The words, including "Penis" make Mer-boy squirm...and honestly, in a sick, demented way...I enjoy it. (why I don't know)
"Bad Mommy"...but really, we ARE Unitarian, and Mer has attended O.W.L (Our Whole Lives) sexual education. Nary a school chum refers to their appendage as a "Penis" though...therein lies the communication gap.
Me: "Well what do you want me to call it, it's no different than your elbow?"
Mer: "I don't know, just, just, just don't CALL it anything!"
Shit, pre-teens are a pain in the ass. When they aren't glued to the Wii, or a hand held (no pun intended) they have LITERALLY nothing to say, but "I'm hungry"
If I could ship his ass off to boarding school I'd do it in a heartbeat...then within the next few heartbeats I'd miss his obnoxious retorts so badly I'd fly to Switzerland and collect Mer myself!
Those of you who have watched Mer grow from a precocious four-year-old into a HIDEOUS eleven and a HALF-year-old, know what I'm talking about.
No more snuggling in the cold of the winter to save on heating bills..."I need MY space MOM" (Oh, no he did NOT?)...but, he did, and they DO, and we MUST let them GO!
As difficult as severing that umbilicus is, our offspring don't want to hear us use words like VAGINA, CLITORIS, and the God-forbidden PENIS...
it just happens, like while were making coffee one morning everything shifts...and we have to embrace the shift, as much as it means we will forever be alone, spinsters, with 47 cats all named "Kitty"
The bright side to all this is, as they age, they become EMPLOYABLE...rendering our paychecks for such things as "Blue seven", "Toms Shoes" (more than one pair) Denali coats, J. Crew to no end...
Wake up Mama, he's eleven. K.
So a few more years and then he won't call my boyfriend "It"...
and he does. i. e. "It" tracked mud in the house, "It" made a mess in the kitchen", "It" broke one of the solar lamps along the drive"
Baby boy..."It" kept Mama warm last night, and that's ALL, because "IT" happens to care about you like "It' does "It's" own daughter...
Take it or leave it kid ((HUGS))
I write...I shoot, then I write some more about what I shot...not in the last three months have I been up to par (totaled vehicle, broken body)
Today I sit (a miracle in and of its self) writing nothing extraordinary except my life in living color. "Zenith" and the NBC Peacock would be so proud.
I am finally recovering from a time when I could not get out of bed, and had to send Mer-boy to stay with friends, I cleaned my house the other day...this from a woman who knew her life was destined to be over as she knew it...and it is. My life, the life of a woman who never said "No" to any request...school functions,Scouts, Dance, Piano, etc....it's OVER.
I can only do what my body, mind and soul will allow. I'm becoming OK with these limitations, learning to ask for help when I need it, not dependent on alternative resources to achieve perfection, cause honey they don't exist.
It's the "Big Lie" that I've believed all my life, making up for the mother I never had, being raised predominately by my father...I have no clue how to be a "Good Enough" mother, except to look in my child's eyes. He tells the whole story in one glance.
If you think you'll find it in books, good luck on that amount of money...the answer lies within your child, within your heart, within those dreams of resentment and fear that you think no one else has...we ALL do, it's part of embracing motherhood.
The sacrifices are not sacrifices dear one, they are gifts beyond words...turn them around. There is no greater gift than losing a party to stay home and re-reading "Where the wild things are" or "Good night moon" for the millionth time...no greater event of joy.
I can no longer hold my 50lb child, let him run and jump into my arms...but I can love him deeply nonetheless. He deserves a fully present MOTHER...not a woman plucking her eyebrows, worrying about gray hair...he deserves ME in all my fabulous, glorious self, just as I am...
For that I am grateful and I don't need anymore freakin widgets to explain!
I hurt, fact.
Mer on the other hand does not. Mer WILL practice his lessons, or he'll never see another gaming device until he's eighteen. At which time, he may buy (with his own money) whatever the Hell he wants.
This is a child so mastered at multiple things, if there's no challenge for him, he loses interest...and quickly. He is a pro manipulator, and knows when mom hurts the cat, no scratch that, the mice will play (their video games)
Every gaming system this child has wanted, Hell for that matter, every THING this child has wanted I've catered to. I say "No MORE" or "No MER". I simply cannot afford the life he's accustomed to and get out of debt.
So learn to understand the love I feel for you, heart of my heart...when I do say "NO Mer", it is you who have this future all mapped out of Classen SAS, then OCU...not I.
This is YOUR life child, and I refuse to enable you to fail at your dreams any longer. You may not realize this as of yet, but you are my life.
I only want for you that which was unavailable to me.
Thought parent teacher conference was somehow in a black abyss of time-space, out of sight, out of minded-ness (that would be me) had to resched. for after Neuro on Friday when I can hopefully be mobile w/ out the use of a Lark. (Not going to moan after weed eater man)
My sister, being an educator will officially beat me with a stick. (she thoroughly enjoys it though) I had to listen to her from Poteau to Little Rock the entire trip this morning about the hideousness of PTC (pray for her...I sure won't)
She could have found the lost city of Atlantis, (BA in Archeology, studied under the father of Anthropology Dr. Clyde Snow) but noooo, had to get her teaching certificate just because...what WAS his name? Anyway, left her w/ two kids and no resources.
So if you haven't hugged your kids teacher today (well, tomorrow) by God do it...they live just below the national poverty level and practically raise others children where WE fall short.Kiss a Teacher Day starts tomorrow (after John Beebe's Birthday of course)
So by now most of you with children of school age have received the"MARK YOUR CALENDAR" brochure from "Life Touch" School Portraits within the bowels of their back packs. Or worse yet, said child(ren) have already circled the items they want by the time the brochure hits your hot little hands.
Now, one can even obtain images on CD, with said child's name and grade emblazoned across the ever-popular wallet size, (2 1/2 X 3 1/2) retouching for an additional five clams, with as many poses and colors to choose from.
The kicker is, the least expensive "Package" (and I use that word loosely) is $33.50, with the Granddaddy of "Life Touch" being a whopping $72.00 (photo magnets included)
I have one question:
What the Hell happened?
I mean, when did "Life Touch" win the monopoly on school portraits, and (Ok, maybe more than ONE question) start strong-arming parents into buying, not once, not twice, not three times a year...but every flippin' quarter...the grand finale' being the worst since they shoot, THEN send the pictures home for your "Approval"??
And the "Photographers" are like twelve and just got fired from Wendy's, get zero training so you almost ALWAYS have to do retakes (maybe it's just Mer's cowlick, but still...it's called a COMB)
Seriously, we know are kids are cute, but at the cost of our flippin' gas bill? This year I draw the line (I have SEVEN YEARS worth of school portrait packages...and I'm gonna wallpaper the bathroom in them)
I have more wallet size images of Mer than I like to admit, not to mention his image on everything from key chains to coffee mugs. No more! I know what my kid looks like damn it, I own a camera, a phone with a camera, HE owns a phone with a camera...MIRRORS for Christs sake. His ego will be just fine...or will it?
THAT'S where they getcha', right in the old maternal guilt spot...the limey bastards.
"What if his picture isn't in the yearbook?" "What if this is the year a girl wants a wallet size emblazoned with his grade and name?" "What if he grows up, digs through the entire ROOM full of Mer-mobelia and doesn't find his 5th grade "Life Touch" portraits?"
The "What if's" combined with "Maternal Guilt"...
I'm in the wrong industry.
Over the weekend (whilst I don't write) I received a call from...dum, dum, dum...my brother (who's REALLY gonna be pissed off I wrote about him.)
He, being my brother, needed to censure me, in a kind and loving (for my brother) way. "You don't need to be talking about shit like quitting pain killers after your wreck" (said, (cough) he.
I'm OK with that. Because I'm almost certain NO ONE has EVER had a PROBLEM with MOOD ALTERING substances. Almost certain. Right?
Pretty sure Heath Ledger was a homicide, and Michael Jackson, well...he's REALLY alive and well and living in the freakin Bahama's.
The worst part being, those that need pharmaceutical assistance, get treated like the above mentioned idiots, err, addicts, when they really do.
So, for my brother, I hereby will no longer talk about pain killers on this site...I'll just moan a lot. Sigh, deeeep sigh. Hypocrisy notwithstanding, I love my brother with all my heart and then some. He's shrewed and calculating, yes...but he's built something from nothing.
I suspect we both have in different ways, but while he's shrewed and calculating, I'm out trying to save the world...which he reminded me "You can't do" So, I'll refrain from all attempts at saving the world one day at a time. Albeit difficult as Hell, it serves me not, takes from my family that which they need, and leaves me feeling spent and discombobulated (wow, spell check didn't even go off on that one)
I'm proud of my brother, grateful his eyes see things mine cannot, grateful for his external strength and internal gentleness. Amazed that after twenty years we have somehow come to a happy medium of acceptance in regards for the other.
(man am I gonna catch it for this post)
He may not know who Frida Kahlo is, Kandinsky, Klee, Walter Benton, or what living with chronic pain is like while raising a child alone...but I feel he cares deeply for me.
However, censorship happens to be something I'm strongly opposed to as it violates my First Amendment Right to Freedom of press and speech. The Net being the only place I'm allowed to write as I will...just sayin'
Only for you bro, only for you.
...and they sent us a txt to let us KNOW, those sweeties at AT&T.
At .30 a pop, I wanna send picture txts to everyone...it's so inviting...here I am smoking a cigarette at "Cuppies & Joe", here I am in the carpool line, here I am sitting on my ass sending picture txts, ooh, and here I am in church (that's the Minister, the one with the cool robe), here I am at the Wedge in DD, here I...you get the point, I totally LIVE for pictures, photographs, digital imaging, enhancement, etc., and ever since I got the FREE Photogene app, and the not-so-free Camera Bag app...the crappy iphone pics aren't so crappy anymore (OK, they're still pretty crappy) but more fun to play with.
I love my "Husband" and am still attempting to recover data from my poor drowned Ex (rest his sim card) I would expect my child to go without food before I let go of my "Husband"...I need him to function fully...I don't have to 'splain it Lucy, not if you're also married to a smart phone, single, over 40 and have a child.
It tells me things I forget constantly, as long as I remind it to at that precise moment, other wise I'm screwed. I'm screwed 1/4 the time anyway, at least 3/4 the time I'm on target.
