to do good work because we believe in the mission and want the agency to succeed. Hell, she doesn't believe that a mission statement of an agency is supposed to drive decision making, policy and to some extent procedure of said agency. I knew I was getting myself into some funky shit when I began working at this job but this Crap is out of control!

In a management team meeting yesterday we discussed whether a key staff person that heads up a key program over the holidays should be granted 2 weeks vacation during two holiday weeks - yes, the very said busiest time of the year previously mentioned. After some very hearty debate where a majority of the group agreed that if someone has work to do during certain times of the year, they shouldn't ask for and/or be granted time off during the busiest time of the year, my boss completely disagreed - and I believe that she was the only person who did disagree.

It is awful that I feel it necessary to tell someone that they can not take time off at the holidays, particularly when they are planning time away with family, because their job demands their attention during that time of year. But it is completely unfair to expect that the services can be provided without her overseeing them or thay everyone else should be required to pick up the slack. We don't have much wiggle room in our workload to be able to pick up extra tasks. Gawd forbid we want to do at least one thing well each day.

My boss said today, in response to my telling her that the staffer being upset about the decision, she felt the conversation was a bashing session and that I made it about supervision issues that should have been discussed confidentially. She said that she felt it was a punitive decision based on a past mistake and that management team isn't supposed to be about the broader issues that were being discussed. I worked very hard to remove the person from the equation and focus on business need as did the rest of the people who participated in the discussion. And if management team meetings aren't to grapple with bigger policy and operational issues, what is it for?

Ugh. All but this direct report are awesome team players that are supportive of their colleagues, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done no matter what, to serve the people we serve for the right reason. This vacation person is obstructionist at every turn, gossipy, chatty Cathy, revered by my boss for her loyalty, and a significant pain in my ass. She does decent work but alas, she doesn't get it either.

I need to cover my ass on this one. And let the ones that I really appreciate know how appreciated they are. Because they are the only things making this job semi-palatable.

I Feel a Nervous Breakdown Coming On

That statement has been uttered from these lips a few times over the last couple of weeks. It's one of those things that I preface or end with "If I don't say it out loud, it's sure to come true. This is just my way of keeping myself sane."

No extra time was taken off after the last post about needing more time off to get my head straight. We need the money and my job seems constantly tenuous. Work's usual Crap, being financially flush one day and broke the next, decision making based on emotion rather than a clear set of values or goals, and trying to have everything both ways is driving me absolutely mad. I have to fight to operate in a way that's consistently moral and ethical - as the decisions change based on who you ask on any given day - nothing is written down in a way that provides any clear direction. And I'm more than overwhelmed by the amount of work I have to do. I'm applying for a couple of jobs that look interesting.

I'm struggling with grandma this last week or so. I feel horrible because my thoughts and feelings are oh-so judgmental and not compassionate. She can't help her spinal fracture pain but I often think she's being overly dramatic. I hate that she uses a pillow on her back when sitting at the kitchen table. That she has to use the heating pad constantly and doesn't want to do anything but sit in the goddamned living room chair. It hurts her to move so she doesn't move and that makes it ever harder to move. She doesn't get the logic - her brain doesn't work quite right anymore. The doctor doesn't have a magic pill and I'm tired of having a 69 year old toddler whose needs I have to constantly anticipate. It's, as you can imagine, incredibly draining in addition to everything else.

We've been trying to talk about what is next. It's such a loaded conversation - on so many levels - but we are finally coming to terms with what the stress is doing to us. I've realized lately that my role in this family is to be The Matriarch so I'm taking the reigns and directing traffic with all of the force and power that the position demands. After all, it's what I do best. No more giving everyone else the space to do the right thing and come to their own conclusions about what's wrong and how to deal with it. Things will fall apart before that happens. Falling apart is not an option.

This body of mine continues to tell me to quiet down. My knee is still bothering me a fair amount if I'm at all active. The doctor ordered an MRI and suspects a torn meniscus or other cartilage. My stomach is healing from the appendectomy quite nicely but the constant discomfort I have in my upper right abdomen (think gallbladder) hasn't gone away. The surgeon ordered, and I had a test yesterday to look at that, too. I get the results of the MRI at an appointment next week and if I'm lucky, the results of the gallbladder scan via telephone today. Regardless of the results, I've already decided that I'm not having surgery again any time soon.

I'm doing my best to take control of my life wherever possible - and to keep my head above water. It's a constant process.

Major Funk

Everything seems exceptionally difficult right now. Waking up, falling asleep and everything in between. Especially the everything in between.

Work today was a complete drag. I'm so overwhelmed with the long list of things to do that I hardly know where to begin. Everyone wants something from me and the reality is that there aren't enough hours in the day. I spent most of today wanting to be anywhere but where I was, wanting to spend some quality time with my mom, and feeling like I should be taking some more time off to get my head straight - milking it for some more. It has been less than two weeks since my surgery so maybe it wouldn't be "milking it".

There's so much floating around my body and mind I can't quite sort it out in my head much less put it to paper. Three hours of sleep last night doesn't do much for positive or clear thinking.

Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. Even if I don't, I'll act as if.

The Hits Keep Coming

My appendix is healing still; my entire constitution is slightly off -sometimes nauseous, constipation or diarreah, severe pains if I'm too hungry, too full, too whatever. The good news is that I'm no longer taking pain pills and I'm fairly certain that will make a huge difference in how I'm feeling.

When I went to the hospital, my left knee was bothering me something fierce. It had swelled up and started hurting for no apparent reason a couple of weeks earlier. My regular doctor suggested pain meds and a visit to an orthopedic doctor. She said we'd follow up on the stomach issues I mentioned at a separate appointment. Anyway, as soon as I made it to the emergency room and got the heavy duty pain medicine, my knee became a non-issue. The swelling went down and I forgot that it had been a problem at all. Until last night - after being on my feet a lot of the day, it began to swell and hurt.  And it hurts now, after sleeping all night.

Blech.

It's very, very clear that I'm being forced to sit down and face something that I've been too busy to be attentive to.

Back To the Grind Today

Work. Love it, hate it. Going back to it today.

Actually, I went back on Tuesday for a very important meeting that I insisted I attend in person. Good thing, too. I never would have been able to concentrate while at home and the content required my boss and colleagues to see my face - they don't understand the complexities of my staff, my job, my programs and services. 

Yesterday, Independence day, was kind of a bust. Wood, Twig and I woke up early and fooled around in our morning bed - teased, laughed, tickled, laughed some more. It was so much fun. Until The Boy's head hit my belly kind of too hard. I was in pain for the remainder of the day. It worked out - Grandma didn't want to go to the 4th of July party that Wood was invited to and I couldn't leave Bam here alone to sit with her so I stayed home with both of them and caught up on my self-pity and Season 1 of Glee.

Slow has never been my strong suit. Living for other people hasn't either. 

I don't feel 100%, that's weighing down on me. Grandma and her disinterest in doing anything except sleeping and sitting in the big green chair is also a bit grating. On all of us. I want to be able to move fast, jump and play and my body isn't cooperating much. I want Grandma to move out of our house so we can at least have the flexibility to go to a 4th of July party as a family. I don't want Bam to go home. But she will soon. I'm better enough to go back to work even though I'd much rather sit on the couch for a week gathering some mental and emotional strength all while calling it 'recovery from surgery'.

Everyone is fast asleep this morning so I'm headed to the office at about 7am. I'll leave by noon so that I can spend some more time with my mom and rest. I'm healing up nicely but not ready for a full day of work. 

Clean

I fully expected to have a second film and to be sent on my way. That was one of the reasons I didn't tell Bam that this was a follow up. But instead, the appointment took nearly two hours.

Getting the pictures taken was fast. But then I waited. In the waiting/dressing room with three other women at a time. Three other women wearing the same gown that doesn't quite cover everything on your upper torso much less make you want to talk to complete strangers. There were several of us waiting for the same reason. And the doctor was running behind.

I asked the nurse to check in with my mom; all of the women who had gone in before me had since left. She thinks this is a routine mammogram. But she was reassured that the doctor was just running behind.

The nurse let everyone but me leave and told me they wanted to do an ultrasound. And my throat closed again. I almost went to the waiting room to come clean. The nurse suggested not. It should be real fast. I agreed. And waited some more.

The ultrasound tech brought me in and spent quite a bit of time rubbing her wand along my breast snapping pictures of it. She then sent the photos off to the doc.

