Crazy Train

Hiya strangers! Good to talk to you again!

Okay, so I have news and I have a conundrum and some funny little snippets that fall somewhere in betweenst the two.

First the conundrum, which I started to write about on here, then second guessed myself so I deleted it, then dealt with it on my own and so now I'm here to offer you my worldly advice on this subject:

How to deal with your child when he starts to figure out that certain "things" feel good.

Are you still with me? Good, because you all damn near lost me for certain when I first found out about this particular issue.

You may be asking yourself, "Well, Sillychick, how exactly did you find out that your child has figured out that doing, um, acts upon himself feels good?" My sister called me. Yes, the sister that I haven't spoken to in almost 2 years called me up to let me know that she discovered her son and my son touching one another. Greeeaaat. Good to have you back, sis!

Needless to say, I was absolutely mortified. It actually took me a few days to digest the whole thing and many hours of research and talking with my husband to finally have "The Talk" with the Boy. Gah.

In the end, we essentially told him how a baby is made and how it's not only not okay to have someone else touch you, but you're not supposed to touch anyone either. He cried, mostly out of embarrassment and I felt so bad for him...but it had to be done.

That sucked.

Secondly, on a much lighter note, I've figured out how to make my husband completely happy. First, you stop by a friend's house who might possibly have oregano and leave the boys alone the special sealed room to consume the oregano. Then you head down to the Keller Williams/Bob Weir concert. If you've never seen or heard Keller you must runrunrun out to get his music. Love me some Keller. Then, you stand in the rain with him and listen to some amazing music while surrounded by many stoned Deadheads and do your own little version of a hippy dance. Mine consists of waving my arms around and bobbing my head like it's sort of not attached.

And that is how to make my husband happy.

Thirdly, and most importantly, I have news. BIG news. No, I'm not pregnant and next time I see you I'm going to slap yo bitch ass face for thinking that.

I got into nursing school.

Go ahead, gasp, clap, run for your lives...I'll wait.

I've been talking about this sort of thing for so long and so my husband and I decided to go visit one of the colleges during our lunch hour two weeks ago. Yes, that's right, two weeks ago. I was told I missed the deadline by, oh, two months but then one of the admissions people came out and told me one person had just dropped out. If I could get all of my transcripts (1 high school and 3 college...I jumped around a bit) to her by the following week, I was more than likely in. No small feat since I had to drive an hour each way to get one of them.

I did it. I got all of them, I filled out my application and I was officially accepted last Friday. I attended the first orientation on Tuesday and received my schedule, which shows classes all over the place so I really can't work here that much longer. Yay!!!

So, how to make my husband really happy? Show up wearing a nurse's uniform in the bedroom. While the Dead are playing, of course.

Explanation

Yesterday's post provided some sort of insight into why I haven't been posting as much, but I think I need to get to the nitty-gritty as to what made me stop altogether.



Consider this a warning.



I try very hard to be a positive person. When someone complains that it's raining, I'll say that I'm glad because my flowers needed it or some such bullshit. If a person is bitching about a co-worker, I might point out their strong points. You get the drift.



Deep down, though, I am a cynical, negative person. Perhaps it's because of my parents' divorce and having lived through 6 stepmonsters and countless step siblings. Maybe it's because I spent the better part of an hour writing a post and fucking Blogger deleted it...I don't know.

Anyway, instead of writing it all out again, I'll just say this: my thoughts lately have been with my brother and sister in law. They are going through an extremely rough time right now...could be the 7 year itch, could be 3 kids under the age of 5, whatever. All I know is that they are leaning towards separation and it's breaking my heart.

