Welcome to my less than perfect life!

Embracing the imperfections that make my life practically perfect in every way.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Nugget Had a Little Lamb

And yes, its fleece IS white as snow.  And it's name, quite logically, is Mary.

Mary is terrorizing our household.

We've actually had this little stuffed lamb for a long time and The Nugget never took much interest in it.  A few weeks back, she picked it up and dubbed it Mary.  Since that time, Mary has caused no end of trouble.  First of all, she screams.  A lot.  Loudly.  In fairness to The Nugget, she seems eager to control the screaming by putting Mary into time out.  The screaming was the first behavior Mary displayed, so I just kind of chalked that up to The Nuggets need to have someone to control/boss around.  Now, however, Mary has moved into other behaviors.  She hits, she bites, she poops on things.  She tells The Nugget to do things (so far nothing too bad like killing us in our sleep, but who knows what is next).  I swear to you, The Nugget fights with Mary just like she's a sibling.  And she tattles on Mary just like she's a sibling, too.

At first, I was pleased when she took an interest in Mary.  Mary is, after all, a cute little lamb with a cute little name.  After weeks of bickering and tattling, however, I am ready to move on from the entire Mary situation.  After a particularly irksome evening of Mary hitting The Nugget repeatedly last night, I informed Mary and The Nugget that if Mary couldn't behave then we might have to get rid of her.  The Nugget was not please with this idea and hugged Mary protectively to her chest.  One would think she might like to get rid of the little trouble maker, apparent bain of her existence, but no, she vouched for Mary.

I can only assume that Mary is letting The Nugget act out some of her more negative emotions in a (somewhat) acceptable way.  And Mary might have something to do with a desire for a sibling.  All I know is, she's driving me nuts.  This is one of those toys that may need to "disappear" before too long.  That is if Mary doesn't disappear me first.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Let's Rant (put on your red shoes and rant the blues)!

1.  A while back my company was bought out by a bigger company.  No big deal.  Until now.  Now the bigger company has taken over all of our internet access and by taken over I mean completely ceased.  I can no longer look at Blogger at work.  My job satisfaction, and frankly productivity, is plummeting!  How I am supposed to make writing a blog pay for itself if not with their dollars?

2.  Some complete idiot went screeching by me and passed me on the left inside of my neighborhood the other morning while all the kids were standing out at the school bus stops.  I couldn't see his plate well enough to write it down (because I'm sure someone besides me will care about this) but I am focused with laser-like intensity on finding him again.  If anyone sees a silver Honda Accord circa 2000, give me a call.

3.  Trash.  Why are people such litterbugs?  Taking a walk with the family the other night we came across so much garbage, some within easy walking distance of a garbage can.  Near the soccer fields, it was clear someone had just driven up and cleaned out their car on the curb and left a huge pile of garbage for the trash fairies to pick up.  Oh, wait, those don't exist.

4.  Which leads me to my next point: people are stupid. That's really all I have to say on that subject because this post would be never-endingly long if I expanded.

5.  I am glad the Olympics are over.  I know it is probably un-patriotic of me to say this, but I was ready for them to end.  Like many of you, I had tears in my eyes at many moments and was very moved by them, but I think a week is about my breaking point.  After that, I just don't care.  How many more beach volleyball games with the exact. same. players can I be expected to watch (particularly when each play is ALWAYS instantly re-played)?  How many more dives can I break down the trajectory of?  No, it was time for them to end and I'll be that much happier when they begin in four years.  And then end.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

What New Tires Can Do


Grief, like the thump of a heartbeat, is always with me.  Sometimes in the background, quietly powering the parts of me that lie beneath the surface:

he's gone, he's gone, he's gone

Sometimes, in ways that I don't expect, it feels as though I've run a marathon and the grief, like that quickened heartbeat, suddenly becomes a deafening roar, the only thing I can hear:

HE'S GONE, HE'S GONE, HE'S GONE

Four years ago, on a hot summer day, I sat in the service station and waited for my tires to be changed.  On this day when I should have been home bonding with my newborn son, I sat in the service station and got new tires.  I cried.  I cried all of the time then.  It was wrong to go about this mundane task as if new tires meant anything at all in the face of the loss of a son.  For months on end, the pounding was the only thing I could hear.

