So anyone that knows me, really really knows me, knows how much I HATE cleaning. I will do laundry all day long. I will take care of the children. I will drive a thousand miles. I will cook a humongous feast. But clean? I would rather have my teeth pulled.
So here I am, on hands and knees, scrubbing my kitchen floor. Mr. Clean and some hot water, a fresh sponge... and here comes my husband. Jake says, "Daddy, I need to go poop." I translate for Daddy from the floor. On my hands and knees. Scrubbing.
"Are you going to let him poop his pants?" My loving amazing wonderful husband asks me.
SERIOUSLY??? Did you miss the part where I am SCRUBBING the kitchen floor on my HANDS & KNEES??? You look so busy in your sweatpants, let me get right up and take our son to the toilet.
Ok. I am done ranting now. Thank you.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Grandma TwoTwo
When I was 16, my grandmother passed away.
She was a beautiful person. She loved the LORD with her whole heart and her greatest concern was that her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren know and love Him also. I remember as a little girl going to her house and she would always give us tiny bibles. The kind you might pass out on the street. I loved that.
I have few memories of her. Most are from being small. I remember sewing a small pillow with her and my cousin T when we were little girls, I was less than 5 years old, as I recall my parents were married and my grandma lived in San Diego at the time. I also remember when she moved to Arizona. Her house was this enchanted desert oasis in my eyes. I remember when it was empty, and my parents and brother and I helped them move in. I remember later, swimming in the pool, and the sign I always found so funny- We don't swim in your toilet, Don't pee in our pool! I remember my pink Lake Havasu sun hat my parents bought me when we went to visit. I remember a bajillion people gathered in her house, the homey chaos was comforting and something I now cherish in my own home. I remember her Christmas village set up in the front window, with the blazing desert sun shining in- that odd juxtaposition of a snow covered village with bundled up ice skaters on the frozen mirror pond against the window overlooking the Arizona landscape with cacti and rocks and rabbits and quail on the front lawn. I remember the oatmeal cream sandwich cookies she kept stocked on the counter. Her windbreaker jackets she seemed to have every color of. Her short grey hair. Her giant glasses. Her thin cigarettes. I remember playing poker at her dining table with mounds of pennies and dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles and friends. I remember her being the glue of the family, a solid foundation for our large tribe. There was a distinct smell of grandma's house. I haven't smelled it in many many years, but if I ever caught a whiff, I would be transported to her kitchen, sitting at the counter watching her talk and work. I like to think that my dad has her sweet demeanor. He has a lot of his father in him, but I see her in his eyes. No matter what happened in her life, she always had that sweetness about her. This unshakeable love that emanated from her.
When I was 16, my grandmother passed away.
I was already grieving the loss of a loved one, and I believe I was numb to the fact that she was gone. Four years ago, my grandfather joined her. This opened the wound of losing her fresh. So much time wasted. Time I could have spent getting to know her, listening to stories, learning from her. Instead I retreated into myself, shy and awkward with my father's family because of things my mother told me. I miss her everyday. I think of all the things she could have taught me, had I been willing to be open, to listen, to ASK.
She was such a beautiful woman, loving mother, doting grandmother... She was one of the nicest people you could ever meet. She would give everything she had to help someone out. She did everything she could to keep her family together, bonded. I admire her so much and am so heartbroken that she is no longer with us. I'm glad I have my memories of her, few they seem to me. They make me smile and warm my heart, to know that that woman is a part of me, in me, in my blood.
I googled her obituary. It hardly seems enough for so big a heart, so full a life. I don't know what I expected it to say. But it left me feeling empty and sad.
I love you Grandma TwoTwo.
She was a beautiful person. She loved the LORD with her whole heart and her greatest concern was that her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren know and love Him also. I remember as a little girl going to her house and she would always give us tiny bibles. The kind you might pass out on the street. I loved that.
