Friday, December 19, 2008

Comments Moderation

Comments moderation has been removed. That was the only way I thought I would know if there were comments left by people and I wanted to know what people thought. It turns out that you can have new comments sent to your e-mail as they are left. Doh!

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Getting to Know You: Christmas Edition

(Kim, I'm copying your intro, too, in case anyone sees this and wants to participate.)

Welcome to the Christmas edition of getting to know your blogging friends. I'm not going to tag anyone specific but consider yourself tagged if you feel like posting something frivilous and fluffy!
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Gift bags.
2. Real tree or fake: Real.
3. When do you put up the tree? There isn’t a set day or date for us. It’s whatever works best that year.
4. When do you take the tree down? The same, there isn’t a set day or date for us. It’s whatever works best that year.
5. Do you like eggnog? I don’t know. I have never tried it.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? This would require too much thought.
7. Hardest person to buy for? My mother.
8. Christmas eve midnight mass/service or Christmas Day: No.
9. Do you have a nativity scene? No.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Always mail.
11. Worst Christmas gift ever received? This would require too much thought.
12. Favorite Christmas Movie? A Christmas Story.
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Whenever I see something that I think someone will like.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Yes.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? I don’t have any particular favorite.
16. Lights on the tree? Of course. We take turns between white lights and colored lights.
17. Favorite Christmas song? I don’t have a favorite.
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Stay at home.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Can‘t everyone?
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Angel.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or Christmas day? Christmas Day.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? The pressure some people feel to have everything perfect.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Ornaments made by those I love.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? I don’t have a specific favorite.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? Santa knows. I can’t tell you or he won’t bring it.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Cat Chronicles - Detente

The battle between Baby and First cat continues. I've been out of town and apparently the felines have missed me. In fact, they missed me so much that the warring females brought themselves to sit on opposite sides of me on a chair upon my return. For only a moment, though, and while giving each other the stink eye. Then they started giving each other their backs until one of them relented and jumped off the chair. She missed me, but not that much after all. :)

Monday, December 8, 2008

My Cheer Went Poof

I was in such a good mood. Despite going to the dentist for a routine visit, I was full of holiday cheer and all that. Yet how quickly that disappeared.

The hygienist cleaned my teeth and began to floss them. She was quite rough with the floss and it was painful, to the point where I exclaimed in pain. Apparently she either didn't hear it at all or hears it so much it didn't make an impression on her because she proceeded to say, "Your gums are bleeding. Do you not floss regularly?"

WTH? Could she not tell the answer by the condition of my teeth? Or had the hair bleach permeated her brain and left her completely senseless? Gone was my good mood, immediately squashed by the pain from her overzealous efforts. Her stupid question was merely icing on that rotten cake.

"Not only do I floss regularly, I floss even twice a day or three times a day depending on what I eat. What I do NOT do is assault my gums like you have! Are you finished yet?"

I guess I won't be getting a Christmas card from her, but the feeling was mutual. Next time I will ask for any hygienist but her.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

My Babies Are Growing Up

My work has involved a lot of travel this year. At first I had illusions of continuing to direct the household from a distance but I quickly realized that that was not realistic. So I turned over the list and duties to my husband, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

Mainly I was worried about the kids. I don't talk about them here a lot for different reasons. They aren't so young that they need mommy all the time, but of course there are certain times and events when I am the one they turn to. Much to my surprise (and maybe just a little dismay), everyone has done fine without me. In fact, the tears I anticipated didn't happen. Maybe we tried too hard to make it seem like an upbeat thing and maybe I've tried too hard to foster self-reliance, lol. They have made more of a fuss before when I've gone to the store without them! They knew they could call me on my phone, text me or e-mail me so I was always reachable, even if I couldn't talk to them immediately. I made sure we spoke at least once a day. I sent them pictures of the hotel room, etc so they could actually "see" where I was. So I did everything I could think of to make it not a disruption in their schedule or a source of worry for them. Clearly my goal was to make my absence easier on them.

Yet for some reason I'm torn between wondering if they "shouldn't" (there's one of those bad words) have missed me a little more and feeling like it was a good thing that life stayed on an even keel for them despite my absence. (Okay, my husband was miserable and admitted it, shockingly enough. I thought he of all people would be leading the party with junk food, staying up late, etc. It's the children I thought might have a problem with it.)

I think I'm going to color it a good thing. They are growing up to be separate individuals and it really was a relief they weren't clingy. My husband remembered to feed them and everyone got to their intended destinations every day. Maybe the house wasn't as clean as I would have liked but it isn't necessarily as clean as I would like even when I am here. So overall this is a good thing. It makes my life a lot easier when they aren't so dependent upon me. It also reminds me that my babies are growing up.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Thankful Sentiments

I try not to let moments of thanksgiving pass me by just because it isn't that one day a year called "Thanksgiving Day" so here is an except of what I am thankful for:

-I am thankful for my spouse and children. I am blessed and know it. I try to remember to tell them regularly.

- I am thankful for my job. It has been gruelling and difficult at times, but I am grateful to have a job at all in these uncertain times.

-I am thankful for a lot of things in my life, a lot of people in my life. There are too many to go into here. When I have "down" days I remind myself of all the things I should be thankful for. It does help.

Monday, November 24, 2008

On the Subject of Bathrooms.....