Yesterday at the...Pharmacia, there was an elderly woman, very sweet, soft spoken, whom I over heard telling the assistant she just got her license to carry a concealed weapon. Bought herself a freakin' .357 Mag.
She reminded me of the older lady in the not-so-humorous Hallmark cards, who's always saying things like "You're not 55 years older, you just can't poop on your own and need pharmaceutical assistance to sustain an erection...Happy Birthday Youngin!"
I gave her an "Attagirl" as she was leaving...with a cane. OMG that's scary the world's become so violent a widow gets burglarized, heads down to H&H gun range, buys a weapon and takes lessons...and NOW can carry the damn thing anywhere she wants to.
I mean, I'd do it to, just not legally. I don't want anyone knowing (anyone being the freakin Government) what I have or how many...which for all intents and purposes is none.
It was pretty wicked-cool to see someone her age so proactive in defending herself, that's all. Let's hope she stays lucid when the mail man comes a few years down the road, ya?
Mesta Festa is this afternoon at Pearl Mesta Park on 18th & Shartel from noon - 5:00, but unless I can bring this metallic/canvas hybrid Adirondack chair and do nothing but sit...not going. AND...I just remembered the laundry sitting in the washing machine from last night. (Probably not a good enough excuse not to go)
I woke up in horrific pain that's lessened as I've moved around, but something has to change. This is no way to live at my age. My 98 yr old neighbor moves better than I do.
There has to be a happy medium, a place of moderate pain, tolerable pain that still allows me to do things like...go to the grocery store and shop...not just hit Walgreens because it's small, quick and relatively painless...but extremely expensive.
...over half the people in the US live with Chronic, untreated pain. M.D.'s get like one semester on pain management, one semester on addiction, then shit like Michael Jackson hits the media outlets and the people who truly need it are screwed.
Insurance wont pay for alternative healing, chiropractors, acupuncture, you have to be dying to get an MRI or physical therapy. Then the "Specialist's" want to start cutting you open with a half assed chance it'll improve, and a half assed chance it'll mean more surgeries or worse pain.
So I write.
I write to save my life, to keep from going mad, to channel constructively the pain, to TRY and not focus on the life I had before the accident. (I'm not listening, lalalalalala)
...and because, it's what I do.
Some days are focused outward, others in, but it's what I do and have always done, at times exceptionally well...this, this is NOT one of those times.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...(wanna see a txt of me breathing?)
So I couldn't flippin write this morning due to some bizarre foul-up with Mozilla...then I did the brilliant and mundane IE w/ Google Chrome.
Then I wanted to fight about Religion and the First amendment with just about everyone on FB, so I went back to bed. It made sense at the time.
I'm usually pretty even keeled about this stuff, then that moronic Kirk Cameron starts spewing his twisted crap all over the net...it was more than I could take.
I'm not a radical by nature...oh, that's BS I am too. Radically pissed off I've gained ten lbs and can't fit into any of my jeans w/ out that, that, that mother bulge thing. Muffin top, yeah that's what it's called.
So between Mozilla's demons, Cameron and the muffin top, it's just been a narcissistic day from Hell. AND I'm not even sure why I'm writing except that if I don't, I wont...for a long time.
It boils down to "I'm fat, and the God that doesn't exist hates me"
Oh lord, err, I mean, well I'm not sure WHAT I replace my expletives with. I know I miss the pain killers and when I'm in pain I'm pissed at the world. Mer-boy's going camping and leaving me here with his neurotic dog he was gonna die w/out getting back.
Shit. OK, so I did get the clothes OUT of the dryer and folded (took a break), then filled the basket with dirty ones (took a break) swept the living room (took a break), the hall(break) bedrooms (break) (break) and now I'm on the porch...taking a, yep, a break.
Every movement is riddled with shooting pain, so I figure the more movements in small increments throughout the day...and it's like a normal person, Oh I don't know...walking from their car into Target.
I'm exhausted and I want my drugs back.
This morning, I'm going through my bag, and there at the bottom, staring up at me with a maniacal grin on it's face...was one...lonely...little...PILL, that had somehow been discarded amongst the tobacco, receipts, gum wrappers, etc.
I stared it down...slowly, as if not to frighten the lil guy, reaching, reaching, r e a c h i n g..."MOOOOOM?
"I can't get the cap off the toothpaste again"
"Here, give me the damn th...here honey, let me do it"
"Anytime" (now, where was I? Shit. It's almost 7:15, let's get a move on)
It wasn't until I was at the pharmacia, visiting my beloved Alan for my weekly refill (can't be trusted w/ a whole months worth. Hey, I'm the one who set it up that way, so shove off) that I remembered...
The lil guy at the bottom of...shit, just do it.
"Hey, um Alan, can you um, put this in the trash quickly, then remove said rubbish receptacle from my line of sight?"
Alan, taunting as ever "Why can't you do it?"
"Just do it! Please?"
(Him and that shit eating grin)
As I reached for the lil guy, I swear it tried to jump away, felt warm to the touch, as if welcoming me into it lair. GOT IT. Slowly I moved my quivering hand across the counter towards the trashcan being held up for my reach...and it was a loooong reach.
Then, then, then the lil guy gave me this sorrowful look of utter abandonment and betrayal, like "How could you? After all we've shared together?"
Like this: and I opened my hand.
I've thought of him a lot today, what that one lil guy could have done had I let him. Yes, yes I miss him (and all his roomies) over the last few weeks we did share some special moments together. Or rather, I perceived them as such, that's the trick.
One lil guy is too many, and...well, you know the rest of the story.
I wonder when they take the trash out at Buy 4 Less?
Dear Mother Eartha Kitt,
thank you the worst is behind me...now if I could just move w/out the pain! L. came and grabbed Mer-boy, who was inadvertently left at school because we got our wires crossed.
I have NEVER left my child at school ONCE! I'm a horrib, no I'm not, I'm not gonna get on my back today because it can't handle the extra weight.
Shit happens,kids get forgotten at school once in a while and that doesn't mean your a bad Mom.
Mer stayed at L's last night because I was just too sick to be there for him...that's what good mom's do, I'm guessing.
I honestly don't know, I just try to put myself in Mer's place. I hated taking care of my mom...but I loved her.
Alzheimer's and mental illness stole so much of my childhood, I believed at the time I was being a "Big Girl" helping take care of her. You can ask anyone who watched me scream into my teenage years what that does to a child.
Hell on wheels with no brakes, and it's not that I didn't care, it's that I just didn't care...if that makes sense. I was making up for lost time, lost years spent spoon feeding a mannequin mashed potatoes who thought I was her sister Chris half the time and her ex lover June the other half.
Dad, being the wise one, just watched and waited for one or all of us to come to him. Then he'd sit down and we'd have these amazing talks about anything and everything...he was my rock. Then I buried him too.
I parent like my dad, which kinda sucks for a little kid "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get on out there, you'll be fine" isn't what the other PTA mom's say to their kiddo's. They say things like "Oh sweetie, are you OK...poor baby, kisses"
I couldn't say that with a straight face if I was getting paid (depends on the amount actually)
Mer-boy has a tough road ahead, and if I coddle him it's only going to make it tougher. I nurture him, we cuddle and play, but I'm not gonna blow smoke up my kids ass when he stands 48 in tall in what should have been 6th grade (held him back a year to undo the damage that his previous school did)
He has to learn to run with the big dogs, focus on his gifts, learn to be a leader not a follower. The two biggest trouble makers in 5th grade got Class President and Vice President this week...squeaky wheel Mer, squeaky wheel.
Girls love bad boys, and any combination of such. It's always the ones who draw the most attention to themselves, then ignore you, yeah that's how I ended up choosing to have you by myself.
Too much mama drama kid.
So find your own rhythm, sing your own song, dress however you want and-I-don't-care-if-you-wear-nail-polish-to-school-if-you-like-it...it's your life. Long hair, short hair, blue hair, no hair, you are your own person.
(That goes for you too beautiful...)
Happy Birthday Sweetheart! Hey, Marc was right.
All I can say is dang this sucks.
Bundled up like a bear, huddled in my giant purple & black striped American Apparel hoodie, shivering. Not because of the flippin cold, but because i flushed my stupid pain killers yesterday.
(Because I'm a rocket scientist)
So I better write before my hands fall off. Hey, there was only a weeks worth left, it wasn't THAT dramatic, but I know myself, and I know I could feel myself really starting to neeeed them.
I need a better idea of what my pain level really is. Not the rebound pain I'll feel immediately after wards, but the true pain from the damage in the wreck.
I'm not a woose, even though some will argue this point (but they're all incarcerated so it doesn't count) I also needed my blood pressure up for the MRI tomorrow. Pain increases your BP, which thusly allows techs with fake nails, short skirts, and perfectly coiffed hair to get a freakin line in.
Which, according to above mentioned tech "Has never happened before"
So I'll get the stupid MRI in excruciating pain, BP up, cath line in, dye injected, contrast films, good to go...home and feel like shit.
They saw something on the films they took last week, because yesterday I got a call from Neurosurgery wanting me to come in TODAY. "Umm, well ya see I have to get another MRI on Thursday"
"Oh, well then lets wait on the results...the next available is Oct 2nd, can you make that?" Hell yeah, sure beats having to wait six more months, which was what I was looking at before the last MRI.
Of course the call came literally 37 minutes AFTER I flushed the last of my pain killers. Brilliant, or Divine.
I woke up wanting to chew on shards of glass to get my mind off the pain in my back (NOT sane thinking) Maybe if I can just sleep I'll wake up and it'll all be over (stop laughing)
I'm grateful I wasn't on them any longer than I was. Six weeks is six weeks too long. Why my insurance wont cover Yoga, Chiropractors, alternative forms of medicine...just ridiculous they want to pour poison into us, then scream "Addict!" and head for the hills.
I'd just like my sense of smell back, a desire to...well, a DESIRE period. The thing about pain killers is you can be perfectly at ease on your bed with a copy of "O" magazine, and the world goes away.EVERYTHING goes away.
Not so good.
I happen to like most parts of the world (especially the parts I'm in) and don't want to sacrifice my place here, what I have to offer to others.
