Every closing of a year is the end of a chapter in ones life.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
My AH-Mazing Trip to FL - Part 3 (I'm "fair"ly certain that this was fun and my meeting with you "can be my Doug")
"Must find french fries...it's my only means of survival."
Saturday, February 20, 2010
My AH-Mazing FL Trip - Part 1 (aka...the first 24hrs)
Life is crazy sometimes. My life, well it is crazy all the time. There are 24hrs in a day...7 days in a week and 365 days in a year...all of them, for me...for the most part are C-R-A-Z-Y! Not "crazy busy" or "crazy hectic" but "holy shit is this really happening right now" kind of craziness.
So what is one to do when life is just coming down on ya and you need to get your bearings?? Well, if you're me...you plan a trip back home. I had gone back and forth with the idea for awhile but then the opportunity presented itself along with free lodging and a LONG break from the new job (God bless you Louisiana and your Mardi Gras lovin self) so it was time to hit the road, literally, and make the drive down to my hometown of Clearwater, FL.
"Who packs the night before and forgets their friggin camera???"
Saturday, January 9, 2010
This...that...and my mother
I had thought that I was on the upward swing of this bronchitis crap. Apparently life and my body decided to bitch slap me back to reality and I had the night from hell. I had gone to have a belated birthday celebration with one of my dear friends. It was all cheese fries, gallon of daquiri's (with 6 extra shots) and "The Hangover". Oh, yeah...I forgot to mention that we are both sick as fucking dogs. Yep, we are the two ra-tards that decided traipsing around in 20 degree weather without appropriate winter gear was a swell idea ALL in the name of fashion. We are both mother's too and that means we are influencing the youth of America. Be afraid...be very VERY afraid.
Anyways, in light of our being basically poor but still wanting to celebrate another birthday we decided to not infect the whole of the world by going out for dinner and drinks and instead just kept it casual and simple. As usual we had a blast but even while we were at the store buying supplies for the cheese fries I could tell that I wasn't feeling so good. Midway through the movie both of us were wiggling around and generally not in our usual perky moods. The movie ended and I scooted on home.
It was straight to bed for me. The days of being able to bounce back from illnesses, even ones that come with shots in the rear in order to get ya back in fighting form, are getting fewer and far between. I got into p.j.'s, medicated myself and attempted to sleep. That was NOT gonna be an easy task. I started to feel like I was drowning when I would lay flat. When I would prop myself up to get rid of the drowning sensation I would have an excruciating pain in my neck. I'd begin to feel really hot then freezing cold. After about 30 minutes of turning round and round in the bed I got up.
I contemplated watching television. But I was sooooo tired. I thought about getting on the computer and writing but the only thoughts that were filling my head were how much it hurt to breath and how flippin tired I was. For your sake, my readers, I chose to spare you from that torturous hell.
When I finally did fall asleep I had the most realistic dream about my mother.
She's been on my mind a lot lately. I don't get to see my parents nearly enough. I used to spend the days of my youth trying to figure out how to get as far as possible away from them. Now that I've grown up and I'm in the middle of one of the hardest moments of my life thus far, all I seem to do is think of her and how I wish she were here near me.
The recent news of her issues with diabetes and how she now has to be on insulin injections and is having diminished visions makes those feelings of wanting to be close to her so much stronger. The fact that my mother and I can, at times, be the exact same side of a coin. I don't know about you but me I used to tell myself, daily if not minute by minute "I refuse to be anything like my mother". It's not that she isn't a good person, because truth be told she is wonderful. Big heart. Kind and full of spirit. Funny as all hell and loves to find beauty in the most simple of things. She can bring any plant to life and people gravitate to her like she's a goddamn magnet.
I guess I am just the typical woman who has to deal with her mother issues. You always see things in your parents that you want to do the exact opposite of. I made those observations when I was like 5 and carried them with me to this day. Sadly most of the shit that I said that I wouldn't do...yep, you guessed it...I've gone right on and done it. Way to be original.
I'd love to say that I haven't made a few shrinks rich off of my mother issues, but why lie.
So last night or more truthfully this morning, in a cold medicine induced haze, I had a dream about my mother owning an antique shop. It was run out of the bottom floor of this gigantic craftsman style home that I've never seen before but now can't seem to stop thinking about.
It was an extremely bizarre dream filled with people from all throughout my life. There were customers that were my old classmates from high school and a delivery driver that was one of my old bosses. To say that it was crazy would have been the understatement of the year. And I know that we are only 9 days in thus far but still it was some weird stuff.
When I finally woke up today, at the sad hour of like 2p, it was to the sound of my mom calling me on the phone. Apparently her mothering beacon had homed in on the fact that her oldest child was sick and so she had to reach out and telephonically touch me. I talked for a few short minutes before I told her that I just wanted to go back to sleep and I've been going in and out of it since then.
It's not overly exciting but that's what is going on in the world of me.
~JP
Anyways, in light of our being basically poor but still wanting to celebrate another birthday we decided to not infect the whole of the world by going out for dinner and drinks and instead just kept it casual and simple. As usual we had a blast but even while we were at the store buying supplies for the cheese fries I could tell that I wasn't feeling so good. Midway through the movie both of us were wiggling around and generally not in our usual perky moods. The movie ended and I scooted on home.
It was straight to bed for me. The days of being able to bounce back from illnesses, even ones that come with shots in the rear in order to get ya back in fighting form, are getting fewer and far between. I got into p.j.'s, medicated myself and attempted to sleep. That was NOT gonna be an easy task. I started to feel like I was drowning when I would lay flat. When I would prop myself up to get rid of the drowning sensation I would have an excruciating pain in my neck. I'd begin to feel really hot then freezing cold. After about 30 minutes of turning round and round in the bed I got up.
I contemplated watching television. But I was sooooo tired. I thought about getting on the computer and writing but the only thoughts that were filling my head were how much it hurt to breath and how flippin tired I was. For your sake, my readers, I chose to spare you from that torturous hell.
When I finally did fall asleep I had the most realistic dream about my mother.
She's been on my mind a lot lately. I don't get to see my parents nearly enough. I used to spend the days of my youth trying to figure out how to get as far as possible away from them. Now that I've grown up and I'm in the middle of one of the hardest moments of my life thus far, all I seem to do is think of her and how I wish she were here near me.
The recent news of her issues with diabetes and how she now has to be on insulin injections and is having diminished visions makes those feelings of wanting to be close to her so much stronger. The fact that my mother and I can, at times, be the exact same side of a coin. I don't know about you but me I used to tell myself, daily if not minute by minute "I refuse to be anything like my mother". It's not that she isn't a good person, because truth be told she is wonderful. Big heart. Kind and full of spirit. Funny as all hell and loves to find beauty in the most simple of things. She can bring any plant to life and people gravitate to her like she's a goddamn magnet.
I guess I am just the typical woman who has to deal with her mother issues. You always see things in your parents that you want to do the exact opposite of. I made those observations when I was like 5 and carried them with me to this day. Sadly most of the shit that I said that I wouldn't do...yep, you guessed it...I've gone right on and done it. Way to be original.
I'd love to say that I haven't made a few shrinks rich off of my mother issues, but why lie.
So last night or more truthfully this morning, in a cold medicine induced haze, I had a dream about my mother owning an antique shop. It was run out of the bottom floor of this gigantic craftsman style home that I've never seen before but now can't seem to stop thinking about.
It was an extremely bizarre dream filled with people from all throughout my life. There were customers that were my old classmates from high school and a delivery driver that was one of my old bosses. To say that it was crazy would have been the understatement of the year. And I know that we are only 9 days in thus far but still it was some weird stuff.
When I finally woke up today, at the sad hour of like 2p, it was to the sound of my mom calling me on the phone. Apparently her mothering beacon had homed in on the fact that her oldest child was sick and so she had to reach out and telephonically touch me. I talked for a few short minutes before I told her that I just wanted to go back to sleep and I've been going in and out of it since then.
It's not overly exciting but that's what is going on in the world of me.
~JP
Saturday, December 26, 2009
And with this I bid another Christmas good night...
I'd like to say that my house is quiet right now...as the clock ticks past midnight, but Jon is snoring up a storm and just barely heard over that is the sounds of Hannah watching "Tale of Desperaux" on the flat screen in the living room. For a moment I had to check and make sure she didn't have surround sound on because Jon's snoring usually drowns out the television I have playing in the same room so being able to hear one over the snoring, my t.v., through a closed door and down a hallway is pretty impressive. Turns out she didn't have it on she just had it up REALLY loud.
Instead all I found when I ventured out to be the cranky mom commenting on the "too loud" television is my baby girl snuggled down with pillows and blankets. She had asked Jon and I if she could sleep on the sofa tonight so she could watch television. Our agreement to this question marked the four dozenth time of her proclaiming..."this is the BEST Christmas ever"! I don't care who you are, if you are the parent of one or a dozen, those six words just melt your inner being and will make you relent even when you think you shouldn't.
Not that her sleeping on the couch is a huge deal....it's just that I don't get it. It truly cracks me up that once again one of our kids is so excited to sleep on the couch. I. Just. Don't. Get. It. Have I ever fallen asleep on my couch? Yes. Have I ever HAD to sleep on my couch? Yes again. Would I pick my couch over my bed if I had the choice? Hell to the no.
But my kids...LOVE sleeping on the couch. I told Jon that I think it is because right now both of the girls don't have satellite service in their room, so the couch is the only way for them to lay and watch shows. I think that now that they have cleared the destruction and clutter in their room allowing me to go in there and contact our cable provider to have them assist me in finding the problem that soon we won't have to deal with a kid sleeping on the couch. I'm hoping that this theory is true because with a hubby that snores I really like the idea of having my couch clear if I wanna escape to silence to write, read or even watch a show without having to strain to hear dialogue through his mind grating snores.
But enough about that...on Christmas Eve we let Hannah open the obligatory (in her mind) gift and she got the boots that she was so gaga over. Think the Gap commercial and the adorable little girls singing "I love my comfy sweater...I love my comfy sweater...how cute are these boots"...yep now she is the proud owner of those cute boots. She was so happy over them that she wore them to bed. Not just on her way to bed but actually into bed and slept in them. I don't think I have seen her that excited about anything since....hmmmm, I'm thinkin....ummmmm...yeah, I don't know when she's ever been this excited about a clothing item. She was excited last year over her Nintendo DS, but to my knowledge she didn't sleep with it.
That moment of adoration that follows your child opening a gift and then the beaming of enthusiasm that follows is a drug that should be bottled and kept for the moments when they leer at you and profess how you have "ruined their life" and how "you are the WORST. PARENT. EVER".
My first taste of holiday victory came yesterday when I tackled the chore of gift wrapping. Although I've spent the past six months in a life funk I did manage to get gifts wrapped Christmas Eve morning and NOT wait until the ungodly hour of midnight so I was able to just relax and get to bed at a decent hour. Of course we had a repeat of last year where Jon turned in and I was left awake to place the gifts. I don't know why we play this game anymore since the "magic" of Santa has been dispelled in our home. I'm just a teensy bit heartbroken about that but not so much so when I realize that come next year if I am not good about getting the gifts wrapped early that I won't have to stay up another few hours to make sure that the children are asleep already so I don't destroy their belief.
This morning Jon was up and at it early and then came Hannah. I, of course, was NOT a morning person but I was coaxed out of bed with coffee and then the gift opening extravaganza commenced. Gift after gift Hannah's eyes twinkled. I thought she might be disappointed at the fact that the gift count this year compared to others was visibly less but I was thrilled when after the last of the gifts were unwrapped she exclaimed that she had gotten everything that she had wanted.
Perhaps the most treasured gift of all was the fact that she had scored her beloved boots and her sister had not been given any. Just as my heart warmed with the spirit of the season I realized that the true gift that my girls seem to relish is when they get something that they believe the other may want but didn't get. I swear sibling rivalry and promoting jealousy between each other is the gift that just keeps on giving in their eyes. It wasn't an intentional move on our part but her admission as to why she seemed so happy almost made Jon and I keel over with laughter.
If I ever thought that I may be able to deny that this child was mine...this cleared up any concerns. She is my daughter through and through.
We had a little break in between when we opened gifts and when Jon's mom arrived to go have Christmas breakfast with us. Love me some Waffle House on Christmas. I should feel bad that people had to work and wait on us because I'm a lazy person who didn't want to cook for my family, but we made up for it by tipping the waitress close to 50% of our bill.
After Jon's mom left we just lazed around the house. I decided to grab a quick nap because the anxiety was getting to me. I woke up fully rested and ready to go see "Alvin & the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel". It was...hmmm...it was a kids movie. Not a breakthrough performance that will affect my life like say "The Blindside" but it did make me laugh and allowed me to watch Hannah laugh and smile.
We made our way out of the theater and went in search of dinner. After driving from one end of our city to the other we settled on Chinese. A few servings of sweet & sour chicken, pork spare ribs and fried rice later it was time to head home. Jon unfortunately has to work Saturday and Hannah was still hoping to squeeze in a board game before the dreaded bedtime.
Hannah had picked out "the Office" trivia game for us to play. For anyone who is a fan of this show...I highly recommend getting this game. We are Office obsessed so we were cracking up playing the game. Our family is one that loves trivia. We can pass hours just asking each other question after question about movies, music, etc.
I won the game (because I'm the Monica) and Jon came in 2nd which of course only means that he was the first loser. Hannah thought that observation was completely hysterical. It was a simple ending to a wonderful day. The only thing missing was Olivia.
So here I am....house semi quiet....another 364 days before we will do it all again and I wonder.....
I wonder what lays in store for me...for our family in the coming year. I wonder if this will be the year that we will actually save money ahead of time to pay for Christmas and not have to scramble at the last minute putting off a mortgage payment or other household bills. If we will shop early and wrap as we go, like we've said we would do for the past 12 years. I wonder will we be celebrating the season in one home or in between two. Will Jon and I still be a we or will it just be two single entities? Is there a career in store for me? And will I see more light in my life instead of the same darkness?
So much to think about in the coming days and so much to wonder about for the coming year. I hope this holiday season finds you enjoying the simple joys such as kids and their boots or the giggle that arises when you see yourself moving towards the finish line of a game. The world and life ahead is unsure and uncertain, it's these little serendipitous moments that keep us warm and comforted during the day to day grind.
Enjoy the wonder. Enjoy the moment. I know that I will....even if only for tonight.
~JP
Instead all I found when I ventured out to be the cranky mom commenting on the "too loud" television is my baby girl snuggled down with pillows and blankets. She had asked Jon and I if she could sleep on the sofa tonight so she could watch television. Our agreement to this question marked the four dozenth time of her proclaiming..."this is the BEST Christmas ever"! I don't care who you are, if you are the parent of one or a dozen, those six words just melt your inner being and will make you relent even when you think you shouldn't.
Not that her sleeping on the couch is a huge deal....it's just that I don't get it. It truly cracks me up that once again one of our kids is so excited to sleep on the couch. I. Just. Don't. Get. It. Have I ever fallen asleep on my couch? Yes. Have I ever HAD to sleep on my couch? Yes again. Would I pick my couch over my bed if I had the choice? Hell to the no.
But my kids...LOVE sleeping on the couch. I told Jon that I think it is because right now both of the girls don't have satellite service in their room, so the couch is the only way for them to lay and watch shows. I think that now that they have cleared the destruction and clutter in their room allowing me to go in there and contact our cable provider to have them assist me in finding the problem that soon we won't have to deal with a kid sleeping on the couch. I'm hoping that this theory is true because with a hubby that snores I really like the idea of having my couch clear if I wanna escape to silence to write, read or even watch a show without having to strain to hear dialogue through his mind grating snores.
But enough about that...on Christmas Eve we let Hannah open the obligatory (in her mind) gift and she got the boots that she was so gaga over. Think the Gap commercial and the adorable little girls singing "I love my comfy sweater...I love my comfy sweater...how cute are these boots"...yep now she is the proud owner of those cute boots. She was so happy over them that she wore them to bed. Not just on her way to bed but actually into bed and slept in them. I don't think I have seen her that excited about anything since....hmmmm, I'm thinkin....ummmmm...yeah, I don't know when she's ever been this excited about a clothing item. She was excited last year over her Nintendo DS, but to my knowledge she didn't sleep with it.