I had forgotten about this practical gem:



From the ever-practical Dutch perspective, this can be a useful sign. Yes, for those of you who may not have been there or may not have seen such an event, it is not uncommon for pedestrians, bicyclers, etc to stop, take a whiz against the nearest building, zip up and continue along on their way. As a woman, I am jealous because it would be so much easier to be able to be able to do that.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Bathroom Compulsions

My friend Kahless has inspired me with her post (located at
http://kahlessnoise.blogspot.com/2008/11/compulsive-habits.html) to write this. Her topic was compulsive habits. Other readers' comments mentioned toilet paper compulsions, which is a favorite topic of mine. Well, it's a favorite topic if I know someone and feel comfortable enough discussing my toilet paper concerns with them, lol. So here goes....

Yes, I am one of those who likes the toilet paper to fall over the roll, not under. If it's under it is more likely to touch the wall, vanity, etc and possibly come into contact with germs. Especially in a public restroom, how often do you think the wall or vanity is cleaned? ::shudder:: So I like my toilet paper to hang over the roll for better odds of lack of contact with germ-laden surfaces.

I also loathe and despise it when people put rolls of toilet paper on the bathroom floor--especially in a public place. Gross! Would you rub your private parts against a groddy bathroom floor? No? Then why would you want to pick up a roll of toilet paper off the floor and wipe it on your privates? I don't. There might as well not be any toilet paper at all if it's sitting on the bathroom floor, as far as I'm concerned.

And has anyone else ever been struck by the placement of the toilet paper in an airline restroom? It's immediately to the side of the toilet, which wouldn't be a problem if only women used it. However, once someone of the male persuasion goes into it and....say.....has less than stellar aim or loses control of the direction due to air turbulence, he has quite possibly just whizzed all over the toilet paper! Don't think so? I should have taken a picture of the restroom I was in, except that that would have meant being reminded of that nightmare again later. Yuck! That single experience is the reason I now carry tissue with me at all times.

In fact, I was so horrified by that nasty restroom that I couldn't even use it myself. I tried but I had to stand so far away from the toilet so I wouldn't risk bumping into its urine-covered surface if we had turbulence that I was too tense to be able to go. It was another couple of flights before I would even dare venture into an airline toilet again. I am happy to report that that toilet was as clean as they come, much to my surprise. In fact, in light of the awful and cramped seat that I had on the flight, I even tarried a little longer than necessary in the lavatory, washing my hands in the nicely scented liquid soap, being sure the sink was completely clean and emptied and drying the tiny counter of water drops. Overall it was a pleasant respite on a very long, fairly awful flight. It's amazing what a clean lavatory can do to improve your outlook.

It's also funny to me what compulsions I have about bathrooms. Thanks, Kahless, for opening the door to the topic so I could share them. Maybe someone else will get the same chuckle out of them that I do.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Old Books

I love old books. The stories they tell can give insights into the times when they were written. Their pages and covers have seen the passage of time, sometimes from before electricity and cars. I wonder about their owners, the hands through which they have passed over the years, and the stories they would tell if they could.

Recently I read a book that was published over 100 years ago. It was interesting how, despite a few no longer commonly used words and some old-fashioned sentiments, the story was still quite good. Some things are universal, including a good storyteller being a good storyteller regardless of the era.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Where Has the Year Gone?

I can't believe it's November already. Where has the year gone?

Friday, October 24, 2008

Latest Skirmish in The Cat War

I've mentioned the cat we have who thinks she is a kitten and wants to nurse on whatever body part is closest (but only on me, not on anyone else in the house). Apparently I am not the only one who finds her annoying.

Our first cat has been being bothered by this cat, who I'll call Baby. Baby, despite her babyish habit, is a big cat. She dwarfs First cat. First cat has been unhappily trying to ignore Baby. Baby has attached herself to me to the point that she has to (according to her) accompany me to the bathroom.

Today First decided to make her move. She trotted into the bathroom (where I was), rubbed against my leg as if to claim me, and then trotted out before Baby could decide what to do about the intrusion. Hoo ya!

Thursday, October 23, 2008

She's Gone

A friend of mine died. She was a beautiful person. She was sincere and a fighter who had overcome a lot in her life. It was such a senseless loss. (Is there a loss that isn't senseless?) I didn't and still don't see any great lesson to learned from it. Frankly, it pisses me off. It seems cruel. It is cruel.

No great lesson here, no epiphanies. I'm at a loss.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Your Pet's Strangest Activity

What is your pet's (or pets') strangest behavior?

We found a pitiful cat. We don't know her history but she has a rather irritating need to nurse. Obviously none of us can nurse her, but she does the kneading action with her paws and works her mouth on my skin. She seems to recognize that nursing is a mother thing because she doesn't do it to anyone in the house but me. (I know, how did I get so lucky?)

Does anyone else's pet(s) have an odd habit?

Friday, October 10, 2008

Unclaimed Baggage

I was thinking about unclaimed baggage and the owners. Does someone not miss their belongings? How do so many pieces of luggage get so irretrievably lost? But then I thought about how we might actually be relieved at our loads being lightened.

That bag there, it holds the guilt I felt over my abuse upsetting you.

That bag next to it, it holds the shame I felt for inspiring those acts in my abuser's mind. (Because, like most children, I thought it was my fault.)

The bag next to it, it holds the anger I felt at you making me continue to see him.

That bag, it holds the anger I felt at you for ignoring my pain.

The bag next to that one holds the anger I felt at you for not protecting me.

The next bag holds the anger I felt at you for allowing the emotional damage to continue long after the act stopped.

The gray bag next to it holds the pain I felt whenever I thought of how you must feel about your inadequacies as a mother. (Yeah, follow that!)

The yellow suitcase contains the guilt I felt for having a life of my own making, despite your example.

The burgandy suitcase next to it holds the guilt I felt for choosing a good partner who cares for me. Yes, I dared to expect to be treated well.

The blue bag holds the guilt you tried to feed me over my happiness, at my not being a victim.