Mer-boy made me a "Walking Stick" (I refuse to call it a cane) and it really helps when my EGO will allow it. he wants to put leather and feathers, gem stones, and bling all over it...I begged him not to, saying "I love the eau natural look and feel" It's hard enough to use an instrument of destruction to ambulate, let alone it draw more attention than necessary.
9:00 AM and the pain is greater, but the w/d are not, minus a pounding head ache. I'll try and sleep now.
Keep me in your "Happy Place" until...
I don't deal with physical pain worth a crapola, and both my kids were sans Epidi's. I can TAKE pain...IF...I know there's an end in sight.
Living w/ a body I've not been terribly nice to through the years, then smashing into two lovely, new, sub-compact, vehicles and totaling my SUV (still haven't figured THAT one out) two months ago, has taken it's toll on a body coming into, what the Greek's call "Prime", and Network Executives call "Cougars"
Doesn't feel "Prime", let alone, umm, (cough) Cougar-ish...so send positive, healing, JuJu my way, as I to you. Believe in the power of "Prayer", of "Thinking on" another, when driving, shopping for garbanzo beans, brushing ones teeth, pulling weeds...matters not how. The power is in the act.
Light a candle, play with your children/Grandchildren, watch the rain, wonder at nature, feed the birds, you don't need a man to be happy. It could be nice, or it could bring more baggage than you ever thought was humanly possible into your life. (speaking from experience we all know this as fact) What I'm saying is, like myself, find a way to be happy where you are, as you are. Even if it means living with pain.
We are related.We are one.
Much work ahead in the coming months, mind, body and soul aligned. Right thinking leads to right living, which leads to forgetting of self. (remind me of this later)
To all my relations, who know, who need not know and to all my relations who have yet to know...
To "Trudge" means "to walk with purpose."
Therefore I trudge...
albeit begrudgingly at times, but by God I trudge.
...and it's, well maybe it's not the rain it's self per se' that's getting on my nerves, but the incessant draining, the drip-drip-drip of water on the splash board out side my studio window.
Cabin fever is inescapable. Ready to get my life back in full swing, maybe at half-speed, for now. Mer is "Bored" because he's been staying with a family with 42 children...of course he's "Bored", he's having to relearn how to entertain himself.
The realization I needed to write, or stop forking over $$ to Six Apart every month, just hit me. I write for no one in particular, but I rarely write anymore.
"My Chair" is a metal and canvas Adironnak hybrid, taking all the pressure off my lower and now upper back. So I have one place I can sit relatively comfortably.
Sitting at my desk is still a task, as is sleeping through the night, bending, etc., you know the drill. Coming out of what may have been some degree of shock over totaling my vehicle and getting hurt as badly as I did...yeah, it's just now starting to sink in.
In a split second every aspect of my life and my sons life was affected.
That's all it took. A split second.
I know he worries, I can see it in his eyes. As single mothers society looks upon us with scrupulous eyes, not admiration for the challenging task of raising children alone.
You can tell your children all day long "Honey, it's all gonna be just fine. It always has hasn't it? We've always made it haven't we? Nothin's gonna stop us now!"...but they to can see the worry in our own eyes.
Give them credit for nine times out of ten being smarter than we are.
I'm surrounded by elderly, far right-wingers, who think there's something terribly wrong with me. The old guy across the street mows the vacant lot next to me, but has never offered to mow mine. He sits on his porch with one of the other oldsters, just rocking in his swing. Owns every house darn near surrounding mine like he's building a fortress.
Watching like spiders, watching, gossiping loudly because none of them can hear (yet I can, Mer can...and it hurts him), filling in the blanks until they believe their own stories...If I ever get that way, my child has permission to suffocate me in my sleep.
I'm beginning to understand why my brother is so jaded. I don't trust him, and I really want to...but a leopard doesn't change it's spots. He's done things behind my back I'm not happy about, but time will tell. Maybe, just maybe, he'll stop thinking about himself long enough to realize how good it feels to help others...and maybe not.
Life is calling me, and I refuse to capitalize on anyone's greed. I am my own person.
I no longer willing to miss a single moment of drip-drip-driping the Universe has to offer.
There simply isn't enough web space to write my soliloquy over the last month. Dare I even attempt such a foolish act of self-indulgence?
When the Universe screams in ones ear, one must heed the call...this "One" anyway.
Whether it's ones iphone (AKA "Husband") falling into the deep end of a 12 ft 100 yr old pool, diving, against all odds to retrieve said item...to no avail. Walking dripping wet into the nearest Apple store with the look of a child with a broken china doll..."Please, can you fix?"
Despite the fact I'd been eligible for an upgrade since February, I'd put off any major purchases due to...well, due to the fact I'm a penny pinching miser. The OG worked just fine, and I'm not so impatient I need so much SPEED! Regardless, and nearly $300 later (not really sure how THAT happened, except tax, plus Mer-boy just HAD to have a metallic orange incase) I sloshed out of the mall with my new "husband"...were still arguing over email clients.
Needing a hot, chlorine free shower, I went home rather than make a night deposit at the bank to cover the purchase. "I'll do that first thing in the morning" I told no one in particular.
First thing in the morning, I go out to run to the bank while Mer-boy is watching "Tom & Jerry" sharing his breakfast w/ the dog. I notice the drivers side door isn't closed all the way. Once I open it I realize why.
My car, the only car I've ever paid cash for, kept the insurance up, tag current, etc. (yeah, I know) has been vandalized over night. Papers were all over the car, the clove box empty of it's over stuffed contents, console broken off, I couldn't have found important papers if I'd needed to...but wait dear reader, there's more!
I call 911 from the drivers seat, so as not to alert Mer. Dispatch informs me an officer will have to call me back to take the report over the phone. I leave every thing as is to take pictures of, and make my way to the bank. Almost home when the phone rings, and it's a Sgt. needing info from me. "Um, can either I call you in a moment or visa verso? I'm driving and am pretty shook up."
No. She needed at least SOME info right then. I'm fumbling around with my right hand (so it won't know what the left ones doing) trying to find my wallet. Glancing away for a split second was all it took.
A car changed lanes in front of me, and the car in front of him was stopped at a red light...I stomped on my non anti-lock breaks, but it was too late. 1, 2, 3 cars. My Pathfinder was totaled, but they all drove away...how the Hell did THAT happen? Of course I hit two brand new, dealer-tags-still-attached-automobiles.
I don't do things small.
The car is trashed, can't locate my insurance verification, can't find my glasses, phone, or stop crying hysterically because I've never even had a flippin speeding ticket, let alone a major wreck. (and why does my shoulder, arm and back hurt so bad?) "Ma'am, EMSA's on the way."
EMSA? Why? Huh...no wait, I have to get home to Mer-boy & the dog. I'm fine really (ouch) but could you please assist me in locating my Austin Powers glasses and phone?
After signing a release and promising to go to Hospital of my own accord, after having the officer talk w/ Mer on the phone assuring him I was OK and he'd be bringing me home shortly, after watching the "Wrecker Dude" hoist my baby onto the back of his flat bed, after one of the other drivers involved giving me go-to-Hell looks for an hour while the other guy took the time to say "Hang in there, I hope your day gets better"...I remembered Mer's Birthday party was the next day.
I rented a car for a week since I had rental coverage...then much to my chagrin, found out not only did I NOT have rental, neither did I have medical or road side assistance.
Over a four year period with as many different agent changes during that time, someone had altered my policy and was unaware of this vital information. All I knew was Farmers automatically withdrew my monthly premium each month.
That's neither here nor there at this point, since yesterday the new agent pulled my original policy, and the little girl I was trying to help by using her as an agent, NEVER added the excluded items to begin with...it would only have been $20 more a month.
I have a slowly healing clavicle according to the ER Doc, and my back, which was bad to begin, with is now officially shot to Hell. Then my Doc finds I'm consumed with a high grade infection of Bladder, Kidney's UTI, etc. I may have had for three to six months
Why? Because mothers, this one anyway, takes care of the child first, then herself. Makes sure Mer eats a well balanced meal, and if there's not enough to last the month, lives on crackers and cream cheese (or some other tasteless staple)
As the adrenaline subsides, Mer's birthday party involved me sitting in one spot feeling like a truck had hit me. School was getting ready to start, immunizations needed to be had, and by the beginning of the following week couldn't, with all the will power at my command, get out of bed.
Mer goes to stay w/ a family from church for a week, then another family, then a dear friends family, as I'm healing, having tests run, and waiting. It's starting to weigh heavy on Mer, and I need my son. Things are not easy as a single parentt. There's stress over money, no siblings to play with, and all I thought I knew about being a good parentt is slipping from my fingers.
The lessons, piano, studies, dance, scouts, sports, swimming, Jr Life guarding...anything he wanted I made sure it was possible somehow. Even at the cost of replacing glasses for myself. I showed Mer i loved him, but I failed to show him I loved myself back.
I hope to have him home sometime soon. When the transition happens, things have to be different. I cannot be "Super Mom" any more. Going 100 mph from 4:30 AM to sometimes midnight in order to get it all done.
It's not worth my health, or the relationship with my child.
When all is said and done I'm getting less than half of what I paid for the vehicle three yrs ago...it's only a stupid car, but OKC has the shittiest Mass Trans system in the continental US, and it won't be enough to replace said vehicle.
That's why I'm grateful the Universe is in charge...if I let go.
Allow me to preface this entry by saying it was an accident I saw it to begin with, it took time to get the authors permission to reprint.
The definition of "Survivor":
1. To remain alive or in existence.
2. To carry on despite hardships or trauma; persevere:
3. To remain functional or usable
4. To live, persist, or remain usable through
5. To cope with (a trauma or setback); persevere after: survived abuse
While I fussed at my kids' clothes and checked my lip gloss a gazillion times before walking up the steps to the Oklahoma State Capitol this morning, I wondered if someday my girls would remember this moment. Perhaps a news camerawoman would capture us in a candid black and white moment for the front page of the paper - a memento my girls would keep in a scrapbook. (I delude myself and realize I'm simply dreaming of being a real founding foremother for our nation's history). Seriously, though, would we be the only ones there today standing out against the backdrop of Mega Crosses and Cowboy Boots?
If you're from Oklahoma City, or traveled to see the state fair, you've seen CAC. The giant round building on fair grounds property. If you've grown up here...you or your child, or you AS a child, have participated in one fashion or another...but CAC is GROWING, EXPANDING, into a true venue for artistic expression.