I have few memories of her. Most are from being small. I remember sewing a small pillow with her and my cousin T when we were little girls, I was less than 5 years old, as I recall my parents were married and my grandma lived in San Diego at the time. I also remember when she moved to Arizona. Her house was this enchanted desert oasis in my eyes. I remember when it was empty, and my parents and brother and I helped them move in. I remember later, swimming in the pool, and the sign I always found so funny- We don't swim in your toilet, Don't pee in our pool! I remember my pink Lake Havasu sun hat my parents bought me when we went to visit. I remember a bajillion people gathered in her house, the homey chaos was comforting and something I now cherish in my own home. I remember her Christmas village set up in the front window, with the blazing desert sun shining in- that odd juxtaposition of a snow covered village with bundled up ice skaters on the frozen mirror pond against the window overlooking the Arizona landscape with cacti and rocks and rabbits and quail on the front lawn. I remember the oatmeal cream sandwich cookies she kept stocked on the counter. Her windbreaker jackets she seemed to have every color of. Her short grey hair. Her giant glasses. Her thin cigarettes. I remember playing poker at her dining table with mounds of pennies and dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles and friends. I remember her being the glue of the family, a solid foundation for our large tribe. There was a distinct smell of grandma's house. I haven't smelled it in many many years, but if I ever caught a whiff, I would be transported to her kitchen, sitting at the counter watching her talk and work. I like to think that my dad has her sweet demeanor. He has a lot of his father in him, but I see her in his eyes. No matter what happened in her life, she always had that sweetness about her. This unshakeable love that emanated from her.
When I was 16, my grandmother passed away.
I was already grieving the loss of a loved one, and I believe I was numb to the fact that she was gone. Four years ago, my grandfather joined her. This opened the wound of losing her fresh. So much time wasted. Time I could have spent getting to know her, listening to stories, learning from her. Instead I retreated into myself, shy and awkward with my father's family because of things my mother told me. I miss her everyday. I think of all the things she could have taught me, had I been willing to be open, to listen, to ASK.
She was such a beautiful woman, loving mother, doting grandmother... She was one of the nicest people you could ever meet. She would give everything she had to help someone out. She did everything she could to keep her family together, bonded. I admire her so much and am so heartbroken that she is no longer with us. I'm glad I have my memories of her, few they seem to me. They make me smile and warm my heart, to know that that woman is a part of me, in me, in my blood.
I googled her obituary. It hardly seems enough for so big a heart, so full a life. I don't know what I expected it to say. But it left me feeling empty and sad.
I love you Grandma TwoTwo.
Monday, September 24, 2012
First day of Tot School
So Tot School is home school for Tots. It is to expose your Tot to new/different things.
I decided to try Tot School because my son acts like a terrorist and I am his hostage most days. I thought, perhaps he is bored. Let's try it.
Tot School is supposed to be fun. If it stops being fun, you quit for the day. Tot school went for about 15 minutes today. Not bad. We had one episode of standing in the corner for breaking crayons. Also not bad.
Today we colored a page about the letter A. There was Aa, and pictures of apple, astronaut, alligator, ant. I also interviewed my son. I will post the Q&A later, just for your entertainment.
I decided to try Tot School because my son acts like a terrorist and I am his hostage most days. I thought, perhaps he is bored. Let's try it.
Tot School is supposed to be fun. If it stops being fun, you quit for the day. Tot school went for about 15 minutes today. Not bad. We had one episode of standing in the corner for breaking crayons. Also not bad.
Today we colored a page about the letter A. There was Aa, and pictures of apple, astronaut, alligator, ant. I also interviewed my son. I will post the Q&A later, just for your entertainment.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
I'm a loser, baby.
Sometimes I feel like such a loser.
Let me explain.
It took me 8 years to get my associates degree. A degree that should only take 2 years. And it's in Liberal Arts. Which basically qualifies me to be a secretary. The career counselor at my college told me that is about the only job my degree would get me. Except it hasn't even got me that.