The white suitcase holds the manipulation you tried to wield, to no avail. The manipulation was concealed under the guise of concern, but I saw it for what it was.

I claim none of it.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Sometimes Life Throws You a Curveball

Sometimes you are going along in your daily world, consumed by things that you think are so important. Then something happens that totally changes your perspective. Things that you took for granted are no longer there. The foregone conclusion is suddenly gone. It's like the A you had in high school geometry--before that test you tanked. After tanking the test, you are shocked to realize that you are hoping for a C, or maybe even a D. You wonder, how in the world did that happen?

There are plenty of people who have it worse. Think about the accident you passed on the way in to work; someone thought their biggest problem was being late to work, but after an accident they are dead. It suddenly makes passersby realize that being late to work wasn't that bad after all. It's all part of that thing called "perspective."

So I'm still here, and I still have a fire burning in my belly. Don't count me out yet.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

I Love This Time of Year

Fall is my favorite time of year. The kids going back to school, getting back into routines, football, cheerleading, sweaters, hot chocolate...

Friday, July 25, 2008

Conscious Living

Something unexpected has arisen out of our move: I can no longer take care of routine errands on automatic pilot. I'm having to learn where everything is, having to get used to different store layouts, having to find a new dry cleaners, etc. It's been frustrating to be tired and to have to search for everything because I no longer can automatically go straight to what I need. In some cases I'm having to re-evaluate my product and brand choices because the same ones aren't offered at these stores.

I was surprised to realize how much this annoyed me. When I'm tired and have to go to the store for creamer, I want to get my kind of creamer and go home. I don't want to have to look at all the different kinds and decide which one to try. I want the familiar one I'm used to. Waa!

But this is forcing me to be much more conscious. Instead of juggling multiple topics at one time in my head and mindlessly pick up the creamer I normally get, I am having to actually be present in the moment and read the label. Compare. Make a decision. Risk disappointment if it doesn't taste the way I think it should, the way I'm used to.

This isn't a bad thing.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Great Weekend

It's been quite a nice weekend. I have caught up on some sleep and had some good meals so I feel much better than I did when the weekend started. Peaceful, full belly, no longer sleep-deprived. Ah, what a good rest.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Yet Another Example of "Tale-Telling"

I used to believe my mother was an honest person, probably, when I was young. As I grew up there were many times when I heard her lying, which we aren't supposed to say out loud so I'll say "tale-telling." Because that makes it better, right? It softens the edges of the word "lying", makes you have to search for the hidden truth.

Despite their acrimonious relationship, my mother has taken to being obsessed with my father's aches and pains. She will talk about how his this hurts or how his that is giving him trouble, which is really bizarre considering their relationship, considering I've never asked how he was doing, and considering it wasn't a subtle subject change. Still, I never really gave what she was saying much thought. She was usually trying to use his physical woes as excuses for why he was crabby, a jerk, etc. (So what was his excuse all those years ago before he got older, hm?) So I didn't really attribute his bad moods to that since he's always had one, I didn't really think about what she'd said.

So today a topic comes up at work and it involved the same ailment my mother says my father is now suffering from. However, among the aspects being discussed were none of the oh-so-troubling symptoms(to a drama queen) my mother had gone on about. Realizing that not everyone has the same experience, I looked it up on the internet and, sure enough, gee, nowhere does "being an a$$hole" fall under the list of symptoms of this ailment. Interestingly enough, the ailment actually doesn't usually have any symptoms.

It isn't that I really cared, it isn't that I put any stock in her words. It is that it shows me yet again that I can't take anything for granted as being true when I talk to her. Something so simple and something that she doesn't even care about yet she can't even tell the truth about that.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Does It Fit Anymore?

I've been wondering why the recent angst about my mother. It finally dawned on me that there have been a lot of changes in my life in the past year or so and I am trying to put things in their proper place in my "new" life as it develops. The shallow relationship I've had with her isn't fitting easily into my life anymore, if it ever really did. It's like an old pair of pants that used to fit okay but doesn't anymore and yet you can't quite bring yourself to part with them.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Still Having Computer Woes

It's odd how disconnected I have felt, not being able to get on-line. Yes, I've still had my daily human interactions, but it's been odd to feel so out of touch with my on-line friends.

There is a saying about the only constant in life being change and that has held true for me too, even though my computer life has stood still for a time. It's given me an interesting perspective, quite a detachment.

It's also given me the opportunity to see that I have not made any real progress in certain areas of my life/relationships. I have struggled to try to maintain a relationship with my mother but know that it isn't really satisfactory for either of us. Even a distant relationship is just too disappointing. Frankly I'm tired of trying. Surely I've done my penance for the gift of being born. There isn't much more soul-sucking that I can take.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Computer Issues

It has been almost 3 weeks since I've been able to get internet access to my computer. Enola, I wanted to e-mail you to see what the resolution to your problem was since ISP said there were no problems on their end.

Finally we found out that somehow our settings had been changed? Not sure how that happened, but we are relieved to be able to get back on-line. We have realized how cut off from the world we feel without net access.

I've missed reading everyone's blog and hope to catch up soon.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Satisfaction

There is such a sense of satisfaction when you have the opportunity to right a wrong that has been done to someone. I love it!

Saturday, May 10, 2008

My (Least) Favorite "Holiday"

Many of us detest Mother's Day. It is yet another painful reminder of what we did not have growing up and what many of us continue to not have today--a loving mother figure who accepts us as we are and actually considers the effect her actions have and have had upon our lives. I'd like to wax poetic about the many ways my mother showed how much she loved me. I'd like to tell you about the warm hugs, the neverending emotional support, the security of growing up surrounded by so much love. But I can't tell you about that because that wasn't in the house I grew up in.