Through out the year CAC has art camps for kids up to 12 years.
This week Mer has been attending a camp called "BUG Out" by world renowned Illustrator Chad Mount
From The City Arts Center City Arts Center Website:
"Come explore the exciting world of insects. Campers will discover how to interpret what they see and translate it using form and color. New drawing and painting techniques will be taught as well as development of individual style, all while learning about the alien world of insects."
The alien world of insects is true. Yesterday all Mer co uld talk about on the way home was a video they watched of a preying mantis approaching a PAINTING Chad had done on his patio...of a preying mantis.
Chad is exceptional with children (God knows he is with mine) patient, creative, uber-kid himself, and Mer's excitement over being there tells it all!
There are still workshops available, if you're losing your summer mind, want your kiddo's to learn new techniques in an extremely safe environment...whatever the reason. Give City Arts Center a call at 405-951-1000.
Workshops include everything from "BUGS" to "PUPPET MASTER CLASS" with a young lady we adore named Miss B.C. (you'll recognize he from her "Tight" glasses as Mer puts it) BTW, Miss B.C. has a PHD from Clown School.
Summers get long and boring for kiddos about this time, so it's worth the money. CAC may have scholarships available, but don't hold me to it this late in the summer. City Arts Center would not be possible without donations from various organizations...
Kudo's CAC and especially Chad Mount!
The Film "Food Inc." is astronomically huge, life-altering, and particularly anti-Fourth of July...the Film is not for the faint of heart...
As you're cooking out today, tomorrow, eating in a restaurant next week...I want you to think about what, I consider to be, the "Poisoning of America" on multiple levels, why we as a nation might allow this to happen...and what the Hell we're going to do to STOP IT.
ABOUT THE FILM:
How much do we really know about the food we buy at our local Supermarkets and serve to our families?
"In "Food Inc.", filmmaker Robert Kenner lifts the veil on our nation's food industry, exposing the highly mechanized underbelly that has been hidden from the American consumer with the consent of our government's regulatory agencies, USDA and FDA.
Our nation's food supply is now controlled by a handful of corporations that often put profit ahead of consumer health, the livelihood of the American farmer, the safety of workers and our own environment. We have bigger-breasted chickens, the perfect pork chop, herbicide-resistant soybean seeds, even tomatoes that won't go bad, but we also have new strains of E. coli—the harmful bacteria that causes illness for an estimated 73,000 Americans annually.
We are riddled with widespread obesity, particularly among children, and an epidemic level of diabetes among adults."
To read more go to Food Inc./About The Issues
...and while I'm over-joyed Mer has a violin, the request was for a FUCKING KEYBOARD to take piano lessons with (which I could afford)
"Well" Mr. Aspbergers says "what does Mer want?"
WHO GIVES A SHIT WHAT MER WANTS at this juncture.
He has a phenomenal Piano lab at school, a student at Classen SAS willing to give lessons, but HELL NO...
Mer gets a damn VIOLIN (just like the guitar he bought him five years ago, but never paid for lessons.
No sheet music BTW either...THAT I get to pay for with my right, no...left breast.
THEN I dared to leave him on my property without supervision, and he plowed over one of my solar lights with his stupid mower.
To which Lowes exclaimed "If you bring us the receipt we'll get a metal spike out of a box" (Oh, yeah, right...THAT receipt I kept)
I'm trying, Oh if you only knew how hard I was trying.
Overdrawn due to food stamps being cut, and "Sigmund the Sea Monster" shows up with a violin that would feed his son for several months...like a Prince!
The realization of what a complete and utter bitch I am is truly sinking in.
Are we going to listen to a 10 yr old as dictated by a...FIVE yr old...or am I going to make my child's life better than mine was?
Regardless...he sure looks cute with that tiny violin.
(I didn't know they made them so small) and MER is happy, which is all that matters.
I'll shut my mouth now, but thank you for reading.
...for this alone I am blessed beyond any sense of reason.
How I've done the things I've done by myself...this blows my socks off.
Never have I given up, never have I said (truly) "I quit"...
Nothing ever turns out the way we "Expect" it to...sometimes it's better!
No A/C, so it's damn hot, my hands keep slipping off they keyboard. : )
I'll figure it out, I have the Nets directions and a toolbox to make any man drool. No fool am I...unless you ask Mer.
"Mom, why don't you just call someone to come fix it?"
He's such a little male.
BECAUSE you are going to art camp, that's why (not that I'd tell him this)
I bought this worthless home warranty in September, thinking the $590 I spent would cover the faulty central A/C.
Did you know your air conditioning is considered part of the plumbing in a home? Since they found roots in my lines back in 12/07 my plumbing is now voided...stop laughing.
NEVER use American Home Warranty, no matter what. They'll wiggle out of a Houdini straight jacket in a split second. You can do it yourself.
So Mama s now a heat and air...person, making sure not to cross the red wires with the black. Have you seen the movie "Mama Mia"?
Indigo Girls trump Michael Jackson any day...
"I'm tryin' to tell you somthin' bout my life, maybe give me insight between black and white, the best thing you ever done for me is to help me take my life less seriously...it's only life after all"
Life...is GOOD, life is simply LIFE!
When one takes the time to look inside, not out.
When one takes the time to accept people (ALL people) for who they are...one receives peace.
The truth is, it's not Mer who's disappointed and hurt by the Dono-, er I mean his father...tis I. I'm the one who hasn't let go, I'm the one who holds the resentments.
Mer has never known anything different, therefore no expectations for his father to BE different. I on the other hand, remember when...
Guess what, "When" is long gone, and has been for, oh...I don't know ELEVEN YEARS. Sheesh.
It's like the cartoon when the light bulb suddenly appears over the characters head...I finally got my light bulb. (eco-friendly of course)
Mer accepts, and to some degree loves his father in his own way.
My job is to stay the Hell out of it and stop trying to "Protect" Mer from getting hurt (by my resentments)
I shall now attempt to clean off the roof of the house, which involves climbing a ladder and 100 degree heat, BUT...no Prince in wolfs clothing...or however it goes, is around to do it for me, SO...mama does it herself, as she does it ALL. (ROAR!)
Man I wouldn't trade this life, no matter how much crap has piled up in my office...This is MY life and I answer to no one, no man...
Oh Christ how I wish I had a man! (relapse) I'm OK now, eh hem.
The dogs vagina has a rash, she itches constantly all over her little body, so three times a day I give this fucking rescue dog benadryl in a treat w/ peanut butter, put aloe vera all over her, and have purchased Eukanuba "Sensitive Skin" formula.
How in the Hell did this happen, that I would have a baby again...and the hair, I wont even go into the hair. We have concrete floors, so in order for her to get enough traction to scratch she goes to the throw rugs (which used to be multi-colored Mexican rugs and are now WHITE.
It breaks my heart to take her to a Vet (sheisters) but it looks like I'll have to, unless I can find an organic vet...you should see this pour baby's vagayjay! Red, swollen, itchy...and last night I found the first flea. (I just say how it is)
I'd rather have a house full of tarantula's than fleas.
So as Mer BONDS with his father (barf) I will do my best to support it until it SCARES THE HELL OUT OF ME! I will take care of the fucking dog and be one of those bitter old women who can only love their animals.
...and that cute little mutt made me love it.
I...am a rip-roaring bitch when it comes to my child.
On Sunday, the donors stupid birthday, mer decided he wanted to pick out a key-chain and give him a framed photo of his soccer pictures.
Me, being the ever-loving-never-forgetting-the idiot-hasn't-changed-in-eleven-years mother I am...said "Of course we can sweetheart.
I fell for it.
I fell for the LIE when he said "I'll be there at 6PM sharp"
No, for real, I truly believed he'd never, ever, disappoint Mer again because... it has a girlthing.
My hopes were the feminine influence would cajole said donor into following through with his commitment. We waited until almost 8pm and left. Had it not been for he young waitress, his stupid gift would've sat there as we left. Mer doing all he could to act as if he didn't care...that's why my ten-year-old cried himself to sleep that night.
I'VE TRIED DILIGENTLY TO INCLUDE "Sigmund The Sea Monster" in all of Mer' extracurricular activities. From Scoutingt to Dance, to his three week long camp at ARTWORKS. Allowing myself to be held hostage for pennies again. I've invited "SIG" and his THING on picnics, over for dinner...all for the sake of developng a relationship with mer.
The reality, and I'm hard nosed on this one, not the first time you've heard me rant about The Donor, is...he doesn't want to be a father in any way shape or form.
He finally found an ovum he could implant and that's that.
End of story.
Beginning of mine. Halelujia!
I suspect there is a finding in the letting go, although I've single handedly with no family, no Holidays but mer & I, no EXCUSE for not giving this child all I have, found a way through grace and faith in a Universe so enormous...to do it. To give his life value and meaning.
Through the school he atends, the teachers he has, the excitement of being a child. Something I didn't receive. (Being the perfect child I was)
To Hell with his father, he was never a father, and many moms reading this will undersstand. We love our babies more than life...and then there's the other halves who want a nut more than to see a picture their child drew.
I've dreampt of daddy's who would love Mer like their own, truth be known he would always be someone elses child. So I do it alone, and I do it well you sonofabitch : )
So about a year ago a friend of mine went to Mexico and brought me back all this Frida Kahlo stuff.
Next to Kandinsky & Klee, Frida, (who's "Self Portrait with Monkey" along with an Icon of Christ were placed above my crib as an infant...we're talking 1964, so my twisted personality began early) is one of, if not THE expression of my pain & loss. Using her art to survive insurmountable pain throughout her life. Emotional and otherwise.
On one of the tags to a gift was a website called PhilosophersGuild.com
So I decided to check them out. OMG...I found a Frida doll! Complete with uni-brow, skirt and pearls...check her out here. I mean how flippin cool is this?
It's 4:30am and I'm cleaning pee.
I might as well be changing diapers for Christs sake.
The VERY cool part is the concrete floors. It's as if Achilles is just meant to be here. True, the coloring of Mer's bedroom floor has taken on...how can I say this, a deeper shade of azure blue in some areas. It's a floor. She is a creature of love. Big flippin deal.
Which doesn't bother me since I have a product that takes away the odor and stains like nothing I've ever tried. (from vinegar to boric acid) Even before the human in a dog costume came to live with us, absolutely nothing would clean these floors.