Here I am, a year and a half from turning the big 3-0, smack in the middle of the year of my 10 year high school reunion, and I have no career to speak of. I have worked at numerous jobs and have an odd skill set as a result. Pretty much no skills that translate into a career.
Ten years ago, my heart was set on becoming a teacher. One thing I regret when I look back at my life is that I didn't stick to that. I wish I posessed more resolve when it comes to things like that- the following your dreams kind of things, the listening to your head when it really counts. I too often follow my heart, my big mushy heart that wants to be all rainbows and sunshine. Don't ge me wrong, I have found some amazing treasures along the "follow your heart" path, but as I read about my classmates and friends and what they are all doing, I have this little twinge inside me that says, I wish I woulda...
But here's the thing. I don't have a career. When I have an option to put down my occupation, it says HOMEMAKER. Now this is a big occupation. I MAKE a HOME. It is taking me years and years to discover all the ins and outs of this occupation. And I am definitely still learning.
First- Accounting. I am responsible for stretching every last dollar my hard-working hubby brings home. I pay the bills, do the shopping, make sure everyone has the essentials.
Second- Cooking, catering, event planning, etc. I plan and cook meals everyday of the week. I plan the holidays, the birthdays, the bbq's, and any other event that my family partakes in. However, I draw the line at planning my own birthday, which subsequently explains why we haven't celebrated it the last couple years...
Third- Personal Assistant. Yes, I am my husband's personal assistant. I make his coffee and plan his schedule. I do his laundry and his shopping. I make calls, run errands, and set up meetings.
Fourth- Management. I have 6 kids that I am in charge of. I make sure everyone gets to football, track, baseball, scouts, parties, and school, all with lunches, snacks and gifts, respectively. Don't forget dr. appointments, homework and nap schedules! P.S. I also volunteer my time to scouting and school events.
Fifth- Maid Service. On top of all the fancy duties that come with being a homemaker, I also have the task of keeping the house. Making beds, doing laundry, scrubbing toilets, loading dishes, vacuuming... this list NEVER ends. Oh and interior design.
Last, and definitely not least, I am a mom. (Remember those 6 kids I mentioned?) I have three stepkids, two sons, and my sixteen year old brother to look after. And here is the best part. That means I get to be (you guessed it!) a teacher. I have two amazing boys that learn from me daily. And it's taken me this long to figure that out.
So I am done feeling guilty that I didn't get my bachelor's or master's or doctorate as I once dreamed. I have wonderful students that will learn more from me more than anyone else. And I am done feeling guilty about what I am able to put on an application. My life is so much more than what that piece of paper says.
I'm not there yet. My house is a wreck. Our budget never gets followed. My kids miss naptime (and get really CRANKY). There are dishes in my sink. But I am learning balance. I am not an expert. I have only been at this a few years. But I am not giving up. I am determined to make the best home I can. To raise the best boys I can. To be the best wife I can. And if that makes me a loser, baby, I'll take it.
Let me explain.
It took me 8 years to get my associates degree. A degree that should only take 2 years. And it's in Liberal Arts. Which basically qualifies me to be a secretary. The career counselor at my college told me that is about the only job my degree would get me. Except it hasn't even got me that.
Here I am, a year and a half from turning the big 3-0, smack in the middle of the year of my 10 year high school reunion, and I have no career to speak of. I have worked at numerous jobs and have an odd skill set as a result. Pretty much no skills that translate into a career.
Ten years ago, my heart was set on becoming a teacher. One thing I regret when I look back at my life is that I didn't stick to that. I wish I posessed more resolve when it comes to things like that- the following your dreams kind of things, the listening to your head when it really counts. I too often follow my heart, my big mushy heart that wants to be all rainbows and sunshine. Don't ge me wrong, I have found some amazing treasures along the "follow your heart" path, but as I read about my classmates and friends and what they are all doing, I have this little twinge inside me that says, I wish I woulda...