The doc came in and said that she thought everything was fine but proceeded to ultrasound my breast again. She seemed reluctant but eventually said "you're okay" and sent me on my way. See you next year.

Exhale.

Here I Am

I'm at the breast center for the follow up mammogram. My mom is here with me although she thinks the appointment is for a routine screening.

Considering all of the hoopla surrounding my appendix this week, my boobs haven't crossed my mind much. My stomach and belly button have been my focus since last week.

Now that I'm here though, I'm a bit nervous. In through the nose, out through the mouth. My belly hurts a little bit from overdoing it again today so I just popped a pain pill.

I hope my scared gut is wrong. I hope they'll say everything looks fine and to come back in a year. I don't know if I can handle something so big on top of everything else. Not right now.

Post Surgery

Appendix is gone. Pain is not. I'm home. Tired from being awake for about 36 hours prior to surgery. Well, I guess I'm tired from surgery and all the pain.

Definitely Not Gas

The pain started at about 10pm. I mentioned it to Wood and then we went to bed. Except that I couldn't sleep. The pain kept getting worse.

I made my way to the couch so that Wood wouldn't be disturbed. I sat, walked, used the heating pad, pulled out a hard bucket just in case. No relief at all.

Finally, at 3:30, I woke Wood and told him that I had not slept at all, that the pain was bad. He suggested Pepto Bismol. I explained that I've never felt pain like this. We agreed that I needed to go to the Emergency Room.

I drove myself, parked in the lot and got in really fast. Pain meds, IV, a cat scan and less than 3 hours later, I have been diagnosed with Appendicits. Surgery later today, I suppose.

Bam will come to town. I have no idea what the recovery period is. Wow. I'm kinda loopy - no sleep for 24hrs plus dilauted.

More later.

Body Parts

Last week, after dealing with the house drama for a couple of days, my left knee spontaneously started hurting. Really, I did some stair climbing, moved a few boxes, pushed a few things around, and generally did what I usually do on any given weekend day. Except it was Tuesday.

When the plane landed, I woke up, and began walking though, my knee felt like I had run a half marathon. Pain with every step, clearly swollen, I pretended like nothing significant happened. Well, nothing significant happened!

I mentioned it to Wood when I climbed in to bed at 12:30am on Wednesday morning. And noted that it still hurt, and still was swollen, when I woke up Wednesday. Boo.

Throughout the week it hasn't really improved much. The more active I am, the more swollen it is, the more pain I have. The sexy compression socks I usually reserve for recovery after running plus the compression sleeve over my knee are amounting to exactly zero reduction of swelling. And when I say swelling, I mean visible under my pants swollen.

As of yesterday it was feeling a tad bit better. I went to my appointment because I'd be charged more to cancel without 24 hours notice than to just show up. The doctor poked around but didn't see anything obvious and merely told me to do traditional RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) plus NSAID's for up to two weeks. And to make an appointment with an orthopedist. As soon as I stood up to leave, the pain was back again. Grr.

The day got away from me and I didn't schedule the orthopedist appointment yet. They were closed at 5:30 this afternoon. I'm going to work early tomorrow so they'll get me first thing.

Despite the obvious downside of having a bum knee, it's not as bothersome an unknown as the differences in my mammogram. That is weighing much more heavily on me right now. I've told Wood, you, another friend, and my two favorites at work - only because they are in the same office - and I suck at keeping secrets lately.

Wood says not to worry. My friend says that the diagnostic people are very conservative. I say I'll get through whatever comes my way. I believe that to be true. But I also know I have this different sense that urges me to do certain things because of what I "know". The decision to go to the big University medical center was because if I ever needed to be treated for Cancer, I'd want it to be there: cutting edge diagnostics, research center, excellent outcomes. Weird, I know, but it's what went through my head. So I listened.

Now, I wait, knowing that a few days won't make a difference in the long term. Besides, I've got many other body parts to manage.

Better, At This Very Moment

So, I panicked. Just enough to raise my blood pressure for a while. Enough to distract me from the work that I needed to get done at the office.

I could have rescheduled the follow up scan for earlier in the week but it just doesn't make sense. Three days won't change the course of what is happening to me (if anything) and I don't want to get into a conversation with my boss. She may be a Nice Lady but truth be told, she's not so nice a lady. No really, she's a counselor by trade.

Ironic that I'm employed by someone that I can't trust to be supportive of the drama floating around my existence. But I know I can handle whatever comes my way. And there is a significant ebb and flow to my perspective. One minute I'm just fine. Then I'm shaking.

Now I'm exhausted so I'll try to sleep. My knee, oy, is also bothering me. Anything to slow me down, huh?

I Won't Panic

The breast clinic called this morning to call me back for a follow up to my scan from last week. Apparently there are changes on my left breast from my 2009 scan.

The technician told me not to worry as she heard my "Okay" and "Uh, huh" quiver more intensely with each response - she makes at least 4 of these calls each day and its really no bug deal, she explained. "Well, a close friend of mine is having a complete mastectomy this week and her scan didn't show anything a year ago."

I made the follow up appointment for Thursday afternoon but may change it to sooner because truth be told, I'm afraid. Bat-shit afraid.

Three AM

Three in the morning is my new insomnia wake up time. Oh, how I wish it was plain insomnia.

The Boy's energy today was intense and followed by a decent sized meltdown that was caused by his dad yelling at him (Twig wiped his dirty hands on Woods pants instead of his napkin - which was probably supposed to be funny) and ended in a spanking to bring him back to reality (instead of chasing me down to hit, kick and punch me for trying to break it up) and me telling my husband, essentially, that it was his fault for behaving like a 7 year old his damned self and Twig was reacting with equal force so please act like a grown up instead of a third Fucking child that I have to parent already...

Not only awake, I'm agitated, too. And in a big way.

Facebook and all the pretty pictures of people going to Disneyland and loving life sure doesn't help. Makes me feel like I'm doing it all wrong. Not fun enough. Not active enough. Not happy enough.

Simplification ain't going as well as I'd hoped, either. Too many things to do, not enough hours in the day.

Failure feelings at 3am. Just Fucking ducky.

So Much

It's Friday and that's a good thing. I'm beat down physically and emotionally.

The Oakland house was so tiring. The situation there drained me emotionally. I wanted to vomit during the entire trip - the feeling didn't subside until the keys were changed and the windows were locked. Then, my nausea returned. Because of fear and sadness.

A close friend told me she found a lump in her armpit a few weeks ago. I immediately scheduled my overdue mammogram. My friend has breast cancer. She is the "rock" of the family and has melted - rather understandable. It is hard that I can't do anything. Can't make a meal for them, can't come by and clean the house, can't sit by her side after surgery, during chemo, through recovery, reconstructive surgery, through recovery. It's hard to be so far away.

I'm offering to help by organizing friends through Lotsa Helping Hands or some other site. Perhaps her family and friends will be self organized like my sister's friends were. This brings up stuff that is so difficult.

My body is responding to my mind and it's need to do it all (can't let things fall apart). My knee swelled up as I left Oakland late on Tuesday. When I got off the plane after midnight Wednesday morning, I felt as if I'd just run a half marathon even though I slept the entire flight. My knee ached with every step, I limped to the taxi station. Yesterday the swelling continued. As I got out of the shower, my lower back, the one that has sat me down before, twinged "SLOW DOWN on your own, LADY or I'll force you down for much longer than you'd like." I took two Aleve and went on about my day, swollen knee and back in pain.


This morning my knee isn't swollen and doesn't hurt. It may by the end of the day. My back is still smarts but I plan on taking Advil instead of Aleve. I'll leave work early to see Twig's dance camp performance, go with Wood to Grandma's doctor appointment where we'll follow up on her spine fracture and get the doctor to get her to let us help with her bowel incontinence issues at home and at her day program. Twig will be with Lion (isn't that cute) for a playdate. So weird - a family that also moved to Portland from Oakland. Such a small world. We'll come home, go to sleep and tomorrow I'll go to work real early to try to catch up from being gone two days and several hours more than I should have been. 


Right now, I'm going to get today started. 

Mostly Finished

The business is mostly over. The "forcing" was as successful as it could have been. No damage that can be seen with the human eye.

The bank account will hurt. My heart is heavy. Believe it or not, such confrontations are painful for me.

Having my mom and close friends close during this time was helpful. Very helpful. That I was here now was good. I was able to visit a close friend that was diagnosed with breast cancer this week.

