October 2002 Archives

Oh these little rejections how they add up quickly
One small sideways look and I feel so ungood
Somewhere along the way I think I gave you the power to make
Me feel the way I thought only my father could

Oh these little rejections how they seem so real to me
One forgotten birthday I'm all but cooked
How these little abandonments seem to sting so easily
I'm thirteen again am I thirteen for good?

I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
So unloved for someone so fine
I can feel so boring for someone so interesting
So ignorant for someone of sound mind

Oh these little protections how they fail to serve me
One forgotten phone call and I'm deflated
Oh these little defenses how they fail to comfort me
Your hand pulling away and I'm devastated

When will you stop leaving baby?
When will I stop deserting baby?
When will I start staying with myself?

Oh these little projections how they keep springing from me
I jump my ship as I take it personally
Oh these little rejections how they disappear quickly
The moment I decide not to abandon me

The eternal question people ask.

My life is lacking in pleasant colors, smells, sights and touches. It's lacking in good company. It needs balance and a sense of direction.

My "if only" list right now is topped with the need for high speed internet connection in my own home; furniture; enough money to buy a few things at Christmas (and I do mean a few, believe me); and a car. When I say a car, I don't mean anything in particular--just something remotely decent that runs. In fact I don't need *anything* fancy, but need I do.

As far as grander wishes:
(Be forewarned: This gets whiney.)
I wish my Sprint bill was paid. I wish the joint bills my ex and I shared and/or I've paid were either settled and/or halfway repaid. (That sort of made sense.) I wish I either received a bit of help with the children's expenses from their father, or could fit a job into my schedule without harming my time with my children. (I'd like a job that either makes tips or has internet access.)

I'm not even going to get into the stuff beyond that. $300-500 income per month and a fair child custody arrangement would ease >95% of my woes.

As it is, I can't sleep.

On a four-hour drive home the other day I drove into the sun. I have never worn sunglasses on a regular basis, but I had just aquired a free pair with pink lenses and put them on, thinking, "So, what do these things do?" It was only marginally helpful, but WOW--the colors!

I so thoroughly and truly enjoyed seeing the world in new colors that I left the glasses on a long time and did some thinking. I do find pure joy and amazement out of simple things like seeing through colored filters, but there are so many other things, simple and not so, that I also want to experience!

I want to be alive. I want to not fear new things. I want to be open to everything. I want to gather the experiences of others and have them show me new things that are outside of my realm of knowledge. I want to see new places, taste new foods, and think new thoughts. I want to try on all sorts of glasses and see every issue through a new lens. There's so much to life!

If only it were solely an artistic title! Alas, 'twas my reality yesterday at Walmart. 'Course, it wasn't *my* nosebleed, but, as mothers always say and as I mean most sincerely, I would rather it have been me than my poor baby J.

I told myself I'd get down to writing more serious/expressive/artistic/thought-provoking matters, but... oh well. This is my life.

We (the children and I) were in Walmart yesterday about a quarter to six in the evening. We had picked up a few things and were on our way to the pharmacy section to pick up a prescription when J. began to cry. I glanced at him to notice blood running from his nose. Yes, *running*. ("Pouring" or "dripping rapidly" might suffice as substitutes.)

[I'd like to take a moment here to brag upon myself. You'll find I don't do it often, so bear with me. One of the specialities in my parenting arsenal, in my humble opinion, is the ability to deal with emergencies. I've faced seizures, severe burns, and many (but not so many as to be extraordinary) other sorts of things with calm, quick thinking, and appropriate actions.]

I immediately decided to book it to the bathroom/customer service area (numerous logic behind this--ask if it isn't apparent). I grabbed wad after wad of towels to try to absorb the bleeding. J., being a typical small child, refused to hold them to his nose, so the mess was not contained. When it was all said and done, there was blood everywhere.

On the scale of not-being-bothered-in-the-least-by-blood to fainting-at-the-sight-of-it, I fall somewhere in the middle. I'm not exactly a fan. If you are closer to the latter end of the scale you may not want to read on, though I'll try not to be overly graphic.

Now, I am prone to exaggeration when making a point. I am not exaggerating when I say he was covered in blood. There was blood on me, on my shoes, splattered on the floor, and dripping from the cart. Blood everywhere. Exiting the store we found a trail of twenty to thirty blood drops. (I omit the word "juicy" to uphold to the "not-overly-graphic", and only describe the situation to lend credence to the "massive" part of the entry title. Besides, I warned you!)

It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it didn't bother me. I was in SuperMom mode.

The rest of the story tells how I got my prescription and the rest of the things I needed from Walmart and the steps I took to clean up my son and notify the proper employees. It was three hours from start to finish. A mess and a trouble in more ways than one--but J. is okay. (No explanation for the nosebleed.)