But here's the thing. I don't have a career. When I have an option to put down my occupation, it says HOMEMAKER. Now this is a big occupation. I MAKE a HOME. It is taking me years and years to discover all the ins and outs of this occupation. And I am definitely still learning.
First- Accounting. I am responsible for stretching every last dollar my hard-working hubby brings home. I pay the bills, do the shopping, make sure everyone has the essentials.
Second- Cooking, catering, event planning, etc. I plan and cook meals everyday of the week. I plan the holidays, the birthdays, the bbq's, and any other event that my family partakes in. However, I draw the line at planning my own birthday, which subsequently explains why we haven't celebrated it the last couple years...
Third- Personal Assistant. Yes, I am my husband's personal assistant. I make his coffee and plan his schedule. I do his laundry and his shopping. I make calls, run errands, and set up meetings.
Fourth- Management. I have 6 kids that I am in charge of. I make sure everyone gets to football, track, baseball, scouts, parties, and school, all with lunches, snacks and gifts, respectively. Don't forget dr. appointments, homework and nap schedules! P.S. I also volunteer my time to scouting and school events.
Fifth- Maid Service. On top of all the fancy duties that come with being a homemaker, I also have the task of keeping the house. Making beds, doing laundry, scrubbing toilets, loading dishes, vacuuming... this list NEVER ends. Oh and interior design.
Last, and definitely not least, I am a mom. (Remember those 6 kids I mentioned?) I have three stepkids, two sons, and my sixteen year old brother to look after. And here is the best part. That means I get to be (you guessed it!) a teacher. I have two amazing boys that learn from me daily. And it's taken me this long to figure that out.
So I am done feeling guilty that I didn't get my bachelor's or master's or doctorate as I once dreamed. I have wonderful students that will learn more from me more than anyone else. And I am done feeling guilty about what I am able to put on an application. My life is so much more than what that piece of paper says.
I'm not there yet. My house is a wreck. Our budget never gets followed. My kids miss naptime (and get really CRANKY). There are dishes in my sink. But I am learning balance. I am not an expert. I have only been at this a few years. But I am not giving up. I am determined to make the best home I can. To raise the best boys I can. To be the best wife I can. And if that makes me a loser, baby, I'll take it.
Monday, July 16, 2012
A different kind of Love...
When I found out I was pregnant with my first son, I cried. I had waited years for that moment, and the sheer surprise and joy I felt at the news was overwhelming. After many months and months of not getting pregnant, then facing the daily possibility that my husband could be killed in Iraq for 15 months and I would be left without a piece of him to cherish for the rest of my days, God blessed me with the greatest gift I have ever known- my son, Jacob. I felt it was a lesson in God's timing. He had wanted me to wait until my husband was home safely and could be there each step of the way. I enjoyed my pregnancy with him so much, and as the day of his birth drew closer, I became sad that he would not be inside of me any more. I felt such a strong bond with him there, talking to him, singing to him... My husband and step kids talked to him also. I nurtured an affection for him for nine (ten) months. And when he was born, it was love at first sight. I had never seen anything more beautiful than his tiny little body, his sweet small face... my son. MY son. This incredible tiny little person that I made... My love for him was intense, instant and fierce.
When I found out I was pregnant with my second son, I did not cry. We had been planning a sibling for Jacob for a little while, so it wasn't entirely a surprise, but I don't think I could ever say I was expecting it. This news came at a very tumultuous time in my life. My husband had quit his job because of his PTSD, and shortly afterwards was hospitalized for it. I had started a new job and taken on new responsibilities with my family. I was happy to be pregnant again, but I wasn't joyful as I had been the first time around. I wondered often throughout this pregnancy what I had been thinking by having another child at this time. 2011 was a terrible year for my husband and I as a couple and individually. My family didn't talk to this baby as much as they had with Jake, and when we found out we were having yet another boy, the interest in this new addition really dwindled. I didn't feel as well during this pregnancy, and I didn't feel as close to this baby as I thought I should, as I had with my first. I felt that my husband wasn't excited for this baby, that none of us were really excited for him, besides Jake. I wondered if he had been a girl, if things would have been different. Don't get me wrong, I was happy- I am happy- to have my second son. But I have felt intensely guilty for months because of the feelings I have had.