HE'SGONEHE'SGONEHE'SGONEHE'SGONEHE'SGONEHE'SGONEHE'SGONE

I went to the service station just the other day.  A regular service, just maintenance.  It was in the back of my mind, though, quietly fueling my thoughts.  I hoped they wouldn't mention it.  I hoped that I could just wait until I was ready to address it myself.  I could hear the quiet beating.

he's gone, he's gone, he's gone

The service man came.  The service man told me what I didn't want to hear.  The service man suggested that I needed to get new tires.  And there it was, that deafening roar, thrumming in my ears:

HE'S GONE, HE'S GONE, HE'S GONE

The days of life have worn down the time between now and the birth of my baby boy.  Time has eroded minutes and hours and years and, as they fly by, my son is further and further from my reach.  So much time has gone by that my tires, those new tires over which I cried alone on that summer day, are all worn down.

He's gone.

He's gone.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Roots

Driving home from a recent family gathering, I was filled with angst and uncertainty.  When I visit with my family, I am always left with these uneasy feelings.  We do not have an easy, natural relationship.  Getting together always feels like hard work.  As I said to my husband, it triggers feelings of not knowing my place in the world.

Thinking further, it's not that I don't know where I belong now.  I belong right where I am, with The Mister and The Nugget.  I have dear friends who are closer than any of my family ever have been.  I am close with The Mister's family and appreciate the love and support they have given me.  Still, once in a while I feel...rootless.

My parents divorced when I was 3.  After that, I saw my father a couple of times a year for many years.  It is my understanding that he didn't pay child support and, knowing her, my mother would have been too fiercely proud to ask for it.  Because of the fighting between my mother and step father at home, I moved to my father's house when I was 15.  I moved out when I was 18 and went to college.  My mother died when I was 19.  For many years, I had no mother and did not speak with my father.  Some of that was my foolish childishness.  Some of that was my father's social awkwardness.  Some of it was simply that we had never developed a real relationship and didn't know one another very well.  I know we are both sorry about that fact, but neither of us knows exactly how to fix it.

I have siblings.  Half brothers.  Step brothers.  I have some nieces and some nephews.  I have aunts and uncles and cousins.  Most all of them live in and around the same town.  Sadly, I am not close to any of them.  The fractures that started in my childhood with my parents' divorce and continued through years of loss have deepened and I have been unable to bridge the divide back to my family; they have been unable to bridge the divide back to me.

Sometimes I get angry about it.  My father never visited my home until I was 33 years old.  Not once as an adult had he visited my home until then (and only then because my son had died).  I cannot imagine letting my child go all those years and never once bothering to see where she even lived.  "What kind of parent does that?" I ask myself.

Other times I feel guilty.  I have gatherings to which I never invite members of my family.  It really just doesn't occur to me.  I don't really seek out opportunities to visit with my family; I do major holidays and events and leave it at that.  "What kind of a child does that?" I ask myself.

Most of the time, I just feel sad.  I think my father has done the best he can.  I really do.  It just hasn't been good enough for him to be a good father.  He loves me, I know that.  He just has no idea how to demonstrate that.  I am lonely for the relationships that I hear others describe with their parents - fathers who coached sports teams, mothers who baked goods for school events, siblings who call and visit and are involved in one another's lives.  I have accepted that none of this will ever describe my family of origin.

I am determined, however, that my family of choice, my daughter's family, will do better.  That we will value one another over everyone else.  That I will be the mother who bakes and plays and plans outings.  That I am the mother who hugs and says, "I love you", and who talks through things.  I have chosen a husband who is caring and open.  We value the family we are building and talk frequently about our commitment to each other and the fact that ours is a forever marriage, that we took each other, truly, for better or for worse.

The roots of the tree I was born to have withered a lot.  I am going to water and nourish the roots of the tree I am growing.  My daughter will be grounded in this family, she will know where she comes from, where she always belongs and that we will be here whenever she needs to look back.  I am rooting myself right here, along with The Nugget and The Mister, right where we all belong.