To be fair to my mother, I will say that there are some examples of some kind of love or caring from my mother--but they actually make me even sadder because of their pitiful lack. They aren't that heartwarming. Mostly the few displays stemmed from her own feelings of sadness or unhappiness and really didn't have much to do with me. They weren't recognition that I needed nurturing or was worthy of caring, much less love.

So this Mother's Day fills me with the same sadness it always does. The flowery cards available in stores just don't accurately reflect our relationship. Examples:
-"You were always there for me." No, can't say that.
-"I could always count on you." Um, to insult me, sure, but I don't think that is what the card is referring to.


Actually, it looks like e-mail Mother's Day cards contain much more neutral sentiments than the excessively sugary, nausea-inducing cards available in the greeting card aisles, but not many mothers would be satisfied with an e-mail instead of a card. Maybe it's that they want something tangible to show to themselves and others how wonderful they are.

Okay, so my mother wasn't always loving or supportive or "there" for me. That used to fill me with resentment, but now it mostly makes me feel sad. Don't misunderstand--there are days when she can still make me angry, but my overriding emotion when I think of her is sadness. I am sad because I now have an inkling of what she has missed out on and is still missing out on.
-She missed out on having a true relationship with me. Our relationship is very superficial. If I tell her anything "real", I frequently end up regretting it. Anything told to her can and will be thrown in my face at any time.
-She missed out on knowing what a good person her daughter is. This sounds self-congratulatory but I'm a good person. However, my mother doesn't know that because she sees me through a filter of her own actions and warped ideas. She always assumes the worst of me, but not of her other child(ren). I used to believe that it was a reflection of how she thought I was "dirty" or something similar, but now I suspect that it is because of her own feelings about her own behavior when she was younger. She always assumed that I was doing the "bad" things she herself did as a teen. She was obsessed with the idea that I was doing drugs and smoking when I was a teen; the fact that I hadn't left the house and wasn't allowed to didn't matter to her. She was sure I was doing it. Later I learned that she had begun smoking at a very young age. Her certainty that I was smoking was based on her own past, not on my actions. That filter hindered her from seeing me for myself or my own actions.
-She has to live with her actions. I wouldn't want to be her. If she is ever honest with herself, it isn't going to be pretty.

Most of all, I now know more about the mother-child relationship and what it can be like. And it isn't all about being the cookie-baking mom who doesn't work; it's about all the little moments that add up to an overall feeling of acceptance, love, belonging, etc. The knowledge that there is someone always in your corner, someone you can count on. Regardless of whatever faults a person may have, for a child to have that kind of security means to me that someone is a good mother. At that my mother failed, and I don't envy her having to live with that. It's true that she may not be in touch with reality enough to fully acknowledge that, but on some level I think she has to know and have regrets.

Happy Mother's Day? I don't think so.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Was it really doubt, or was the horror too much for you?

There are probably few people who have been able to avoid the news about the Austrian case which has horrified so many recently. However, this post is not about him or any of his victims. This post is about a young reporter whose introduction to it was how she doubted the story. Despite all her many years of life experience (about the same number of years as this man's daughter was locked up for his amusement), she began her trip to this town to report on the story with the preconceived idea that it was made up, lies.

Maybe her article originally had more and an editor cut it. Maybe an editor cut out a lot of the article. I would hope so because I found it to be lacking. I would hope that a journalist would be able to write better than that. She did not tell why she was so sure that it was false--was her childhood that idyllic? did she not believe that there are no bogeymen in the world?--or maybe she is so naive that she cannot grasp the concept that man can be so depraved. Would that we were all that naive, and that there was no need for us to have our eyes opened to the cruelty that exists!

Maybe she could not imagine the daily torture of living in such cramped conditions for a seeming eternity.

She did not share what changed her mind, what made her realize that it was indeed a true story. Fact. Or maybe she didn't change her mind--she never said.

She tells of spending only four days in the village and yet being glad to leave it, how she cried when telling her own father about the story.

That article has bothered me a great deal since I read it. Many people already know how people want to look the only way when there is wrong being done; it doesn't involve them, it's none of their business, there are oh so many reasons why getting involved would be inconvenient for them.

All this young woman had to do was her job. She went to the town on assignment with an attitude of doubt, and left it apparently (it was never stated in the article, another omission/edit/?) no longer in doubt that the horrible events had really occurred. She cried when telling her own father about it on the telephone.

So what was the point of the article? What was it supposed to have added? Was it really worthy of being published?

Or am I expecting too much from a field that has lost a lot of its luster anyway? More tabloid than news source?

Did I expect more from this reporter because she's a woman? I don't think so. I think it's the way the article was written. The title is used to highlight her disbelief, and the article states her initial disbelief. So the purpose was to grab our attention--which it did. But what strikes me is the utter pointlessness of the article. And why a well-known news service would publish it. I'm at a loss for what was supposed to be accomplished.

And maybe it's easier for me to focus on that than to focus on the true "story" behind her article--the people who have lived what is only a news story for reporters.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Sh*t Happens

I was looking back over the self-sabotage post and thinking some more about the topic. I don't like the word "failure", that makes it sound so final. I guess I would prefer "unsuccessful attempt", and the most important part of that would be that it NOT be the last attempt. THAT would be failure. The fact that you don't succeed isn't what makes it a failure; it is if you don't get right back up and try again that makes it a failure.