When Levi was born, I cried. They held him up, and he didn't cry and I immediately felt that something was wrong. They assured me he was fine, but I was very concerned that he wasn't really crying. I did hear him as they cleaned him up. But I wasn't overwhelmed like I had been with Jake, thinking he was the most beautiful thing in the world. I just didn't have that thought. I feel horrible writing that, and it's not as if I didn't think he was beautiful, he was, he is. But it was different this time around. They brought him over to me, and I kissed his tiny cheek before they whisked him up to the NICU. I chose Levi as his name because it means joined, and after the year we had I was glad to have a baby that represented the commitment my husband and I had to one another, conceived about the time of our 5th anniversary. During the first few weeks of his life, I did not feel a strong bond between my son and I. I felt like something was wrong with me. Why didn't I have that same fierce love I felt when Jake was new? I still don't have an answer for that. But I think that just as my boys are two different people, my love for them is different. With Jacob, I had intense Love at first sight. With Levi, I am slowly falling in Love day by day. As I get to know this tiny little person that God has blessed me with, I fall deeper and deeper. And I think this is just another lesson in God's timing. Even though I had "planned" to have another child, I would never have chosen that exact time to become pregnant. But I think that God has a bigger plan, and He knows what we need and when we need it. And while I am still not sure how this all fits into His plan, I am sure glad that I have the pleasure and privilege to love these two amazing boys of mine.
When I found out I was pregnant with my second son, I did not cry. We had been planning a sibling for Jacob for a little while, so it wasn't entirely a surprise, but I don't think I could ever say I was expecting it. This news came at a very tumultuous time in my life. My husband had quit his job because of his PTSD, and shortly afterwards was hospitalized for it. I had started a new job and taken on new responsibilities with my family. I was happy to be pregnant again, but I wasn't joyful as I had been the first time around. I wondered often throughout this pregnancy what I had been thinking by having another child at this time. 2011 was a terrible year for my husband and I as a couple and individually. My family didn't talk to this baby as much as they had with Jake, and when we found out we were having yet another boy, the interest in this new addition really dwindled. I didn't feel as well during this pregnancy, and I didn't feel as close to this baby as I thought I should, as I had with my first. I felt that my husband wasn't excited for this baby, that none of us were really excited for him, besides Jake. I wondered if he had been a girl, if things would have been different. Don't get me wrong, I was happy- I am happy- to have my second son. But I have felt intensely guilty for months because of the feelings I have had.
When Levi was born, I cried. They held him up, and he didn't cry and I immediately felt that something was wrong. They assured me he was fine, but I was very concerned that he wasn't really crying. I did hear him as they cleaned him up. But I wasn't overwhelmed like I had been with Jake, thinking he was the most beautiful thing in the world. I just didn't have that thought. I feel horrible writing that, and it's not as if I didn't think he was beautiful, he was, he is. But it was different this time around. They brought him over to me, and I kissed his tiny cheek before they whisked him up to the NICU. I chose Levi as his name because it means joined, and after the year we had I was glad to have a baby that represented the commitment my husband and I had to one another, conceived about the time of our 5th anniversary. During the first few weeks of his life, I did not feel a strong bond between my son and I. I felt like something was wrong with me. Why didn't I have that same fierce love I felt when Jake was new? I still don't have an answer for that. But I think that just as my boys are two different people, my love for them is different. With Jacob, I had intense Love at first sight. With Levi, I am slowly falling in Love day by day. As I get to know this tiny little person that God has blessed me with, I fall deeper and deeper. And I think this is just another lesson in God's timing. Even though I had "planned" to have another child, I would never have chosen that exact time to become pregnant. But I think that God has a bigger plan, and He knows what we need and when we need it. And while I am still not sure how this all fits into His plan, I am sure glad that I have the pleasure and privilege to love these two amazing boys of mine.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
A sad and depressing revelation- be warned, this is RAW
Oh dear Blog, it has been too long. How I need the therapy you bring to my unfortunate little existence. Prepare yourselves, readers, as this episode of an Emotional Wreck proves to be sad and depressing.