So, there it is. A part of my family is crumbling apart and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

No longer lost at sea

Father, it's been a month since my last post and in that time I've:

1. Helped my husband tear down our old deck and build a paver patio, complete with fire pit that is insanely awesome
2. Attended at least 2 ballgames a week
3. Driven to Pittsburgh for a weekend that included a family reunion and 3 solid days of drinking
4. Held a birthday party for my husband on the day that we completed the paver patio
5. Spent that entire weekend drinking
6. Sat here in front of this computer for 9 hours a day, contemplating just what in the hell to do with my life
7. Kept thinking of writing in my blog and visiting the blogs that kept me afloat for so many months, but just never did

So, that's been my life. Nothing much to report, all is well and I'm still here. I just haven't been here in "blog spirit" I guess. I haven't lost any more weight, nor have I gained any. I have sort of quit worrying about it for the time being, I suppose.

You? How have you been?

Caution: Rant Ahead

I envy those of you who are doing exactly what is meant for you to do in this life. One of the reasons I didn't go to college directly out of high school was because I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I still don't.



I have my AA. Graduated with a 3.55. I didn't go on because I didn't want to "waste 2 years of my life" not knowing what I wanted to be. What a dumbass.



So I sit here in this office, trying to keep my cool while my jackass boss has a meltdown every few minutes. He's having a major closing today and because he can't keep his thoughts straight, we are the ones to suffer.



It's 11:35 and here are two little tidbits I've put up with:

He tells me (never asks, everything is "I need, I need") to get a phone number for a Brenda Smith from Penny, his assistant, who in turn tells me (nicely, I must say) to just look it up online. She doesn't have the number but the company she works for is here in town and I should have no trouble finding it. As I'm doing so, he yells at me to see if I have it yet. I tell him, no, I'm looking it up now. Again, he yells that Penny should have it. "No, she doesn't, so I'm looking it up right now" I tell him AGAIN. Once I find it, it's a main number and I put that number and Brenda's name next to it on a lovely Post It note.

I thought he was going to explode. "I need Jennifer's number! Not Brenda's!"

"You told me Brenda, that's why I wrote down Brenda. It doesn't matter, it's a main number, so it's the same."

He then rushes over to Penny's desk, demanding what he just asked of me. She tells him the same exact thing, but he ain't hearing that. He needs her to call this number and get Jennifer's number. Surprise, it's the same number.

Now, for this next little ditty, I need you to keep in mind that the majority of my day is spent playing FreeCell and checking my personal email. I'm not exaggerating when I say that 90% of my time is taken up by doing these very important things. I have nothing else to do. He seems to be fine paying me to do these things and except for the boredom, so am I. Every once in a while, my cell will ring and I'll answer it. If the office phone rings or if someone approaches my desk, I hang up.

Today my SIL calls me. She and my brother are going through a very rough patch right now and she needs to talk to me. I have been told that if I need privacy, I should go into the copy room, so I do. As I'm trying to console my SIL, my boss walks by and glares at me. 3 minutes later, Penny comes in with tears in her eyes and tells me I need to get off the phone. Apparently, she was on the phone, too. Seems her parents, who were visiting from Florida, got lost today and needed her help. (I know! I was appalled, too!) He stood at her desk and stared at her until she finally hung up and asked him politely what he needed.

He tells her that he can't take the personal calls anymore, that we are no longer allowed to answer our cell phones. Yeah, okay.

So, for the majority of this day, Penny has spent it in tears. She has worked for this man for 20 years and he can still control her this way. No thank you to that.

This job is just that to me: a job. It's not my life, my calling, even part of my happiness. It is what it is, and that's a paycheck. I will never allow an employer treat me such as he's treated her. Never.

And that is why I'd now like to become independently wealthy, thank you very much. Any ideas?

Ch-ch-changes

We were all told that when we chose to have children that our lives would change. Our lives would never be the same as we once knew them to be.

Once we got pregnant, gone went the nights of drinking and smoking.

The more pregnant we became, the less mobile we got and some of us experienced things such as acid reflux, constant nausea and insane cravings for the first time.

When our child was born, we gave up nights of restful sleeping and mornings of sleeping in.

As our child grew, we ourselves grew more confident in our new roles as parents. We (most of us) began to relax and soon embraced this new way of life.