She has 5 lumps in her right breast. The cancer is in her right lymph nodes. She will have chemo. She will have a mastectomy within the next two weeks. She had a mammogram one year and 4 months ago. Her mother and grandmother both died of breast cancer. She is afraid it may have spread to other parts of her body.

I still look forward soon to being at home with my family... wrinkles, scabs and all. I wish I could be closer to help my 3rd friend with breast cancer.

It will have to be done from a distance.

Grown Up

Being a grown up can really suck sometimes. Like when there's business that's not easy to manage that you must attend to.

My business is particularly tough in that I am being forced to "make" another person do the right thing after giving way too many chances. Parenting a grown up who
should be doing the right thing already. My stomach hurts.

Step Back

The knee jerk reaction that both of the boys I love more than anything have when things aren't going their way is tiring. I feel their feelings as they spew all over the place - all over everyone's space.

Remembering that it's not my feeling to feel is challenging. Finding ways to allow them to have their feelings in ways that don't impact others around them is even more difficult.

Wood is upset that I'm leaving, and acting as if he's 7. I haven't said out loud that he was gone for over a week (several times in the last year) and that he'll be able to manage. Even if he doesn't want to. Even if it is Father's Day. It's never a good time to take care of business that needs taking care of.

Today he keeps pointing at the stack of dry cleaning in the living room, shrugging his shoulders, and giving me a look that says "Why haven't you taken the dry cleaning in yet?" My guess is that it's been sitting there for about a month. Inside my head I say "You know where the dry cleaner is, too. If it's bothering you so much, take care of it yourself. Just because I typically take care of it doesn't mean it's  my job and no one else can do it."

"Are you going to Facebook or are you going to work?" he says. "I'm not going to answer you." I say and think "it's none of your fucking business what I'm going to do with my hour alone. If I want to Facebook during my time, then I'll Facebook. I'll drive in whatever lane I want to, whatever route I see fit, and manage my own damned time. Sometimes I'll be way ahead of the game of doing the dishes and sometimes I'll fail miserably at getting the laundry done or cleaning the toilet. I don't ask you what you're doing when you're plugged in to the computer and I'm busy cooking dinner, when you'll have an hour alone, and I don't tell you what route to take when we're driving in the car. I would like it if you would accept the fact that other drivers are never going to follow the rules of the road and if you didn't scream at them and their stupid antics. I'd prefer you put things away when they're out instead of not seeing them because you didn't "do it", that you'd cook dinner because you were being thoughtful of the fact that I always do it, and that you'd be aware of and accepting of your feelings - whether they be good, bad or neutral. Sometimes I wish you were a bit more independent of me and sometimes I think that I take on a lot more than you do when it comes to our family. No, I don't want to have sex and I don't want to be in charge all the time."

I just think it - not necessarily all at the same time and not necessarily at the same time. Unless I'm taking a step back to get it out here. Then maybe I'll be able to talk constructively.

Emotions All Over the Place

There are times when pre-menstrual syndrome is one of those excuses I love to have on my side. Like now, when my period is at least three days late and the tears have no sense of the "off" position. When in the one moment that is supposed to be complete and total unadulterated pleasure I break down into a complete and total, good for nothing, sobbing uncontrollably mess. Tears everywhere.

It is so good to have Wood home. His presence brings things back into balance and I can't imagine this life without him as my partner in it. We are a great team when we're working together and we can almost literally move mountains. You've been reading this here blog and know it's kinda true.

The first night he came home, he put Twig to bed and stayed asleep in his room (can you say jet lag plus a three hour time change?). I sat on the couch and cried until 2am. It was what I needed to do for myself. Wallow a bit and feel the feelings that I rarely give time to.

Twig has been pushing the boundaries of his attitude and behaviors a little bit since his dad came home. And while 'a little bit' is good, I have not been feeling very giving of myself. That, in turn, makes Twig even more needy. Which, makes me even more not willing to give him all of the physical attention he needs. And all of those feelings of disinterest in being close to the boy makes me fairly certain that my period is late due to stress, not an accidental unplanned pregnancy. Which, I've already decided would be fantastic if we did have a second child. But even more fantastic if we didn't. (for the record, we're not having a second child, confirmed this afternoon!)

I realized by Wood's absence that I am spending a lot of time being flexible to meet his desires. I will often step back and let him make decisions when it would be much easier for me to take the lead. Or he offers to do something "Oh, I can do that, no problem!"What ends up happening is that the "thing"

On the other hand, all of these emotions are tiring. My sleep has been choppy at best. Recalibrating is tough work.

More Emotions

His anxiety level is very high and he's taking it out on me. Again.

I am doing my very best to keep my "professional" distance and talk him down. The psychologist's advice for dealing with anger isn't working. Gee, where does that boy get his anger from?

You think I'm talking Twig, right?

Wood is upset that grandma isn't able to go with us where we want to go on the weekends. This weekend in particular. He's completely inconsolable. He doesn't want to hear logic. He doesn't want to hear anything. He just ramps himself up and behaves badly toward me. I'm not going to bite.

Once upon a time, he didn't bite when I got my panties in a bunch. Funny how things change.

Life - real fucking life - happens. Children that we chose to bring into the world demand our attention, jobs that we must have to make ends meet demand our attention, parents get old and demand our attention. Responsibilities in other parts of our lives demand attention. Even on Father's Day.

He's already decided that this weekend is going to suck. Grandma won't be able to hang out too long at Twig's baseball-party-picnic in the park on Saturday. I have to leave (for a little more than 24 whole hours) to deal with our house drama. He's overwhelmed and gets all martyr like when I am leaving. About grandma and the weekend he says "I won't go to the picnic because I don't want to set myself up. It'll never work and then I'll get mad." My plea to focus on what we can do, to try to make things work to the best of our ability, to focus on the good stuff falls on deaf ears. He's completely anti. So I tell him that if things aren't working we need to make a change. A global change.

He doesn't want to hear that, either.

He puts Twig to bed, angry. I pour another glass of wine and talk to the potential property manager on the phone.

Blerg

What I really mean to say is "f*$# this f?*%@ing s$!@/!"

Being required to follow stupid people really pisses me off. Doesn't matter it it's on the road or at work. Annoying.

That's it, I feel a little bit better now. Okay, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Yay, Friday!

Wood comes home tonight! I'm glad. And sad.

I know his mom and the boy miss him a bunch. Not to say that I don't, but being solitary periodically is so good for my soul. Being married is good for my soul, too, just a different part of it.

Him coming home is a transition and that brings stress. Hopefully I can respond very little to his bad moods, particularly when his expectations aren't met and he acts like a martyred baby. That sounds so mean - but when he gets upset and lashes out. My ongoing issue is to be appropriately responsive and compassionate, to talk through it instead of lashing back...

We have plans for Twig to have 1:1 daddy time in the am, I get time in the pm, and grandma will likely get him around Dinner time. I hope that will aid in the transition.

I really am looking forward to him coming home.

Not the Best Kind of Dreamy

The new promotion is great in title. In reality it means a lot of work that will consume me. Personalities, crises, negotiating - all skills I possess, even excel at on occasion. If my sleep continues to be affected by simple work issues like last night, I might step down.

I went to sleep with Twig at about 8:30 last night and as usual, I was asleep before him. I went to my bedroom and quickly fell asleep there. But a while later I was tossing and turning, half awake, half asleep for quite some time because of two work issues - the FMLA issue I briefly mentioned yesterday where they will doc my pay for being gone a total of 2.5 hours per week despite the fact that I explained that my Exempt Status is threatened if they do so (which means they'd have to pay me overtime if I work more than 40 hrs/week), and something else, perhaps, that I cant remember.

These kinds of unsolvable dreams have plagued me in my past - because once when I was young and in college taking Algebra (and struggling), I had a dream about a problem I couldn't solve while I was awake. But I did it in the dream and remembered the next day! Unfortunately, however, not all problems have a formula that if followed can lead you to win...

Twig came into my room at some point. I cuddled up with him and slept much better for the remainder of the night. So much so that my dreams were intense and long. From the end to the start: The house where I was hanging out was raided by police - drugs or something. An old boyfriend came for a quickie visit. We didn't have sex but we might as well have. I confided in him that Wood had decided to divorce me (another dream wherein Wood and I were casually talking, I said the word divorce -talking about someone else, perhaps- and he said "Divorce? That reminds me, I want a divorce"), I looked around the floor that was covered in pebbles and found a bunch of little gem covered earrings. At the birthday party, I decided that I was going to start up a business of group homes and travel training programs for people with disabilities, and asked a friend if she knew of any good administrators. I settled into my friend's oh-so-cute 1 room apartment that was put together so nicely that it seemed much larger. But looking for a cake knife in the Ikea cabinet prompted a conversation about how Ikea furniture is kind of good looking but you have to be so careful when it's full - save it fall apart or on top of you. My friend was embarrassed for me to see her place - it was adorable sitting among all of the other houses. Nothing much but well done. More than enough!