The economy sucks right now, and I know everyone is saying "It hasn't affected Oklahoma", but every other day someone stops at our house trying to either paint house numbers on the curb, or sell me something.
Two weeks ago a man came by with am eco-friendly product called "Clean & Simple" ...."Yeah, yeah, yeah, look buddy I understand times are tough, but they are for me also" he kept right on pitching me. Dropped to my tire and cleaned the rust off my wheel rim.
"Do you have pets?"
I said "Come here I want to smell you something" and he followed me into the house where Mer was sitting on the couch rolling his 1/4 th Greek eyes at me.
"Look at that, and that, and THAT" I said "Nothing gets the discoloration and odor out of these floors."
"Wow" exclaimed the former AT&T employee, "I've never seen floors like these before!" (Perma Crete, but make sure you NEVER lay it over pre-existing tile)
So Mr. Whateverhisnamewas, dropped to his knees, pulled out his handy dandy metal brush, squirted a small amount on a spot and started scrubbing in a circular motion. Within seconds I had a beautiful teal...circle. Then he wanted like $75 a gallon. Sure, like that's going to happen.
He left me his number, which has fallen into the dark abyss that is my office, I thanked him and requested he leave. Which he did.
I looked over at Mer and he was NOW shaking his head AND rolling his eyes. (am I married? Crap)
I started cooking dinner (because I eat for twelve) when I hear Mer yell "That guy is back!" (like a stray dog)
Going to the PORCH this time with Achilles losing her mind, he says "I found an extra squirt bottle in my truck...keep it, no charge."
Either extremely nice man or extremely good salesman...or both.
(but you're not coming back in my house regardless of the heat)
I offered him something to drink and we sat on the porch drinking iced Chai tea.
Everyone has a story, every life has value, and sometimes all we need is someone to listen.
Now...all I need is more "Clean & Simple"
I want...Oh so many things, but right now I want ceiling fans in each room and on the veranda.
How's that for self preservation? (Running the A/C at night when it's 68 degrees is ridiculous) We have no air flow due to all the trees and the flat concrete thing I own.
In lieu of the above mentioned ceiling fans, Mer-Boy will attend "ARTWORKS". A three week long art camp provided by the city arts council.
(Whether he likes it or not says Mother Rose)
The beauty of Stage Center, is, well it looks like our home....
Concrete and re-bar showing through the walls, long narrow corridors with brilliant colors. It's a bit lacking in windows, where as I, Mother Rose would be claustrophobic if left too long. Read about it please, phenom!
You see the '70's were different. Parents were "Finding themselves" instead of their children. Oh, some did, but only to make a political/creative statement. "LOOK what MY child can do!"
I know where those 70's babies of the brat pack are now, and it's not much better than where I am. We, as in us, had our babies later in life, learned about global warming, HATED disposable diapers filling our mother...we've grown our own food, home schooled many, were changing the cycle (LOL)
So our children can be card carrying Republicans once again.
(Hey, I'm still registered Rep., but that's only due to "Him")
Wanting ceiling fans and a green roof, wanting to make this Earth better for our children...those are good wants. I get tired of being cattle. (Moo)
As gas prices are rising to $3 a gallon, and no one can afford to give their children a vacation across America in the back of a Ford Rambler Station Wagon...what's it all about, Alfie?
Mer will learn much attending ARTWORKS. He may not realize it for years to come...but this, THIS is why I took the grant writing course.
501(c)(3)'s who expose children to everything from better nutrition to a level of the Arts they may otherwise be unable to experience.
We, as communities have an obligation to mold these young lives as best we can. Lead-a-horse-to-water-type thinking.
Whether they are still wrapped in a Mobi, or are telling you they hate your guts...by God we owe them...they are all of ours.
This whole frontal lobe testosterone thing is about to kill me.
I understand the psychology behind what happened. Dog bite, frustration, pecking order, emotions unable to control...but I have never laid a hand on my child in his life. We don't use physical violence as an acceptable form of communicating feelings...(until now I guess)
In discussing, because that's what we DO, Achilles biting Mer, the truth came out he was (get this) blowing in the dogs ear. Apparently something Mer has done on and off since we rescued her, because he thinks it's funny how she turns around and...well, you know how dogs are when you blow in their ear. THEY DON'T LIKE IT.
Achilles finally got (please pardon the pun here, it's early) "An ear-full" and told him, the only way she knew how to knock it the Hell off. I hope he got the message, because she could've ripped his face off.
It's like having a younger sibling, not the face-ripping part, he's partly jealous of the time Achilles is with me (sigh), and partly the amount of...RESPONSIBILITIES having a dog entails. When Mer wants to play a video game, Achilles wants his attention NOW. If she doesn't get it, she finds something of his and chews it up.
Can you say "Bakugan", ipod Ear buds, and sundry items at her disposal?
Achilles is just being Achilles. She's a Rat Terrier...what the Hell do you expect? All she wants to do is fly. She runs like a rabbit, can catch wild cats, squirrels, and one opossum who gave her a nasty bite.
Then she'll lay in your lap with her eyes closed as you rub her belly.
Achilles is a good dog...as long as you don't blow in her ear.
Mer is growing at the speed of light. A toddler I knew, a Kindergartner I knew, all through the last almost eleven years I KNEW. Now I have a pre-teen who wants me, but doesn't...and I'm out of my parenting territory.
Part of me wants to "High Five" him for sticking up for himself with the kid he slugged. He's angry he's small, he's scared he's going to die, he's pissed at his father, he's furious we don't have a new car, we lost our big home, that I treat him like a baby half the time, it just goes on.
I'm going with the frontal lobe-testosterone theory.
I love this child with all my being and then some, but I must allow him the right to be angry at me.
The best thing I can do now is help Mer find appropriate outlets to express his anger, which I'm trying to do.
He is so creative it's mind boggling, so intelligent it scares me I cannot keep up.
But the anger...
It's part of the process.
I have to put the dog down, I don't see any way around it. A dog bites a child and that's behavioral. In it's nature, she's just too broken.
I cannot risk taking her around other children, cannot risk giving her away. If she did it once, she'll do it again GOD DAMN IT...I love that stupid dog. I've worked diligently since November to socialize and heal her abuse. Some creatures are so broken, so if you have ANY real advice, no "Opinions" please...I'd be grateful for feedback asap.
Because I'm completely wanting to take the beast out back "Great Depression Style" and put a slug in it's head, I'm cooking (which is ALL I do lately) instead.
Ribs w/vidalia onions, carrots and new potatoes. (I don't know if that's how it's supposed to be done or not, but it smells good as Hell)
I've lost my mind. I don't cook, I take the baby to Zorba's for shish kabob on pilaf. I literally had to call another mother to figure out how to cook some weird form of meat the other night...a "Round Steak" perhaps? Don't know.
Our Food Stamps were cut to...get this, $16 a month due to my income increasing from his fathers wages being garnished for child support, but they only give me less than half the garnishment (insert eye rolling). Like the Feds think a mother can feed a child on $16 a month healthily.
If I were a Foster parent with 14 kids, I'd be raking in the dough, but I'm only a parent with ONE so I guess I get to talk trash. (I'm a big old trash-talker)
The only thing $16 a mo. allows my child is free breakfast and lunches at school. (To hell with Summer break nutrition) And by now I hope you know what they feed my child and yours is utterly unacceptable.
The reality of having to grovel after the abuser makes you wonder what the state and federal government truly want you to become?
Productive members of society or sign fliers who are abused into nothingness?
Hey...great helpers of domestic violence victims, remember when you helped me after "He" threw me out of our 3800sq ft home? Remember when I was sleeping in my broken down Honda (Oh Christ she's not singing that song again is she?) Well...do YOU? Now you garnish his wages and keep HALF because you helped me THEN. THAT, is absurd. So out of the garnishment, I get crapola to raise his child. I call bullshit.
I will never give up, I will never quit trying to change things for myself and other little ones. I am my fathers child. If you know what I mean, no explanation needed. If you don't, stick around.
We have babies, children starving in a city which is spending millions on architecture over the S. Canadian River.
A boat club down there now....a walking track..it's all about "The Pretty" and underneath the pretty is an ugly shade of slate. Where children go hungry and adults are hustling to make a buck.
If you're old enough to remember the movie "Network" with Faye Dunaway, William Holden and Peter Finch...you remember the "I'm as Mad as Hell and I'm Not Going To Take this Anymore" diatribe Finch reels live at the cameras during a lightening storm.
If you're not, here. Sit back and "enjoy". Odd how not much has changed in over 30 years.
I...should be at the pool. That's what I DO for God's sake.
Anyone who's ever known me knows...I go to the pool, and don't leave until September. (I tell everyone I'm 62 now)
DAMN...lookin good mama! Eh hem.
I haven't been writing because I became so wrapped up in this "Committee" to engage healthy foods in OKCPS, so busy trying to change the world instead of myself, kinda slipped my mind. These words are what heals my heart, what carried me through the day.
Now I lay in bed at night and worry about things like the A/C breaking, how I'll pay off monetary debts, what if the dog has worms, do others think I'm an odd bird, will my vegetables survive?
Sure sign of lunacy.
My front yard and court yard are a magical wonderland of lights and blooming so-far-haven't-killed-them-yet things. (photo's to follow)
Mer-boy left for Chalice Camp this morning it's been exactly five years since I began writing after I finished school....and many don't like the way in which I present my opinion here. I either am who I am for me, or I am nothing.
(If I was getting paid to write here, that would be a different story.)
Time seems to fly and work is picking up, committees, children, sunshine and good strong rains now and then. (I am OLD...I LOVE my Garden)
Never did I think we could make this place so wonderful after the loss of 44th street. Dirt under your nails is akin to baby poop under your nails.
One works diligently to raise a child to be a decent human being...then as it should be, they begin to push you away, need freedom and room to grow. One then has the choice of restraining that growth or encouraging it.
My father gave me good strong values as a child, then let me go. When I messed up, which I did on a consistent basis...he was there for me always.
I ran into Mer's "Pater" yesterday, and cried and cried in his arms. In public, in a circle K parking lot. I needed to I guess. Mer at Chalice Camp safe and having fun...the flood gates opened after the longest school year of my life. I feel strong again this morning (mentally) He's in a relationship.