That moment of adoration that follows your child opening a gift and then the beaming of enthusiasm that follows is a drug that should be bottled and kept for the moments when they leer at you and profess how you have "ruined their life" and how "you are the WORST. PARENT. EVER".
My first taste of holiday victory came yesterday when I tackled the chore of gift wrapping. Although I've spent the past six months in a life funk I did manage to get gifts wrapped Christmas Eve morning and NOT wait until the ungodly hour of midnight so I was able to just relax and get to bed at a decent hour. Of course we had a repeat of last year where Jon turned in and I was left awake to place the gifts. I don't know why we play this game anymore since the "magic" of Santa has been dispelled in our home. I'm just a teensy bit heartbroken about that but not so much so when I realize that come next year if I am not good about getting the gifts wrapped early that I won't have to stay up another few hours to make sure that the children are asleep already so I don't destroy their belief.
This morning Jon was up and at it early and then came Hannah. I, of course, was NOT a morning person but I was coaxed out of bed with coffee and then the gift opening extravaganza commenced. Gift after gift Hannah's eyes twinkled. I thought she might be disappointed at the fact that the gift count this year compared to others was visibly less but I was thrilled when after the last of the gifts were unwrapped she exclaimed that she had gotten everything that she had wanted.
Perhaps the most treasured gift of all was the fact that she had scored her beloved boots and her sister had not been given any. Just as my heart warmed with the spirit of the season I realized that the true gift that my girls seem to relish is when they get something that they believe the other may want but didn't get. I swear sibling rivalry and promoting jealousy between each other is the gift that just keeps on giving in their eyes. It wasn't an intentional move on our part but her admission as to why she seemed so happy almost made Jon and I keel over with laughter.
If I ever thought that I may be able to deny that this child was mine...this cleared up any concerns. She is my daughter through and through.
We had a little break in between when we opened gifts and when Jon's mom arrived to go have Christmas breakfast with us. Love me some Waffle House on Christmas. I should feel bad that people had to work and wait on us because I'm a lazy person who didn't want to cook for my family, but we made up for it by tipping the waitress close to 50% of our bill.
After Jon's mom left we just lazed around the house. I decided to grab a quick nap because the anxiety was getting to me. I woke up fully rested and ready to go see "Alvin & the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel". It was...hmmm...it was a kids movie. Not a breakthrough performance that will affect my life like say "The Blindside" but it did make me laugh and allowed me to watch Hannah laugh and smile.
We made our way out of the theater and went in search of dinner. After driving from one end of our city to the other we settled on Chinese. A few servings of sweet & sour chicken, pork spare ribs and fried rice later it was time to head home. Jon unfortunately has to work Saturday and Hannah was still hoping to squeeze in a board game before the dreaded bedtime.
Hannah had picked out "the Office" trivia game for us to play. For anyone who is a fan of this show...I highly recommend getting this game. We are Office obsessed so we were cracking up playing the game. Our family is one that loves trivia. We can pass hours just asking each other question after question about movies, music, etc.
I won the game (because I'm the Monica) and Jon came in 2nd which of course only means that he was the first loser. Hannah thought that observation was completely hysterical. It was a simple ending to a wonderful day. The only thing missing was Olivia.
So here I am....house semi quiet....another 364 days before we will do it all again and I wonder.....
I wonder what lays in store for me...for our family in the coming year. I wonder if this will be the year that we will actually save money ahead of time to pay for Christmas and not have to scramble at the last minute putting off a mortgage payment or other household bills. If we will shop early and wrap as we go, like we've said we would do for the past 12 years. I wonder will we be celebrating the season in one home or in between two. Will Jon and I still be a we or will it just be two single entities? Is there a career in store for me? And will I see more light in my life instead of the same darkness?
So much to think about in the coming days and so much to wonder about for the coming year. I hope this holiday season finds you enjoying the simple joys such as kids and their boots or the giggle that arises when you see yourself moving towards the finish line of a game. The world and life ahead is unsure and uncertain, it's these little serendipitous moments that keep us warm and comforted during the day to day grind.
Enjoy the wonder. Enjoy the moment. I know that I will....even if only for tonight.
~JP
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Finding common ground....
I stayed up all night last night. Big shocker. I had spent the last several weeks pouring through web sites about marriage and repairing the damaged marriage, fixing the broken person...blah, blah, blah and I remembered last night that a friend of mine had given me a book a few years back called "The Five Love Languages: How to Express Hearfelt Commitment to Your Mate". I became obsessed with finding that damn book.
First I thought I might use it to bludgeon Jon to death with but then I figured it might be more useful if I actually read it and then tried to utilize the tools that it may teach me. Thank God it wasn't in the garage or attic or in a box that was still packed from when we moved into this house just a mere...ummm...cough...ergh, 5 years ago. But this post isn't about my inability to unpack boxes, fear of garages or attics in the middle of the night or even my fantasies of beating Jon to a pulp with great works of self help books...it's about this book and how I HAD TO FIND IT.
Priorities people...priorities!
Once I found it....conveniently located on a bookshelf, who'd of thunk...I then became obsessed with reading it.
ALL OF IT.
In one night.
I have an addictive personality...once I set my mind on something...it becomes a friggin obsession!
It was as if the expanse of the past three years of fighting and silent treatments, ultimatums, asking him to leave, letting him come back and then me leaving and the final action of taking off my wedding band and telling him "I'm done" was boiled down into to what the hell I was gonna do in the span of time that it would take me to read all 175 pages.
I'm a fast reader and I literally read this book until I could no longer hold up my head or hold open my eyes. I fell asleep reading it then woke up and finished it. While I slept though was when I received a message from Jon who had taken it upon himself ,without talking to me, to find his own guidance in the midst of our seperation.
We have spent a great deal of time standing on separate sides of what should be one unified relationship. Being pig headed and stubborn has not served us well and we've both held on to the "I'm right and you're wrong", mentality so long that I don't event think we care to explain what it is that we think we may be right about. After three years of battling you gain a great sense of entitlement to your feelings.
After three years of battling you also get a lot of looks from the other people that have lived in the house with you through that period of time. I'm pretty sure if we allowed the girls to use curse words, they would have some colorful choice ones for us. I'm also pretty sure that is why the dogs piss and shit near our belongings. It's their way of saying..."dude, either work it out or split up...this shit is annoying".
Tonight was different though.
While we have gotten good at silence and catty glances, making mountains out of the proverbial mole hills and hitting below the belt with words, tonight we simply chose to compliment one another. It was a suggestion in the book that I had ravenously consumed and thought about bringing up to Jon but then felt like I shouldn't have to because...again...I feel that I am right in my feelings of how the past few years have gone and that would make him wrong. I'm pretty sure it is becoming abundantly clear as to why there is no resolution to our problems. I seriously think I may make a shirt that says "I'm right. You're Wrong. What's the problem again?"
So while sitting in that self entitled mindset I was shocked when he sent me a text asking if I had read the email he had forwarded me earlier about the things he was reading in order to help him better understand where he and we had gone so wrong in our marriage. I responded that I had and I tried very hard to keep the sarcasm out of it. Again that little voice of entitlemnt was rising up and trying to bang on the keys of my Crackberry. I fought if off though and remained both civil and intrigued that he was making a first move.
It was a cautious feeling of intrigue though. I mean come one, I may be on a euphoric high from the book but I'm not stupid, we've been down the heartfelt rosey posey road of make believe before. It got us a $10,000 bill for therapy and here we were no better for the experience. But I was good and told him that I had. He asked if I had read the part about making the list of 3 good things about your spouse/partner. He told me that I would need to write them down and we would share them when we saw each other later. I said that I had written them down, I didn't bother to divuldge that this was along the same lines as what I had read in my book and had actually mentally completed the night before. Fixing this marriage is not about what came first the book or the text. It was about both of us trying.
I feel like I've been the only one plowing through the trenches for the past few years so for the first time in a REALLY long time I was struck by his initiative. You gotta know this, therapy...was my idea. Seperation...my idea. Reconciliation...my idea. Seperation again...my idea. I'm thinking you are getting the picture.
With the therapy it was an ultimatum put to him when he had made what I deemed to be the biggest mistake to have happened in our marriage at that particular point in time. My husband, in all his infinite wisdom, had chosen another woman's feelings over my own. I'm not talking his mother or his sister. Nope I am just talking about an old friend.
Yep, that man I love so dearly and had created a life with and was busy raising two children with had stood in our driveway and with my pleading eyes upon him had chosen her over me. When all was said and done, I knew something in him had changed that day and with all that I could muster I told him it was counseling or he could pack his stuff....he chose therapy.
Now looking back and knowing some of the other things that transpired to keep him coming back to sessions week after week, sometimes twice a week, it is no surprise to me why the years worth of marital counseling did nothing more than to fatten our therapist bank account and keep us emotionally bankrupt. Another factor for me at least has been watching the systematic demise of some of my friends marriages. It's hard to remain upbeat about your own future when those around you that you care about are hurting. Watching their struggles amplified my own and thus created this feeling of just wanting to break free of all of it. It was getting to the point of suffocation because all around us there was seperation, infidelity, mistrust and discord.
I don't in any way blame our failures on those around us, but when you are struggling to bail yourselves out of a precarious situation it helps to have some solid ground around you...for us there wasn't anything like that close by. We were forced to rely on each other and THAT was a huge problem because I no longer trusted him and I was pretty sure he felt the same way about me.
Now that we've come to the point of sink or swim, we've decided that it's every marriage for themselves and we cannot rely on what is around us in order to decide if we will fail or succeed. I think, for myself at least, that realization made his gesture so powerful.
Could the feelings of goodwill die tomorrow? Absolutely.
Will the road to our security and a strong marriage be rough? Absofuckinlutely.
But do I think it's possible to come back from the abyss of "I'm done" and possibly find more than just this tiny sliver of common ground? I have hope that it is and that is far more than I had within me when I went searching for that book.
I'll take my common ground. I am thankful for it and I look forward to what may come as I take ever so tiny and well thought out baby steps towards something better than where I am right now.
~JP
First I thought I might use it to bludgeon Jon to death with but then I figured it might be more useful if I actually read it and then tried to utilize the tools that it may teach me. Thank God it wasn't in the garage or attic or in a box that was still packed from when we moved into this house just a mere...ummm...cough...ergh, 5 years ago. But this post isn't about my inability to unpack boxes, fear of garages or attics in the middle of the night or even my fantasies of beating Jon to a pulp with great works of self help books...it's about this book and how I HAD TO FIND IT.
Priorities people...priorities!
Once I found it....conveniently located on a bookshelf, who'd of thunk...I then became obsessed with reading it.
ALL OF IT.
In one night.
I have an addictive personality...once I set my mind on something...it becomes a friggin obsession!
It was as if the expanse of the past three years of fighting and silent treatments, ultimatums, asking him to leave, letting him come back and then me leaving and the final action of taking off my wedding band and telling him "I'm done" was boiled down into to what the hell I was gonna do in the span of time that it would take me to read all 175 pages.
I'm a fast reader and I literally read this book until I could no longer hold up my head or hold open my eyes. I fell asleep reading it then woke up and finished it. While I slept though was when I received a message from Jon who had taken it upon himself ,without talking to me, to find his own guidance in the midst of our seperation.
We have spent a great deal of time standing on separate sides of what should be one unified relationship. Being pig headed and stubborn has not served us well and we've both held on to the "I'm right and you're wrong", mentality so long that I don't event think we care to explain what it is that we think we may be right about. After three years of battling you gain a great sense of entitlement to your feelings.
After three years of battling you also get a lot of looks from the other people that have lived in the house with you through that period of time. I'm pretty sure if we allowed the girls to use curse words, they would have some colorful choice ones for us. I'm also pretty sure that is why the dogs piss and shit near our belongings. It's their way of saying..."dude, either work it out or split up...this shit is annoying".
Tonight was different though.
While we have gotten good at silence and catty glances, making mountains out of the proverbial mole hills and hitting below the belt with words, tonight we simply chose to compliment one another. It was a suggestion in the book that I had ravenously consumed and thought about bringing up to Jon but then felt like I shouldn't have to because...again...I feel that I am right in my feelings of how the past few years have gone and that would make him wrong. I'm pretty sure it is becoming abundantly clear as to why there is no resolution to our problems. I seriously think I may make a shirt that says "I'm right. You're Wrong. What's the problem again?"
So while sitting in that self entitled mindset I was shocked when he sent me a text asking if I had read the email he had forwarded me earlier about the things he was reading in order to help him better understand where he and we had gone so wrong in our marriage. I responded that I had and I tried very hard to keep the sarcasm out of it. Again that little voice of entitlemnt was rising up and trying to bang on the keys of my Crackberry. I fought if off though and remained both civil and intrigued that he was making a first move.
It was a cautious feeling of intrigue though. I mean come one, I may be on a euphoric high from the book but I'm not stupid, we've been down the heartfelt rosey posey road of make believe before. It got us a $10,000 bill for therapy and here we were no better for the experience. But I was good and told him that I had. He asked if I had read the part about making the list of 3 good things about your spouse/partner. He told me that I would need to write them down and we would share them when we saw each other later. I said that I had written them down, I didn't bother to divuldge that this was along the same lines as what I had read in my book and had actually mentally completed the night before. Fixing this marriage is not about what came first the book or the text. It was about both of us trying.
I feel like I've been the only one plowing through the trenches for the past few years so for the first time in a REALLY long time I was struck by his initiative. You gotta know this, therapy...was my idea. Seperation...my idea. Reconciliation...my idea. Seperation again...my idea. I'm thinking you are getting the picture.
With the therapy it was an ultimatum put to him when he had made what I deemed to be the biggest mistake to have happened in our marriage at that particular point in time. My husband, in all his infinite wisdom, had chosen another woman's feelings over my own. I'm not talking his mother or his sister. Nope I am just talking about an old friend.
Yep, that man I love so dearly and had created a life with and was busy raising two children with had stood in our driveway and with my pleading eyes upon him had chosen her over me. When all was said and done, I knew something in him had changed that day and with all that I could muster I told him it was counseling or he could pack his stuff....he chose therapy.
Now looking back and knowing some of the other things that transpired to keep him coming back to sessions week after week, sometimes twice a week, it is no surprise to me why the years worth of marital counseling did nothing more than to fatten our therapist bank account and keep us emotionally bankrupt. Another factor for me at least has been watching the systematic demise of some of my friends marriages. It's hard to remain upbeat about your own future when those around you that you care about are hurting. Watching their struggles amplified my own and thus created this feeling of just wanting to break free of all of it. It was getting to the point of suffocation because all around us there was seperation, infidelity, mistrust and discord.
I don't in any way blame our failures on those around us, but when you are struggling to bail yourselves out of a precarious situation it helps to have some solid ground around you...for us there wasn't anything like that close by. We were forced to rely on each other and THAT was a huge problem because I no longer trusted him and I was pretty sure he felt the same way about me.
Now that we've come to the point of sink or swim, we've decided that it's every marriage for themselves and we cannot rely on what is around us in order to decide if we will fail or succeed. I think, for myself at least, that realization made his gesture so powerful.
Could the feelings of goodwill die tomorrow? Absolutely.
Will the road to our security and a strong marriage be rough? Absofuckinlutely.
But do I think it's possible to come back from the abyss of "I'm done" and possibly find more than just this tiny sliver of common ground? I have hope that it is and that is far more than I had within me when I went searching for that book.
I'll take my common ground. I am thankful for it and I look forward to what may come as I take ever so tiny and well thought out baby steps towards something better than where I am right now.
~JP
Monday, November 9, 2009
The problem with truth telling....
Before I ever thought of having kids or becoming a mother I had what I thought was a VERY wonderful idea about raising my imaginary offspring. I told myself that I would never lie about the important stuff. I'd never tell them that loved ones or pets don't die. I wouldn't lead them to believe that shots won't hurt and I'd never tell them that they'd always be happy and never have their heart broken.
Simple right? Wrong.
The easiest of my "promise" seemed to be the shots. From the time they were babies I'd tell them these words before shots, "big stick, bee sting, cuddles and then a prize". It served me well for the most part. The only time it truly backfired on me was when the girls needed to get their shots up to date for school here in Louisiana. I inadvertently mixed up who needed what shots when I was preparing them with the whole "big stick, bee sting...." yada yada yada. I had told Olivia she would be getting one shot and that Hannah needed three.