Sorry for the stream of consciousness post here. I had to get it all on paper before getting ready for work. Some of it's about things that are really happening in my life, some are not. I find the visiting boyfriends very interesting - the two that had the most impact have come by a bunch lately. I even find myself thinking about "First Love" quite a bit these days.

Anyway, ONWARD!

Thanks for reading!

Wednesday Hump Day

It's official! I'm officially Program Director. Complete with an increase in time off and a company paid parking spot. Granted, they're going to reduce my take home pay for 2.5 hours per week of family medical leave. Whatever, this is my stepping stone job! Executive Director will be behind my name in the next 5 years.

Day 4: Recap

The Power Unit (our 1996 Subaru) was fixed on Monday. We decided to go the cheap wait-and-see route. $350 gets you a new radiator and hopefully, a few months (years?) of use. However, it's only an around town car now. It runs real hot since it began spewing water, the new radiator didn't change that and it will likely need a head gasket at some point. 

I arrived work late yesterday, completed Satisfaction Surveys (got them in the mail over a month late), and left early to pick up Twig from school, to deliver him to Ballet, and then to make dinner in preparation for his baseball game. Thank goodness the game was rained out! Twig was/is not feeling well and his ability to keep himself contained is decreasing by the moment.

After our watershed moment in the morning, I asked for his help putting his clean clothes (I needed to wash his ballet and baseball gear in the morning before we left for school) away. It turned into a thing. He didn't want to help, he decided to hit, kick, and generally be obstinate. I turned off the television and eventually put all the clothes away taking no notice to where I put things and later told him not to complain if he couldn't find things where he expected them to be. He understood that, his behavior (although he said I started it and later understood how his lack of cooperation kept it going and lost him privileges), and how it got neither of us anywhere. I shouldn't have asked. He's a bit char-broiled and I set myself up... I went to bed with him at 8pm.

Yawn.

Day 4: Weird Dreams, Twig is Sick, Blah, and Venus

Had a very weird dream about our non-paying tenant drama that continues to be undone (we're waiting for the court and it's been three weeks as of today). Maybe not so weird actually - just that she was continuing to play games with us. Turned out she moved and left all of her crap, boxed and labeled behind - in one room. I was worried about making any move, save making a mistake and her having the upper hand.

Twig is sick with another sinus infection. Thank goodness he likes using the neti pot and that he doesn't have a fever. That would be whipped cream, huh? His attitude and tone kind of sucks so today I said "Would you please stop for a moment and think about the way you are talking to me?" He apologized and talked to me differently after that. It was a watershed moment.

I'm feeling as blah as ever. Perhaps as you can imagine. Tears are always right at the surface but I don't really know what to do with the feeling that is with them. It's all mixed up so tears seem a bit underwhelming.  But, things, even getting out the front door in the morning, are just too much right now.

Venus transverses the sun tonight starting at about 4:30pm. People in the astrological world are all abuzz about the significant impact this will have. Frankly, I'm looking forward to it. Whatever it is.

Day 3: Extra Work Because There's Already Too Much Work and Sometimes I Forget to Do The Work

I messed up on Friday and forgot to schedule grandma's bus rides home for this week. You know, working and all that kinda consumes me during 9-5.

The Power Unit is in the shop and needs to be picked up in the SE part of town today by 5. Twig needs to be picked up in the SE part of town by 6 and grandma in the deep SW part of town by 6. I get off work at 5 and I arrived late today. But I'll leave early and hope no one notices - especially my boss who will be performing my evaluation tomorrow. Given that I've recently been promoted it should be fine but I'm always apprehensive about these things. And I have to leave early tomorrow, too. Twig's last day of ballet.

It really is too much to organize. I know it but still get flustered when I forget something - forgetting something like a bus ride really can muck up the schedule. A lot.

Deep breaths.

Day 2: Apathy

The babysitter arrived at about 4pm, as expected, but I wasn't ready to go anywhere. I was just climbing in the shower.

Once I made it out the door I had a tough time driving away. There were plenty of things I needed to do, had planned to do even, and I wanted to do none of them.

Finally I left and the noise of the road at 60 mph almost lulled me to sleep. Unlike now - it's 10:15 and I should have been in bed an hour or two ago - I'm tired but fighting it.

Returning the broken dehumidifier at Target was easy - a clear plan - go to Target, return broken item, leave. Check out dehumidifiers at Home Depot.

Purchasing a new dehumidifier at Home Depot didn't happen. It was too overwhelming. I second guessed myself... price... size... features... Too many choices, too many decisions to be made. Wanting to cry, not sure why, not sure how to do it. There was no clear reason to do so.

I accidentally got the door alarms I'd been meaning to buy (and installed one of them tonight). However, it took too long to choose what to get. I felt like I was out of my element in every way and I wasn't sure what needed to happen to get back to myself.

Back in the car I sat and thought about what to do next - there was still about 3 hours of my "free" time (that cost me $50) left. Dinner? Groceries? Booze?

I didn't get a text response from a friend that had told me of a sushi place to try so after thinking about my desires: someplace I'd never been (and likely would never go with the family), I decided on a restaurant that I've driven past on several occasions. A strange place called Mojo Sushi. It's inside a bar and it's not too far from the grocery store.

Mojo's was closed so I searched Google Maps for another place close by. Drove the half mile there in the quiet, which was nice but wasn't nice... searched for the place listed on my phone. I never found it and all the other places in the neighborhood were too much. Too cool, hip, happening. Not. My. Speed. Especially tonight.

I finally remembered that there was a Japanese place I'd wanted to try that is a bit closer to the grocery store so I headed there. It fit the bill but, the food was mediocre, the service pretty bad, and the prices not the best.

After food and sake I was a bit less apathetic than earlier but not by much. Trader Joe's took me for only $60 tonight. Wood would say that apathy is a good thing in this case.

Some people say that depression is anger turned inward. I'm not angry today and tears have been on the tip of my tongue, so to speak, all day (for several days, actually). Maybe my apathy today is really depression. Maybe I'm not dealing with the challenges of life too well today. I certainly am being tough on myself for being imperfect. And being tough on myself for being tough on myself.

Tomorrow will most certainly be different.

Different=Good.

Anticipating

In my opinion, the hardest part of having Grandma live with us is the requirement that we constantly anticipate her needs. It's kind of like having an infant or pre-schooler around. Communication of needs in a way that the adult in charge can understand is spotty - at best. The level of energy that it requires is fairly significant.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a grown up more than anything in the whole world. Grown ups get to  eat what they want, play with their friends whenever they want, sleep when they want, choose to clean their rooms if and when they want, do what they want when they want to. They have choice and free will completely and totally unlike the choice and free will that children possess.

My MIL, in my view of her, is the opposite of that grown up. She has never been able to express her wants or needs because she always defers to someone else. In all ways.

Ask if she's hungry and she'll respond "not starving" or "I could eat".
Where would you like to eat? "I'm flexible" or "What would you like?"
During weekly "Problems, Plans, Proposals" discussions at dinner, she never, ever has a preference, a proposal, a contribution.

She can't be direct about her dislikes or disappointments, either. She gets a crinkle in her forehead, a piercing "pissy" look about her, deep sighs or answers "oh, I don't know", or just walks away from the conversation (literally and figuratively). Granted, nowadays it's the dementia not talking. What was it 5, 10, 12 years ago?

It really started when Twig was a baby and I was super over protective and angry at the change in my world. She stopped talking around me. Literally would not say anything if I was in the room - sometimes she wouldn't even talk to Wood on the phone if I was around.

At one point a few years ago she confronted me about how difficult I am for her. The usual stuff - that I'm too opinionated, aggressive, demanding. We tried to talk about it but she couldn't - she had to have a friend of hers, who happens to be a counselor, talk to me on her behalf. She said I should understand Grandma's inability to be assertive was because she was raised by an opinionated, aggressive, demanding alcoholic father; that I just didn't understand. Out of respect for my MIL and her friend, I tried to listen quietly, to hear what was being said. But after a while, I knew it was a losing battle - this wasn't really about me. I didn't even try to explain that I, too, was raised by an alcoholic step-father who was physically abusive to my mom, me and my sisters and that I completely disagree with the assertion that his treatment of me dictates my involvement with other people now. Sure, it can impact my feelings - the feelings that are automatic - but because I am a grown up now... I. HAVE. CHOICE.