Recently I have discovered, or rather admitted, that I am living a life of regret. Eleven years ago I lost someone very dear to my heart, and my life took a turn for the worse. I don't believe that we can ever recover who we once were when we experience that deep loss, and that we become lost ourselves. I still feel lost, eleven years later. I have made decisions I could not have fathomed back then, and I do not recognize myself, have not recognized myself ever since. I have two friends that I must thank for the sheer fact that I am alive and breathing today, because without their presence during that difficult event all those years ago, I know I would not still be alive today. I was hell bent on destroying myself, and as I sit here today I can still feel the effects of those careless actions. I have been broken my entire life. Each time I think that I might possibly have rebuilt some semblance of myself, I watch it tumble down around me, as a castle made of sand. Life keeps sending wave after wave to erode my shore and it seems as though there is almost nothing left.
Perhaps part of my problem is that that person was so spectacular and I experienced such amazing love and happiness with him, that everything since has paled in comparison. I cannot be certain. And I feel a tremendous amount of guilt in saying that, because I have since known some others who are spectacular in their own right, but I am not capable of fully appreciating who they are. I feel as though my mind has deteriorated since the moment I was told he was gone. That I have sunk deeper and deeper into my own mind that it is imploding on itself, there is no room for anything else any longer. How does one move past something they will never forget? There is no getting over it. There is only pushing through each miserable day with the hope that the next will be easier. And for me, it is increasingly difficult to maintain my hope in general, not just in this.
I have a lot to be thankful for. I do not wish to be discontent with my life. I have a beautiful son who is so full of wonder and delight it is contagious. I married a good man who does his best to provide for our family and is a wonderful father. And yet, I cannot shake this awful black shroud of mourning. It has transformed over the years from mourning the loss of that person to mourning the loss of myself. I feel that so many opportunities have passed me by because my vision was clouded all these years. It is only now, in retrospect that I can see the different paths I might have taken. Is this Satan, working to destroy my fragile mind? It must be, I have no other explanation for why I cannot let go of things that might have been. I love my husband, and I would not trade anything in this world for my amazing baby boy, but at times, I cannot help but wish I had made another choice. When every fiber of my being was screaming at me to choose another way, my heart whispered to choose this life. And I did. And I have questioned myself ever since.
And here I am, in a place I would never choose to live my days, with a man I hardly know anymore, in a job I never thought I would have, without friends, without my family. Without anyone who understands any part of me. And to admit this in any way, shape or form causes me such pain, such disappointment in myself, such guilt, I can hardly stand to exist.
At any moment I am expecting total and utter chaos to break loose within me, and a full fledged nervous breakdown to completely destroy the fragile frame I am barely able to maintain on a day to day basis.
I don't know how to BE, to experience, to enjoy, to live. I am trapped in the confines of my thoughts, my fears, my dreams, my destroyed life plans. With each day I become more incapable and more self loathing. I don't have it within me to rise up any longer, I am so beaten down by life. I see no escape, no relief, no end to this quagmire of feelings that continues to suck me down and down.
I long to be that wife and mother that my family can be proud of, that I can be proud of, where I can get out of bed each day with something to look forward to rather than this awful creature that only looks forward to each day's end for the simple fact that it means I have one less day to live through. I am black inside. I am being swallowed up by the blackness. And this awful madness that I endure won't go away. I don't know how to change, to make it go away, to be positive and productive. My instincts tell me to curl up into a ball in a dark place and wait until I stop breathing. The sadness of these thoughts, the sheer hopelessness and awfulness strikes me as abnormal and terrible, but I cannot keep it to myself one more moment, because it continually fills me. I am incredulous at some of the things I have confessed here, but I needed so badly to say them. I feel I am again at a crossroads, I feel that I am about to make yet another bad decision, one that I will regret for the rest of my days. Something so insignificant in the giant scheme of life holds so much weight in my fragile state of mind.