Olivia, while she was not overly joyed about needing any was completely over the moon with the idea of torturing her baby sister who'd have to be stuck not once, not twice but three whole times. "That's two more than meeee"...she sing songed all through our wait time. She'd reach over and pinch her baby sister which would send Hannah to wailing and then Olivia would say..."oh come on...that's just one stick...imagine three of those back to back", and so on and so forth.
There was two things that Olivia didn't count on and they were karma and my ability to keep the kids shot records straight. When Olivia galantly led her little sister to the slaughter...ergh, I mean chair, she all but passed out when the nurse stuck Hannah once then released her from the seat and handed her a lolly proclaiming that she had been a "very big girl" and that she was "all done". Those two phrases and the fact that Hannah knew the difference between her getting three and her only getting one. She'd done the quick math and trained her eyes on her sister. Olivia chose that exact moment to turn into a psychotic animal who first tried to run out of the building but was strong armed by Jon and then as she wailed like a banshee she attempted to hold onto the door while bracing her feet against the frame.
Yeah, my honesty about shots wasn't going too well on this occasion. All Jon and I could do after they were finally able to immunize her, was to walk out shaking our heads and apologizing to every one we came in contact with in the building. I do believe we apologized to a janitor that day and to be honest with the way our kid was screaming I think he appreciated it.
My first go around with using honesty in regards to death of a loved one was when my grandmother died and my oldest was on a Girl Scout camping trip. It's not that Olivia hadn't dealt with death before, on the contrary actually...the poor kid had her 7th birthday postponed because my grandfather, her great grandfather, bit the proverbial dust. Nothing like blowing out the candle on your one piece of restaurant cake while the entire family is gathered sniveling and trading stories of the dearly departed at an elongated table of a bar & grill that just happened to be conveniently located next to the funeral home. Well that and the fact that she was actually at the nursing home visiting him with my parents when he died. Yep, that's definitely one for the scrapbook!
While I rushed to Florida to console my mother and help with the funeral arrangements, poor Jon had to make up some kind of song and dance about where I was when she returned from camp so as to allow us both to be there to break the news to her. From that experience I learned never to wait 5 days until I am in the same state to break news of that magnitude. While she was upset about her great grandmothers passing she was more upset that she was not notified immediately. Jon and I learned that Olivia was not one of those kids that dealt well with being the last to know anything. Hell, if we run out of toilet paper you better go notify her first or else there will be an issue. That's just her thing. She likes to be in the loop.
On the other end of the spectrum is Hannah. When my first min pin Aden passed away suddenly over the summer while the girls were away we made a point to tell them both. Fearing a repeat of great grandma and the wrath of Olivia not being notified we figured that honesty when the event took place was the best policy. With Olivia that was fine. She took the news, was saddened and moved on. Hannah on the other hand who had been too young to really comprehend the news of her great grandmother's death, when it occured, was a bit trickier. She had a meltdown of unworldly proportions and we were almost deemed horrible parents for breaking the news while she was close to 600 miles away.
When we were plagued by a second pet's death less than a month later Olivia was back at home and unfortunately along with us had to bear witness to the little guy drawing his last breath. She was heartbroken as were Jon and I but seemed to process it and deal with it fairly well considering it was her dog. We didn't tell Hannah this time and instead saved the news for when Jon could be there with her. She was upset, but took the news far better because she had Jon there to hold on to.
So with death and shots my plan of honesty has been doing pretty good with preparing the girls with the realities of life. When it comes to heartbreak though, I've had a bit harder time sticking to my rule.
As the minutes and hours have turned into days, weeks and now months of Jon and I grappling with the state of our marriage, one of the things that has weighed heavily upon my mind and heart has been my kids. What to tell them and when. Olivia being older and of the mentality of tell it to me now and let me process it myself I chose to be a bit more forthcoming with her. Hannah being the baby and the one that would rather not know something until it's actual, factual and has already taken place has been pretty much left in the dark although I know she's not blind or deaf to the amount of tension and arguing that goes on between her father and I.
Tonight though I was backed into a corner while we sat at Sonic to pick up something to eat. Hannha had just returned from a weekend soccer tournament with Jon and I was taking her for ice cream. While we waited for our food she began to ask questions. I figured they would come seeing as Jon and I had a rather loud verbal exhange within minutes of him coming in the door. It's sad that after 30+ hours apart we couldn't make it a full 30 seconds without launching into a disagreement.
The questions came quietly and timidly from the backseat.
Hannah: Mom, are you and Dad angry at each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't lie, don't lie) Yes.
Hannah: How is that even possible...you like, just saw each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't get defensive, don't lie) Well Hannah ya know how sometimes you and your friends don't get along...even when you haven't seen each other in a day or two?
Hannah: Um, yea....
Me: (don't get defensive, be honest, don't snap at her) Well, me and your dad are like that right now...we aren't getting along....
Silence falls uncomfortably in the car and then the food comes. I contemplate just letting the discussion go but as I look into the rearview mirror I can see tears in the corners of her eyes and I know there is more she wants to say. Part of me wants to scream at her to just stop it and let it go, but then I have to remember that she is only 10yrs old and this very much affects her life. Be honest, I keep reminding myself. Be honest in 10yr old terms...don't lie.
I remember back to when I was younger, after my sister had been killed and my parents would argue so much that I thought they would never get along again, I take a deep breath focus on that feeling as probably the one that she is having at this very moment and hope for the best.
Me: Hannah, if you have something on your mind that you want to ask me or talk about you should just put it out there. No matter what it is, I will answer you honestly and I won't be angry...I promise.
Hannah: (hesitant but looking very determined) Are you and Dad gonna split up?
Me: I don't know Hannah and that's the truth.
Hannah: Ok. But....ummmm.....but.....
Me: Hannah whatever it is just ask me.
Hannah: Do you still love him?
Me: Very much.
Hannah: Does he love you?
Me: Yes.
Hannah: I don't get it. If he loves you and you love him then why do you fight ALL of the time.
Me: Because sometimes people that love one another have things that take place that make them so angry that it becomes difficult to just be happy loving the other person. You want to know that the person you love is being honest with you and if you think that they aren't or know that they aren't it tends to make it very difficult to just be happy being in love.
Hannah: Oh. Well, hmmmm.....do you think you guys could, ya know...just work it out or something cause I'm tired of listening to you not get along and I'm sure Olivia is tired of it and well....yeah....you guys should just work it out.
I sat quiet for a really long time. Hannah didn't even seem to notice because she was over the moon for her Oreo ice cream blast. Then she spoke again.
Hannah: Mom?
Me: Yeah Han.
Hannah: I'm sorry I asked about you and dad.
Me: Hannah, don't apologize. You have a right to know what is going on to a point. I know that these things affect your life.
Hannah: I know. But the reason I said that I was sorry was because you looked really happy before I asked you. Like...just sitting here you and me...you looked happy.
Me: Well I am happy just sitting here you and me (I let my face break into a goofy smile to get her to laugh).
Hannah: (she chuckels at my face and then turns serious again) I know....but I think you were happy because dad wasn't here.
Me: (unable to speak)
Hannah: It was nice to see you happy for once.
Silence became all consuming and the only thing I could hear was her scraping ice cream out of her cup and the wheels of the skating car hops.
See, that's the trouble with truth telling...it brings with it a whole new line of questions.
~JP
Simple right? Wrong.
The easiest of my "promise" seemed to be the shots. From the time they were babies I'd tell them these words before shots, "big stick, bee sting, cuddles and then a prize". It served me well for the most part. The only time it truly backfired on me was when the girls needed to get their shots up to date for school here in Louisiana. I inadvertently mixed up who needed what shots when I was preparing them with the whole "big stick, bee sting...." yada yada yada. I had told Olivia she would be getting one shot and that Hannah needed three.
Olivia, while she was not overly joyed about needing any was completely over the moon with the idea of torturing her baby sister who'd have to be stuck not once, not twice but three whole times. "That's two more than meeee"...she sing songed all through our wait time. She'd reach over and pinch her baby sister which would send Hannah to wailing and then Olivia would say..."oh come on...that's just one stick...imagine three of those back to back", and so on and so forth.
There was two things that Olivia didn't count on and they were karma and my ability to keep the kids shot records straight. When Olivia galantly led her little sister to the slaughter...ergh, I mean chair, she all but passed out when the nurse stuck Hannah once then released her from the seat and handed her a lolly proclaiming that she had been a "very big girl" and that she was "all done". Those two phrases and the fact that Hannah knew the difference between her getting three and her only getting one. She'd done the quick math and trained her eyes on her sister. Olivia chose that exact moment to turn into a psychotic animal who first tried to run out of the building but was strong armed by Jon and then as she wailed like a banshee she attempted to hold onto the door while bracing her feet against the frame.
Yeah, my honesty about shots wasn't going too well on this occasion. All Jon and I could do after they were finally able to immunize her, was to walk out shaking our heads and apologizing to every one we came in contact with in the building. I do believe we apologized to a janitor that day and to be honest with the way our kid was screaming I think he appreciated it.
My first go around with using honesty in regards to death of a loved one was when my grandmother died and my oldest was on a Girl Scout camping trip. It's not that Olivia hadn't dealt with death before, on the contrary actually...the poor kid had her 7th birthday postponed because my grandfather, her great grandfather, bit the proverbial dust. Nothing like blowing out the candle on your one piece of restaurant cake while the entire family is gathered sniveling and trading stories of the dearly departed at an elongated table of a bar & grill that just happened to be conveniently located next to the funeral home. Well that and the fact that she was actually at the nursing home visiting him with my parents when he died. Yep, that's definitely one for the scrapbook!
While I rushed to Florida to console my mother and help with the funeral arrangements, poor Jon had to make up some kind of song and dance about where I was when she returned from camp so as to allow us both to be there to break the news to her. From that experience I learned never to wait 5 days until I am in the same state to break news of that magnitude. While she was upset about her great grandmothers passing she was more upset that she was not notified immediately. Jon and I learned that Olivia was not one of those kids that dealt well with being the last to know anything. Hell, if we run out of toilet paper you better go notify her first or else there will be an issue. That's just her thing. She likes to be in the loop.
On the other end of the spectrum is Hannah. When my first min pin Aden passed away suddenly over the summer while the girls were away we made a point to tell them both. Fearing a repeat of great grandma and the wrath of Olivia not being notified we figured that honesty when the event took place was the best policy. With Olivia that was fine. She took the news, was saddened and moved on. Hannah on the other hand who had been too young to really comprehend the news of her great grandmother's death, when it occured, was a bit trickier. She had a meltdown of unworldly proportions and we were almost deemed horrible parents for breaking the news while she was close to 600 miles away.
When we were plagued by a second pet's death less than a month later Olivia was back at home and unfortunately along with us had to bear witness to the little guy drawing his last breath. She was heartbroken as were Jon and I but seemed to process it and deal with it fairly well considering it was her dog. We didn't tell Hannah this time and instead saved the news for when Jon could be there with her. She was upset, but took the news far better because she had Jon there to hold on to.
So with death and shots my plan of honesty has been doing pretty good with preparing the girls with the realities of life. When it comes to heartbreak though, I've had a bit harder time sticking to my rule.
As the minutes and hours have turned into days, weeks and now months of Jon and I grappling with the state of our marriage, one of the things that has weighed heavily upon my mind and heart has been my kids. What to tell them and when. Olivia being older and of the mentality of tell it to me now and let me process it myself I chose to be a bit more forthcoming with her. Hannah being the baby and the one that would rather not know something until it's actual, factual and has already taken place has been pretty much left in the dark although I know she's not blind or deaf to the amount of tension and arguing that goes on between her father and I.
Tonight though I was backed into a corner while we sat at Sonic to pick up something to eat. Hannha had just returned from a weekend soccer tournament with Jon and I was taking her for ice cream. While we waited for our food she began to ask questions. I figured they would come seeing as Jon and I had a rather loud verbal exhange within minutes of him coming in the door. It's sad that after 30+ hours apart we couldn't make it a full 30 seconds without launching into a disagreement.
The questions came quietly and timidly from the backseat.
Hannah: Mom, are you and Dad angry at each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't lie, don't lie) Yes.
Hannah: How is that even possible...you like, just saw each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't get defensive, don't lie) Well Hannah ya know how sometimes you and your friends don't get along...even when you haven't seen each other in a day or two?
Hannah: Um, yea....
Me: (don't get defensive, be honest, don't snap at her) Well, me and your dad are like that right now...we aren't getting along....
Silence falls uncomfortably in the car and then the food comes. I contemplate just letting the discussion go but as I look into the rearview mirror I can see tears in the corners of her eyes and I know there is more she wants to say. Part of me wants to scream at her to just stop it and let it go, but then I have to remember that she is only 10yrs old and this very much affects her life. Be honest, I keep reminding myself. Be honest in 10yr old terms...don't lie.
I remember back to when I was younger, after my sister had been killed and my parents would argue so much that I thought they would never get along again, I take a deep breath focus on that feeling as probably the one that she is having at this very moment and hope for the best.
Me: Hannah, if you have something on your mind that you want to ask me or talk about you should just put it out there. No matter what it is, I will answer you honestly and I won't be angry...I promise.
Hannah: (hesitant but looking very determined) Are you and Dad gonna split up?
Me: I don't know Hannah and that's the truth.
Hannah: Ok. But....ummmm.....but.....
Me: Hannah whatever it is just ask me.
Hannah: Do you still love him?
Me: Very much.
Hannah: Does he love you?
Me: Yes.
Hannah: I don't get it. If he loves you and you love him then why do you fight ALL of the time.
Me: Because sometimes people that love one another have things that take place that make them so angry that it becomes difficult to just be happy loving the other person. You want to know that the person you love is being honest with you and if you think that they aren't or know that they aren't it tends to make it very difficult to just be happy being in love.
Hannah: Oh. Well, hmmmm.....do you think you guys could, ya know...just work it out or something cause I'm tired of listening to you not get along and I'm sure Olivia is tired of it and well....yeah....you guys should just work it out.
I sat quiet for a really long time. Hannah didn't even seem to notice because she was over the moon for her Oreo ice cream blast. Then she spoke again.
Hannah: Mom?
Me: Yeah Han.
Hannah: I'm sorry I asked about you and dad.
Me: Hannah, don't apologize. You have a right to know what is going on to a point. I know that these things affect your life.
Hannah: I know. But the reason I said that I was sorry was because you looked really happy before I asked you. Like...just sitting here you and me...you looked happy.
Me: Well I am happy just sitting here you and me (I let my face break into a goofy smile to get her to laugh).
Hannah: (she chuckels at my face and then turns serious again) I know....but I think you were happy because dad wasn't here.
Me: (unable to speak)
Hannah: It was nice to see you happy for once.
Silence became all consuming and the only thing I could hear was her scraping ice cream out of her cup and the wheels of the skating car hops.
See, that's the trouble with truth telling...it brings with it a whole new line of questions.
~JP
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Lowering expectations in an attempt to lessen dissappointment...
Ok. I've decided I need to make a new plan. The old plan which has been revised a million few times over the past 3+ years ISN'T WORKING! I had formulated this plan when I found out that Jon had basically sold our marriage down the river in an attempt to prove a point about how...oh, fuck...I have no idea what the hell he was trying to do but lets just say we went from happily married to spending close to $10,000 in therapy. You figure out what that means. Oh, and when you do...please email me.
Anyways, I amDEFINITELY almost pretty sure that the reason the original plan didn't work is because of user error and not a fault in the actual plan. I mean seriously...how could a plan that started out with the words "hibernate for 7 straight days living off of only Hagaan Daaz and peanut butter toast"....possibly have turned out so poorly?
I swear, please remind me never to write a mission statement because CLEARLY I am not able to inspire anything more than a 3 year downslide of emotions, confidence and the ability to actually tell the difference between the top and bottom half of my body. Seriously people...I SWEAR I had a waist. It was just here, like....okay...so it's been awhile but I have pictures...it did exist!