I have trained myself over the last 30 something years since my Step Father left to not anticipate how other people will respond to me, my assertive, opinionated statements and actions, or mere existence and not to care when they do respond. So, being confronted with having to be on, to get no communication from her when I've been able to train my child and husband to "use your words"  - even if it is to ensure that she has food, water, medicine, toilet paper, toothpaste, clean underwear, clean clothes, etc. - is a lot.

Shoulda Better Known Better

When I get angry because things don't turn out the way I want them to, I sometimes wonder why. For somebody that's so in tune with her truth and the Truth, you'd think I'd keep my expectations really Fucking low so that when things are what they are - well - they are what they are - nothing more, nothing less.

I stayed up too late last night watching gory at-home sebaceous cyst removals on you-tube, trying to convert an mp3 to old fashioned cd format for the boy to practice his talent show song, and letting the caffeine wear off (my sweet staff person brought me coffee at 2 in the afternoon and not drinking it would have been extremely rude, ya know?). Subsequent sleep was choppy and not so good.

After 13 hours of sleep, Grandma didn't want to get out of bed. While that's not atypical, today it wasn't an option. I had a 10am haircut, Twig has an 11am baseball game, I need to pick up a few things at a few stores before we go home and her caregiver arrives at 4:30 to babysit her so I can take Twig to his cast party. I forced the issue and she reluctantly got up.

I gave her a higher dose of pain pills to ensure she could keep up this morning. She glared at me through the haircut. She left the car and sat on the bleachers for all of 5 minutes before wanting to sit in the car. She "couldn't sit still" on the bleachers. I walked her to the car, luckily was able to move the car to a place that I can keep an eye on her while I watch Twig's game. And blog.

An hour into her sitting in the car, I went to her and said come and watch the game for a few minutes. "No" is all she would say. Then "I'm okay". I'm angry that this is today and appears to be the new weekend routine. "It's okay for you Grandma, but not for anyone else." I responded and then closed the car door harder than I should have.

I knew it would be this way and still, I'm MAD! I'm over this inability to do anything that she doesn't want to do at the expense of everyone else. And I'm not 100% sure that my frustration is entirely fair. She was hurt a few weeks ago - but I don't think thats what's going on. She doesn't want to be uncomfortable AT ALL. That's understandable for sure, but I don't think that's what is going on. I think it's that Fucking Bastard Alzheimer and his disease.

For this moment I will focus on what I know to be true - she can't keep up with us. I need to be patient with her and with me and try to set us up to be successful. Who cares if she sits in the Fucking car? Oh, Adult Protective Services. Whatever.

Day 1: I Can Do This

Today is day one of Wood's week long business trip to West Virginia. He always says it's really hard for him to be away from us. It's not fair but every time he leaves I can't help but think he's essentially on vacation and that it's way harder to stay home than travel for work. 

Usually a few days before he leaves one of us gets overwhelmed by the most mundane activities. Usually me - I have a bit of a meltdown because I'm preparing for the time that I'll be alone and working my ass of more intensely than usual. But it didn't happen this time.

I'm not glad he's gone but I'm okay with it like when I was unmarried without a kid. Weird feeling. Now that I think of it, I've been having a lot of dreams lately - my First Love, being sick, dying, and other stuff like that that I can't remember right now - and I've been on a precipice for such a long time that perhaps this week is the time I'll have to step off of that ledge and figure out a few things. Despite today's calendar: 10am haircut, 11:30am Twig baseball game, 5-9pm Twig cast party (pizza, pool, etc.) and 4:30-8:30 homecare worker to sit with Grandma, and a messy house, I think that I can do this. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

 

Zombie Apocalypse

The plan was to work out yesterday unless a Zombie Apocalypse descended upon Portland. Well, you may think it was only a figment of my imagination but in my world, it happened.

No workout.

My one workout partner left her workout clothes in the car, forgot to get her car keys from the parking attendant and had to walk several blocks from the office to get the keys. It was nearly 6:30 by the time she returned ready to work out and by that time I was dealing with an unsatisfied client/family issue. It probably wasn't too late to start working out but I was kinda beat down.

Here it is, Friday morning. My shoulders and neck are hurting because of stress and I'm writing... my workout gear is at the office but I could get up and take a run with no accouterments (sp?), do a few burpees in when I'm out of breath.

Later, Paulie!

The Panic is Back

It's because I haven't exercised in the last two and a half weeks. The tightness in my chest could be from skipping my asthma medication (I'm too freaking focused on getting stuff done that I frequently forget about myself) but chances are the following list is also, um, cause for the stress I feel:

-Wood will be gone for a week starting Saturday

-First grade is over in two weeks

-Summer camp plans are not 100% set and paid for quite yet

-My promotion at work is going to add a lot to my plate and I'm not sure I want the extra responsibilities

-My FMLA/OFLA request is not being denied, per se, but I'm definitely "schooling" my boss and the HR department in the law (yes, I have been living in Oregon for only a year and since no one has ever requested leave they're learning on my dime)

-The Green car (aka: Power Unit) broke down, is in the shop, and may, in fact, have a blown head gasket

-Grandma has been having some incontinence issues as of late, that kinda mucks up the morning routine

-The company that operates the buses that Grandma rides and broke her back riding a few weeks ago, has said that they don't believe that she got hurt on their watch. I'm having to fight them to file a claim
-I just hired an in-home care agency to do some of grandma's care. While great, it's an adjustment to have a stranger in my home doing things that I usually do
-Our tenant is not paying her rent (again) so we've started the eviction process (again)

The stress just melts away when I run hard, do push ups, squats, dips and burpees. Tomorrow night while I'm leading the group I'll curse the idea of running and any measure of strength training. But since I'm leading the charge, I'll have no excuse but to push myself, encourage the others, and be sure to keep an eye on the clock. I'll feel better for it in the end and because of burpees, this list won't seem so insurmountable. 

Hired Help

I did it!

Wood is leaving town for a week long work conference and my mom doesn't want to be just the housekeeper (bless her heart for doing so the last several trips when he was gone). Oh, yeah. I can't do a week alone with Twig, Grandma, and a full-time job.

I hired an in home care agency to come in and work with Grandma three days a week. It will be expensive but she can afford it. And it will most definitely take some of the burden off of us. Like tonight! Even though I didn't get to exercise because Wood needed the car to take Twig to his baseball game and the other car is broken down and I couldn't make it back to my office in time to meet people, it's already really cool!

Well, it is weird to be the one asking for and organizing the help - it's usually me doing the helping. But I must say that having someone else do her bathing, laundry, linen changing, and general companionship for a few hours a week will be wonderful!

That is all.

It's Not All Bad

Really.

There are some wonderful moments. There are times I'm completely absorbed with the beauty and wonder of life. Even amid the chaos that is our lives of working full time and being sandwiched between living with and caring for a first grader and my mother in law with significant dementia, finding the silver lining is what is keeping me semi-sane. Case in point: A week or so ago, Grandma was having some hallucinations. Being tuned in to his experience (that living with someone with Alzheimer's is inexplicable and rather scary), I pulled Twig into the bathroom to discuss this new thing that Grandma brings to the table. I explained that Grandma had just had a hallucination. "Is it real? Yes, to her it is." He's so my child - I read by his facial expression and the confusion in his eyes that he can't quite grasp the concept of something that he can't touch and feel being real in anyone's world. I explained that she had hallucinated that we have a cat. A black cat that was in the kitchen sink. It sounds like the perfect pet for us, right? After all, he and I both want a cat. Why not see the good part of it? Innocent hallucinations are much better than their opposite. But I won't explain unpleasant hallucinations to him until it's absolutely necessary.

Am I grasping a straws, trying to make this, my life, work, by trying to find the goodness in anything bad? Wood is struggling to maintain his objectivity. Particularly when I focus on the good things - that I have a good job (so what if my boss is a bit inexperienced and misguided?), that I've met a lot of great women (and feel as though I have friends here). He spends time focusing on what he doesn't have instead of making what he does have great and knowing that someday in the not too distant future it will be completely different than now. It is a challenge for me to be gentle and supportive of him during the times he's having a temper tantrum and taking it out on everyone else. I don't have the luxury of getting into the kind of self-pity that holds me down for more than a small portion of the day. The pie is so big and heavy that it will spoil or fall flat on the floor exceedingly quickly - I can't afford to take my eyes off of it for a second too long. So I focus on finding the sweet topping of my reality.