I don't want a relationship, I've had my share.
What I want is good friends, a happy child, time to read, excellent meals, a clean office would be nice, and eight additional hours in the day.
As I'm walking through the discomfort of losses in my life, I walk barefoot.
I am one tired mama.
The last week of Elementary school should be equivalent to boot camp.
It's ridiculous and exhausting within range of right & wrong.
Mer-boy won two awards finally yesterday...they over-looked him until I doped him up on Amphetamine salts...it's so exhausting to watch this beautiful free spirit, be shamed for not fitting inside "the Box'
Absberger's is misunderstood...Ehlers Danlos has no cure...and you can forget about growth hormones unless you have bitchin' insurance at 10K a MONTH.
"Well,, sayeth the Physician, what did you do wrong during your pregnancy.
I ate right, I exercised, took every vitamin under the sun (I believe I re-roofed a two-story home in fact)...but I divorced
the SOB before it cost me my child...so I fight the "Good" fight, as I've always done.
My child is my life. I cannot explain it in lay terms any better than that.
He wakes me up with a smile, he smells of roses, and it's hard as hell to let him go (grow).
This committee I'm on, whether I was used to establish a grant writing certificate or given a task to shut me the hell up (because you know how opinionated I am...I am my my fathers child...leaves me with the "Charity Case Blues'...Oh honey how I wish they knew.
Why...in the Hell would they think our case is anything more than "shut them rich women up?"
Oh gee I dunno, maybe it's because our children are valuable creatures of light and love...sparkling balls of energy who picked us because they KNEW we could fight the good fight for them?
The Course I took, whether it be a way to keep me occupied or a way for me to make a difference, pales in comparison to being married to one of the movers and shakers in this town. Been there, done that, noooo thanks. I'll stick to living my glass house, not even acknowledging "The Box".
Having your shin kicked under the table at an OK Arts Council dinner for saying "I don't care if Frida Kahlo was a communist...I still love her work." Told me this "Mover & Shaker could keep right on moving.
But, 'aint he beautiful?
Broadcast Journalism was something I wanted to do from an early age.
Watching handsome anchors on our bubble Zenith, feet propped on the screen...
Christianne Ahmanpoor changed it all for me, watching her rock the Middle East, believing I could rock the midwest.
So I did, the over achiever I am. I climbed that freakin mountain all the way to the top. Graduating head of my class against those "heads" who thought their good looks and anti-inflection would take them anywhere.
For a few it did, but not for me, April 19, 1995 changed it all.
A week in the media pit in a satellite truck editing raw footage of The Murrah Federal Building bombing left me unable to enter a 7-11 for two years. Let alone pursue my chosen career.
This past weekend Mer and I "Ran" in the OKC Memorial Marathon.
It was more like I hobbled and pulled Mer, Jesus what a pair.
A broken mother and a kid with EDS trying to run a mile without stopping.
I "Fireman" carried Mer after his knees gave out, but by God he ran across the finish line.
Seeing the Dr. Yesterday I was scolded beyond belief. "WHAT were you THINKING?" (Uuuh, I wasn't. Mer wanted to participate so we did.)
"Do you have ANY idea what you may have DONE to your SPINE?"
Chiropractor's are so emotional.
I'd hoped going back and facing the destruction with my child would've alleviated some stress. My goal wasn't so much to run as to face the fury. I usually don't go downtown unless I absolutely have to.
With summer approaching, some possibilities on the horizon, all I want to do is produce results, finish the house, get the hell out of here. Results take action and funds, but like running a mile it's still one foot in front of the other.
Mer ~ I'm so proud of you honey. You are my heart child...and, I love you more than anything else in the whole wide world.
The opening day of the OKC Arts Festival couldn't have been better! Heated by perfect temps and clear skies of brilliant sunshine. Though none was seen from under the tent, the BIG RED TENT adorned with a symbol of So Cal flavor.
Yes ladies and Gentlemen it's CRAIG & CARTER'S FAMOUS FISH TACO'S partnering with WILSON ARTS INC.
It's that time of year again, and yes they're still the best (and only) Fish Taco's in OKC!
Has it really been a year since this? Oh my how time has flown...
Carter Tague, more dashing than ever, more the Chef than ever, more the guy-who-knows-everyone-in-OKC than ever...is dear to my heart.
Yesterday we had a tent full of wildcats disguised as PTA moms slinging Fish Tacos, and what a hoot it was. (I kept waiting for one of us to do a table dance, but alas, there were no tables)
As were all aging gracefully into this middle part of our lives, I'm always stunned by the people, the "Suits", the who arrive at the tent on their lunch hour looking so, so, so unhappy about their lives, so stressed about LIFE.
I watch as they try with every ounce of self-will and determination to not make a mess while eating a fish taco, searching with unmitigated vigor for the perfect place to take a bite...
Once craving over rides self-will and the palate is lit, elbows rise in futile attempts at keeping the chipolte creme' dressing at bay...a smile, no...a chuckle can be heard as the stiffness slips away, and LIFE and all it's messiness explodes in a delicious moment of satisfaction.
Many a dry cleaners will find a curious stain upon expensive sleeves this week, and wonder???
Apostol will be performing LIVE through Friday at the OKC Arts Festival, Craig & Carter's Famous Fish Taco's...
(Special thanks to Mike Pagonas at "The Peacock" for helping with parking!)
The Eat Wise committee, without a lick of help from "She who had no time", pulled together a phenomenal presentation to the 1st grade classes at Wilson Arts Integration School yesterday.
Watching these children become enthralled by vegetables, brought together in part by one of the teachers favorite books "Tops and Bottoms" by Janet Stevens, made it apparent a standard, circulating presentation like this is needed in each primary school in the district.
I watched the faces light up at the sight of a giant celery root, a shiny deep eggplant, the aroma of fresh asparagus, artichoke and fennel...their world opened up.
A child's knowledge expanded.
Senses were stimulated as all sixty 1st graders first saw, smelled, learned about, touched, and finally ate the vegetables on their plates.
When you educate a child's senses, something sticks for life.
Pulling the giant celery root from it's container yesterday, brought back the aroma's in my Greek Yia Yia's kitchen, the gardens I've plotted in the past, and the garden I'm plotting now.
The earth will sustain us if we utilize her gifts of abundance.
We can give a child a Nintendo DSi, or we can give them knowledge through expanded senses...and a hand spade. (or both with limitations)
I'm proud to be a member of a community of parents who believe things can change.
I will always trust my gut, but that doesn't mean it speaks quickly.
I'm all for the Oklahoma Family Rights Coalition requesting an overhaul of OKDHS. There are individuals within the system who also agree this needs to happen.
When you are dealing with a system as poorly structured as ours, families inadvertently get hurt in the process. What I witnessed sitting in courtrooms for five years were mostly parents who didn't give a damn one way or another...they'd just go "Make more".
I watched fathers brought in from county jail in handcuffs, mothers who showed up for hearings dressed like they were working a corner, and showed no respect whatsoever to the man at the bench.
Between all the Attorneys, Guardian Ad-litems, CASA's, CSW, Therapists, Counselors...there were children's lives in the balance.
I'm playing devils advocate here, only for a moment so bear with me.
Yes, we know CSW, Fosters, etc., are all "Trained" to view parents as perpetrators under any and all circumstances. This is where the overhaul has to occur. A way to thin out the families who are doing no wrong, who are good parents and love their children to the core of their being.
Nothing like this exists. Or at least existed when my daughter was removed, but not my son...We were not bad parents or bad people. We were paying taxes, contributing to society, lived in an upper class suburban neighborhood.
The OBGYN who delivered my daughter attended the same church as the Foster mother where my daughter was placed at five days old (and who was eventually adopted by)
I pulled the page relating to my experience with DHS out of fear and embarrassment. You hear people whisper "She must have done SOMETHING wrong, you know" There are times I care what people think, and times I could give a rats ass.
Athena George turns nine-years-old on the 20th of April. This will be the first year I'm not sending gifts and a card. The first year I'm not going to grovel for her adoptive mother to hold up her end of the open adoption agreement. (sealed without my knowledge)
It's been nine years, it's time to let go of the dream Mer will have his sister to grow up with.
Athena will find us someday, and then she'll understand why she feels the way she does deep inside. All I can do for Mer is continue to love him and be there for him, but I'll never take the place of the sister he lost.
My anger towards the system runs deep, but I do my best to channel that anger into pro-active behavior. "Anniversary time" is the most difficult, as it is for any mother who's lost a child.
Any future contact will be made directly to the woman who illegaly adopted my daughter. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, knowing the brain washing, heart-string tugging, "Horror Films" perspective foster parents are shown of children living under porches of abandoned houses for months on end, scavenging for food.
I'll give her the benefit of the doubt because she avoided me for five years. Sending her aging mother to supervise all visits and pick-up/drop-offs with my daughter.
She had it under control as long as she didn't get to know me. As long as she could maintain the illusion I was a monster she could live with herself, but what about the child she claims as her own?
How is she going to convey her illusion to my daughter? What happens when we all finally see each other again and I'm not the monster?
How unfair this has been to my children.
Ronel ~ If you have nothing to hide I see no problem in allowing my children, at the very least, play dates you and I could enjoy together.
If the word "My" bothers you, you should've considered what you were doing getting involved with OKDHS. You could choose to stop living in fear you'll run into us at the grocery store, or that the children may go to school together.
Nothing changes the fact these children are full siblings one year apart.
Children are not possessions. They have their own minds, can make amazing choices given adequate demonstration of such, and will love you unconditionally unless you abuse their trust repeatedly.
Don't blow it with Athena please.
I get so wrapped up in a system of thinking, a passion for what is right, a belief I know in my heart things can change...one person at a time.
If I was sent a message over the last two weeks, I hope I've managed to send one back. These are perhaps a simple series of coincidences.(yet I believe the Universe is a divine mathematical equation, therefore nothing happens by mistake)
After contacting our Congerss Woman's office immediately following DHS' informing me they "Knew last month" my son would be losing his benefits, I went in person to sign a "Privacy Release Act", allowing the Congressional Liaison's to communicate.
By Thursday afternoon our Congress Woman's office was telling me Soc. Sec. response was, and I quote "The address has been updated", nothing more. I was directed to go to Soc Sec with nothing but myself and tell them her office sent me.