I went and took a walk tonight at the park and seriously contemplated jumping over the safety railing and into the bayou. But if it didn't result in serious bodily harm by being eaten by ravenous crocs that were just waiting for a fatty to hurl herself over the rail...all I'd have to show for my failed attempt to "end the madness" would be a short swim in freezing water followed by a walk of shame and possibly pneumonia and or flesh eating bacteria.
And thus the cycle of mediocrity would continue.
So instead of taking the deep six I decided to bring it on home, sipping a chai and lay here in my comfy bed contemplating the meaning of my life. I had just about resigned myself to the idea that I would make it to sleep before midnight when my hacking teenager comes strolling in talking so loud that our next door neighbors could have heard her conversation clear as a bell. It pissed me off to no end. Not only did my "plan" become an epic failure now my children have decided that they no longer need rules and can come and go in the house as they please, making their own bedtimes and having no regard for the fact that people have jobs that they need to get a goodnight's sleep in order to be at peak performance. I mean, I am totally NOT talking about me because once again I fall into the unemployed and complete failure category. But there is still Jon for us to hang our families hopes and financial dreams on.
Do you see why maybe I should REVISE the original plan to oh, I don't know...start with the words "be gainfully employed individual who sets and enforces rules and boundaries"??
But even that line seems as though I am aiming to high. Maybe I should focus on keeping my expectations low therefore ensuring that the possibility of dissappointment is less likely. Instead of stating that I will go to the gym 5 days a week, I should instead say that I will make a definite effort to walk to my mailbox to retrieve the mail. Lower expectation...better chance of success.
I think I will sleep on this and see what other winning suggestions I can come up with. It's a lot of pressure...I hope I don't crack.
~JP
Anyways, I am
I swear, please remind me never to write a mission statement because CLEARLY I am not able to inspire anything more than a 3 year downslide of emotions, confidence and the ability to actually tell the difference between the top and bottom half of my body. Seriously people...I SWEAR I had a waist. It was just here, like....okay...so it's been awhile but I have pictures...it did exist!
I went and took a walk tonight at the park and seriously contemplated jumping over the safety railing and into the bayou. But if it didn't result in serious bodily harm by being eaten by ravenous crocs that were just waiting for a fatty to hurl herself over the rail...all I'd have to show for my failed attempt to "end the madness" would be a short swim in freezing water followed by a walk of shame and possibly pneumonia and or flesh eating bacteria.
And thus the cycle of mediocrity would continue.
So instead of taking the deep six I decided to bring it on home, sipping a chai and lay here in my comfy bed contemplating the meaning of my life. I had just about resigned myself to the idea that I would make it to sleep before midnight when my hacking teenager comes strolling in talking so loud that our next door neighbors could have heard her conversation clear as a bell. It pissed me off to no end. Not only did my "plan" become an epic failure now my children have decided that they no longer need rules and can come and go in the house as they please, making their own bedtimes and having no regard for the fact that people have jobs that they need to get a goodnight's sleep in order to be at peak performance. I mean, I am totally NOT talking about me because once again I fall into the unemployed and complete failure category. But there is still Jon for us to hang our families hopes and financial dreams on.
Do you see why maybe I should REVISE the original plan to oh, I don't know...start with the words "be gainfully employed individual who sets and enforces rules and boundaries"??
But even that line seems as though I am aiming to high. Maybe I should focus on keeping my expectations low therefore ensuring that the possibility of dissappointment is less likely. Instead of stating that I will go to the gym 5 days a week, I should instead say that I will make a definite effort to walk to my mailbox to retrieve the mail. Lower expectation...better chance of success.
I think I will sleep on this and see what other winning suggestions I can come up with. It's a lot of pressure...I hope I don't crack.
~JP
Monday, November 2, 2009
Maybe it's time to rewrite the traditional fairytale.....
Once upon a time.....isn't that how they always suck you in?
Well this ain't no fairytale. That's for damn sure.
Back when I was younger the only thing that I seemed to want was to be part of a two some. A couple. I probably should have been a twin. That fact would have more than likely resulted in my mother going crazy faster than she actually has.
It seemed from birth I was just one of those individuals that flourished in an environment where I could be with someone else. My mom probably fostered this by allowing me to sleep in her bed until I was a toddler. Then while she was a single parent we almost always shared a room. That continued until I was 11 years old and she married my step-dad. I had my own room for a whole 7 months. Then came my first sister and then my second sister a mere 15 months later. I shared a room with them until I visualized smothering them both in my sleep. My parents realized teenage-dom was upon them and I evicted myself from the co-op bedroom and out to my own space. Sadly it was the front porch. I mean what can you expect when you are living in a 2 bedroom house with 5 people, 2 of which are a screaming baby and toddler respectively.
The "porch" as it was named was actually the standard Florida "sun room". So it was completely enclosed. The stupid part of my move was the fact that my room was the first thing that people saw and had to walk through when they came to my parents house. Let's just say I had the cleanest teenagers room EVER!
It was also one way to insure that your teenage daughter doesn't do anything inappropriate with any boys in her bedroom. There are times that I wish we had this same arrangement now that I have older daughters. But then I take a stroll into their rooms and realize that if we did have that set up we could never have anyone over. They'd never make it through the sea of crap in order to make it into the rest of the house for a visit.
But enough about my bedroom from age 12 to 14 years of age. After the death of my sister Alicia I would go and lay in bed with my baby sister Nicolle in order to soothe her. From the day she was born she had shared a room with both me and Alicia and then just Alicia and now she was alone. So I'd lay with her. Then just a few short years later I had a little one of my own to occupy my bed.
It wasn't just sleeping either. It was life in general. I don't think I was ever meant to be a singleton. At a young age I befriended a neighbor and we became the best of friends. From the age of 3 up until 16, I don't think there is one good memory of my life that doesn't include her. We were like two peas in a pod and I liked it just fine.
After friendships came dating. I always seemed to be happier when I was part of a couple. I'm beginning to see that there is a pattern of confidence issues. So now 12 years into the longest pairing I've had since the birth of my first child I am lost in the fact that we are taught young that every fairytale is all roses and fairies and pumpkins turning into carriages. Outside of the mother's being audibly missing out of almost EVERY Disney story for as long as I can remember just about ever story of falling love has no mention of depression, finances, liars and heartbreak. Yeah they may start out realistic with the orphans and the working in your own home for your evil step-mother but then you are whisked away and have rodents to do your housework. That's a step up in my books. Not reality and yet we eat it up and ask for seconds.
Now I sit pondering the last few years of my life and as I think about the ever changing dimensions of my coupledom I wonder if my inability to stand on my own two feet and worry about what I want and what I need has possibly left me contemplating how a lifetime of being part of a two some has made it next to impossible for me to think of just myself. Alone.
As a mother I can never truly be alone. Hell just trying to pee is a friggin affair. If I don't announce it I will undoubtedly have a knock, a random walk in or an all out search and rescue mounted if I don't answer when yelled to from another room. I'm in the bathroom. I'm taking a piss. LEAVE ME ALONE! Sadly I feel I should mention that my kids are 15 and 10. They are walking, talking, thinking, able to make toast and not burn down the house, wipe their own ass, tie their own shoes and probably do more on a computer than I ever care to know how to do...individuals. But the second a drop of my piss hits the toilet water....they become so unbelievably needy. It's a curse of motherhood throughout the world. No matter what their age....from infants to adults....you go to cop a squat and they are on you like white on rice!
Every decision that I have made since my children's conception has been with them in mind. Whether it be at the forefront or in the back of my mind, I try to keep them ever present in everything I choose to do. Sometimes I wonder if never taking a step back and making a choice solely based on what I would like, enjoy, want or so forth has been the best mode of thinking. Then add in the partnership of marriage and suddenly I find myself farther down the pole of priorties.
Even when I try to make what I deem to be a semi-selfish decision I find myself second guessing it and wondering how it will affect the ones I love most. Never once thinking about how I should be loving myself which would in turn allow me to be a better _________ (fill in the blank with title) to __________ (fill in the blank with recipient). Yet out of selfless decisions comes pretty selfish children and at times a selfish husband. How I have managed this...I still am not sure. I know that I cannot control Jon's mindset or behavior, but my kids... it is the age, for the most part, but sometimes you just wonder....if Mother Teresa would have had kids...would they have been selfless saints as well?? Hmmmmmm.......
Here was my attempt at doing something just for me tonight. I left the house to go take a walk at a local park and then decided to stop for a some chai tea on the way back to the house to warm me up. Now I am sitting here thinking there were probably at least 10 other things that I could've/should've done in that 45 minutes and with the $5 that I just spent. This line of thought then leads me to going out last night with a girlfriend of mine to VooDoo Fest. I haven't been out like this since....hmmmm....April. The tickets were free. Parking was free. And yet I feel like an ass for not including my family.
It's borderline ridiculous. Where is the pill that turns off the "over caring about every little miniscule detail of every second of my day and what I am doing with it and how it may possibly be affecting those around me"?
Where's the fairytale about the princess that falls madly in love with her prince and then he does something ridiculously stupid and leaves her in a depressive tail spin without any dwarf's or magic fairy godmother to snap her out of it?? Where's that story?
I think I shall write it.....right after I stop feeling guilty for sitting back here on my laptop and not being out in the living room with my kids who are glued to one or another multi media device.
~JP
Well this ain't no fairytale. That's for damn sure.
Back when I was younger the only thing that I seemed to want was to be part of a two some. A couple. I probably should have been a twin. That fact would have more than likely resulted in my mother going crazy faster than she actually has.
It seemed from birth I was just one of those individuals that flourished in an environment where I could be with someone else. My mom probably fostered this by allowing me to sleep in her bed until I was a toddler. Then while she was a single parent we almost always shared a room. That continued until I was 11 years old and she married my step-dad. I had my own room for a whole 7 months. Then came my first sister and then my second sister a mere 15 months later. I shared a room with them until I visualized smothering them both in my sleep. My parents realized teenage-dom was upon them and I evicted myself from the co-op bedroom and out to my own space. Sadly it was the front porch. I mean what can you expect when you are living in a 2 bedroom house with 5 people, 2 of which are a screaming baby and toddler respectively.
The "porch" as it was named was actually the standard Florida "sun room". So it was completely enclosed. The stupid part of my move was the fact that my room was the first thing that people saw and had to walk through when they came to my parents house. Let's just say I had the cleanest teenagers room EVER!
It was also one way to insure that your teenage daughter doesn't do anything inappropriate with any boys in her bedroom. There are times that I wish we had this same arrangement now that I have older daughters. But then I take a stroll into their rooms and realize that if we did have that set up we could never have anyone over. They'd never make it through the sea of crap in order to make it into the rest of the house for a visit.
But enough about my bedroom from age 12 to 14 years of age. After the death of my sister Alicia I would go and lay in bed with my baby sister Nicolle in order to soothe her. From the day she was born she had shared a room with both me and Alicia and then just Alicia and now she was alone. So I'd lay with her. Then just a few short years later I had a little one of my own to occupy my bed.
It wasn't just sleeping either. It was life in general. I don't think I was ever meant to be a singleton. At a young age I befriended a neighbor and we became the best of friends. From the age of 3 up until 16, I don't think there is one good memory of my life that doesn't include her. We were like two peas in a pod and I liked it just fine.
After friendships came dating. I always seemed to be happier when I was part of a couple. I'm beginning to see that there is a pattern of confidence issues. So now 12 years into the longest pairing I've had since the birth of my first child I am lost in the fact that we are taught young that every fairytale is all roses and fairies and pumpkins turning into carriages. Outside of the mother's being audibly missing out of almost EVERY Disney story for as long as I can remember just about ever story of falling love has no mention of depression, finances, liars and heartbreak. Yeah they may start out realistic with the orphans and the working in your own home for your evil step-mother but then you are whisked away and have rodents to do your housework. That's a step up in my books. Not reality and yet we eat it up and ask for seconds.
Now I sit pondering the last few years of my life and as I think about the ever changing dimensions of my coupledom I wonder if my inability to stand on my own two feet and worry about what I want and what I need has possibly left me contemplating how a lifetime of being part of a two some has made it next to impossible for me to think of just myself. Alone.
As a mother I can never truly be alone. Hell just trying to pee is a friggin affair. If I don't announce it I will undoubtedly have a knock, a random walk in or an all out search and rescue mounted if I don't answer when yelled to from another room. I'm in the bathroom. I'm taking a piss. LEAVE ME ALONE! Sadly I feel I should mention that my kids are 15 and 10. They are walking, talking, thinking, able to make toast and not burn down the house, wipe their own ass, tie their own shoes and probably do more on a computer than I ever care to know how to do...individuals. But the second a drop of my piss hits the toilet water....they become so unbelievably needy. It's a curse of motherhood throughout the world. No matter what their age....from infants to adults....you go to cop a squat and they are on you like white on rice!
Every decision that I have made since my children's conception has been with them in mind. Whether it be at the forefront or in the back of my mind, I try to keep them ever present in everything I choose to do. Sometimes I wonder if never taking a step back and making a choice solely based on what I would like, enjoy, want or so forth has been the best mode of thinking. Then add in the partnership of marriage and suddenly I find myself farther down the pole of priorties.
Even when I try to make what I deem to be a semi-selfish decision I find myself second guessing it and wondering how it will affect the ones I love most. Never once thinking about how I should be loving myself which would in turn allow me to be a better _________ (fill in the blank with title) to __________ (fill in the blank with recipient). Yet out of selfless decisions comes pretty selfish children and at times a selfish husband. How I have managed this...I still am not sure. I know that I cannot control Jon's mindset or behavior, but my kids... it is the age, for the most part, but sometimes you just wonder....if Mother Teresa would have had kids...would they have been selfless saints as well?? Hmmmmmm.......
Here was my attempt at doing something just for me tonight. I left the house to go take a walk at a local park and then decided to stop for a some chai tea on the way back to the house to warm me up. Now I am sitting here thinking there were probably at least 10 other things that I could've/should've done in that 45 minutes and with the $5 that I just spent. This line of thought then leads me to going out last night with a girlfriend of mine to VooDoo Fest. I haven't been out like this since....hmmmm....April. The tickets were free. Parking was free. And yet I feel like an ass for not including my family.
It's borderline ridiculous. Where is the pill that turns off the "over caring about every little miniscule detail of every second of my day and what I am doing with it and how it may possibly be affecting those around me"?
Where's the fairytale about the princess that falls madly in love with her prince and then he does something ridiculously stupid and leaves her in a depressive tail spin without any dwarf's or magic fairy godmother to snap her out of it?? Where's that story?
I think I shall write it.....right after I stop feeling guilty for sitting back here on my laptop and not being out in the living room with my kids who are glued to one or another multi media device.
~JP
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
What's your gut telling you?
So life being the proverbial roller coaster that it is...has now found me back at the bottom. I've been here before. Lots of times. It's familiar territory. The other part that is familiar is the beating my stomach takes when things are going NOT so well. I'm an internalizer. I smile on the outside. Making jokes, writing funny blogs and generally trying to be light hearted when in truth my stomach is an acid volcano of stress and upset emotions. It's a downright miracle that the ulcer that was discovered a few years ago has not grown large enough to suck the rest of my body into it's vast hole. Although at times I wonder if my doctor just lied in order to keep feeding me medications because he gets a kick back from the drug companies. It's all a conspiracy when it comes to the health care industry.
But back to me...and my gut. On top of being a rumbly, achy, keeping me in the bathroom more than any one normal human being should be in there...it has also begun to expand. It seems my gut doesn't want my butt to feel lonely. Isn't that nice of it? Umm. Yeah. NOT.
Tonight as Jon coaxed me out of my pity filled mock hibernation to attend a local fast food joints participation at helping our youngest daughter school raise money for the PTA, I was hit with just how out of control it's growth has become. A cute Halloween t-shirt that has seen me through the past 3 years of trick-o-treating now bears a striking resemblence to me attempting to suck my gut into a childs shirt. As if the realization that "Job, Take #2" is as failed as it was the first time around (details to follow once the investigation is complete...yes...it does sound as bad as that word "investigation" would lead you to believe) wasn't enough to stress me out, now I've got to worry about my mid section trying to take over the whole of my body. What next CANKLES? Dear Lord....why must you hate me so?