A friend of mine, actually she's more of an acquaintance, told me the other day how supportive a wife I am. That she can hardly believe that we're taking care of grandma. She told me how she'd lived with her in-laws (with 11 other people) for a while and despite the cultural appropriateness of her situation, how challenging it was for her. She talked about how it pushed the limits of her marriage. How at some point along the way she had to tell her husband that he had to choose her first.

She also likened the relationship with in-laws to that of a step-parent/step-child relationship. It's true for me. I want to love her like she's my mom. But she's not. She's my husband's mom. I feel obligated to love her because she's his mom. Because she loves him the way my mom loves me. Because he loves her the way I love my mom. Because I love him; the contract that he and I entered almost 10 years ago didn't state "for better, for worse; in your sickness or health".

So I revel in the fact that grandma sleeps in on the weekends, that for all intents and purposes she really is rather easy to have with us. Sure, it's like having a baby around in that you need to anticipate every single need. But she hallucinates that we have a cat. And I really want a cat.

See, it's not all bad. 

I Get That This is Not a Sprint To The Finish Line

The Little Engine That Could keeps coming to mind this week and I find myself repeating his mantra "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

Truth is, I'm kinda having a pity party today. It's Monday. I don't want to be at work today. We had a busy weekend with Twig's activities and a rough weekend with Grandma's back (did I tell you she's got a fractured spine?). Wood and I finalized the weekend with a date night but I'm beat and could really use a day off.

Instead, I keep toiling away at the tasks that consume my mind at the moment. Personal tasks at work. Work tasks at home. Grandma tasks. Twig tasks. All combination of tasks.

The list of things I need to do is buried somewhere in my pile of papers. I'm not a Pile of Papers kind of gal so this new chapter in our lives - the one where there's too much for us to reasonably get done in a normal day - is rather challenging. I can barely plan for tomorrow much less for the week, the month, the year. And it's like that in all areas of my life.

I think I can get out of bed today. I think I can get out the front door. I think I can negotiate work life at the office. I think I can keep from crying as I ride the bus. I think I can simplify, simplify, simplify. And if I can do that, life will be a lot easier.

Baby Monitor

Grandma got hurt last week while riding the bus. She has a fractured spine. Poor lady. She's in lots of pain and was taking Vicodin for the first few days.

Since one night there was a mishap because we couldn't hear her, there's now a baby monitor in her room. It's a good thing so we can hear if she needs help.

But I can't sleep!

She talks on the phone, sings, claps and has a generally good time there in her room, in her bed, sleeping.

Last night I woke up at about 2 am and couldn't fall asleep until 5 am when I turned that monitor off! Between her in the monitor and Wood snoring in my other ear, I just couldn't take it any more!

It reminds me of when Twig was a baby and I heard every move he made in the night. Yes, I'm exhausted like that today.

Yawn!

Leading Up to It...

Grandma and I are at the Day Spa today getting our every other month mani-pedi on. The massage chair is comfy, the water is warm, the pampering devine. She is next to me but requires only minimal interaction or prompting to answer questions or state her needs. It is one of those activities that is relatively responsibility free.

The place is busy. It's Saturday afternoon. There is a very pregnant woman getting a Pedi alongside her friend and a mother of two girls, probably 3 and 7 years old, getting her nails done while the girls quietly chat up the manicurists, negotiate with Mom for something and appropriately bee-bop around the room. I barely notice them actually, save the moment the 7 year old came up to my chair and mistakenly took my bottled water thinking it was hers. She said something like "oh, I thought it was mine!' and retraced her steps to her water not too far away; they're very well behaved children.

I stared at the pregnant woman sitting as she climbed into her chair and as she settled herself in, her manicure beginning; the manicurist pulled me from some deep dark place I had gone and asked me if I was okay. I nodded "Yes" and smiled that smile one smiles when trying to convince the other person and themself that they are, in fact, okay.

The article I'm reading, "Winning Children Over," isn't keeping me from that deep dark place. It is taking me to that place where dissapointment, regret and shame live. They are right next door to tears, and they are always ready to ring the doorbell and ask if tears can come out to play. Out on the playground and all together they are a tough group to control. It is not a place of self-acceptance, nor is it full of energy for problem solving, thought or action. It is a sad, lonely place I visit all too often lately.

It's no secret that my pregnancy with Twig was not easy. It started with incredible self-doubt and fear, bleeding bright blood in the first month, significant weight loss in the first trimester, terrible colds turned infection with heavy duty medications required to be able to breathe, awful swelling of my feet (gained 2 shoe sizes), calcium deficiency and the requisite 20 lbs gained in one month from eating Ben and Jerry's Toffee Heath Bar Crunch to the tune of 3 pints a day. Thank god I didn't aquire gestational diabetes or other awful maladies.

In retrospect my water broke the Friday before he was born. I ignored it. Or maybe I didn't really have a clue what was going on with my body. About 30 minutes after the first gush of water from in between my legs, it happened again. Alright! I ignored it.

The following Tuesday, the day I predicted he'd arrive (two days before my actual due date), at about 2 in the afternoon, the contractions began. I ignored them. Jason was at work and since he was probably busy, and the contractions weren't much more than a nuisance, I went about whatever it was I was busy doing - laundry, organizing, whatever...

At dinner I casually mentioned that they had started earlier that afternoon but I wasn't concerned, they were very light and completely manageable. Through the evening they continued to get worse and at about 9 (maybe 11pm) we called our Doula. I labored at home for several hours with no real progression of labor. After a nap, we woke in the morning, went out to eat at Rick and Ann's in Oakland/Berkeley (where I cried over my corned beef hash that wasn't too good), took a walk, and still nothing.

Later Wednesday afternoon found us at the hospital. Dilated to 5c. Admitted. And then my labor stopped. And then I was given an epidural, and then pitocin, and then my child's heartbeat was noted as decelerating every time I had a contraction. I needed to have an internal fetal monitor. I had extreme pain in my left kidney for no known reason. I needed oxygen. My cervix swelled once it reached 8 or 9c dilated. Then, on Thursday afternoon, Dr. 'Gayest Heterosexual OB/GYN on the face of the earth' came in to check me out. He looked at me and said, Wonelle, it's time to get this baby out. Where I had been consulting my team of Hubbie and Doula all along, there was only me and Doc at that point. I was inverted (hips above heart) told to breathe the oxygen in deep, and coached along, bear down when I get to one and hold for a count of 10. I don't remember anyone but the doctor being there as he put a suction cup on the baby's head - it popped off as he pulled and I think he cursed (his face was red from the exertion or frustration, maybe the combination of the two) - he put it on again, pulled some more and then yelled "Meconium! WHO KNEW?" Thursday September 30th - more than 48 hours later. If you consider that my water broke the Friday before he was born, I had a 6 day labor.

They suctioned him something feirce as he came out of me and Wood quickly cut the cord. The nurses whisked him away to do their thing. More suctioning, a low APGAR score, more suctioning, rubbing, a normal APGAR score, cleaning and wrapping and then I saw him. The first thing that went through my mind was "He hates me." What a self-fulfilling prophecy that thought has become.

He was exhausted after birth - until the day we took him home. He screamed inconsolably for what I recall as hours of us being highly stressed and completely dumbfounded. He stopped after he nursed and when I bounced him - so I nursed him or bounced him for three long years. It was the only way I could get him to sleep. At roughly a year old, he wouldn't nap unless it was pitch dark or I was driving 70 miles per hour. I remember calling Wood one afternoon absolutely infuriated that I had invested about 40 minutes of bouncing the boy, holding him in the sling, and him waking up about 20 minutes later. The return on investment was so lopsided.

He started crawling at roughly 7 months old, walking and talking at 9 months old and despite his genuinely happy demeanor he was a terror - by terror I mean climbing on things, pulling curtains off their rods, emptying everything from everywhere in a matter of minutes. I could not leave him alone in any room in the house. He'd remove everything from everywhere - all of the books off the shelves, clothes out of the drawers, nick-knacks off the dresser tops AND he'd be knee deep in the dangerous stuff within 90 seconds of my being out of his line of vision. He has always been a master at any and all child locks.