Got the kids back after two days with their dad. We've been having a lot of fun. Friday after school we made pumpkin-craisin mini-muffins (not a typo). We took a long walk. We collected mushrooms and made mushroom prints. We painted pictures of pumpkins and leaves. We played Crazy 8's and Go Fish. We watched Shrek and read stories.

Today we played Crazy 8's and my version of 21 called "10" which involved a lot of addition. We watched Shrek again, each of us choosing a character to represent ourselves at J.'s suggestion. (I'm Donkey. J. is Shrek, MB is the princess and MS is the dragon. Very fitting.) We brainstormed and the girls practiced their spelling and writing: each of us took a turn of thinking of a fall or Halloween item we could add to our list, then we all got paper, crayons, and markers and began to create. I drew a rat looking at a "spooky" candle standing in front of a "spooky" window with blowing curtains and more candles on the wall. The girls drew pumpkins and rats and other such things. J. drew what he said was a picture of "grandma". LOL

We're going to continue making fall/Halloween pictures to hang all over the house, plus other crafts. I'm on the hunt today for appropriate foods/crafts/activities. It'll be fun. Makes me wonder why I was lamenting a bit last night that I had no weekend plans. I love my kids.

Oh, and we talked. I told them my Bunco story. They talked about the mean kids at school and how thank goodness Dakota M. finally moved to another table, because he wouldn't let MB be friends with Dakota L., her best friend and future husband. We talked about card-playing strategies such as why you don't want to show everyone your cards. We talked about academic things such as addition, counting by fives, score keeping, grouping, sorting, measuring, and spelling. We talked about morals such as bravery, kindness, friendship, forgiveness and teamwork. We spoke of safety, molasses, mushrooms, and what "etc." means.
Anything and everything is open for discussion. Their little minds just operate in a way that ours cannot, and it's more than fascinating to hear what they're thinking. They take everything in, contemplate and digest it and form their own opinions and reasoning behind it. I cheer them on. This is the best part of parenting.

Ultimately I believe I am in control of my life. I always have the freedom of choices. However, it feels more like the looming child custody battle is in charge. I find myself thinking I'd better shape up my school performance and get a respectable job, push myself harder and spend less time doing the things I enjoy. I've overcome the continual feeling of ill that accompanied the thought of losing custody of my children, to walk with more faith and confidence and less worry. However, it's still such an indescribable awful feeling, to know that anything and everything you do down to the tiniest detail could be held under a microscope and used against you to prove that you shouldn't be allowed to parent your own children. Even if I were a better writer I couldn't capture this for you to understand. I wish someone understood.

I knew it was weird when Mom called to say "Hi-what-are-you-doing." The "something's weird" antennas went right up and were justified with her next sentence: "We need another Bunco player."

Bunco? Bunco is a world I've never even glimpsed and never thought I'd be a part of. It is some game that all the women get excited about, turning red in the face and laughing about inside jokes. Bunco was clearly a rural-Missouri-farmwife area ONLY. No one really knew what went on on Bunco night, but those of us excluded knew to stay away.

Technically I am a part of this group of women. By locale. By birth. Somewhat by upbringing. Although I love these women to death, I don't exactly fit in and never expected to be called upon to join the circle, not even for one night, not even as a substitute.

Anyway, off to Bunco I ran and quickly I learned to play. It could hardly be more simple--a fast paced dice game. Oh the silliness of the ladies! Oh the competition, the jokes, the peels of laughter! I must say it was borderline obnoxious. Or at least loud. Those women really enjoy themselves and it was hard not to smile and laugh too. Next thing you know, I rolled a "bunco" and found a loud noise burst forth from me (which admittedly sounded a bit like a squeal), clapping my hands and taking possession of the "bunco box". Yes, it's true. I was getting into it. In fact, I must say with pride that I "buncoed" four times, and won the most games (21 out of 36). I not only got a nice prize for simply attending (a halloween themed pot holder-- and yes, I like it) I got a really great prize for my wins (a halloween themed rake-- you'd have to see it). As different as I am from those ladies, I was as thrilled as they were with these cutesy Halloween decoration prizes. Okay, maybe not *as* thrilled, but pleased. I liked 'em. So I'm not so far from my roots after all.

Some day I ought to write about that. I'd love to be able to capture this area, my family and relatives in a very small rural farm town. And then capture myself, so the differences can be seen. I think the differences would be more evident but the similarities are there as well. I hope you would see both.

I have a friend whom I've only recently realized has had to put up with a lot from me and has shown he's every bit as capable of offering patience and tolerance as I'm apt to brag upon myself as being demonstrative of. All the while I sat there flattering myself as having put up with so much and yet still being steadfast to my lofty friendship ideals, there was one among the two of us who did the same, but did so much more quietly.