So why, since I failed in this one endeavor, do I immediately wonder if I sabotaged my own efforts? Sh*t happens to everyone. This time it happened to me. Accept and move on. Try again. And so begins another round.... ::ding,ding,ding:: goes the fighting bell ringer

Vomit, Vomit Everywhere

There are some sickies in my household and there is nothing to compare to the wafting scent of vomit. I'm hoping that it's just upset tummies and not a bug that we all are going to end up having.

Mmm, when's dinner? ::gag:: Fish, anyone? Sorry, bad pun re this post following the ichthus post, haha. I'm going for the easy jokes to try to keep from joining in on the projectile vomiting. Distraction is key.

Ichthus, Ichthus Everywhere

I've written before about an observation of bumper stickers or decals people have felt compelled to display. Last week I saw another one: two larger ichthus and then three smaller ones around it, like a school of fish. I was trying to decide if it was supposed to express a love for the ocean and its inhabitants (some people like dolphins better but to each their own and/or maybe they couldn't find dolphins), someone bought a used car with one already on there and was trying to make the best of it and/or be humorous, or if that was supposed to represent the family composition (two adults, three children).

I have no other comment to make about the display. I just find it interesting while sitting in traffic to see what people have put on their cars.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Self-Sabotage

Sometimes I wonder if I am sabotaging myself, if the unspoken (and the spoken) messages I received as a child are culminating in self-fulfilling prophecies. I was told that I didn't deserve anything nice and so I have to prove them right, even though it's probably subconscious on my part now.

When things are going well, eventually I start to wonder how long it's going to last. It's as if I expect things to deteriorate. I wonder if I'm subconsciously fulfilling that belief that I don't deserve anything good in my life.

Sometimes(most of the time) I tend to lose sight of the fact that it's only if I don't try that I will never fall or never fail to do something. So when I put myself out there and take a risk, it is a given (as much as I don't want to admit it) that I might not accomplish that goal in the time frame I wanted. Of course, eventually I will get there unless I decide that goal isn't going to fit into my life anymore but I'm not exactly a patient person with myself.

I don't know that this is the most coherent post I've ever written, but that's what has been on my mind lately.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

I've Been Writing but Haven't Posted It

I've been writing, but I don't think it's worthy of being posted so I haven't shared it.

It's spring! Enjoy!

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Does the Local Box Store Carry Gas Masks?

I am being gassed out of my home by our dog.

Poot power!

lol

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Discipline

One of the residual issues from my childhood surrounds discipline. It is quite a difficult issue for me. When we were first pregnant, I told my husband in very strong language what would happen if he ever thought he could hurt our child in any way. He is a nice guy so it was not at all warranted, but I felt compelled to be clear.

As the years have passed, it has been difficult for me to separate "good" anger and "bad" anger from my husband in the name of discipline. My instinct is to stop it. We have had some serious discussions about it, where I analyze his motivation and his behavior in response to whatever transgression, was it a reasonable response, blahblahblah. I have to admit that he is not abusive, but there have been times when I thought the situation could have been handled better. Anger in itself isn't a bad thing, it's what you do with it that can be. I understand that--in my head.

When it comes to my responsibility to protect, I am probably overzealous. I am probably overprotective as a response to no one protecting me when I was a child. It is probably not fair to my husband that I am so analytical of his every move during times of discipline--who wants to be analyzed when they are angry?-- but I am. To me discipline is to be used to teach, not to hurt. I am not completely opposed to hitting but sometimes when we're angry it's hard to stop and think, "Is this a good thing to do?" But I don't understand the point of striking out in anger because it isn't going to make anyone feel better.

I know, oh how I know, that one has ADD tendencies and that can be quite frustrating. I understand that. But yelling and getting mad isn't going to help. We have certain natural materials to work with, like clay, and it is our responsibility to take the materials with the qualities already present and try to produce the best possible results while not altering what was already there.

I try not to undermine his authority in front of them. It may not be healthy that I essentially act like a referee when I feel it's getting too close to the "unhelpful" line of discipline, but that's where I'm at right now. I wrestle with it. I wrestle with the unfairness that is to my husband. I wrestle with not wanting to create spoiled little monsters. But I also wrestle with the line between beneficial discipline and detrimental anger. In another person, no less.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Observations-Does Double Make You Better? More Believable or Sincere?

I saw something recently that tickled me: someone had not one but two ichthus fish symbols on the rear of their car. The exact same symbol, same size even, one over the other with maybe 2 or 3 inches between them.

What is with that? Does that make it more believable that the occupant is a Christian? Did they "not really mean it" the first time so they had to put a second one on there? Are they saying that they were blessed with a double dose of Christianity, like some people have a double cappucino mocha? One wasn't adequate?

And if the only way a person can tell that you are a Christian is by your bumper stickers or the ornaments on your car, does that make it real?

To take that a step further, can someone really tell by your behavior that you are a Christian? Just because someone happens to be a good, moral person doesn't automatically make them a Christian. Hmmm.....Wow, this is going beyond the humor I saw in the double symbol, I will stop now. These are awfully deep thoughts on way too little sleep. ;)

Observations-Women's Bathroom Doors

A recent random observation:

Have any of you women ever been in a restroom and wondered how no one noticed the huge gap between the stall wall and the stall door? I mean, it's a women's room, is there really supposed to be a 3" gap on either side of the door? Argh! A little privacy, please!

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Precious Pets, Part 3

I have given more thought to why it bothers me that my parents can show affection for their Precious Pet (although mother doesn't like Precious Pet 2) and realized that part of the disbelief is because they(Precious Pets) are so demanding. (Yes, they're cats.) I was so careful to not have needs or wants in an effort to be loved, yet the one Precious Pet makes ridiculous and loud demands--even in the middle of the night-- and they don't mind. That is unbelievable.