Restaurants were tough but I always brought things to keep him occupied. Of course I always needed to be directly involved with him because if I wasn't, he could be throwing silverware across the room before I knew it. He talked incessantly, interrupted everyone, and charmed the pants of all of the servers we came across.

The only time the kid was slightly contained was when he was in front of the television. And yes, I gladly used The Backyardigans, Dora the Explorer, Sesame Street, Teletubbies, and a whole host of other cartoons to get to the most banal activities like taking a shit in private. It was my only respite some days, and given the degree of my postpartum depression, I needed a fair amount of cartoon time.

As he got older, I became more and more frustrated with the lack of napping and would get ANGRY when he wouldn't give in to my need for him to sleep. He wanted to continue playing. I needed a break. I didn't get it. I would sometimes slam doors, yell at him, and stomp around in the same fashion I was used to from my mom as a kid. And hate myself for it afterward. It would take such a long time for me to come down from my ledge.

Every now and again, I'd ask him to do something and he'd rage at me. Get out of the car after school at the end of the day; put the shoes in the basket as we walk in the front door; change clothes. He'd pick up something - usually the most dangerous toy (when thrown) and chuck it at me. He once threw a book that nearly got me in the eye. There are countless other examples of his rage, and my inability to do much about it. There were times I'd look at him and think that maybe mental illness skips a generation - because this kid is crazy - up an down like a freaking roller coaster.

We hired an LCSW at one point when things were out of control and we seemed to be struggling with everything related to the boy. She was a fine therapist, I'm sure, but she was exceedingly expensive at something like $225/hr, she always ran over the scheduled time, and was focused on "gathering information" when I said I needed TOOLS. I fired her not long after she said that one of the boy's behaviors wasn't normal. For all of those reasons.

For a long time, Twig was able to contain his willfulness, rage, and cyclone tendencies to home. As he ventured into other social arenas, however, it became clear that I wasn't the only person that found him challenging. His preschool teachers of school number one and school number two, with an average of 15 years experience, would get flustered by his unwillingness to follow instructions and rules, his ability to constantly argue very particular points, his lack of understanding of personal space/boundaries, and his boundless energy. I always felt guilty that I looked forward to Mondays. But I did. I do.

In Kindergarten, he was quickly labeled by Ms. Mary Grace (a public school teacher with a serious Catholic school bent) as an immature overacheiver. Bright but not working to his potential. Skilled at working the room but always blaming other people for his mishaps. Once when she told him to write his name on the white board where she kept track of "bad" behavior, he simply erased everyone's name. After all, she wasn't really paying attention and he knew it.

Then we moved and I was sure that things in school would get better. And they did. His teacher pushed him to work to his potential. She worked with him on his focus and energy, working to be a part of the community. To adjust to a new state, a new school, new rules, new learning. I, on the other hand, took the full brunt of his frustrations and challenges. His stress level was high and things began to get really ugly again.

One morning before school he didn't want to do something. Brush his teeth, wipe his bum, get dressed, eat breakfast, who knows? His rage began and was directed at me. Throwing things, slamming doors, hitting me, you name it. I tried everything. Walking away - he'd follow me. Sequester myself in my room - he'd literally break down the door. Walk into the other room - he'd throw things at me. Sit on the couch with my face in my hands - he'd punch me, kick me, scream at me, call me names that shouldn't come out of such a young child's mouth. And YES, I know he gets his cussing like a sailor from me. I don't give a fuck what he says. But that's not the part that sticks with me. On this day, after being hit, kicked, punched, had things thrown at me, expletives directed at me, for more than an hour,and doing the right thing over and over and over again, I kicked him. And he stopped. Finally.

The summer was difficult - every transition to a new summer camp created similar difficulties. But as  soon as I was sure I was going to completely fall apart, he'd re-calibrate, get his shit together, and become manageable again.

Then grandma moved in with us. She's got Alzheimer's. She moved into his room. He moved into ours. We all hated the new arrangement. We resisted her being with us. Wood and I were angry. Then we moved. On Twig's birthday. And he became angry. And it began again - the anger and rage directed at me. Then at Wood. But it was more than the anger. It was the outright disdain, hatred, desire to hurt someone that scared me most. Like when he'd cock his arm, with his chin low, his eyes pulled together like that of the absolute meanest villain you've ever seen, his fist tight, and then swing it - at my face. Where he'd once kept it at home, he during the same timespan attacked and punched his best friend on the playground over a soccer ball. He threw a ball at a much younger kid's face during a game of dodgeball (that he was losing) in aftercare. He antagonized kids in class by humming, knocking things over, and calling them fat, ugly, and other mean things.

At his 7 year well child visit with his amazing boy-doctor, he said "sometimes I have a hard time controlling my body" and when I responded "yes, we do have challenges - he's not two anymore - I can't just pick him up and carry him out of the restaurant anymore". The doctor immediately got it and referred us to a developmental pediatrician for an assessment.

Over Tired ... and probably less than coherent

My insomnia is back with a vengeance lately. Asleep by 8ish, awake from 2-4am - or thereabouts. Sleep from 4-5ish. I had a Palm Reading recently; my innate caregiver tendencies, struggle for balance between responsibility and creativity, and need for spiritual growth - a searching spirit - was just more fodder for being comfortable in my skin and taking this journey to the next level. Dreams have always been the medium in which I've processed information that isn't ...scientific... Things like knowing and visions - the kinds of abilities that not everyone has. In a recent dream, I was visited by a very handsome doctor who told me to get to the skin doc to have my dark spots checked out. Omen or fear? When I'm awake in the night, I read, read, read. Thanks to Wood and his so generous Christmas gift of a Kindle Touch. I've read "Room", and have been reading "The Sayings of Confucius", "Strange Relation: A Memoir of Marriage, Dementia, and Poetry", "The Runner's Guide to the Meaning of Life", and most intently, "Wicca for Beginners: Fundamentals of Philosophy & Practice (For Beginners (Llewellyn's))". In reading and practicing a technique described in Wicca for Beginners, it's clear that I'm on the right path. It's always been clear that I'm on the right path. But lately the path has been wide and without roadblocks. The energy is there and I'm able to travel with it easily, harnessing it everywhere I go. Even when I'm exhausted from being awake in the middle of the night reading, reading, reading. Good night.

What I Really Want for Christmas

Dear Universe,

I know you're a bit different than Santa but I just have to try. We have been ripping and roaring for a while now and it's catching up to us. Wood and I both had steep throat a couple of weeks ago and yesterday I yanked my back something fierce. We are so overdone that our health is starting to take a hit and we can't have that! We need a couple of minutes to catch up and catch our breath.

Lately it has been one thing after another, one BIG thing after another, and by after another I mean stacked on top of one another. I can handle only 1 thing at a time and I can't power through like I once did.  So, I need your help.

Yes, I know it's the holidays and that makes everything move more quickly. And that you're really busy. It's just that we can't move any faster than we already do. Can you help keep our stuff together and quiet for a while? Work, kid, gramma, house, cars, finances, etc. I don't want to be greedy but having everything be a bit boring would be nice for a change.

We need a break, please. We need rest. Relaxation. No illnesses. The opportunity to catch up with family, connect with friends new and old, do our jobs, meet our financial obligations and be present in our lives. To slow down and see this world a bit. The finished product will be so much better.

Thank you for your time and consideration, universe!

Love,

Wonelle

Saturday Blues

I wrote a great post from my phone this morning but it got lost before it was published. Since it was before 6am when I was writing, I can't even remember what I wrote about. Our rental property has had me busy most of the weekend. Weatherstripping, nuts and bolts, screwing doors shut. Today was labeling "trash" in the yard (more on the quotation marks later), cleaning up, organizing people to do work, and throwing my back out. Yep, when I was wrestling with the gate my back tweaked and I'm in a not so good way right now. Two Aleve and I'm able to walk, drive, pick up light objects, etc. but lifting my suitcase tomorrow is going to be a bit of a challenge. I'm already planning for asking a lot of strangers for assistance. Being with friends is good. Very, very good. Familiar, warm, comfortable. But being in the city isn't as good as I remember. Drivers are more agressive than I remember, people aren't as warm - heck, half of them don't even look you in the eye. It's a stark transition from the new life we lead in a sleepy small town that has only smatterings of real city life. It's a bit embarrassing, to be so acutely aware of and disgusted by how focused I feel I have to be here. How so much of what is good about the city that I love is also so bad about it. How soft we've become in our new environment. I run at 5am, in the dark, alone. And I don't feel afraid. I'm aware that I probably should be afraid. That if I were in Oakland I wouldn't even consider running alone in the dark. At any time of the day. I just remembered what this mornings post was about: Cold - how I was not warm and fuzzy with my tenant during this signing of the new lease. How my voice waivered and crackled in the beginning but after a few minutes of her not engaging I was able to move through the process as quickly as possible. How thought, I didn't leave anything unturned - every light switch, every lock, every faucet was tested. Every everything (mostly) was documented. I wasn't mean but I was cold. You know that saying "you

The Right Direction

I continue to mourn the changes we've experienced over the past year. Things like a great boss and an opportunity for advancment, having close friends and family close by, knowing how to get to just about anywhere in the area. But, being home, in my home, that I rent to someone else now, has helped to solidify that I am totally okay with the moves we've made. I don't miss our house as much as it the idea of our home and things like a great boss, close friends and family close by. The truth is, I'm okay with the house being an investment instead of being invested in it. I'm still mad about a few things but they really don't matter. My ego is loosening up a little. And it and my dreams are reminding me that we're on the right path, the right journey - home.