And then there are the curve balls. The child begins to learn new things, strictly to keep us on our metaphorical toes. The child senses that we've become much too relaxed in this parenting gig and must put an end to our new ways.

It could be as simple as learning that poop make beautiful pictures on walls. Perhaps a new found freedom from diapers causes them to run naked through the house. Beds become trampolines.

Or...

maybe your toddler has learned how to turn her door handle to get out of her room and now greets you each morning at 6 am sharp with a smiling "Good Morning, Mommy!" mere inches from your slobbering face.

Thank goodness she doesn't mind my dragon breath.

Balance

Last night, my neighbors and I were outside gossiping and awaiting the outcome of the latest wreck in front of our homes. There have been 5 in the last 6 months. No, we don't live on a busy street, but people choose to treat the Yield sign as less of a yield and more of a "I'm gonna coast thru this intersection without looking because it's a side street and no one ever drives on side streets and BAM!" sort of sign.

Ahem.

As we're talking about the kids and this and that, my single, no-kids neighbor says the nicest thing to me that made my heart melt and my pride soar.

She told me that the other night she was out in her yard poking around and happened to look over at us. She said what she saw could have been the front cover of a magazine. It was my husband sitting on the porch strumming his guitar, the kids playing together, the dog running around and me sitting beside my husband looking completely content and happy.

She was right about how I looked. Even on days when I am bleak and the world has got me down, I am still able to look around at what I have and be completely thankful. I have a pain-in-the-ass husband who loves me wholly for who I am and who I'm not. I have pain-in-the-ass kids who make me smile with their goofiness and cry with their innocence. I even have a bigger than normal pain-in-the-ass dog whose whole world is me.

I always wanted a man who could play guitar and with whom I could be so comfortable with that I wouldn't need to fill the space with words or actions. We spent the majority of the holiday weekend on our porch, him playing and me reading or just chillin.

I always wanted two kids, one a boy, the other a girl. I wouldn't change either of their personalities, as I can see both my husband and me in them and we're both pretty perfect.

Stop laughing.

I always wanted a bigger dog, one that you could snuggle up with one cold nights or play ball with for hours. I didn't necessarily want one that would try to crawl up your ass, but hey, it all balances.

I guess this simple statement counteracts the jackass one from yesterday, don't you think?

I'm still ALL woman, though.

What's in a Saying?

"Mmm, mmm, girl you ALL woman!"

This is what was said to me as I walked back from the park at lunch today. I knew something was going to be said because this guy was eyeballing me before I was even within 20 feet of him.

Here are my thoughts on this particular saying, in no certain order or clarity:

1. Has he ever picked up a woman with this?
2. If so, is she available for me to smack around for falling for this particular piece of shit?
3. Tits, check. Vagina, check. Ovaries, check. Penis, nope, none here. He's right! I am all woman!
4. He was not very tidy looking, so is this his way of making up for lack of good hygiene? His own personal version of the "Short Man Syndrome?"

I let him say it without me responding. What I should have done was come back with a few zingers like:

"Oh, thank God! I didn't think the surgery took!"

"Why yes I am. Would you like to floss your teeth with my tampon string for me to prove it?"

"Oooh, big daddy, take me home tonight!"

~as I whip out my life like dildo that I always carry with me just for situations like this one~ "Uh, uh, silly goose!"

Now that I've been reassured that yes, I am ALL woman, I can now do things that I never thought possible. Things such as ride a horse or go swimming while on my period. Perhaps I can even play sports or climb the corporate ladder, all while raising children and pleasing my husband.

Can you hear me roaring?

Baby Steps

It started as a nose bleed that just wouldn't go away. It ended with her death.



The middle, the better part of 4 years, was fraught with battle after battle containing gut wrenching surgeries, high doses of chemo and time spent wondering if it was all worth it.



She came to me suddenly Saturday as I walked into the race. It's a 5K where the main focus is breast cancer but I was walking for her and her type of rare cancer. I felt her around me as I'm sure 30,000 other people felt their loved ones.