My mother has this thing about sleep. She complains all the time about how she doesn't sleep much, and has all kinds of outside influences she blames. (Your father won't let me sleep, my aches & pains kept me up, I just couldn't sleep, etc. Yet she won't do anything about it, like exercise or take something to help her sleep. Or go have a sleep study done and find out what's wrong--but no. She'd rather complain, it guarantees her years of something to complain about, I mean talk about.) When I was a kid and would get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, she claimed she would hear the floors creaking and would get up to hiss at me to go back to bed, that I'd woken her up. Um, what about going to the bathroom? I wasn't supposed to go, according to her theory of the world and how it worked. I often wondered what she would say if I started keeping a bucket in my bedroom for those midnight calls of nature.

And it tends to make me wonder if she was ever really asleep when I supposedly woke her up trying to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Yet the damn cat can start demanding his treats in the middle of the night and she thinks it's funny that he's so spoiled and she indulges him??

I have called her at 6:30 p.m. in the evening--yes, before 7 p.m.--and been scolded, "Some people are sleeping!" (This was when I was an adult, and you'd better believe that I didn't call again for months after that.) Yet her already-fat cat can wake her up meowing at any hour of the night for more food which he doesn't even need and it's okay? Something is wrong with that picture.

I resent that I was forced to ignore my needs as a child, while the Precious Pet can be as demanding as possible and it's okay.

It feels good to be able to state that clearly, instead of wondering why I am so resentful of a darned cat. It isn't the cat.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Lighthearted Look at Negative Messages

Sometimes I have a somewhat warped sense of humor. This is a true story, and is being shared as "funny." Feel free to laugh at my precocious naivete. (a deliberate oxymoron which does fit)

Imagine you are a child. A female child, about the age of 10. You see someone's p*rn magazine and you are sure that what you see in the pictures is "bad" so you assume that everything in it is bad.

Switching to 1st person: I saw a phrase that perplexed my 10-year-old brain. It wasn't in the dictionary, which was further indication to the child me that it was "bad". This was before computers in the home and the internet. So I filed it under "bad word" in my brain to make sure I wouldn't say it.

The years passed. Imagine my horror one day when part of that phrase--the part that I thought was "bad" because I couldn't find it in the dictionary--was on a billboard! I was struck dumb. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, couldn't do anything but look at the billboard in horror. What horrid entity actually paid to put that obscenity on a billboard? Was our society really going to h*ll and like now that p*rn was being put on billboards for all passersby to see?

Then it suddenly hit me what else was on the billboard. Of course! It was an advertisement, and it wasn't for anything related to p*rn. The word was a brand name of a particular product. It was solely because of its usage in a p*rn magazine that I had thought it was a "bad word." Oops!

And all these years I've thought it was a "bad word". I laughed my butt off over that one for a long time.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

I Don't Give a Damn.....

In the moments before sleep I let my mind wander, and recently I was reminded of a statement my mother once made to me: I don't give a damn what your father does to you as long as he doesn't hit me. That statement seemed strange even at the time she said it many years ago, as I wasn't discussing physical violence and I'd never seen him hit her. Apples to oranges. I interpreted it as her saying that she would rather him hit me than hit her. I knew he had a bad temper and would show it, but he usually exhibited it to her in covert ways. He would drive recklessly to scare the hell out of her, he would take it out on her favorite child, etc. But I never saw him physically threaten her, and I never saw him hit her.

I don't give a damn what your father does to you as long as he doesn't hit me. I don't give a damn what your father does to you as long as he doesn't hit me. Over and over I have been repeating it, trying to figure it out. At first that was how I thought she meant it--as if he would hit her if he didn't hit me-- but now it dawns on me what she really meant. At the time she said that I had been begging her to get me away from him. Her response --properly punctuated--was, "I don't give a damn what your father does to you, as long as he doesn't hit me." The comma is the difference, and it separates the two acts; it is not equating his hitting her with his hitting me, it is stating her limit.

"I don't give a damn what he does to you, as long as he doesn't hit me."

That was her line in the sand. If he crossed that line, then she would leave him. Me, I was unimportant. Whatever he did to me didn't matter. Hitting her would be the last straw. Anything else she could live with.

Well, that's good to know.

Precious Pets, Part 2 - Patterns Revisited

This post is going to make more sense if you have read the first post in this vein.



Hm, technical difficulty--the link isn't showing up. I'll work on that.

I was thinking about something that I had noticed recently. It disgusts me that my parents fawn all over their Precious Pet, as if they are suddenly animal lovers and humanitarians, and the way that they pander to Precious Pet is disgusting because it's not like I saw anywhere near that much concern from them when I was a child. In my head I know that their current displays of affection aside, they really don't care about the Precious Pet. It's a diversion, another object for them to have a tug-of-war over.

In a completely shocking development, my parents got another Precious Pet. Actually, they took in a stray--also wholly shocking against the backdrop of their past. I don't know who my father was trying to impress, but I guarantee you that the "idea" was his and there is an ulterior motive . What has also been interesting has been my mother's reaction to it. The animal is completely anti-social (never has been socialized) but physically beautiful. I say that about how pretty it is because my mother constantly talks about how "ugly" this animal is, and she goes on and on about how it is not a pretty animal. Repeatedly calling it "ugly." And yet, I guarantee you that if I took its picture, you would all ooh and ahh over how pretty it is, because it IS pretty. But for some reason my mother is blinded to that, either unwilling or unaccepting of that fact, so she continually talks about how ugly it is. Oh, there are similarities there. Somehow Precious Pet #2 has been assigned the household role that I used to play, and Precious Pet (although maybe only "precious" to my dad and for a motive) #2 is the object of a lot of animosity from my mother. Despite the fact that much of my situation with them and this animals' are completely different, it has been assigned a role I know all too well. It absolutely hit me smack in the face when she started going on and on about how "ugly" this animal is after I had seen it. When I disagreed and started listing its attributes, she immediately started listing all its physical "flaws." Um, did she have to stare at it for hours on end to come up with a freckle on its nose? I couldn't find evidence of any such freckle, although I admit that I didn't get out a microscope. (So she was probably lying about the freckle.) Sheesh. It totally gives me a whole new...."appreciation" for her claims about me now.