Recently I have discovered, or rather admitted, that I am living a life of regret. Eleven years ago I lost someone very dear to my heart, and my life took a turn for the worse. I don't believe that we can ever recover who we once were when we experience that deep loss, and that we become lost ourselves. I still feel lost, eleven years later. I have made decisions I could not have fathomed back then, and I do not recognize myself, have not recognized myself ever since. I have two friends that I must thank for the sheer fact that I am alive and breathing today, because without their presence during that difficult event all those years ago, I know I would not still be alive today. I was hell bent on destroying myself, and as I sit here today I can still feel the effects of those careless actions. I have been broken my entire life. Each time I think that I might possibly have rebuilt some semblance of myself, I watch it tumble down around me, as a castle made of sand. Life keeps sending wave after wave to erode my shore and it seems as though there is almost nothing left.
Perhaps part of my problem is that that person was so spectacular and I experienced such amazing love and happiness with him, that everything since has paled in comparison. I cannot be certain. And I feel a tremendous amount of guilt in saying that, because I have since known some others who are spectacular in their own right, but I am not capable of fully appreciating who they are. I feel as though my mind has deteriorated since the moment I was told he was gone. That I have sunk deeper and deeper into my own mind that it is imploding on itself, there is no room for anything else any longer. How does one move past something they will never forget? There is no getting over it. There is only pushing through each miserable day with the hope that the next will be easier. And for me, it is increasingly difficult to maintain my hope in general, not just in this.
I have a lot to be thankful for. I do not wish to be discontent with my life. I have a beautiful son who is so full of wonder and delight it is contagious. I married a good man who does his best to provide for our family and is a wonderful father. And yet, I cannot shake this awful black shroud of mourning. It has transformed over the years from mourning the loss of that person to mourning the loss of myself. I feel that so many opportunities have passed me by because my vision was clouded all these years. It is only now, in retrospect that I can see the different paths I might have taken. Is this Satan, working to destroy my fragile mind? It must be, I have no other explanation for why I cannot let go of things that might have been. I love my husband, and I would not trade anything in this world for my amazing baby boy, but at times, I cannot help but wish I had made another choice. When every fiber of my being was screaming at me to choose another way, my heart whispered to choose this life. And I did. And I have questioned myself ever since.
And here I am, in a place I would never choose to live my days, with a man I hardly know anymore, in a job I never thought I would have, without friends, without my family. Without anyone who understands any part of me. And to admit this in any way, shape or form causes me such pain, such disappointment in myself, such guilt, I can hardly stand to exist.
At any moment I am expecting total and utter chaos to break loose within me, and a full fledged nervous breakdown to completely destroy the fragile frame I am barely able to maintain on a day to day basis.
I don't know how to BE, to experience, to enjoy, to live. I am trapped in the confines of my thoughts, my fears, my dreams, my destroyed life plans. With each day I become more incapable and more self loathing. I don't have it within me to rise up any longer, I am so beaten down by life. I see no escape, no relief, no end to this quagmire of feelings that continues to suck me down and down.
I long to be that wife and mother that my family can be proud of, that I can be proud of, where I can get out of bed each day with something to look forward to rather than this awful creature that only looks forward to each day's end for the simple fact that it means I have one less day to live through. I am black inside. I am being swallowed up by the blackness. And this awful madness that I endure won't go away. I don't know how to change, to make it go away, to be positive and productive. My instincts tell me to curl up into a ball in a dark place and wait until I stop breathing. The sadness of these thoughts, the sheer hopelessness and awfulness strikes me as abnormal and terrible, but I cannot keep it to myself one more moment, because it continually fills me. I am incredulous at some of the things I have confessed here, but I needed so badly to say them. I feel I am again at a crossroads, I feel that I am about to make yet another bad decision, one that I will regret for the rest of my days. Something so insignificant in the giant scheme of life holds so much weight in my fragile state of mind.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Sister Wives
I would like to take a moment to apologize to those that read this blog, and also to myself, for not posting in such a long while.