Ok...maybe it's not God. Maybe it's the fact that running my fingers longingly over the swipe card for my gym membership hasn't made me lose even an ounce of weight. Maybe, just maybe I should run my ass up to the gym and then I wouldn't be worrying about my gut so much. It sure would make for a lovely distraction from all the other shit that is going on in the world that is me.
But since I am one to procrastinate beyond any amount of reason...I think I will just ponder on this realization while I wallow in the stress of my current situation. And with that....my gut wins! For now.
~JP
But back to me...and my gut. On top of being a rumbly, achy, keeping me in the bathroom more than any one normal human being should be in there...it has also begun to expand. It seems my gut doesn't want my butt to feel lonely. Isn't that nice of it? Umm. Yeah. NOT.
Tonight as Jon coaxed me out of my pity filled mock hibernation to attend a local fast food joints participation at helping our youngest daughter school raise money for the PTA, I was hit with just how out of control it's growth has become. A cute Halloween t-shirt that has seen me through the past 3 years of trick-o-treating now bears a striking resemblence to me attempting to suck my gut into a childs shirt. As if the realization that "Job, Take #2" is as failed as it was the first time around (details to follow once the investigation is complete...yes...it does sound as bad as that word "investigation" would lead you to believe) wasn't enough to stress me out, now I've got to worry about my mid section trying to take over the whole of my body. What next CANKLES? Dear Lord....why must you hate me so?
Ok...maybe it's not God. Maybe it's the fact that running my fingers longingly over the swipe card for my gym membership hasn't made me lose even an ounce of weight. Maybe, just maybe I should run my ass up to the gym and then I wouldn't be worrying about my gut so much. It sure would make for a lovely distraction from all the other shit that is going on in the world that is me.
But since I am one to procrastinate beyond any amount of reason...I think I will just ponder on this realization while I wallow in the stress of my current situation. And with that....my gut wins! For now.
~JP
Thursday, October 8, 2009
My goal of mediocrity has not gone unfulfilled.....
I think I've reached a new record of being a quitter. While I tried very hard not to be OVERLY excited about the job that I had found (after 3 months of looking) and started last week....even I floored myself when after just a few minutes I found myself in the VERY familiar territory of wanting to RUN LIKE HELL from the building.
The owners were nice. Major plus. Which, I must say after my last employer was a complete change of emotions. Perfect example on my first day they asked how Hannah's birthday party went. I thought that was sweet, but it wasn't enough to make me want to stay there. I was trying to get a lay of the office when the first red flag came up.
They had instructions on how to handle checking in and confirming the schedule. Simple enough. When I began to look at the manual in comparisson to the real time schedule of the practice management software I was floored by the fact that I couldn't follow the instructions. At first I thought it was my inability to follow directions. I'm a smart girl, but it wouldn't be the first time I'd been tripped up by directions (crunchy manicotti circa 2003 comes to mind....and a blog for another day). I turned to one of the techs that I was managing for answers to my ever mounting questions, since the owners were with patients, the answer that came out of her mouth took me aback.
It seems that they weren't staying current on paperwork which wasn't allowing them to check out patients when they left which was then not allowing them to check in the same patients when they returned. If this was dentistry it would have been bad but manageable since you don't see most patients more than 2 times a year. If it took you an additional day or two to catch up on paperwork in order to submit the insurance claims you could still be okay. But being physical therapy you see 90% of your patients every other day. There were weeks of clinical notes not done.
Having a strong insurance background the next red flag came from the fact that reports were coming over the fax of claims being processed for patients and dates that I could see clearly in the system had not be notated or charted. By lunch time I was sick with the thought that there was a pretty apparent situation of unsettling insurance practices going on.
Upon taking a moment to speak with the owner about how it was that the claims were getting paid even though the charting that is required by worker's comp or Medicare in order to be paid I was given a blank stare and a blanket answer of, "in the event of another audit we have up to 48 hours to provide evaluation and prognosis reports to back up treatment".
Oh god...did they just say "another"....that would imply a first...or worse...gulp...others!
I wanted so badly to shut off my conscience to just stay in a place where it truly seemed that family was a priority over the stress of a workday. A place where they smiled...genuinely...and encouraged friendly banter and socialization. Ugh...this place could be so good....but prison, for insurance fraud...yeah, that could be hell on earth! Okay...so I am being WAY dramatic, but still.
I made it to day 3 and that little Jimminy Cricket within me was screaming..."you look horrible in orange"...."run away R - U - N A - W - A - Y". All I could see in my minds eye was a horrendous insurance audit that would cripple a small practice such as this and me out of a job once again. It was time to cut and run.
When I sat down with the owners to discuss my worries they seemed to understand. They seemed to understand a little too much. Which made me feel more unsettled about the job and even more sure of my decision to quit. At the end of our discussion they asked me to take 24 hours to really think about it. I did so and then told them that I was sorry to have to leave the position. They seemed genuinely sad that I was leaving.
In this economy and with our financial state in such a precarious state I feel like such an immense loser for walking away from a paycheck. I had, once upon a time, believed that my last job would be just that....my last job. Then when I took this last job, I had thought this would be my last job...well, at least until I finished school. I beginning to wonder if I will ever find that one place where I fit. The place where I feel like what I can bring to the table is as valued as I am.
I think those last two statements are symbolistic of more than just my search for a job...they are words that describe how I feel about my life in general.
Maybe my dishearted feelings towards my career status is just a distraction of a bigger issue. My disillusionment over my life...in general.
I guess my status of mediocrity remains firmly intact. Good to know where one stands. Right in the middle.
~JP
The owners were nice. Major plus. Which, I must say after my last employer was a complete change of emotions. Perfect example on my first day they asked how Hannah's birthday party went. I thought that was sweet, but it wasn't enough to make me want to stay there. I was trying to get a lay of the office when the first red flag came up.
They had instructions on how to handle checking in and confirming the schedule. Simple enough. When I began to look at the manual in comparisson to the real time schedule of the practice management software I was floored by the fact that I couldn't follow the instructions. At first I thought it was my inability to follow directions. I'm a smart girl, but it wouldn't be the first time I'd been tripped up by directions (crunchy manicotti circa 2003 comes to mind....and a blog for another day). I turned to one of the techs that I was managing for answers to my ever mounting questions, since the owners were with patients, the answer that came out of her mouth took me aback.
It seems that they weren't staying current on paperwork which wasn't allowing them to check out patients when they left which was then not allowing them to check in the same patients when they returned. If this was dentistry it would have been bad but manageable since you don't see most patients more than 2 times a year. If it took you an additional day or two to catch up on paperwork in order to submit the insurance claims you could still be okay. But being physical therapy you see 90% of your patients every other day. There were weeks of clinical notes not done.
Having a strong insurance background the next red flag came from the fact that reports were coming over the fax of claims being processed for patients and dates that I could see clearly in the system had not be notated or charted. By lunch time I was sick with the thought that there was a pretty apparent situation of unsettling insurance practices going on.
Upon taking a moment to speak with the owner about how it was that the claims were getting paid even though the charting that is required by worker's comp or Medicare in order to be paid I was given a blank stare and a blanket answer of, "in the event of another audit we have up to 48 hours to provide evaluation and prognosis reports to back up treatment".
Oh god...did they just say "another"....that would imply a first...or worse...gulp...others!
I wanted so badly to shut off my conscience to just stay in a place where it truly seemed that family was a priority over the stress of a workday. A place where they smiled...genuinely...and encouraged friendly banter and socialization. Ugh...this place could be so good....but prison, for insurance fraud...yeah, that could be hell on earth! Okay...so I am being WAY dramatic, but still.
I made it to day 3 and that little Jimminy Cricket within me was screaming..."you look horrible in orange"...."run away R - U - N A - W - A - Y". All I could see in my minds eye was a horrendous insurance audit that would cripple a small practice such as this and me out of a job once again. It was time to cut and run.
When I sat down with the owners to discuss my worries they seemed to understand. They seemed to understand a little too much. Which made me feel more unsettled about the job and even more sure of my decision to quit. At the end of our discussion they asked me to take 24 hours to really think about it. I did so and then told them that I was sorry to have to leave the position. They seemed genuinely sad that I was leaving.
In this economy and with our financial state in such a precarious state I feel like such an immense loser for walking away from a paycheck. I had, once upon a time, believed that my last job would be just that....my last job. Then when I took this last job, I had thought this would be my last job...well, at least until I finished school. I beginning to wonder if I will ever find that one place where I fit. The place where I feel like what I can bring to the table is as valued as I am.
I think those last two statements are symbolistic of more than just my search for a job...they are words that describe how I feel about my life in general.
Maybe my dishearted feelings towards my career status is just a distraction of a bigger issue. My disillusionment over my life...in general.
I guess my status of mediocrity remains firmly intact. Good to know where one stands. Right in the middle.
~JP
Monday, September 28, 2009
And the countdown to 10....concludes....with Part 7
Part 7: It's not the destination....it's the journey!
The beauty of motherhood is lost on those who can't seem to smell anything past the vomit that seems to get into places you never thought imaginable. It's also lost on those who are pretty sure they would sell a kidney or lung JUST to gain a full night of uninterrupted sleep. I was TOTALLY that person.
What am I saying....I still AM that person! I may no longer have to sustain my children's life by feeding them from my own body, but believe me you, they are busy sucking other things out of me like sanity, my ability to retain information, my will to live at times and the capacity of my ass to reside in the lower two digit numbers. Oh hips...where have you gone?? Oh wait...that's right, you now reside on my curvacious daughters. Ugh!
Even with all that I've had some of my best moments being their mom. I've also had some of my most embarrassing ones as well.
Those are the stories that Jon loves me to focus on. He's sadistic that way.
When Hannah was approximately 3 to maybe 3 1/2 months old I had breastfed her on the couch while watching television. It's was a leisurely Sunday afternoon and we were busy just passing the day by being completely in love with every sound and face that she was making. It's these moments...these memories that make you want to have more children. What happened next is what makes you think twice about motherhood and possibly how easy it may actually be to mame your spouse.
Jon: Wow she's a little piggy.
Me: I know. I think this is the most she has eaten in a while. She usually just snacks.
Jon: I think I'd snack if I was down there too. It'd give me more reasons to snuggle up to your boobs.
Me: You'd have to get in line behind your infant daughter.
Jon: Why ya gotta be so mean?
Me: Why do YOU have to be such a pig? I'm busy feeding your daughter and your making sexual inuendo's.
Jon: I'm just saying...I support breastfeeding.
Me: You're just saying that because you want me to breastfeed you.
Hannah begins to make gurgly faces as I am burping her. It kind of looks like she's rolling her eyes at Jon's lame attempts to dig himself out of this hole but that's just my interpretation of the memory.
Finally she lets out a huge burp and follows it with a toot and then seems completely content to just sit there and check out the world.
Me: (singing to Hannah while blowing bubbles on her tummy) I love you...mommy loves you. Who loves you...mommy loves you.
Clearly she is digging this.
Me: (beginning to wiggle her arms and legs in a vague dancing motion)
Jon: You probably shouldn't do that she just ate.
Me: I am not doing anything. I am just moving her about. My god she is barely moving.
Jon: I don't think you should do that. You always yell at me NOT to do that. You say she'll puke.
Me: (clearly he doesn't understand that him doing what I say and me doing what I say are two totally different things) *rolling my eyes* Okay.
Jon walks out of the room and the coast is clear to go back to the dancing. I proceed to move Hannah about. She's going from slightly subdued moves to busting out her show stoppers. I decide to end with a little airplane and a kiss....
BIG FUCKING MISTAKE
Bleeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay...
Jon: (no response...)
I can somewhat hear Jon moving around in the kitchen
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay BAY.....
Jon: Are you calling me? You know that I can't hear you...speak up.
Me: (trying desperately NOT to swallow what has been launched into my mouth by my once beloved infant daughter) bay bay...BAYYYYYY...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo....
Jon: (sounding more than a little aggrivated) WHAT??
Me: (really trying not to puke while trying NOT to swallow what is being swished around in my mouth with every attempt to speak) I sa...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo......
Jon (choirs of angels come down from heaven and sing as my husband in all his fucking brilliant retardedness who can't hear me scream from another room has now deciphered the god damn Da Vinci Code of "baby vomit speak") I'm sorry...did you just say that you need a towel because the baby puked in your mouth? (laughter)
Me: BAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY......a men a...hu up n ga m a tow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jon: (attempting NOT to piss himself, because clearly that could be used against him in this completely embarrassing moment of me choking back a mouthful of my own regurgiatated breastmilk) Hahahahahahahahahaha.....ok, ok....oh my god....oh my god...my sides hurt....ok, ok...here...give me the baby...here....oh my god...oh this is too funny...oh my god...here's the towel...
Stuff like that...10 years later...still funny.
I remember a time years later when Hannah was 3 years old and she learned how to use air quotes.
Correctly.
Neither of us know how she learned this. It definitely wasn't something that we had done. We aren't big air quote people...I mean really, who is??
I was coming up on a jaw surgery to treat chronic migraines, worsened by TMJ, which had completely debilitated me. Poor Hannah had gotten very used to sitting in semi quiet, semi dim rooms with mommy by this time. We had her in Mother's Day out programs so she wasn't a complete shut in, but there were still those few hours between when the program ended and Jon came home.
She was perched on the end of our bed watching Disney Channel. I, as usual, had my head wrapped in a towel to shield my eyes from light and an ice pack on top for good measure. I heard her crawling to the top of the bed towards my head so I peeled back my shroud.
Hannah: Momma?
Me: Yeah babe.
Hannah: Momma...when dinner is?
Me: (slighty out of it...trying to angle head to see the clock) Ummm. Soon babe...daddy will be home with it in just a little bit. Okay?
Hannah: Tay. Cause we need dinner is. It's "night time".
Me: (slightly baffled by the air quotes, I decide to press the matter) Hannah what do you mean by "night time" (repeating the same air quotes)
Hannah: (cocking her head to the side and squinching her eyese at me as if I am possibly the silliest person she has met in ALL her 3 years of life) Momma..."night time" is when it "dark outside"! (she then puts her hands in fist down on her sides as if this gesture combined with the double air quotes will of course drive her point right on home)
Very true Hannah dear. Very true indeed. Thankfully she did a repeat performance for Jon when he got home and we both had a good laugh at how sassy she was.
Life with girls is NOT all frills, bows and pink sparkliness. Nope...life raising Hannah so far has been a manic mixture of Sporty Spice, Power Puff Girls and Disney Channel girls that are clearly 20 playing 10 year olds who my daughter wants more than anything to mimic.
Welcome to my hell. The water is warm...jump on in.
Hannah can be rough and tumble like the time we had gone shopping for new jeans. She had picked out 4 that she absolutely loved and "mom I will never ask for another thing if you only buy me THESE pants". Oh lord...go sell your lies somewhere else sweetheart...my grandmother didn't buy those lies with my mother, my mother didn't buy those lies with me and HELLO I'm not buying them from you or your sister.
Not more than 48 hours later Hannah is on our front lawn with one of her friends playing. Another few minutes after that she is at the door crying and the friend is trying not to laugh. Clearly something embarrassing has befallen our daughter. Days like this make parenting so magical. Days like this make all the moments they make you feel like a jackleg by standing in the middle of Wal-mart screaming "you're not my mommy...I wan't my mommy" because you have denied them the Pokemon card, Power Puff Girl, Barbie, Coloring book, speck of dust...whatever...and now they are going to make you pay with public humiliation and maybe, just maybe a few dicey moments in the back of a police car explaining exactly why it is the little girl is so insistent her "real" mother lives in Pennsylvania and raises horses. Yes...your childs embarrassment at the fact that they and not you has done something to bring said embarassment...those moments are the lottery of parenthood.
Jon: Hannah what's the matter?
Me: Why are you crying? Are you hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*
Me: Hannah...speak up...what happened?
Hannah: (quivering lip) *sniff...sniff*
Jon: Hannah Michel...you have until the count of 5 to tell me what is going on. 1....2....3....
Hannah: (bawling)....*sniff*....I....was....playing....and, umm...and I thought I'd be....ummm...I...*sniff*....I thought it would....*crying*....*sniff*...umm...I thought it would be fun....to umm...(becoming quieter)...fun to be a....(barely audible)...fun to be a dog....