I wonder if anyone else cried as I did when the race was starting. Did some other person there cover their face as tears fell to the ground? Were there others who just wanted to stop time to just be able to feel their person? I couldn't have possibly been the only one wearing pink whose heart was beating with the love of one of their best friends.



And so I walked, slowly most of the time as it wasn't possible to go fast in such a sea of people. I pushed the Princess in her stroller with my mom by my side, all of us in matching shirts. My mom and I in matching tears. She felt my pain, she was one who took care of my friend after one of her many surgeries. My mother knew exactly how I was feeling.



I took us about an hour to complete the zig-zagging course through downtown Columbus. There were various bands set up every block or so, local schools sent out cheerleaders and volunteers rah-rah'd us on on each corner. Towards the end were a group of 20 or so Harley riders who had lined up and were "hi-fiving" us as we walked along. I thanked each one of them as if they were there for me personally. I squeezed their hands and looked into their eyes, hoping they could see just how much it meant that they were there.



Something about grown men wearing pink shirts under black leather jackets just causes you to pause, doesn't it?



The Princess came out of her stroller to be able to walk across the finish line. There was no fanfare, other than the throngs of people shouting to their friends or scattered claps. We finished that race, we walked across the line, three generations.



Three girls, all at various stages of their lives, walked for the other girls who have suffered the terrible disease of cancer. No matter the form, it has the ability to take all and give nothing.



No, that's not right. It gave me new found respect for the courage that my friend showed. I no longer take life for granted. On the days when my sanity is tested by various tantrums or general life, I tend to take pause now and remember.

I remember picking her up and us driving to our friend's wedding and her telling me that "it" was back. It was a confidential conversation in which she let me know that she wasn't sure if she could do it again and that she was so, so sick of everyone asking her how she was feeling and if she was taking her meds. Of course she was taking her meds, she was ill for Christ's sake! All she wanted, she told me, was for someone to call her up and bitch about their lives. She needed to hear that life was not centered around this debilitating illness that took her away from her son and family.

I remember sitting down in the church with her to my left and our friend Sherri on her left. She could no longer see or hear out of her left side due to everything being taken in order to get to the tumor. Sherri immediately starts asking her those insane questions that she cannot stand, but she couldn't hear her. Sherri persists. I lean across her and loudly tell Sherri to leave her the fuck alone. In a church.

I remember her asking me if I could please take her home, that she doesn't think she can make it through the reception. I call her parents, who immediately start to faithfully pray, to let them know we're on our way. She doesn't make it a mile before I have to pull over for her to puke. She pukes up the only thing she can eat anymore, an Ensure shake that she has to sip from a straw out of one side of her mouth with a napkin held under it to catch it if it slides out. As I sat there and rubbed her back, it has finally hit me after 3 years, one of my best friends is sick. As she heaved her way through this bout of nausea, I tried to stifle my own heaves of crying.

It was not an easy task to drive her home and be strong for her. Her father and I carried her to bed and her mother started to undress her. As I shuffled to the door in a daze, he thanked me over and over and hugged me.

I was not a block away before I lost it. I cried the pent up tears of those years that we all remained stoic and strong for her. I banged on the steering wheel while barely keeping the car on the road. I asked the questions of why and how and begged to be given just one day of her illness so that she could be normal for 24 hours. I understood that I could do nothing more.

I arrived at the reception and everyone knew. They nodded and bit back their own tears. We celebrated that night, not only for the lucky couple but for her, too. I danced until I sweated and laughed until I cried.

I went home that night with only her on my mind. For the past few years, everyone told her it would be okay, that she would get better and she kept up that illusion of hope for them. As her baby boy grew from a toddler of 2 into a school aged young man, she spent so much of this time in bed. She needed to know that it was okay to be weak.

I started to pray and before I knew it, I was face down on the floor with tears falling to the carpet. I didn't pray for a miracle. The cancer had gotten into her bones and she only had half of a face. There would be no divine intervention. Instead I prayed for her release. "Just take her, God," I railed, "let her go! Ease her suffering, no more of this."