He's difficult sometimes. I've never had to deal with someone who was intelligent enough to match me, to pick up on the nuances that I usually hide with psychological maneuvering. It takes me many months, sometimes, to realize he responded in the way he did because he perceived something I wouldn't admit to having expressed. I've never had a friend challenge me. Oh how I've hated it! How unused to it I am! And yet, how can one grow without challenges? He doesn't always conform to my expectations of a friend and won't always coddle me.

I've never had a friend with so much material to learn from. It's not that he's perfect. He does, however, offer his uniqueness, with the challenge that I also examine, form my own opinions, change and grow, and to do so unafraid. He's been a catalyst for the discovery and development of me.

There is much more I could say in general flattery, but I write this to express my realization that this is a person to whom I have not given enough credit as FRIEND.

"My throat hurts," remarked my daughter MB. I did the obligatory "let me feel your forehead" and funny, she did feel a little warm. Got out the good old-fashioned glass thermometer (good mommy that I am) and lo and behold, a bit of a fever. I perked up. Whooee! No school for me today! "How would you like to stay home with me today?" I asked her. She found the prospect equally pleasing.

Out to the car we go to take the other daughter to school. I carry J. and my cell phone and load the children up. Start the car. It dies, so I start it again (and think, if it's already having trouble starting in this only-mildly-cool weather, oh the agony this winter will bring!). The radio, as always, is already on to 96.5 "the Buzz."

The morning talk show is amusing as usual. Someone has called them but is unaware they've done so. You can hear this person's background noise on the radio, and the DJs are saying, "Hello....pick up your phone!" and laughing. "We heard you put your kid in the car. We heard you shut your door.--She must be listening to us! I think I can hear us on her radio. Lady, answer your phone..." I listen mindlessly for a minute or two, not feeling all that awake, until I hear, "We heard you start your car, twice." And it clicked.

I pick up my phone and am totally mortified to see its screen say "96.5 the buzz." I put it to my ear and hear those oh-so-familiar voices laughing.

Me: Oh my god! [or "gosh"]
them: [hysterical laughter]
Me: You're talking to me!
them: Yeah. [more laughter]
Me: I've been listening for several minutes, waiting for that idiot to pick up her phone! [laughing]
them: That idiot is you! [more laughter]
Me: Oh yes. I'll admit it.
them: Why did you call us?!
Me: Well, I was carrying my son and the phone in the same arm. His butt must've dialed your number. [Yes, that's actually what I said!]

They go on to ask me my name and where I'm calling from. I tell them I'm taking the kids to school. I don't even know what all was said-- I was in total shock. I was an idiot, the morning joke of my favorite radio station and all who listen to it. I think it's great.

(The best part)
I'm headed up to the station today to pick up a prize (my consolation for being the laughing stock of the listening area). I'm pleased. Boy do I love free stuff, and winning stuff--and owning actual 96.5 paraphernalia feels almost holy! Heading to the station today feels a bit like making a pilgrimage. Obviously I'm exaggerating, but then again, if you've ever heard me speak of my favorite radio station, you might begin to wonder...

(The worst part)
I didn't get the chance to tell them how devoted I am to their station. I should have told them how much I love their show. I'm a fan as other people are fans of their favorite television shows or bands. If I seem fanatical, compare me to a sports fan covered in body paint or something. I'm not so bad.

I'll try to keep this my one and only "I love 96.5 the Buzz" posting. Now those of you who didn't know, know, and those who did got to hear it all over again.

*Check them out: http://www.965thebuzz.com
*I highly recommend this link: http://www.965thebuzz.com/listings3906.asp
*This one gives you an idea of what music I like: http://www.965thebuzz.com/listings3904.asp

(Visit that second link and win major brownie points with me, to be redeemed for prizes of your choosing!)

OH how I hate this feeling! Yucky, blechy, ick. BLAH.

I quite literally spent the whole day in bed yesterday, minus an hour or two. Felt sick in more ways than one, meaning not just physically. I wasn't vomiting or anything like that, but I most certainly did not feel well, meaning that standing up, eating, or staying awake was pretty much beyond my capacity. Mostly it was my heart that was bothering me (a long story in itself if you don't already know), which I guess could be seen as symbolic. Or not. I never know how much symbolism is appropriate to place. Anyway, we'll sum up this story by saying I felt thoroughly bad (in more ways than one) yesterday and only feel mildly better today.

I wish there was an easy way to dispel disconcerting thoughts. They just keep coming at me again and again like waves of nausea.

Woke up this morning with the most awful feeling of imperfection. I wasn't who I wanted to be last night and I put more weight on that than I should. I was so far from perfect. So far from my ideal. I'm logically quite aware that I was just fine and that this imperfection doesn't mean that I ruined everything for everyone--but I have the nagging feeling that it means precisely that.

It's a lie that if only I had been better everything would have gone better. I know this, despite feeling it.

(Silly me. My logic never seems to win against my emotions.)