Isn't it interesting how much insight the continuing patterns can bring? Her resentment of this animal oozes out of every pore, despite the fact that this poor creature did nothing to deserve it. It is quite illuminating to see so objectively that her treatment of me may really have not had anything to do with me or how unloveable I was. It was all about her and the warped relationship between my parents.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Looking for Your Perspective-What Do You Think?

I have gone back and forth on whether or not to post this. Very few people in my life have ever been told about this, and those who know didn't know what to say. Maybe someone else will have a more objective opinion/perspective that will "click", maybe they won't, but I am interested in other people's thoughts on this.

Certain events in my life are clear enough but I don't know the time frame in which they occurred. For example, I know I was abused by a family member when I was 3 or 4. I told, but no one ever told me that what he did was wrong versus me being wrong for it. Being a child, I internalized the blame. I still had to see him at every family gathering and holiday. It made me feel sick to see him. I hated the holidays because of it, but no one cared. It would have interfered with their lives and apparently wasn't worth it to them so I grew up with this shadow hanging over me all the time but especially at every family gathering.

Another event that has always haunted me was around the same time. Because of the gaps I wonder if I was younger (than 3 or 4) but I don't know. For years I have wondered if it would have happened if I hadn't already been made "dirty" by the abuse by the family member. Being a typical child, I liked candy. When I was 3 or 4 I saw a glass jar on a high shelf at a relative's house (the same relative's house we went to for every gathering and holiday) and it was filled with what looked like candy to the child me. I remember asking my dad for it; he was in the hall and I called to him, he walked into the room, I asked for the M&M's and showed him where they were, he got the jar down, gave it to me, and then walked out. I must have eaten at least one. Maybe I took a handful, I don't know. The pills and I were alone in the room, I don't remember how anyone found out that I had them. Did I notice that they tasted funny and tell my mother that the candy didn't taste right? Did someone walk into the room and see me with the jar of what turned out to be prescription pills? I don't know. The next thing I remember is being shoved into the scratchy bushes in the front yard at home (which was on the other side of town) to vomit after being given syrup of ipecac. (So did they wait until they got back to our house to give me the ipecac and make me vomit? That would mean that the drug was in my system for at least the half hour it would have taken to get back to our house.) I was not taken to the hospital as that would have brought questions they didn't want to answer.

The timing has always bothered me because I wondered if it would explain my father's action. He could have seen clearly that the pills weren't M&M's, yet he gave them to me. Why? Was this after the family member abused me, so I was now tainted (by sexual abuse) and he saw the opportunity to get rid of "the troublemaker" or source of the problem?

Or was it "just" plain old negligence? He didn't pay attention to what I was saying(M&M's) or what he was getting down(pills) and giving to me? He didn't mean to poison me and it was just a bad accident?

My mother refuses to discuss anything about the incident.

I have very strong feelings whenever I think about someone giving other children pills like that, but for some reason I keep trying to determine my father's "real" intent. Maybe he didn't really mean it, I try to tell myself. Maybe he just wasn't paying attention. Why do I have such difficulty accepting that he did a bad thing even that far back?

But then I think of the father who gave his other young daughter beer and laughed at how she staggered when she was drunk. Yes, it must have been a hilarious sight, watching her stagger drunkenly in her diapers. I remember being upset about his having done that to her. He knew what he was doing then, yet he did it anyway for his own amusement.

So what would you label someone giving their child such "candy"? Maybe if someone else says it was wrong, I can finally accept that he was wrong for doing it and move on--instead of trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. (Why in the world would I do that, anyway? That is warped. I would be furious at someone giving a helpless child pills like that, so why am I so reluctant to be angry about this?)

It actually explains a lot. This may well be why as a child I refused to eat anything my mother fixed to eat unless 1) I saw her prepare it myself so that I could see what went into it or 2) my sister was fed from the same dish. (My mother doted on my sister insanely, so I doubted she would poison her.) Seriously, I had that figured out at a young age--that is warped, and really sad that it was necessary. And I was aware of how "wrong" it was to feel that way, despite my young age, so I never told anyone about it.

So, what do you think? I really want to know.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

It Was Colonel Mustard in the Kitchen

In a household of multiple animals, there is the occasional incident for which we cannot determine the exact culprit. For example, say a garbage bag was accidentally left overnight in the kitchen and the contents have been strewn across the floor. Having a cat who is not picky about food or entertainment, we often don't know if it's a feline or canine culprit or if it was a combination of the two species working together (although the odds of that happening are quite slim).

Today, however, there were clues.

There was the trail of shredded lettuce leading back to the dog bed.

There were the Doritos hidden under her blankie. I had thrown away a half-full bag of stale ones, which is apparently like gold in the animal kingdom. Not being your average bear, she had grabbed the entire bag and had known enough to hide them --but the telltale bulge under the blankie gave away the hidden contraband.

But the most damning piece of evidence, and the one I wish I had a photo of, was the big glob of condiment on the bridge of her canine nose, just scant millimeters beyond where she could reach it with her tongue.

Busted!

