Every closing of a year is the end of a chapter in ones life.
Showing posts with label marriage trouble. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage trouble. Show all posts
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, November 16, 2009
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it could be what saves a marriage....
Jon and I went on a date on Saturday. Shouldn't be like a huge announcement I know...but for me it is.
Marriage, relationship....hell, life hasn't been going all that happily for me or for Jon, so a date was a miraculous occasion.
It wasn't extravagant, it wasn't even overly romantic...but it was enough to give thought as to whether there is still something to work with.
In the win column went the fact that we were at a steak restaurant and I didn't once think about stabbing him in the jugular, hand or even male appendage with the knife that sat in front of me for the entire meal. Also in the win column was the fact that although the conversation did slip towards the angry unsaid stuff that had been building up from our last argument it went back to the easy casual conversing of people who still very much love one another.
Jon took it upon himself to utilize some of the techniques that he had picked up from a program that he purchased in order to assist him in our marital discord. He was asking questions to try anything to start communication between the two of us. He would ask, I would talk and he would listen. Then it just felt natural for me to ask him something and let him talk while I listened. The listening part is a little hard for me since I seem to feel the need to interrupt. That's just a little something...okay a big something that I need to work on.
Instead of going to a movie after dinner we opted to go to a local bar and have a drink while sitting outside on the back patio away from everyone and just talking. I wasn't willing to let go of the conversation that had started at dinner and while I would have loved to see a movie, my priority right now is to keep the line of dialogue open. We sat for almost an hour just laughing and talking. It seemed natural and easy like it's supposed to be.
In the loss column, which wasn't anyone's fault except for possibly cold and flu season was the fact that we needed to cut the night short because A) he was having pain just talking from a sore throat and then B) he started hacking. Yep, that's a mood killer.
We called it a night and haven't had an argument. I guess there are still some things left to be curious about in our relationship and that may just be what we need to work our way back to a new start.
~JP
Marriage, relationship....hell, life hasn't been going all that happily for me or for Jon, so a date was a miraculous occasion.
It wasn't extravagant, it wasn't even overly romantic...but it was enough to give thought as to whether there is still something to work with.
In the win column went the fact that we were at a steak restaurant and I didn't once think about stabbing him in the jugular, hand or even male appendage with the knife that sat in front of me for the entire meal. Also in the win column was the fact that although the conversation did slip towards the angry unsaid stuff that had been building up from our last argument it went back to the easy casual conversing of people who still very much love one another.
Jon took it upon himself to utilize some of the techniques that he had picked up from a program that he purchased in order to assist him in our marital discord. He was asking questions to try anything to start communication between the two of us. He would ask, I would talk and he would listen. Then it just felt natural for me to ask him something and let him talk while I listened. The listening part is a little hard for me since I seem to feel the need to interrupt. That's just a little something...okay a big something that I need to work on.
Instead of going to a movie after dinner we opted to go to a local bar and have a drink while sitting outside on the back patio away from everyone and just talking. I wasn't willing to let go of the conversation that had started at dinner and while I would have loved to see a movie, my priority right now is to keep the line of dialogue open. We sat for almost an hour just laughing and talking. It seemed natural and easy like it's supposed to be.
In the loss column, which wasn't anyone's fault except for possibly cold and flu season was the fact that we needed to cut the night short because A) he was having pain just talking from a sore throat and then B) he started hacking. Yep, that's a mood killer.
We called it a night and haven't had an argument. I guess there are still some things left to be curious about in our relationship and that may just be what we need to work our way back to a new start.
~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
Monday, October 5, 2009
My subconcious is screaming......
I am supposed to be sleeping. Actually in approximately 26 minutes I am supposed to be getting a text message from some friends that will prompt me to throw on gym clothes and shimmy my fat and tired ass on down to the gym for some cardio. Unfortunately for them and my ass...I will not be in attendance. Judging by the sound of the torrential rain outside I am beginning to think that they may not be there either. But back to the real reason why I am writing this. For the past week I have been having this completely realistic and unbelievably horrifying dream that I am drowning. Here's the hitch...there's no water. None. Not one single solitary drop. Also for the last week I have been back to work.
Coincidence?
Yeah...I think not.
I don't get it. I wanted to go back to work. I needed to go back to work. My sanity needed me to go back to work. My bank account REALLY needed me to go back to work. I went back to work and BOOM dreams of drowning in no friggin water.
I had weathered horrible interviews and kiss off emails. No dreams of drowning then.
I get two simultaneous interviews for two seemingly great companies and it's like a battle ensues for who will be lucky enough to be my employer, if there is such a thing and NOW I'm having nightmares about drowning. Where were the goddamn nightmares when I had no job. Not even a prospect of a job.
Or where were the nightmares back when I had the job that lumped the biggest weight of stress I've had put on me since Jon and I seperated. Where o where were the nightmares then? Oh, wait...I remember...I silenced those nightmares with mass amounts of sleeping medication. Nevermind.
Ugh. I cannot believe that this is happening. I mean I CAN believe that this is happening because this is SO the kind of THING that happens to me on a continual basis.
I tried to talk to Jon when this one hit tonight. It was by far the worse of the 7 that I have now had. After patting my arm and muttering, "it okay...it a dream" I began to hear his steady snore again and realized he had figured that he'd done enough to soothe my fears and he was going back to sleep.
That was an hour ago.
I laid in the bed for another 30 minutes sobbing until I felt the need for a tissue because I was getting grossed out by Penny trying to be the doggie version. I'm all for giving my dog a kiss or letting her lick my face. But I have to draw the line at her trying to slurp boogers from my nose. That just crosses some kind of line.