Me: Huh...you thought it would be fun to be a what? Babe...we can't hear you? (I clearly had heard her, but I wanted to make completely sure I heard her)
Hannah: *sniff*...I thought it would be fun to be a dog....
Jon: Uh...huh. And how does that factor into the crying??
Me: Did you get hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*...ummm...*sniff*....not exactly
Me: Okay then what "exactly" is the problem?
Hannah: *sniff*....I RIPPED MY PANTS....(complete hysterical bawling)
Jon: You ripped your new pants?
Hannah: Yyyyyeeeessssssssssss....*sniff*
Me: (completely incredulous that this is in fact the truth) How? How did you rip your pants? Show me.
Hannah: Well...I had her (pointing the unsupecting and very uncomfortable looking friend) hook the lead for the dogs to my belt loop.....and then I ran around in a circle...playing like a dog....*sniff*.....and my pants....well...they ripped.
Jon & Me: (stiffling laughter) (unable to stiffle laughter) (about to choke as we realize we can NO longer stiffle laughter do the only thing we can possibly do which is turn our backs on our crying child in the door)
Me: (from over my shoulder) Have a seat on the porch Hannah and your dad and I will be out in a moment to deal with this.
We shut the front door. High tail it back to our bedroom. Lock ourselves in the bathroom and bust out laughing for a good 10 minutes.
We made her wear those pants until they were highwaters. Every....single....time she came out in them we had to fight not to pee ourselves laughing at the day she decided to play dog.
These are just a few of the moments in my 10 years raising my sweet baby girl. I'm sure there will be many more. I record them to use as blackmail later.
As Jon and I watched her blow out the candles on her cookie cake covered in too much make-up from the make overs they were performing on one another for the sleepover we realized that all those moments have led us to this one. All the tears, fears, laughter, joy, pride, guilt, sleeplessness and so many more have culminated in this one little girl.
Motherhood...hell parenthood is one hell of a ride. The admission isn't free. The side effects are permanent and the pay is...well, it sucks. But the moments of shear madness that lead to some of the bar none, hands down most amazing memories you will ever create while sober are worth the journey. If you haven't jumped on this train I highly recommend it. Plus, it's kind of like a pyramid scheme...the more of you that I get to do it, the better the prizes for me. Get to it people...make babies. Make memories. Make me not be the only crazy lady.
~JP
Even with all that I've had some of my best moments being their mom. I've also had some of my most embarrassing ones as well.
Those are the stories that Jon loves me to focus on. He's sadistic that way.
When Hannah was approximately 3 to maybe 3 1/2 months old I had breastfed her on the couch while watching television. It's was a leisurely Sunday afternoon and we were busy just passing the day by being completely in love with every sound and face that she was making. It's these moments...these memories that make you want to have more children. What happened next is what makes you think twice about motherhood and possibly how easy it may actually be to mame your spouse.
Jon: Wow she's a little piggy.
Me: I know. I think this is the most she has eaten in a while. She usually just snacks.
Jon: I think I'd snack if I was down there too. It'd give me more reasons to snuggle up to your boobs.
Me: You'd have to get in line behind your infant daughter.
Jon: Why ya gotta be so mean?
Me: Why do YOU have to be such a pig? I'm busy feeding your daughter and your making sexual inuendo's.
Jon: I'm just saying...I support breastfeeding.
Me: You're just saying that because you want me to breastfeed you.
Hannah begins to make gurgly faces as I am burping her. It kind of looks like she's rolling her eyes at Jon's lame attempts to dig himself out of this hole but that's just my interpretation of the memory.
Finally she lets out a huge burp and follows it with a toot and then seems completely content to just sit there and check out the world.
Me: (singing to Hannah while blowing bubbles on her tummy) I love you...mommy loves you. Who loves you...mommy loves you.
Clearly she is digging this.
Me: (beginning to wiggle her arms and legs in a vague dancing motion)
Jon: You probably shouldn't do that she just ate.
Me: I am not doing anything. I am just moving her about. My god she is barely moving.
Jon: I don't think you should do that. You always yell at me NOT to do that. You say she'll puke.
Me: (clearly he doesn't understand that him doing what I say and me doing what I say are two totally different things) *rolling my eyes* Okay.
Jon walks out of the room and the coast is clear to go back to the dancing. I proceed to move Hannah about. She's going from slightly subdued moves to busting out her show stoppers. I decide to end with a little airplane and a kiss....
BIG FUCKING MISTAKE
Bleeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay...
Jon: (no response...)
I can somewhat hear Jon moving around in the kitchen
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay BAY.....
Jon: Are you calling me? You know that I can't hear you...speak up.
Me: (trying desperately NOT to swallow what has been launched into my mouth by my once beloved infant daughter) bay bay...BAYYYYYY...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo....
Jon: (sounding more than a little aggrivated) WHAT??
Me: (really trying not to puke while trying NOT to swallow what is being swished around in my mouth with every attempt to speak) I sa...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo......
Jon (choirs of angels come down from heaven and sing as my husband in all his fucking brilliant retardedness who can't hear me scream from another room has now deciphered the god damn Da Vinci Code of "baby vomit speak") I'm sorry...did you just say that you need a towel because the baby puked in your mouth? (laughter)
Me: BAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY......a men a...hu up n ga m a tow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jon: (attempting NOT to piss himself, because clearly that could be used against him in this completely embarrassing moment of me choking back a mouthful of my own regurgiatated breastmilk) Hahahahahahahahahaha.....ok, ok....oh my god....oh my god...my sides hurt....ok, ok...here...give me the baby...here....oh my god...oh this is too funny...oh my god...here's the towel...
Stuff like that...10 years later...still funny.
I remember a time years later when Hannah was 3 years old and she learned how to use air quotes.
Correctly.
Neither of us know how she learned this. It definitely wasn't something that we had done. We aren't big air quote people...I mean really, who is??
I was coming up on a jaw surgery to treat chronic migraines, worsened by TMJ, which had completely debilitated me. Poor Hannah had gotten very used to sitting in semi quiet, semi dim rooms with mommy by this time. We had her in Mother's Day out programs so she wasn't a complete shut in, but there were still those few hours between when the program ended and Jon came home.
She was perched on the end of our bed watching Disney Channel. I, as usual, had my head wrapped in a towel to shield my eyes from light and an ice pack on top for good measure. I heard her crawling to the top of the bed towards my head so I peeled back my shroud.
Hannah: Momma?
Me: Yeah babe.
Hannah: Momma...when dinner is?
Me: (slighty out of it...trying to angle head to see the clock) Ummm. Soon babe...daddy will be home with it in just a little bit. Okay?
Hannah: Tay. Cause we need dinner is. It's "night time".
Me: (slightly baffled by the air quotes, I decide to press the matter) Hannah what do you mean by "night time" (repeating the same air quotes)
Hannah: (cocking her head to the side and squinching her eyese at me as if I am possibly the silliest person she has met in ALL her 3 years of life) Momma..."night time" is when it "dark outside"! (she then puts her hands in fist down on her sides as if this gesture combined with the double air quotes will of course drive her point right on home)
Very true Hannah dear. Very true indeed. Thankfully she did a repeat performance for Jon when he got home and we both had a good laugh at how sassy she was.
Life with girls is NOT all frills, bows and pink sparkliness. Nope...life raising Hannah so far has been a manic mixture of Sporty Spice, Power Puff Girls and Disney Channel girls that are clearly 20 playing 10 year olds who my daughter wants more than anything to mimic.
Welcome to my hell. The water is warm...jump on in.
Hannah can be rough and tumble like the time we had gone shopping for new jeans. She had picked out 4 that she absolutely loved and "mom I will never ask for another thing if you only buy me THESE pants". Oh lord...go sell your lies somewhere else sweetheart...my grandmother didn't buy those lies with my mother, my mother didn't buy those lies with me and HELLO I'm not buying them from you or your sister.
Not more than 48 hours later Hannah is on our front lawn with one of her friends playing. Another few minutes after that she is at the door crying and the friend is trying not to laugh. Clearly something embarrassing has befallen our daughter. Days like this make parenting so magical. Days like this make all the moments they make you feel like a jackleg by standing in the middle of Wal-mart screaming "you're not my mommy...I wan't my mommy" because you have denied them the Pokemon card, Power Puff Girl, Barbie, Coloring book, speck of dust...whatever...and now they are going to make you pay with public humiliation and maybe, just maybe a few dicey moments in the back of a police car explaining exactly why it is the little girl is so insistent her "real" mother lives in Pennsylvania and raises horses. Yes...your childs embarrassment at the fact that they and not you has done something to bring said embarassment...those moments are the lottery of parenthood.
Jon: Hannah what's the matter?
Me: Why are you crying? Are you hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*
Me: Hannah...speak up...what happened?
Hannah: (quivering lip) *sniff...sniff*
Jon: Hannah Michel...you have until the count of 5 to tell me what is going on. 1....2....3....
Hannah: (bawling)....*sniff*....I....was....playing....and, umm...and I thought I'd be....ummm...I...*sniff*....I thought it would....*crying*....*sniff*...umm...I thought it would be fun....to umm...(becoming quieter)...fun to be a....(barely audible)...fun to be a dog....
Me: Huh...you thought it would be fun to be a what? Babe...we can't hear you? (I clearly had heard her, but I wanted to make completely sure I heard her)
Hannah: *sniff*...I thought it would be fun to be a dog....
Jon: Uh...huh. And how does that factor into the crying??
Me: Did you get hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*...ummm...*sniff*....not exactly
Me: Okay then what "exactly" is the problem?
Hannah: *sniff*....I RIPPED MY PANTS....(complete hysterical bawling)
Jon: You ripped your new pants?
Hannah: Yyyyyeeeessssssssssss....*sniff*
Me: (completely incredulous that this is in fact the truth) How? How did you rip your pants? Show me.
Hannah: Well...I had her (pointing the unsupecting and very uncomfortable looking friend) hook the lead for the dogs to my belt loop.....and then I ran around in a circle...playing like a dog....*sniff*.....and my pants....well...they ripped.
Jon & Me: (stiffling laughter) (unable to stiffle laughter) (about to choke as we realize we can NO longer stiffle laughter do the only thing we can possibly do which is turn our backs on our crying child in the door)
Me: (from over my shoulder) Have a seat on the porch Hannah and your dad and I will be out in a moment to deal with this.
We shut the front door. High tail it back to our bedroom. Lock ourselves in the bathroom and bust out laughing for a good 10 minutes.
We made her wear those pants until they were highwaters. Every....single....time she came out in them we had to fight not to pee ourselves laughing at the day she decided to play dog.
These are just a few of the moments in my 10 years raising my sweet baby girl. I'm sure there will be many more. I record them to use as blackmail later.
As Jon and I watched her blow out the candles on her cookie cake covered in too much make-up from the make overs they were performing on one another for the sleepover we realized that all those moments have led us to this one. All the tears, fears, laughter, joy, pride, guilt, sleeplessness and so many more have culminated in this one little girl.
Motherhood...hell parenthood is one hell of a ride. The admission isn't free. The side effects are permanent and the pay is...well, it sucks. But the moments of shear madness that lead to some of the bar none, hands down most amazing memories you will ever create while sober are worth the journey. If you haven't jumped on this train I highly recommend it. Plus, it's kind of like a pyramid scheme...the more of you that I get to do it, the better the prizes for me. Get to it people...make babies. Make memories. Make me not be the only crazy lady.
~JP
Saturday, September 26, 2009
And the countdown to 10...continues...Part 6
Part 6: I'm all for jokes...but really, is this the time??
Once I was firmly situated on the operating table I began to feel really, really...REALLY nervous. I know it sounds like a moment of brilliant retardedness but at that exact moment it all seemed real. It was like the past 40 weeks didn't even happen. Like I had just showed up at the hospital and they announced, "hey you look like a nice woman who'd enjoy a new baby...come on back and we'll cut one out of your belly".
When they talk about pregnancy induced amnesia...I'm pretty sure they are referring to moments like this.
When they talk about pregnancy induced amnesia...I'm pretty sure they are referring to moments like this.
The anesthesiologist began to push the meds and they made sure I was good and numb. I was elated because when I'd had Olivia I had an epic failure of an epidural. They didn't insert the catheter properly and when they went to push the meds I could feel them leaking down my back. Unfortunately, the monitors began to signal that Olivia was in fetal heart distress and she needed to be out. NOW. So they couldn't take the time to try and reinsert the epidural and I had to be put completely under. I was the absolute last person to greet the arrival of my daughter. I didn't want the same thing to happen with my the delivery of my son.
Once the drugs began to take affect I began professing my love to the anesthesiologist...the nurses...some dude that was bringing in gloves. They figured that was a perfect time to bring in my husband.
They laid out the rules of how he was NOT to touch the sterile curtain that shielded him from a full view of the surgery that was about to reveal the baby. I secretly wished them luck with that endeavor because I'd been telling him not to touch stuff in doctor and hospital settings through this whole pregnancy and HE WOULD NEVER LISTEN TO ME. You have no idea how scary it is to watch your husband screw with a piece of equipment that probably cost as much if not more than a years salary.
They provided a stool and he took it...just in case. I was worried that he would pass out. He didn't do very well with blood. Or surgery. Or gore in general. But I was high as a kite on pain meds...if he hit the ground...I was pretty sure one of the scrub clad individuals and that random dude with the gloves would handle it.
They provided a stool and he took it...just in case. I was worried that he would pass out. He didn't do very well with blood. Or surgery. Or gore in general. But I was high as a kite on pain meds...if he hit the ground...I was pretty sure one of the scrub clad individuals and that random dude with the gloves would handle it.
Then the doctor came in. He explained that I'd feel some tugging and pressure but if I began to feel pain that I should just let the anesthesiologist know and she'd fix me right up. I felt like saying, "dude...you do your job and don't you worry bout me and Sarah (that was the first name of the anesthesiologist) will be JUST FINE over here".
He asked if we were ready to go and we chimed in with a yes. For a split second I wondered what would have occured if we would have said no. Would he have been all like, okay..."I'll step out for a latte and come back in a few and see if you are ready to do this thing??"
He asked if we were ready to go and we chimed in with a yes. For a split second I wondered what would have occured if we would have said no. Would he have been all like, okay..."I'll step out for a latte and come back in a few and see if you are ready to do this thing??"
Jon asked how long it would take before the baby was out. The doctor explained that since their was no distress he could have the baby out in about 3-4 minutes. I was amazed. Made me ask how fast they could have a baby out in times of distress and was floored when he said less than a minute if need be. Holy crap. He said that getting the baby out was the easy part. Putting everything back in was the long part. Hmmmm...could have gone without the last part of info.
And so it began...
Jon says that he remembers seeing smoke from the laser. I don't have any memory of it. All I remember is feeling tugs and the anesthesiologist asking "are you okay"..."are you hurting"...the haze of her pushing more meds because apparently I said yes and then the sound of crying started.
Next came the voice of the doctor..."congratulations....IT'S....A.....GIRL!"
WHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTT?????
I turned to Jon willing him to verify that the doctor was in fact the King of Bad Jokes!
Jon looked down at me with misty eyes...."babe....it's a girl"!
I think I actually uttered the words, "stop joking...that's not funny" before finally looking up and seeing that in fact I was the proud momma of a beautiful baby girl.
Garren Jesse....was in fact a beautiful...perfect...10 fingers, 10 toed...little Hannah Michel!
I kissed Jon and told him to please follow the baby to the nursery. I didn't want her out of our sight and since I obviously wasn't going anywhere...that left him on baby watch.
I got some more magical pain meds and the doctor continued with bad jokes saying first, "let me just make sure there aren't any more babies in there" and then asking "sure you don't want me to tie up any loose ends while I am down here". To the last one I actually said yes...but he said, "no".
Next moment I can remember is waking up in the recovery room with my nurse checking my vitals. I asked if I could see my daughter. I then asked if it was in fact a daughter that I'd had and not just a dream. She confirmed that it was in fact a girl and that I could see her once I was back in my room.
A few minutes later Jon strolled in all proud papa like. Feeling drunk with the love of his first born or maybe just drunk he decided to be a jokester.
Me: Hey...hey...is she okay.
Jon: She's beautiful. And don't worry about the whole boy thing...doc says we can try again in like 8 weeks!