Monday, February 18, 2008

We Are Resilient

It seems that a lot of sexual abuse survivors have a certain year or milestone that brings it all roaring to the forefront again. Maybe it's something in us that feels safe to finally process our past and to feel the pain that we have suppressed and repressed for so long. It may be the journey into becoming a wife or mother, or it may be turning 25 or 30 or 40 or 50 and taking stock of our lives and where we are. Whatever the cause, it turns our current lives into chaos in trying to deal with our past lives. It is painful, both for ourselves and for the ones who love us.

The pain of childhood sexual abuse does not go away completely, but it can subside with time. I've about exorcised those demons for now through writing about the abuse because, while it went into creating part of me, it is not who I am. A very unusual event brought all this back up for me again but I am not back at square one. I know what happened but it is not in my life today. I do not think about it every day under normal circumstances any more. I do not own the shame any more. I enjoy sex and am fortunate to be able to enjoy it without flashbacks or being creeped out. It took a lot of processing, work, and counseling but I now consider myself pretty much "normal", as much as is possible anyway.

For anyone reading this who is a survivor and suffering, please remember that we are resilient. We have survived the storm. The after-effects and trying to deal with the knowledge may feel like another storm, but that is our mind and psyche trying to comprehend everything we have suffered. Please be gentle with yourself. We have suffered enough already.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Inspired by Reading Some Other Blogs

I've spent a lot of time reading some blogs about sexual abuse, and they have been heavy. Sometimes the pain has been so raw I could practically see it on the screen, but the truth was just as clear, too. And it pains me that sexual abuse is so common. So many of us have suffered. The devastation that it causes, the absolute changes in our souls and in our hearts--that damage alone should be a crime, in addition to the crime of invading our bodies and our boundaries and our minds.

I've seen a common thread in the attitudes we had to develop to protect ourselves emotionally. I hated the bad attitude I had to adopt at home as a teenager, but it was my cloak. It came in handy to try to keep some sense of self and to deflect the BS with which I was regularly served. "I deserved it", she would tell me, although she would not admit what "it" was. The bruises and handprints/fingerprints? Or the other?

My mother's cruel mouth was also my teacher. The horrible things she said--OMG, inside I would cringe at them and even now, a totally different lifetime later, I am horrified at the memories. But I no longer own the shame of those words. She was incredibly cruel about my walk; "Shake it, don't break it!"she would say loudly to me in public. One time she caught me glancing (glancing, mind you) at a cute boy (I was about 13 at the time), she told me that I was humiliating her by acting like a bitch in heat just wanting him to fuck me. Isn't that what every shy and sexually abused 13-y/o girl wants to hear from her mother? Interesting how I could glance at a boy in public and humiliate her but my own father grabbing my ass and admiring it in front of her wasn't embarrassing for anyone? And when I would get mad at his grabbing me and try to get his hands off me, they both would laugh at my anger and he would keep describing its "perfect shape." But apparently that didn't bother her, or didn't bother her enough to ever say, "Stop it" or "That's not funny." No, that she could tolerate.

Wow, I thought I had completely locked those thoughts away and put them in a "nightmare" box. Really, to know me today, you would have no idea the household into which I was born. My love of reading enabled me to educate myself at a very early age about abuse and its cycle, about what was "normal", etc. I wonder if the librarian thought anything at the time about a child checking out a book entitled "Breaking the Cycle of Abuse"? Maybe she thought it was for a school project.


After I left home, I cleaned up my language, dropped the attitude I had had to assume in order to survive that environment and tried to forget everything ugly that I had had to endure. I much prefer the decency and civility of my current life. I try to be the best person I can be for my husband, and I expect the same. It hurts to remember the armor I used to have to carry when I was a child and I do not intend on living in a household like that again.

OMG, I Love This Man

There is nothing like a man who can calmly wait until the cat finishes puking, calmly grab a paper towel and clean it up.

That is hot! lol

"The Morning After" Regrets?

Okay, so in the cold light of day I reread what I wrote last night while under the influence. The part of me that chose the blog title wants to keep it, as it fits into an interesting topic. I'm fascinated by the underlying messages in various media. For example, look at the children's tale "Little Red Riding Hood." There are slightly different versions of it from different authors in different countries, but the Brothers Grimm version (which is the one I grew up with in the U.S.) is said to be a morality tale that cautions against "wandering off the path." Little Red Riding Hood wanders off the path on her way to her grandmother's house, which gives the hungry wolf a chance to reach her grandmother's house before she does. If Little Red Riding Hood had stuck to the well-worn path which previous travelers had taken, the ending would have been different. It is because she dared to wander the unknown path in search of the delights of wildflowers that
the wolf was able to carry out his diabolical plot.

Does that idea remind anyone else of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken"? "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood....", it begins, ending with, "I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference."

So my posting of last night, as personal as it is, follows the theme which I envisioned for this blog: a tale of what happens when you don't follow the standard path.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Holding Pattern

I've been in a holding pattern of sorts for about a year now. There are various things that need doing but they have to be done in a certain order so I have to wait and wait and then rush to do them when that time window opens. It's hurry up and wait, then hurry up and do it. And then wait some more.

So overall, it's just wait. Wait for the rest of my plans to either fall into place or fall apart.

Actually, so many things have happened in recent months that the phrase "fall apart" isn't valid any longer. I no longer have that same pre-conceived idea of what the future holds. In that sense, the plans fell apart months ago. That's life. It was a damned good plan, if you ask me, but apparently this wasn't the right time or something. So now I'm basically in a holding pattern, waiting for a sign of which direction to go. Or waiting for whatever is going to happen to happen because there are some things beyond my control. So I'm back to waiting. And waiting, and waiting....