On Friday morning I did just that, arriving early enough to have an hour and a half long conversation with a mother, an educator from Putnam City Dist. who was turning sixty-five. She had been the single mother of a child with severe ADHD for seven years. In a little over an hour, I was given the gift of one mothers story through the educational, federal, and local system...sometimes you're meant to be right where you are.
Once inside, their excuse for why Mer's Social Security was terminated?
Mer was up for annual review (which S.S. acknowledged I do without fail) When I changed addresses three years ago, someone only entered it in the system in ONE place and with a child you have to enter it in FOUR places.
Their explaination as to why I'd received mail peratining to Mer from Social Security since then was "the post office forwards mail for a year or so then stops" (No, I'm serious)
...of course they couldn't cut me a check right then like Mer's Disability Law Advocate directed me to request (they claimed it would take ten days for a check to be issued)...but he assured me it would be in Mer's dedicated account by Tuesday at the latest.
I will tell you this gentleman couldn't have been MORE apologetic, couldn't have been MORE polite and kind towards a mother who follows the rules to a fault.
This particular story wont end until I know my child is cared for no matter what. (Completing my degree feels like a dream) I am not the mother I was ten years ago, nine years ago. I know my rights under the constitution. I know my child, as a person with disabilities is protected additionally.
Sadly enough, nine years ago I didn't know these things and part of me curled up in a ball and died. I refuse to curl up in that ball ever again.
However, I'm taking a long hard look at where my energy is best spent.
When an individual doesn't want to uncurl themselves, when they simply want to bellow about the unfairness of the world instead of taking action, when they cannot see past the end of their nose to what's truly best for their children, and thus take whatever measures necessary to correct their circumstances...you kind of have to say WTF?
It's like thinking that knight in shining armor is going to come rescue you from your own decisions.
As of this morning I became aware, my son's disability was terminated.
No letters, nothing informing me this would take effect April 1st.
However, OKDHS knew in advance last month his case was being closed. (they've now raised his food stamps to nearly $300 a month)
Can you say "Harassment"?
You might think I'm ignorant for writing the truth when the way I'm able to keep my child out of state-sanctioned day care, provide adequate schooling, full parenting, extracurricular activities, shelter, etc., lies in the hands of (perhaps) individuals involved in less than stellar performance.
If we don't come together as communities and hold civil servants, social services, etc, accountable for their actions...nothing is going to change.
Does anyone know who the President of the United States is today?
Is anyone aware we all became sick and tired of being bullied by a tyrant?
So we stand up...and if they knock us down, so to speak, we stand back up.
My life is an open and clean slate with nothing to hide. Anyone who knows me knows everything I do is for the care and advancement of my son.
It's unacceptable to terminate a child's disability without notice.
Not without reason, suspect, failure to comply with Federal regulations, and by Social Security's violating of Federal guidelines thus take away from a child's quality of life...
...and no, I'm not going to be quiet now.
The vendor contract is up for bid for Child Nutrition Services.
Chartwells has carried the contract for the last five (count them) years.
This is a copy of the menu OKCPS children eat on a cyclical basis.
Allegedly there will be an opportunity to have a new vendor set in place by July of this year. (cough, cough)
OKCPS Director of Purchasing was quoted as saying "selling a la carte items on the food service line brings in 'extra revenue' to fund the maintenance of school cafeteria equipment." Some parents would argue that this money should come through the budgeting process.
"If there simply isn't any money available, there has to be a better way to raise it (PTAs, private/public grants) then selling cookies and chips to the 33,000 children in the OKCPS district who are receiving free or reduced lunch (their are 38,000 children total)."
Building these "Relationships" as you will, with the individuals in charge of feeding our children, is a matter of circumstance.
If enough parents cry out in awareness, rally to make changes "In the best interest of their children", this "Bidding Process" will be taken to heart.
The options are numerous, with 38 documented case studies of schools successfully altering they're nutritional service providers without falling short fiscally...and most importantly to the benefit of the children.
Vermont Feed has established a farm-to-school program, whose mission statement:
After meeting with the OKCPS Superintendent last week, I've had time to reflect on some of the issues discussed.
Our PTA Committee offshoot group, has spent an enormous amount of time and energy in an attempt to rectify the nutrition problems within the OKCPS school lunch program. Politely, intelligently, and with consistent, but quiet efforts.
We were specifically asked to keep it out of the political arena.
Directly, and without abandon, the man in charge of overseeing our children's overall well being in the district...asked the group to keep in on the "Down Low"...
Well...how 'bout that?
Unfortunately I'm not a person capable of keeping anything on the "Down Low" regarding the lack of assertive action involving anything detrimental to children.
Having lived through bureaucratic corruption, I may always be a skeptic first. In other words, show me your words and actions sync and we can do business. If you're not looking me in the eye when you say "Yes", I'm bound to take that as a "No".
This "Let's not rock the boat" way of thinking, is hazardous to our children's immediate health as backed up by mounds of statistical evidence on early childhood nutrition.
With job losses at an all time high, the number of free or reduced meals within the school lunch program will sky-rocket. The summer programs will be utilized in record amounts, or God forbid cut all together.
Our children deserve better than the "Good Old Boy" network, of extended contracts with food service providers who barely cooperate with pro-active parents who politely, intelligently and with consistent, but quiet efforts...
Developed, through research on their own, a way to start implementing adequate nutrition for all children within the district. I DO believe the Superintendent has good intentions regarding, what I consider straving/poisoning of young bodies and minds.
We all know where good intentions will get us though.
Revolution Foods is an example of what the future of the OKCPS lunch program could be if enough parents united to represent a collective voice.
I want someone to tell me why not?
I am diligent about reapplication procedures due to the nature of Mer-boy's medical condition.
This is the second time this worker has done this, and the second time I've contacted the people we placed in office to oversee these individuals.
The last time she was called on the carpet, the worker claimed she sent the re-ap to our old address (but she used the right address to sent the "Notices of closure" to)
She refuses to return phone calls, speaks poorly to me when she does, cut Mer's Respite Care in December (therapeutic after school/summer programs to strengthen his social interaction with peers) We have not used it in many months, Respite Care is open ended, Like fee-for-service with PCP's. If I am not mistaken this worker works FOR my son and I as a human services specialist.
My meeting went well at The Capital, my request was clear and precise:
Can you imagine trying to feed your child heart healthy food on $56.00 a month? They figure if you're still alive at the end of the month, they've allotted too much in Food Stamp benefits.
(That's why I drive a shiny new car ya know?...because I feed Mer-boy crap so we can listen to the "The Jonas Brothers" on the CD player while cruisin' in a sweet ride... (No offense if you do, I just choose to make different investments with my $102,432.00 a year. (insert eye rolling here)
This challenge, to educate the ones unaware, and convince the ones who simply don't care...is like an evil and corroding thread, touching every aspect of our community.
The system is broken and only we can fix it.
Over the last three days I've received letters back dated two weeks stating the $56.00 a month I receive to feed my son were first...
Being raised on Tuesday to $100.00 because of "a change in Federal regulations."
Wednesday I received another letter stating the $100.00 was being cut to $16.00 because "my income changed"?
Then yesterday the final letter came stating I was being terminated from the program for "Non Compliance".
I called our Senators office immediately and made an appointment to bring the letters in. To meet with the people we placed in office and discuss the ineptness of this Human Service Employee.
If this is a case of an employee not taking the time to do her job, she needs to be replaced (this is the second time this worker has terminated my sons medical assistance for "Non Compliance")
If on the other hand this is in direct proportion to joining the Oklahoma Family Rights Coalition and having my face seen at a JD hearing...
then it's considered harassment.
Either way, I believe documentation at the highest level is called for.
If you haven't heard about SQ745 by now, you will.
Please take the time to read Index of Document Archive seeing for yourself especially the "Compendium" by R. Brown of Arkansas.
I started this site nearly five years ago in an attempt to heal from the loss of my daughter at the hands of OKDHS...what happened was I found a network of people across the U.S. who had also been victimized by CPS.
Then I got scared.
I quit writing about the corruption because I was just one woman. I was afraid they would come take Mer again like they had in the past.
Unless you have lived it, unless you have experienced your constitutional rights being violated with nowhere to turn...because the monster is too big, no Attorney wants to tackle it, you've run out of money, lost everything precious to you in the world...
You don't have a clue.
Here are a few others fighting for the system to change:
I recall finding several of these sites back then, but they weren't local...
Take some time and have a good read, see what's happening in this country, contact anyone of us connected with SQ745 and sign the petition before you lose your children for homeschooling, feeding organic, unschooling, composting too close to your home, some of the allegations of "Neglect" have become so outrageous...all for a "Body Count"
If you want to go back to the beginning of this site, by all means read away...my time today is spent advocating for parents who DON'T know their rights.
Attending an acquaintance's JD case this morning in connection with SQ 745...
spent most of Mer's Spring Break working on a site, running and...running.
I don't even have enough time these days to write, and that saddens the writer, snif snerf.
I need hormone replacement therapy, and sentences that don't begin with "I"
Being apart of a pro-active group of people, enlightened about their Constitutional Rights, with no one telling them they're crazy....whew!
The "If Only's" will kill your spirit if you let them.
So were making our cake last night for the silent auction at the B&G banquet, and I'm trying to modify the recipe with applesauce to make it less deadly and Mer says "Mom, I have something to tell you"
I'm thinking shit, what happened because I dared to try and catch up on work and wasn't at school every day? "Mom, I had a cinnamon Bun for breakfast this morning at school. It looked so good, I just HAD to have it"
"Thank you for being honest with me, do you feel better?"
"Do your best to make healthy choices for yourself next time"
"OK, but Mom, if I didn't SEE the cinnamon Bun I wouldn't want it so bad."
There in lies the problem...
Alice Waters Op-ed in the NYT's "No Lunch Left Behind" has drawn so much attention over the last two weeks, and for a good reason.
The solution I fear, will become too political to implement change. That's the I've-lived-in-Oklahoma-too-long skeptic in me shining through.
I'm in regroup mode right now, taking in all the data, doing my own research, interested to find out who's serious, and who's simply using the cause to boost a career. Watching to see what happens over the next month. When groups, causes, associations, become exclusive once they attain a specific hierarchy of leadership and goals...if it becomes something other than what's best for all children.