Thankfully...for him I was numb from the chest down so I couldn't physically get out of the bed and kick his ass. However, my recovery nurse who was 3 months pregnant herself actually told Jon to, "go ahead and start running now...I'll give you a head start".
He left to go back to Hannah's side and I waited, albeit impatiently, for the moment when I could finally be properly introduced to my baby girl.
A few hours later I was rolled back to my room and in came the little lady of the day.
She was beautiful. Absolutely captivating. I was in love. Everything that had taken place to get to this day just faded away. I had my husband and two beautiful daughters...life, in this moment was perfection.
When we began making phone calls to announce our new baby we had a lot of "are you shitting me" and "no...come on...stop joking" to deal with. Even my mom was blown away by the fact that we had absolutely NOTHING for a baby girl and rushed to buy something pink and frilly to bring home our newest family member home in.
Three days later we were heading home with our newly nicknamed Hannah "Banana" Michel Pettus. I know...super original, right? Well shortly after birth we noticed that she had jaundice so until we could do the sunlight treatments like the doctor prescribed we'd have a little Banana to love on.
I made Jon stop at the store because apparently my craziness hadn't stopped with delivery and I was intent on buying as much pink stuff for my new daughter as a woman who has just given birth can manage to get her hands on. Once we got home this pretty little girl would be inundated in mass amounts of blue and Paddington Bear. I needed something to break up the masculine undertones until I could feminine it up!!
Olivia got the first look at her baby sister when we arrived home. She had gotten sick while I was "laboring" so we chose not to have her come to the hospital. First thing she said when she saw her was, "hey wasn't she supposed to be a boy?"
Too tired to deal with another smart ass comment, even if it was from my 5 year old daughter I decided to just pop a pain killer and settle in to enjoy all the magic and mania that is being the mother of two girls....
~JP
Olivia got the first look at her baby sister when we arrived home. She had gotten sick while I was "laboring" so we chose not to have her come to the hospital. First thing she said when she saw her was, "hey wasn't she supposed to be a boy?"
Too tired to deal with another smart ass comment, even if it was from my 5 year old daughter I decided to just pop a pain killer and settle in to enjoy all the magic and mania that is being the mother of two girls....
~JP
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
And the countdown to 10...continues...Part 3
Part 3: This is where you stop mocking me and start doing WHATEVER IT IS I ASK OF YOU!
I really hate hospitals. But if you had to be laid up in one for a long period of time...this one was pretty damn good. They had fabulous ice. I'm a self professed connoisseur of crushed ice. On my list of "best ice EVER" this place was towards the top trailing only mildly behind The Great American Cookie Company (back in it's heyday at Clearwater Mall). Another perk was the fact that they would make me grilled cheese with bacon for like every possible meal and they never frowned at Jon for bringing in Chic-fil-A or Marble Slab ice cream. Even when it was well after visiting hours.
My secret suspiscion is that he bribed them in the hallway with treats but as long as I got what I was craving in the end I could give a rats ass if he was actually performing sexual favors out there. When you're pregnant pure rational flies out the window in the face of meeting the demonic voice of satisfying whatever it is that your body wants at that precise moment only to be dissappointed 3 seconds later because now you have what you thought you wanted but your mood has changed, thus perpetuating the vicious hormonal cycle.
Before having to be whisked off to the hospital for being in a "beautiful contracting pattern...shamefully at the completely wrong time" I was plagued by horrible cravings. The only thing worse than my cravings was the unbelievable sickness I had. It wasn't morning sickness. It was 24/7 sickness. This was NOT how I was when I was pregnant with Olivia. I had the textbook first trimester morning sickness that would shut off at exactly 12p on the dot and once I hit the second trimester I never had issue with it again.
Not the case this time. I would wake up nauseated and start vomitting once my feet hit the floor. I slept with a bowl by the bed. It was horrid. And it didn't let up throughout the day and into the night. Usually the last thing I did before going to bed at night was throw up. It was magical. Jon thought he had impregnated the exorcist. Minus the spinning head...it was kinda true.
I would be throwing up and crying. Then 10 seconds later I would be begging him to get me whatever it was that I was demonically craving. It wasn't ever anything unusual. The biggest thing was Chic-fil-A nuggets with boat loads of pollynesian sauce. So much so that the people at our local Chic-fil-A knew him by face and would just put it into a separate bag. Sheepishly asking, "is this enough" as if for some reason if he returned with an improper amount he may be harmed and it would be ALL their fault. Let it never be said that those people aren't smart.
Every once in awhile he would get some zit faced punk of a teenager that would try to give him a hard time and he would be forced to say, "my wife is pregnant and if you don't give me a shit load of that sauce she may infact kill me for putting her in this state of utter misery therefore you will have blood on your hands you little fuck"...or at least that is how I imagined the speech going. He always came home with the sauce. Thank god. I was too tired from throwing up to actually have to physically harm him for forgetting it.
As soon as I would start to eat I would begin to feel sick. Again. And then I would spend the next 30 minutes negotiating with my body in something reminiscent of the movie "The Negotiator" to just keep the food down. I was all Kevin Spacey to my body's Samuel L. Jackson. Finally Jon got so tired of this routine... me crying for something...getting it and taking a few bits...then crying because I was now throwing up the very thing that I had craved and begged for. His suggestion to end this problem was instead of continuing the madness he should just take money out of his wallet and flush it down the toilet. He said that way he wouldn't have to leave the house, drive to wherever, pick up the food, bring it home, watch me take a few bites and then have to listen to me throw it all up. He felt it was only logic. I did not find this funny. He however thought it was downright brilliant and somewhat hysterical. I punished him by making him go and get me ice cream because that is what I wanted right then. Stupid man.
I was well into my seventh month and "morning" sickness was still a very active participant in my day. While in the hospital the nurses tried to make me feel better saying that every pregnancy was different. I took little comfort in that while I was heaving my guts.
Every day spent in the hospital was a roller coaster of emotions. I felt helpless because I had another child that needed her mother. You begin to feel torn between doing everything in your power to get the child in your belly to full term and also not neglecting the one that is already here. I did a lot of crying.
Jon on the other hand...did a lot of juggling. He was having his first taste of full time parenthood without someone else there to break up the stress. He was running on all cylinders. He'd wake up at the crack of dawn get Olivia up and off to pre-school...call and check on me see if there was any news from the night before that had occured since we talked before he had gone to sleep...then head to work...sometimes he'd sneak in to see me before he went to work...if he could break away at lunch he'd come to the hospital usually bringing me whatever I had been craving when he placed the call that he could make a stop by...then back to work...pick Olivia up from school if it wasn't a day that her father picked her up or if my mom couldn't grab her...then swing by the hospital...if Olivia was with him we would try to eat together so at least she had that interaction of family dinner, although it's not the same when monitors are going off every 5 minutes...then home for the bathtime, bedtime routine...he'd get Oliva in bed then do laundry, make lunches and call me to see how things were going since he left the hospital...if it was a night when he didn't have Olivia because whe was with her dad or staying the evening at my parents he would come back up to the hospital and stay with me for as long as the nurses would allow. Then he'd sleep, get up and do it all over again.
I spent just over two weeks in the hospital. Everyday I would hope this would be the day I'd get to go home. I stopped asking after day 5.
I spent most of the time hooked up to what I have now deemed to be the 2nd most heinous drug in the child carrying and bearing experience...magnesium sulfate. A step down from the horror that is pitocin, is this drug. While I appreciate how it, combined with the efforts of terbutaline, stopped my contractions and kept our little peanut in the womb it brought with it horrid side effects and I felt worse being released from the hospital than I did going in to it.
The day that they released me I thought they were joking. My day nurse came in and asked me the same question she did every day. I had begun to hate her for taunting me. She'd walk in, take my vitals and say, "wouldn't today be a beautiful day to go home"...I'd be all like..."yeah, that would be great"...to which she would say, "but I bet tomorrow would be even better". What kind of fucked up mind game are you playing here sister??
But on this day when I solemnly said, "yeah that would be great" she said, "yeah I thought so too so I'll help you pack". I was like...huh...what??? I thought I had won the lottery. The doctor came in and declared that I had been contraction free for 3 whole days which I knew just from watching the monitors and said that I was good to be released albeit with strict precautions. Bedrest. I could get up to pee and could walk around a total of 30 minutes every 24 hours and no more than 10 minutes at one given time.
On the day I was discharged I was 29 weeks and 1 day. I had to stay on bedrest until I was at least 35 weeks. This was gonna be the longest 6 weeks of my life. And on top of that it wouldn't be like being at the hospital. I mean who would bring me yummy crushed ice or make me grilled cheese with bacon at the drop of a hat??
Jon tried to assure me that things would be fine. He could handle it. He would make sure that everything was taken care of. There was only one small four legged problem. And her name was Max (this is what happens when you assume the dog is a boy and let your child name it only to be advised it really is a girl and said child REFUSES to change the dogs name).
We had adopted a puppy for Olivia for her 5th birthday in June. We had wanted a dog for awhile and now that we were in a bigger place it seemed perfect. Knowing that a baby would be coming in the next few months we figured get the dog now, get it trained and comfortable in the house and it's surroundings so that there would be no issues when the baby arrived.
No one ever imagined that a little over a month after getting her I would be put on bedrest and although at home, I would not be able to care for her. When I was in the hospital we had her staying at my parents house. It was only gonna be a short term thing. Or so we thought.
After finding out that this was gonna be a long term situation there was no way to expect my parents to keep the dog. Foolishly I thought, they will stop the contractions and things will go back to normal. I will go back to work and regular routine. This was not part of the plan. None of what was happening was part of how I had imagined things to go.
We attempted to have the dog stay with friends and family. The only one willing to take her on such short notice was my grandmother who had a huge yard. After transporting her down to St. Pete, about 30 minutes from us, we were called 2 days later to come and pick her up. "She's too rowdy" was the chief complaint. I didn't have it in me to argue that she was a puppy and didn't exactly prescribe to having to go to bed at 7pm. It was a pointless argument.
I had only been home from the hospital 4 days before Jon declared we would have to find her a new home. Another 4 days went by with no bites and me sneaking to take her out for pee breaks...Jon caught on and called me out. It was the baby or the dog. Olivia was heartbroken. Years later she would tell us that she blamed the baby for the fact that she lost her pet.
I bawled, partly because I felt like I had let the dog down and partly because I was a tightly wound ball of emotions. A day later we took Max back to the shelter. The lady who had handled the adoption was a complete bitch and made me feel like a speck of dirt on the sole of her shoe for returning the dog in order to preserve the health of my unborn child.
The baby wasn't here yet and it had already pissed off it's sister and offended the ASPCA. Great. Just fuckin great! What next?
I was too exhausted to think what could possibly happen. I began to stop planning anything and just looked at my life in a moment by moment turn of events. My only goal became getting to the 35 week mark. My only plan was what I would watch on television to pass the time and what list I would make for Jon to stock the fridge for my few precious moments of time moving about to forge for food.
35 became my new favorite number. I had it locked in my sites and the countdown was anything but exciting...
Friday, September 18, 2009
For once I was speechless....
Every one dreams of rasing well adjusted, strong minded and happy children. Jon and I just hope we can get both the girls safely into their adult years without having to be commited. We keep our expectations low.
It amazes us when the girls will react in much more mature way then say we would have had we been in the situation. I know this is the part where I am supposed to add that I mean in the sense of how we would have acted when we were were that age. Ummm...yeah, that would be a bald faced lie. I don't exactly know how we accomplished raising these two girls but when I do figure it out I am writing it down, publishing it, selling it, putting the word "Dr." in front of my name, having a meeting with Oprah and giving that big southern drawl of a man Phil a run for his money.
Monday night I had made dinner and we all sat down as a family. At the dinner table. It's amazing that you can have a whole meal there when it isn't buried by laundry. Completely fascinating find.
Within moments of sitting down and beginning to eat the standard litany of questions began, "how's your day", "what did you learn today", "do you need any help with homework", "anything exciting going on", "anything planned for the upcoming week that we need to know about"...etc.
Both Jon and I were prepared for the ho hum answers of "nope", "nothing", "stuff" and blank stares that come at our childrens bewildermint that all meals aren't consumed at the coffee table in front of the precious flat screen. But tonight was bound to be anything but ordinary. I don't know if Olivia was inspired by the fact that I had made her favorite fettuccini alfredo or if she was fed up with a situation at school....
Me: So how was your day?
Hannah: It was okay.
Jon: That's it Han...just oka??
Hannah: (nods her head and takes a bite of pasta)
Me: What about you Liv? How was your day??
Olivia: Crap.
Me: Okay. Why was it crap?
Olivia: Because of the whorefaces.
Jon: (trying desperately not to spit out or choke on the water he has just drank)
Hannah: (aww struck...drops fork)
Me: (trying to hide shock) Uh. Huh. Well...would you like to elaborate on that?
Okay seriously...let's take a pause here...what the hell would you have said?? Part of me wanted to admonish her for the word but the other part of me was damn curious at what could possibly drive her to use this phrase.
Olivia: Ugh. I just hate girls that are all like...ya know...talking stupid, putting "a" on the end of EVERY word, hanging on guys...especially one that I am dating and they are just putting their "no no squares" out there.
Jon: (really choking now)
Hannah: (completely dumbfounded but still absentmindedly eating)
Me: (having spit out my own drink and now wiping it up) Ummm...okay...I was kinda following at whorefaces and the long "a" thing...but ya totally lost me at...what is it that you said last??
Olivia: (laughing) "no no squares"...you've NEVER heard that??
Jon & Me: (nodding no in unision and looking at Hannah to see if possibly our 9 1/2 yr old is more in tune with the language of the moment)
Me: (internal sigh at the fact that Hannah seems oblivious and is now consumed with making sure she gets equal pieces of garlic bread) Would you care to elaborate Liv?
Olivia: Well there are these girls that I see around school and they are all flaunting themselves pushing out their "no no squares" (motioning towards her chest) and being all...well...just all whoreface.
Me: Ummm...okay. Well do you...ummm, uh...put out your "no no squares"? (gesturing meekly at my chest)
Jon: (begins to die a slow painful death at the amount of estrogen flowing around the table...still speechless)
Olivia: Mom...it's not just your boobs....you have two "no no squares". Ya know like...(begins singing) "no no don't touch me there..these are my no no squares" (gesturing towards her private areas).
Me: (beginning to feel mixed joy at her awareness and illness at the fact that husband has now been subjected to this...slightly aware that 9 1/2 yr old is still at table) Hannah...I am sorry that you had to hear all of this.
Hannah: Don't worry, I don't even have any "no no squares".
Laughter erupts at the table and Jon is on the verge of tears from sheer hysteria.
Me: Oh god. (realization has set in that I may need to point this stuff out to her)
Olivia: Hannah...yes you do...
Me: (complete fear sets in at what is about to come out of her mouth but not able to react fast enough)
Olivia: ...your bathing suit covers them. Hello?? You learned this in school.
Me: (huge sigh of relief only last a second as extreme fear that Olivia will begin teaching Hannah the song and Jon will spontaneously combust at the table) Okay. Okay girls. I think we have to give your dad a break.
Olivia: Well don't you even want to know why these girls that are all pushing out their boobs and vaginas out at people...mostly guys...and talking like idiots...don't you want to know why they are aggrivating me??
Jon & Me: (completely aware that the house has become painfully silent and that there is no possibility that Hannah didn't hear that whole comment...we stare at one another as to how we should proceed)
Me: (I find my voice first) Ok...well, hmm...(trying to think when I EVER said the word vagina in front of my mom let alone my dad and coming up blank...nope 32 yrs and NEVER SAID THAT WORD) yeah...ok...part of me wants to know what happened but part of me thinks this conversation should take place when your sister isn't around. (gesturing with my head to Hannah)
Olivia: What? What did I say?
Hannah: Mom it's fine...I've heard that word before.
Immediately I am wishing I had wine. For some reason I feel like this situation can only be softened with some kind of alcohol. Jon looks as though he is one breath away from death and I...for once...am completely speechless.
Those hopes of showing up Dr. Phil have been killed by one dinner time conversation. It was so close...and yet so far away.