Going Away, Coming Home

The last few weeks, it seems like weeks since I last wrote for pleasure, (not that posting from my phone is really writing), I have had an active dream life. I'm not certain what most of the dreams have been about. But a few have been intense dreams that have made my head a bit electric - like there's electricity pulsing through my entire brain, sending a message of warning: this is very important so don't forget. Last night was particularly intense as well. Mostly because it was a dream about Wood and I, and our ability to go away and reconnect in the most challenging of circumstances. In this dream, I became interested in another person - began dating that person even, and in the end, Wood gladly took me back. I wanted to be back, not because the other person wasn't good. But because Wood is my soulmate. It was a sad and frightening dream with a good ending. Hopefully I can remember the details when I have some time to write again. I'm traveling alone for the weekend to take care of business. It's nice to have some space from my life, and be with friends, although this work part of my life is hard, too. I wanted to remind myself here to do a writing exercise in the future. It is writing a letter to my 16 year old self. Giving some advice. The dream, my work here, and the exercise have one common theme: You can never really go back. Home is where you are.

Do You Even Like Sandwiches?

Wood and I finally had sex outside of the bathroom. I'm not mad anymore. But I do feel like hell.

I've been sick. Wood started it, actually, with a sore throat the Friday before last. He sat around the house all weekend watching TV as I did my best to stick with my regular activities like shopping for groceries, taking a pot of homemade Kale and White Bean soup to a friend who's sick and whose live-in Mother In Law is home from the hospital on Hospice, and trying to get the boy some needed friend/skateboard park time. Basically, staying away from home and my Mother In Law as much as possible.

By Monday my throat didn't feel right and I couldn't go to work. I didn't want to infect anyone with my germs as lots has been floating around there lately and despite the fact that taking time off that I don't have will only add to the multitude of things at my office that are, in many ways, much harder than things at home, Wood stayed home too - and if he's staying home from work it's a serious germ we're fighting - and we both needed the rest.

Except for the fact that I forgot to call and reserve Grandma's bus for her ride to and from her day program, and Twig's school is on break for Parent/Teacher Conferences and the Thankgsgiving holiday so he needed to be dropped off at a different location than usual...

By mid morning on Tuesday I had a fever of 102.2 that had no intention of doing anything but rising. So, I promptly picked up the phone and made the next available appointment with my doctor. 

Strep. Damned 1st Graders with their germy little hands that never get washed properly, touch everything with no regard for what has just been touched, and then put their hands in their mouths! Good news is that during my doctor's visit, Wood's symptoms were addressed and we both got antibiotics. And, we discussed with the doctor a little scrape on Twigs face that had turned into something else entirely. Given Strep in the house, we took Twig to his doctor that afternoon and got his scrape that had become infected plus Strep and/or Staph treated, too.

All of these Wednesday doctor visits meant no Thanksgiving with friends as we had planned. Which is sad. We don't have any fun anymore.

Our evenings are spent catching up from the day. We get home at about 6pm and rush to get dinner ready (Twig is having behavioral issues because he's low blood sugar and Grandma is staring or wiggling her foot anxiously because the time says 6pm and that's when she wants to eat dinner) and the dishes done (if we're lucky), bath (if we're lucky), reading, bed at a reasonable hour. 

Typically, we both collapse at about 8 from sheer exhaustion from the day. Wood in Twigs bed after reading Harry Potter, me on the couch. Sometimes Wood makes it to our bed. If he does, I'm usually beckoned to Twigs bed. Or too exhausted to move from the couch. (I'm so becoming my mother)

Mornings are spent cooking breakfast and lunch, cleaning up from dinner, trying to talk about the day (if anybody wants to say more than "fine" or "okay" about it), and attempting to get out of the house so that the kid gets to school on time and at least one adult makes it, by public transportation, to their paying job on time.

Weekends are spent taking care of the regular household activities that all full-time working families with young children and no live-in nanny/maid service have to take care of - grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, yard work, considering the future. Then there's our second child - Grandma - fill the med containers, order more meds, ensure she's taken her shower, bills, Medicare, doctor appointments, grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, get her to church, reserve bus rides.

Two big fat slices of bread is what they are. Wood and I are sandwiched between everything THEM. There's no lettuce, tomato, onion, or special sauce on this sandwich. Heck, it's not even high end bread these days.  

Twig has been getting lost in the shuffle. It's not new that his needs don't always get taken care of. In some respects, that's the life of a child, right? I mean the life of a child whose parents are working-class (even if it is white collar working class) and have lots of responsibility. We aren't doctors, we don't have nannies, maids, enough money to buy everything we or our kid wants - we can get what we need like good food, a nice place to live, two old and paid for cars and a couple of dinners out a month. We can't take Disneyland vacations (any vacations, it seems). I mean, we can't just throw money at it. We spent money we didn't have to protect what little we had and now we're in a hole of debt. I can't help think that if money weren't a thing that we had to consider, our lives would be easier and we would be happier. I'd pay for stuff to be done for me and I'd have the time and space to enjoy life a bit. Well, that's what it seems like when I look at the family I just described and their world looks hunky-fucking-dory. Like they're actually enjoying their kids and spouse - their lives. 

But back to Twig. He's acting out the feelings of his self-absorbed, exhausted, overworked, unhappy parents. 

He overreacts when he doesn't get his way. He yells and screams when he should talk. He ignores when he should attentively listen. He jumps to conclusions instead of hearing the intent of the message. He slams the door or his fist for effect, to send a signal. He checks out of a discussion because it's too hard. He's the victim instead of an active participant. He gets hot and can't cool himself down. He has good days and then really, really bad days.

It's all my fault. Twenty minutes after the pregnancy test came back positive I asked "Who do you think you are that you can have a child? That you can do this and do this well? What makes you think you have what it takes?" The voice in my head now tells me I also made the wrong decisions about my husband, my job, my career, my friends, my family. 

I don't like my husband when he's constantly on Twig's case about insignificant things, say spilling a glass of milk, that can easily be fixed. When he overreacts. I really can't stand it when he tries to tease me and make light of a situation and it feels like a personal attack. That I hear everything that comes out of his mouth as a discounting of what, in particular, Twig feels about something. I hate having a job that is so intense it zaps all of my energy and dries me up before 5pm, knowing that we can't get by without my full-time income and that I'm priced out of the market to get a comparable paying job elsewhere. What was I thinking getting a degree in Social Work? - money is important! I wish I had more time to invest in my relationships outside my immediate family, that I wasn't convinced my child hates me (or that he has good reason); that I felt smart enough or skilled enough to be able to do anything well, much less enjoy life these days. 

I'm assuming that because we live with an old woman and a young child that are equally dependent on us for survival that the stress is getting to me. Seems reasonable, right? Yeah. Whatever.

As I re-read this post, I get it more than ever - my part, Wood's part, grandma's part and Twig's part. We just haven't slowed down enough to look at it, to give it the time and attention in needs. I've been up at 2am every night this week not because I've been sick. Oh, I've had Strep throat and Insomnia for sure - but I've been awake also because I've needed the time to think through the things that my husband and I need to address in our personal, married, and family lives - right now - Twig's screaming at at both of us:

THIS STINKS!

Yes baby, I hear you loud and clear. 

THE SANDWICH IS STARTING TO SPOIL!

Yeah, kiddo, we don't want to eat it - bad food makes us sick. 

Mommy's on it. And Daddy will be on it too.