I don't know how long I was there, lying like that. After a time, I got up and started to write her a letter. My words flowed from the pen and I didn't care much about punctuation or misspellings. She needed to know that it was well understood that she fought the good fight, that it was okay to go now. No one would blame her if she let go.

I sealed the envelope and stuck it next to my bed. The next morning I took it to her. She had asked me to bring along the Boy but she couldn't lift her head to see him much. She kept falling asleep. I sent him out to play with her son and I sat in there and stroked her diminishing hair. I told her I loved her and that I couldn't have asked for a more perfect friend for me. I left soon after, but only because she was just so tired.

She called the next day to thank me for the letter. She said she was so glad that someone finally told her these things. She'd been waiting for so long. As I listened to her voice, I started to cry. Soon, it was a full fledged bawling and she patiently listened to me, herself crying along with me.

I was able to return to Florida to see her one more time before she died. One of her last wishes was to go to Disney with her son, so all of us loaded up our own kids and trekked along too. There were 14 of us along for the rides and we joked the entire time about how great it was to have a friend in a wheelchair so we could go straight to the front of the line. She only made it a few hours into the day before she tired, but Sherri and I stayed the whole night. As we sat there watching the fireworks with our sons, we held hands. No words needed, we knew what our hearts were saying.

On this same trip, we all got together and made her a remembrance chest. I painted the skyline of New York on the front of it, as this was where she was born, with her son's name spelled out in lights. Kim put pictures of various things on top, fashion items and Austin Powers and goofy sayings. All things that reminded us of her. Teresa drew her sign and crazy sayings we all shared over the years on one side and Sherri covered the other side with the same things. Jenny finished it off by pasting letters that we had written to her on the inside of the top. Finally, I wrote a letter to her son, explaining what all the sayings and drawings meant. He was only 5 at the time and I knew there would be no way he'd remember what these things were. I told him about how special his mommy was to everyone who knew her.

The next night, we took it to her house. Her extended family was there, most from Colombia. No one knew what were up to and as we brought this chest into her living room, everyone was silent for what seemed like just seconds. And then the tears started. They were not sad tears, though. People were so happy that there exists a love in this world that can be shared between friends, a love that will never end regardless of death or marriage or divorce or distance.

I left for Ohio the next night. I had explained to her mother that if something should happen soon that I wasn't sure if I could make it back. She understood. I looked into her eyes and made sure she felt my love for her daughter. As she hugged me closely, I knew she did.

A month later, she passed. Teresa called me as I sat laughing in my room with a friend. For some stupid reason, I thought it was a routine, goofy call and greeted her in my usual silly tone.

"Bridget's gone."

Two words. Two words that caused me to pause for 30 full seconds until I heard a scream erupt from my mouth. A cry that made me wish for my prayer back, made me want to crawl into a ball and never wake up. Nononono, she can't be gone! She's okay! Fuck!

Teresa let me go like this for awhile and as I calmed down, she reminded me that it was so much better this way. No more hospital visits, no more throwing up, no more pain. I knew all this, of course, but I still was not ready to let her go. She died with a friend by her side, her breathing labored until her mother brought in her son. She got to tell him good-bye, and to let her mother know that she was okay. As her son lie next to her, her breath evened out and she soon grew tired. Her mother knew it would soon be time and she left with her son. I doubt they even got to the car before Bridget died. All she needed was to say good-bye.

I didn't make it to the funeral. I don't regret it other than I missed being with my friends. I remember her as a vibrant, beautiful young woman whose smile lit up the room whenever she walked in. She made me laugh without abandon and she gave me a gift I will never, ever forget.

She gave me herself.

And so I walked for her. With each step it got easier to hold back the tears because I started to remember the good times. I held her tight inside my heart and as I looked around at 30,000 other people, I realized that they all had someone just as close.

It was an amazing, emotional day. I wouldn't change a thing.