...that's something to consider.
The right wing political influence in this state is so strong, one meeting with the Superintendent isn't going to change it. I had a hard time believing he was going to even read the material we left...but one can dream. He was a nice enough man, but still a politician with a ton on his plate.
The advantage the leaders of our group have is who they're married to, where they live and who they know. A group of mothers living in city housing, wouldn't have a snowballs chance in Hell of getting this far.
When I was living in the projects with no vehicle, no furniture, and a toddler I was feeding through food banks, I was terribly worried about my sons future, his education, what I would do to change the course my life had taken. I'd lay awake at night with this beautiful sleeping angel in my arms who smelled like roses, scared to death I'd never get him out of there. The last thing on my mind was whether or not the food I fed him was nutritious...I was just grateful he wasn't hungry.
So I'm waiting to see if they use their powers for good, or ill...waiting to see if they include all perspectives or not. Saying "They" instead of "Us" says much.
We shall see.
Mer is having his Blue & Gold Banquet today, crossing over from a Webelo I, to a Webelo II...and I'm keeping my mouth shut.
The controversy surrounding the "Religion in Life" badge because we are Unitarian Universalists, (the wording of the oath Mer must take, which pledges duty to God...you know?) and the UUA have been at odds with the BSA for many a year over their stance on Homosexuality, God, Canadian Geese, et al...
UU's are "Intellectual activists", were pro-active on many social justice issues...We still negotiate the BSA issue after almost twenty years. We have the only green sanctuary in a city littered with churches. (insert eye rolling here) Eh hem...
I adore our troop, these people have become family to us...but the other troops I've visited are not as tolerant, loving, kind, patient...the word "Militant" comes to mind.
Wednesday I ran over to the *Scout Shop* to buy Mer's Khaki shirt for his cross over. The Scout/Salesman, did everything but call our group a bunch of uncivilized, dishonorable, anti-scouts, due to the precious informality of our Troop and Leaders.
"What do you mean he doesn't wear the OFFICIAL Scout belt?"
"You mean he doesn't have green pants...what does he WEAR?"
"He HAS to have this, and this, and this, and this..."
My hands were full. So I set all this militant crap down on the counter, dug my phone out of my lap top case, and called my troop leader.
...I left with a shirt and one badge...
Giant Boy Scout guy says, and I quote: "You all really ARE informal...but you're not doing it the RIGHT way!"...and turned on his OFFICIAL scout boots and stomped off.
Like always it's another last-minute-crack-of-dawn-gonna-scramble-to-make-the-most-creative-stupid-Valentines...Valentines. (Did I mention I hate Valentines Day?)
Excited about our "Eat Wise" committee meeting with Superintendent Karl Springer, but know the struggle we have ahead.
Ah the 70's, what a decade they were...I digress, or digest. Had it not been the "Me" decade, I may have had a little parental involvement going myself. They were too busy *finding themselves* to find us.
Hide & Seek SUCKED.
There's this Switzerland feeling comes over me when I'm standing between these 30-somethings and these...more wise-somethings, telling my conscience "You are guilty of walking somewhere between trodden and forbidden ground, now scat little pussy cat or keep your mouth shut!"
My personal experience tells me if we don't have parental involvement, parents willing to use their creativity, willing to make sacrifices for these children they so desperately wanted to begin with...were out of luck.
I don't want to hear another parent say "I can't afford a bag of carrots" one more time in my life. Or the parent in line at the grocery store that the word "No" is not in their vocabulary.
I see the early stages of childhood obesity even within the walls of our very own school. I see the bright, beautiful young woman weighing in at more than her male teachers. I will not allow cultural differences to be an excuse when it comes to the rate of heart disease among African Americans.
I live with chronic pain, yet it doesn't excuse me to the couch with a bag of chips and the remote. When we take food away from children, we sure as Hell better be prepared to give something back...for the long haul.
Children are not stupid, it's adults, for the most part who lack insight.
This is what my father knew.
If you can teach a child through your actions they are valuable, not simply words, they will believe you and thus in themselves.
Change happens slowly...but they grow up so fast.
I've had an incredible amount of support from typepad over the last...since January 22, but this Hover.crap takeover of Domain Direct has about done me in.
I have a sub under The 13th Apostol. Since the Hover craft landed, the sub blog hasn't loaded correctly, as in "We here at Hover don't know what were doing".
Finally two days ago the typepad team informed me the NEW AND IMPROVED Hover craft was not compatible with my OTHER typepad site, leaving the page legible finally, but the13thapostol.typepad.com in the URL of the additional site.
I'd prefer people not know what a screwball/deviant my father's kid is.
So far only the tech savy ones have tracked The 13th Apostol down.
Oh sweet Jesus of Nazareth what the Hell am I going to do?
Do I succumb to the corporate manipulations and transfer the other domain to a different company? Or allow the not-so-tech-savy to realize what color sheep FSK truly is?
I'm just a wee bit on the impatient side, haven't stayed abreast of what's going on in the blogsphere due to time restraints, and I want what I refer to as "The old Internet" back.
The post "everyone-has-a-blog-so-were-going-to-capitalize-on-the-fact" era.
A time when even a knitting blog stood the chance of an Alexa ranking, but no, now only corporate team blogs are getting any true action.
Certainly not a single mama from Poughkepsie (and typepad's auto spell can't spell Poughkepsie, so sorry folks in Poughkepsie) I don't live in Poughkepsie anyway, I live in Paraguay...and my real name is Martha. (pronounced Mar'ta)
Every News channel, every Newspaper, every media outlet I know of now has an off-shoot blog they scandalously plug at every opportunity.
So, that's the basis of my latest full blown crisis. Exposure at the risk of being myself. Of which even Prozac can't change, but makes the dust bunnies magically go away.
Remember in the beginning...(here she goes) ^;;^ Taking flight in the untapped regions of a writers paradise? People commenting and visa versa simply to connect????
Then came the great exodus to Facebook, where every tiny detail of your life can be plucked deftly from the "Security Features" Ha! I scoff!
(Nine million dollars in 45 minutes from ATM's should hopefully prove THAT point. We are cattle.)
Do I sincerely care if I'm exposed? I mean do I REALLY care, other than Mer-boy's safety? (which is a #1 good reason) Sometimes events happen for what seem like no apparent reasons, then turn out to be reasons...good ones.
(although discussing my former conquests, menopausal dismay, and learn-as-I-go-parenting-skills is probably not the image readers of the other site had in mind when they thought of my father's daughter)
My favorite quote by Erica Jong adorns my soon-to-be-defunct Facebook profile.
"Beware of the man who denounces women writers; his penis in tiny and he cannot spell."
I'm not so much into the shock factor of my personality...as the truth about who I am. The more comfortable I seem to be in my own skin, the easier it is for me to feel whole. Less like I'm the one so maladjusted, and others simply hide it better...which means I'm still pretty maladjusted, huh?
Oh well, for the immediate future...I'm still sucking it up.
Oh, hello...I lied. Again.
I seem to do that a lot over the last six months.
"Yeah I'm fine"
"Of course I want a dog"
"I can eat anything I want and not look pregnant"
It just goes on and on.
In October, after what will from here on out be more commonly known as "MY FUCKING BREAKDOWN"
I did a few things that women in their 40's are supposed to have outgrown. Or so I've read/seen on Oprah/heard when I'm getting my roots done.
1. Quit eating
2. Quit sleeping, consistent like - for more than an hour at a time.
3. Stopped leaving the house. I hate my house now by the way.
Then came the Holidays with no immediate family, to which I handled most adequately I might add, by doing several things.
1. Started eating.
2. Started sleeping, consistent like - for twenty or so hours at a time.
3. Started leaving the house...but only to spend money I didn't have to spend.
Now comes February, the month of (gack) lovers - of which I have none.
None, because there was a time in the not so distant past when the plural was how I rolled. Multiples, many, oh-so-many.
Not that many, but always, fucking ALWAYS these men were so insidiously drawn to my insanity.
My obvious infidelity and blatant lies...and I didn't choose unintelligent men, oh no. Yet when it came to believing "Oh yeah, you're the love of my life and even though it's Valentines I'm turning in early, but thanks for the jewelry. I love it. I love YOU, G-nite" (at 6:00PM) they never questioned me once.
In fact, had something in myself not short circuited and I developed a conscience, my last name might be Trump by now, and to Hell with all the facial creams. Just fix it!
But I did. Along came the lil' guy who would forever steal my heart of all things snakey and bitchy. Who I've accepted a life of spinsterdom for, in lieu of plopping his ass with a sitter for the night while I still aim for the stars.
Once we've been grounded by a love affair with our children everything else seems to pale in comparisson. Grounded is never a word I believed I'd use to describe myself. Even when I had "MY FUCKING BREAKDOWN", the length I went to to shield him from it...well, it wasn't very far actually. Cut me some slack, it was a BREAKDOWN for Christ's sake.
I'm feeling strong about that day in the middle of the month...but it's the 4th. It may change by the 10th, but right now I'm strong.
Do other mothers have FUCKING BREAKDOWNS when the rug is ripped out from underneath them, or am I the only one who does the bathroom floor hysterics like there's an audience watching through the keyhole?
All I know is the sun is shining, I get to buy groceries, hit petsmart (i.e. make purchases) cook dinner, take my kid to dance, then come home and complain loudly about how hard I work to make his life wonderful.
SO grateful I'm single, and "They" are also.
Why begin a new post when I may not write another one for daaaaaays?
I'm over the ice and slush.
Over Sigmund being MIA for months and months now.
Over Facebook and "Who's cool/who's not" (Gimme a break)
I don't want people who knew me WHEN to see how I ended up, while they're Physicians, Literary geniuses, Tenured Faculty, et-freakin-cetera.
Naaw, I don't wanna be neked as myself, while my last gasping laptop clicks out more hopeless bullshit.
I like not being me, I like being a pen in the dark.
I sleep better, drive more safely, don't walk into walls from looking over my shoulder so often.
...and the DOG, OMG, this dog is killing me with neediness.
Hell, did I really have any more to give for Christ's sake?
Oh, but I did and I do...because she's just so damned cute.
In an obnoxious don't-look-at-me-the-wrong-way-or-I-will-surely-pee way.