Moving on.
I really have to take a moment to rant about this show, Sister Wives. Yes, I watch it. In fact, I record it on my DVR so I don't miss it. While I definitely do not agree with their lifestyle choice, I am fascinated by their family. They have strong bonds between all of the wives and the husband, the children seem well adjusted. They get along for the most part, in fact better than some monogomous couples I know. I would never in a million years choose this, but they did, and they are really making the best of it.
Now, I also used to watch The Girls Nextdoor, when they were Holly, Bridgette and Kendra. I was also fascinated with their lifestyle, though I in no way agree with it. Nor would I choose that for myself.
Here comes the rant portion of today's programming. The Brown family of Sister Wives is being investigated for polygamy. Now, Kody (the husband) and Meri (wife #1) are legally married. The other 3 wives had a special symbolic ceremony to act as their wedding to Kody, but in no way is it a legal marriage. Why is it that we can glorify someone like Hugh Heffner, who established an empire by exploiting nude women, and celebrate his choice to live and sleep with sometimes up to 7 girlfriends at a time, but we villify this family that is comitted to one another and is trying to teach their children some values? No I don't think polygamy is a good value, but neither do I think an 80 something year old man sleeping with several 20 something year old women is acceptable. Why should the Brown family be persecuted for their alternative lifestyle, and Hugh Heffner and his girlfriends are celebratized? (if that's not a word, I don't care, I'm cool enough to make one up!)
My point is this- we watch all these TV shows about homosexuals, about Hugh Heffner and his girlfriends, about people with 20 billion kids, etc. As Americans we claim to be accepting of the alternative. Don't prosecute these people! They are no different than anyone else on TV. They aren't asking anyone to subscribe to their lifestyle. They all entered their relationship willingly, they are happy with their situation, and we should just leave them alone.
Moving on.
I really have to take a moment to rant about this show, Sister Wives. Yes, I watch it. In fact, I record it on my DVR so I don't miss it. While I definitely do not agree with their lifestyle choice, I am fascinated by their family. They have strong bonds between all of the wives and the husband, the children seem well adjusted. They get along for the most part, in fact better than some monogomous couples I know. I would never in a million years choose this, but they did, and they are really making the best of it.
Now, I also used to watch The Girls Nextdoor, when they were Holly, Bridgette and Kendra. I was also fascinated with their lifestyle, though I in no way agree with it. Nor would I choose that for myself.
Here comes the rant portion of today's programming. The Brown family of Sister Wives is being investigated for polygamy. Now, Kody (the husband) and Meri (wife #1) are legally married. The other 3 wives had a special symbolic ceremony to act as their wedding to Kody, but in no way is it a legal marriage. Why is it that we can glorify someone like Hugh Heffner, who established an empire by exploiting nude women, and celebrate his choice to live and sleep with sometimes up to 7 girlfriends at a time, but we villify this family that is comitted to one another and is trying to teach their children some values? No I don't think polygamy is a good value, but neither do I think an 80 something year old man sleeping with several 20 something year old women is acceptable. Why should the Brown family be persecuted for their alternative lifestyle, and Hugh Heffner and his girlfriends are celebratized? (if that's not a word, I don't care, I'm cool enough to make one up!)
My point is this- we watch all these TV shows about homosexuals, about Hugh Heffner and his girlfriends, about people with 20 billion kids, etc. As Americans we claim to be accepting of the alternative. Don't prosecute these people! They are no different than anyone else on TV. They aren't asking anyone to subscribe to their lifestyle. They all entered their relationship willingly, they are happy with their situation, and we should just leave them alone.
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