~JP
It amazes us when the girls will react in much more mature way then say we would have had we been in the situation. I know this is the part where I am supposed to add that I mean in the sense of how we would have acted when we were were that age. Ummm...yeah, that would be a bald faced lie. I don't exactly know how we accomplished raising these two girls but when I do figure it out I am writing it down, publishing it, selling it, putting the word "Dr." in front of my name, having a meeting with Oprah and giving that big southern drawl of a man Phil a run for his money.
Monday night I had made dinner and we all sat down as a family. At the dinner table. It's amazing that you can have a whole meal there when it isn't buried by laundry. Completely fascinating find.
Within moments of sitting down and beginning to eat the standard litany of questions began, "how's your day", "what did you learn today", "do you need any help with homework", "anything exciting going on", "anything planned for the upcoming week that we need to know about"...etc.
Both Jon and I were prepared for the ho hum answers of "nope", "nothing", "stuff" and blank stares that come at our childrens bewildermint that all meals aren't consumed at the coffee table in front of the precious flat screen. But tonight was bound to be anything but ordinary. I don't know if Olivia was inspired by the fact that I had made her favorite fettuccini alfredo or if she was fed up with a situation at school....
Me: So how was your day?
Hannah: It was okay.
Jon: That's it Han...just oka??
Hannah: (nods her head and takes a bite of pasta)
Me: What about you Liv? How was your day??
Olivia: Crap.
Me: Okay. Why was it crap?
Olivia: Because of the whorefaces.
Jon: (trying desperately not to spit out or choke on the water he has just drank)
Hannah: (aww struck...drops fork)
Me: (trying to hide shock) Uh. Huh. Well...would you like to elaborate on that?
Okay seriously...let's take a pause here...what the hell would you have said?? Part of me wanted to admonish her for the word but the other part of me was damn curious at what could possibly drive her to use this phrase.
Olivia: Ugh. I just hate girls that are all like...ya know...talking stupid, putting "a" on the end of EVERY word, hanging on guys...especially one that I am dating and they are just putting their "no no squares" out there.
Jon: (really choking now)
Hannah: (completely dumbfounded but still absentmindedly eating)
Me: (having spit out my own drink and now wiping it up) Ummm...okay...I was kinda following at whorefaces and the long "a" thing...but ya totally lost me at...what is it that you said last??
Olivia: (laughing) "no no squares"...you've NEVER heard that??
Jon & Me: (nodding no in unision and looking at Hannah to see if possibly our 9 1/2 yr old is more in tune with the language of the moment)
Me: (internal sigh at the fact that Hannah seems oblivious and is now consumed with making sure she gets equal pieces of garlic bread) Would you care to elaborate Liv?
Olivia: Well there are these girls that I see around school and they are all flaunting themselves pushing out their "no no squares" (motioning towards her chest) and being all...well...just all whoreface.
Me: Ummm...okay. Well do you...ummm, uh...put out your "no no squares"? (gesturing meekly at my chest)
Jon: (begins to die a slow painful death at the amount of estrogen flowing around the table...still speechless)
Olivia: Mom...it's not just your boobs....you have two "no no squares". Ya know like...(begins singing) "no no don't touch me there..these are my no no squares" (gesturing towards her private areas).
Me: (beginning to feel mixed joy at her awareness and illness at the fact that husband has now been subjected to this...slightly aware that 9 1/2 yr old is still at table) Hannah...I am sorry that you had to hear all of this.
Hannah: Don't worry, I don't even have any "no no squares".
Laughter erupts at the table and Jon is on the verge of tears from sheer hysteria.
Me: Oh god. (realization has set in that I may need to point this stuff out to her)
Olivia: Hannah...yes you do...
Me: (complete fear sets in at what is about to come out of her mouth but not able to react fast enough)
Olivia: ...your bathing suit covers them. Hello?? You learned this in school.
Me: (huge sigh of relief only last a second as extreme fear that Olivia will begin teaching Hannah the song and Jon will spontaneously combust at the table) Okay. Okay girls. I think we have to give your dad a break.
Olivia: Well don't you even want to know why these girls that are all pushing out their boobs and vaginas out at people...mostly guys...and talking like idiots...don't you want to know why they are aggrivating me??
Jon & Me: (completely aware that the house has become painfully silent and that there is no possibility that Hannah didn't hear that whole comment...we stare at one another as to how we should proceed)
Me: (I find my voice first) Ok...well, hmm...(trying to think when I EVER said the word vagina in front of my mom let alone my dad and coming up blank...nope 32 yrs and NEVER SAID THAT WORD) yeah...ok...part of me wants to know what happened but part of me thinks this conversation should take place when your sister isn't around. (gesturing with my head to Hannah)
Olivia: What? What did I say?
Hannah: Mom it's fine...I've heard that word before.
Immediately I am wishing I had wine. For some reason I feel like this situation can only be softened with some kind of alcohol. Jon looks as though he is one breath away from death and I...for once...am completely speechless.
Those hopes of showing up Dr. Phil have been killed by one dinner time conversation. It was so close...and yet so far away.
~JP
Monday, August 31, 2009
Well I guess I can cross manager of future strippers off my list of things to do in life...
I really am trying to be positive and upbeat about the whole looking for a job thing.
Probably one of the only things that I am attempting to be upbeat about.
It's hard people. It's really fucking hard.
I'm getting REALLY tired of revising my resume.
I've dumbed it down about as much as I can, which (scratching my head in complete exsasperation) apparently has helped tremendously because instead of never hearing from the perspective employers that I send them out to I've actually gotten some responses.
Applause, applause, applause...yeah NOT SO MUCH!
The first response I got was from a pediatric practice. The kiss off came as a result of me "expecting too much money."
Ummm, I don't think so jackasses. If you've been running your add for close to a month and just now had to run a new ad putting a specific salary cap on the job your trying to have filled then maybe it is YOU that has the problem.
Quality cost money people.
Also...just a little FYI...maybe if you had someone actually, oh, I don't know...interview the perspective new hire instead of using an oogy "head shot" and relying on job application that asks what your applicable hobbies are in regard to said position...then you deserve the under $9.00 hour crowd that are gonna come-a-flocking.
Jacklegs.
Next up was a voice mail. Yes, you read that right..a voicemail.
It get's better. It wasn't even a human speaking. It was an automated and not even friendly sounding computeresque woman the glibly advised me that "while we appreciate your interest in our firm after careful consideration we realize that you are over qualified for the position requested."
Wow...that one came out of left field. I've never been advised by something that closely resembles what I dream to be the wife of Mr. Moviephone that I am to over qualified for a job.
It then went on to ask me if I would like "the firm to keep my resume on file for future openings". I thought it was an okay idea..even if I didn't agree with their approach at notifying applicants I was at least grateful that I had gotten a phone call so I could cross this one off my list.
The automated voice told me to "select option #2 to save resume". I pressed the selection and it told me rather rudely, "option failed". I tried a few more (like 4) times and finally gave up after it seemed that the statement of "option failed" began to sound more and more hostile with each attempt.
It made me wonder how do they handle the ones that aren't qualified? Do they just send them back their resume's with the word FAIL written across it in red Sharpie??
Major jacklegs.
I tried really hard not to take either of those too personally and really just laughed it off. I was drunk with confidence over the fact that I had what I privately deemed to be the perfect position in mind.
It was as an Office Manager for a local dance studio. It would marry my loves of bossiness, creating memo's and dance!
Hi I'm Jessica. And you must be perfection.
This place had four things that I REALLY wanted which were:
A) the job is located less than a minute from home - I wouldn't even have to travel on any major roads to get to it
B) it was part time - it would allow me to enroll in school come the new year and not have to worry about shuffling a school and work schedule
C) it had the same holiday schedule as my kids school...no worries for childcare come summer when Liv went to spend the summer with her dad inevitably leaving Jon and I to scramble for childcare for Han.
D) it started after the kids left for school in the morning and finished before they got out each day - plus it was only 4 days a week just like my lovely dental practice job
Honestly when I sent out my resume via email as it instructed I could almost see God winking in complete approval. Ok...actually it was Penny but I'm sure somewhere...up there...the big guy was like "you go girl"!
My children had taken lessons from this place previously so I was familiar with the owner. They enjoyed the instructors and the classes but after two years we decided to leave and go somewhere else due to the failure in the management aspect.
Well there was that and the fact that with each year they attended the recital costumes tended to get skimpier and skimpier. Let me just say that when my husband went to pick up Han's tap costume for "Whistle While You Work" from Snow White he nearly had a stroke. He thought the song was descriptive of the hoochie momma bikini top and let's just sew together the smallest swatches of fabric we can possibly get away with and call it a skirt ensemble.
Han was 4 at the time of that recital. We took NO pictures that year for fear that when they went to be developed we would be hauled in for kiddie porn.
The fact that I had seen the bottom of the barrel in regards to office help that the owner had in the past I figured my experience would bring a level of professionalism to the table. I felt as though I had this one in the bag.
The only draw back would be having to take a pay cut but the benefits to this position FAR outweighed the downside of the money.
It was brutally crushing to get the last and most recent kiss off. It came in the form of a "thanks but the positions been filled" email.
Email? Really?
The email was sent at 3:45 p.m. on Saturday.
ON SATURDAY!!
Who the hell decides that they don't want to hire someone and then alerts them...via email...in the middle of the day on a fucking Saturday?? Way to kill the weekend for me.
Then as if that wasn't enough the email went on to ask me if I "know of anyone that would like to apply for an instructor position please forward this email address so that they can contact our studio".
Umm..hello?? You just hired a fucking Office Manager...make them find you an instructor...don't burden the person you just turned down!
Final dagger to the heart regarding this job is that the classified ad is still in the paper for the exact position that I was passed over for.
I'm hoping that it's because she had previously paid for a certain amount of time for the ad to be run because seriously if this woman lied to me about the position being filled I may just hang myself in the shower. If I can't cut it at a dance studio that may possibly turn out the next wave of strippers to entertain the tourist down on Bourbon Street and it was deemed that I wasn't experienced enough to handle that level of greatness...well, there just aren't words to describe the deep hole of blackness that I will sink into.
Biggest jackleg yet!
The level of professionalism that I am used to having is completely lost on today's hiring society. I mean come on people. Seriously?
Seriously??
SERIOUSLY...WTF??
Today is a new day. I've brewed a fresh pot of coffee and got back to the business of job hunting.
Looked over the resume again.
Resisted the urge to take out any words that have more than 2 syllables in the hopes that I can fool someone into thinking I'm a complete idiot and therefore a perfect candidate to be hired.
I will be hot on the trail of 15 more ad's that I pulled from the classifieds yesterday.
Given the first 3 responses that I've gotten after a month of looking I'm both scared and slightly intrigued about what else may lay ahead.
Stay tuned.
~JP
Probably one of the only things that I am attempting to be upbeat about.
It's hard people. It's really fucking hard.
I'm getting REALLY tired of revising my resume.
I've dumbed it down about as much as I can, which (scratching my head in complete exsasperation) apparently has helped tremendously because instead of never hearing from the perspective employers that I send them out to I've actually gotten some responses.
Applause, applause, applause...yeah NOT SO MUCH!
The first response I got was from a pediatric practice. The kiss off came as a result of me "expecting too much money."
Ummm, I don't think so jackasses. If you've been running your add for close to a month and just now had to run a new ad putting a specific salary cap on the job your trying to have filled then maybe it is YOU that has the problem.
Quality cost money people.
Also...just a little FYI...maybe if you had someone actually, oh, I don't know...interview the perspective new hire instead of using an oogy "head shot" and relying on job application that asks what your applicable hobbies are in regard to said position...then you deserve the under $9.00 hour crowd that are gonna come-a-flocking.
Jacklegs.
Next up was a voice mail. Yes, you read that right..a voicemail.
It get's better. It wasn't even a human speaking. It was an automated and not even friendly sounding computeresque woman the glibly advised me that "while we appreciate your interest in our firm after careful consideration we realize that you are over qualified for the position requested."
Wow...that one came out of left field. I've never been advised by something that closely resembles what I dream to be the wife of Mr. Moviephone that I am to over qualified for a job.
It then went on to ask me if I would like "the firm to keep my resume on file for future openings". I thought it was an okay idea..even if I didn't agree with their approach at notifying applicants I was at least grateful that I had gotten a phone call so I could cross this one off my list.
The automated voice told me to "select option #2 to save resume". I pressed the selection and it told me rather rudely, "option failed". I tried a few more (like 4) times and finally gave up after it seemed that the statement of "option failed" began to sound more and more hostile with each attempt.
It made me wonder how do they handle the ones that aren't qualified? Do they just send them back their resume's with the word FAIL written across it in red Sharpie??
Major jacklegs.
I tried really hard not to take either of those too personally and really just laughed it off. I was drunk with confidence over the fact that I had what I privately deemed to be the perfect position in mind.
It was as an Office Manager for a local dance studio. It would marry my loves of bossiness, creating memo's and dance!
Hi I'm Jessica. And you must be perfection.
This place had four things that I REALLY wanted which were:
A) the job is located less than a minute from home - I wouldn't even have to travel on any major roads to get to it
B) it was part time - it would allow me to enroll in school come the new year and not have to worry about shuffling a school and work schedule
C) it had the same holiday schedule as my kids school...no worries for childcare come summer when Liv went to spend the summer with her dad inevitably leaving Jon and I to scramble for childcare for Han.
D) it started after the kids left for school in the morning and finished before they got out each day - plus it was only 4 days a week just like my lovely dental practice job
Honestly when I sent out my resume via email as it instructed I could almost see God winking in complete approval. Ok...actually it was Penny but I'm sure somewhere...up there...the big guy was like "you go girl"!
My children had taken lessons from this place previously so I was familiar with the owner. They enjoyed the instructors and the classes but after two years we decided to leave and go somewhere else due to the failure in the management aspect.
Well there was that and the fact that with each year they attended the recital costumes tended to get skimpier and skimpier. Let me just say that when my husband went to pick up Han's tap costume for "Whistle While You Work" from Snow White he nearly had a stroke. He thought the song was descriptive of the hoochie momma bikini top and let's just sew together the smallest swatches of fabric we can possibly get away with and call it a skirt ensemble.
Han was 4 at the time of that recital. We took NO pictures that year for fear that when they went to be developed we would be hauled in for kiddie porn.
The fact that I had seen the bottom of the barrel in regards to office help that the owner had in the past I figured my experience would bring a level of professionalism to the table. I felt as though I had this one in the bag.
The only draw back would be having to take a pay cut but the benefits to this position FAR outweighed the downside of the money.
It was brutally crushing to get the last and most recent kiss off. It came in the form of a "thanks but the positions been filled" email.
Email? Really?
The email was sent at 3:45 p.m. on Saturday.
ON SATURDAY!!
Who the hell decides that they don't want to hire someone and then alerts them...via email...in the middle of the day on a fucking Saturday?? Way to kill the weekend for me.
Then as if that wasn't enough the email went on to ask me if I "know of anyone that would like to apply for an instructor position please forward this email address so that they can contact our studio".
Umm..hello?? You just hired a fucking Office Manager...make them find you an instructor...don't burden the person you just turned down!
Final dagger to the heart regarding this job is that the classified ad is still in the paper for the exact position that I was passed over for.
I'm hoping that it's because she had previously paid for a certain amount of time for the ad to be run because seriously if this woman lied to me about the position being filled I may just hang myself in the shower. If I can't cut it at a dance studio that may possibly turn out the next wave of strippers to entertain the tourist down on Bourbon Street and it was deemed that I wasn't experienced enough to handle that level of greatness...well, there just aren't words to describe the deep hole of blackness that I will sink into.
Biggest jackleg yet!
The level of professionalism that I am used to having is completely lost on today's hiring society. I mean come on people. Seriously?
Seriously??
SERIOUSLY...WTF??
Today is a new day. I've brewed a fresh pot of coffee and got back to the business of job hunting.
Looked over the resume again.
Resisted the urge to take out any words that have more than 2 syllables in the hopes that I can fool someone into thinking I'm a complete idiot and therefore a perfect candidate to be hired.
I will be hot on the trail of 15 more ad's that I pulled from the classifieds yesterday.
Given the first 3 responses that I've gotten after a month of looking I'm both scared and slightly intrigued about what else may lay ahead.
Stay tuned.
~JP
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