My subconcious and my gut are telling me that this job is not the place for me. I keep trying to convince myself it is because A) it's been almost 3 months since I was cleared to go back to working full time B) I really miss having some kind of job and C) I'm pretty sure Jon is gonna either drop dead or kill me if I don't start working on a regular basis to ease up the financial stress. I've always listened to that voice inside me. Not just the ones inside my head that say, "eat chocolate" or "go ahead have another glass of wine"...I'm talking about the ones that say, "this doesn't feel right"...the ones deep in my gut and my subconcious. The ones that seem to guide me towards the things I need to be doing and away from the things that I shouldn't be doing.
I've been trying to shush them these last few years. I shushed them when my marriage fell apart and they told me to run the other way and don't ever look back. I shushed them when I insisted on returning to my last job even when my body and my doctor were saying NOT a good idea. And now I think I've got them good and pissed because for the last week they have been getting increasingly louder in regards to this job.
More and more I find myself shying away from what seems like the right choice and going for the one that makes others happy. Sometimes I wonder when will it be my turn to make choices for the betterment of myself again and not for everyone else.
Maybe it's the exhaustion...or the sound of the rain....or the quieting of the voices that seem pacified for being listened to for the moment...but I am suddenly very sleepy and hoping that I will get a bit of rest. Rest without the feeling of drowning. Rest so that I can hopefully think more clearly. Rest that will most likely allow me to make a decision to sink or to swim.
~JP
Coincidence?
Yeah...I think not.
I don't get it. I wanted to go back to work. I needed to go back to work. My sanity needed me to go back to work. My bank account REALLY needed me to go back to work. I went back to work and BOOM dreams of drowning in no friggin water.
I had weathered horrible interviews and kiss off emails. No dreams of drowning then.
I get two simultaneous interviews for two seemingly great companies and it's like a battle ensues for who will be lucky enough to be my employer, if there is such a thing and NOW I'm having nightmares about drowning. Where were the goddamn nightmares when I had no job. Not even a prospect of a job.
Or where were the nightmares back when I had the job that lumped the biggest weight of stress I've had put on me since Jon and I seperated. Where o where were the nightmares then? Oh, wait...I remember...I silenced those nightmares with mass amounts of sleeping medication. Nevermind.
Ugh. I cannot believe that this is happening. I mean I CAN believe that this is happening because this is SO the kind of THING that happens to me on a continual basis.
I tried to talk to Jon when this one hit tonight. It was by far the worse of the 7 that I have now had. After patting my arm and muttering, "it okay...it a dream" I began to hear his steady snore again and realized he had figured that he'd done enough to soothe my fears and he was going back to sleep.
That was an hour ago.
I laid in the bed for another 30 minutes sobbing until I felt the need for a tissue because I was getting grossed out by Penny trying to be the doggie version. I'm all for giving my dog a kiss or letting her lick my face. But I have to draw the line at her trying to slurp boogers from my nose. That just crosses some kind of line.
My subconcious and my gut are telling me that this job is not the place for me. I keep trying to convince myself it is because A) it's been almost 3 months since I was cleared to go back to working full time B) I really miss having some kind of job and C) I'm pretty sure Jon is gonna either drop dead or kill me if I don't start working on a regular basis to ease up the financial stress. I've always listened to that voice inside me. Not just the ones inside my head that say, "eat chocolate" or "go ahead have another glass of wine"...I'm talking about the ones that say, "this doesn't feel right"...the ones deep in my gut and my subconcious. The ones that seem to guide me towards the things I need to be doing and away from the things that I shouldn't be doing.
I've been trying to shush them these last few years. I shushed them when my marriage fell apart and they told me to run the other way and don't ever look back. I shushed them when I insisted on returning to my last job even when my body and my doctor were saying NOT a good idea. And now I think I've got them good and pissed because for the last week they have been getting increasingly louder in regards to this job.
More and more I find myself shying away from what seems like the right choice and going for the one that makes others happy. Sometimes I wonder when will it be my turn to make choices for the betterment of myself again and not for everyone else.
Maybe it's the exhaustion...or the sound of the rain....or the quieting of the voices that seem pacified for being listened to for the moment...but I am suddenly very sleepy and hoping that I will get a bit of rest. Rest without the feeling of drowning. Rest so that I can hopefully think more clearly. Rest that will most likely allow me to make a decision to sink or to swim.
~JP
Monday, September 14, 2009
Epic failure of the clothing kind....
Well good Monday morning to you to! After yet another night of NOT sleeping due to ungodly snoring on my husbands part I was awoken to the lunatic gentle stirrings of another missed alarm clock wake-up.
I lifted my very sleep deprived head and then jammed it back down on to the pillow when it was deemed that I still had a few more minutes of well deserved sleep. Apparently, now late husband felt that I didn't need that sleep. My husband felt that my time would be better served by finding him a t-shirt and boxers. Ummmm....at what point did it become my responsibility to make sure that a perfectly able 33 yr old man had clothing?
We are digressing. This is definite back sliding on the roles of our marriage.
I am not wife circa 1950's who is responsible for laying out clean undergarments for his wearing each day. I don't run to him when I need clothes. Not. His. Responsibility. Am big girl. Able to find my own underwear.
I instruct him where he can find said items, albeit rather rudely and sleepily.
I lay back down just as soon as I can see his needs have been met. You're welcome. I want to scream that at him, but I am tired!
Not but a few minutes later I am roused....yet again. This time though, I'm not just aggitated and rude...I am pissed.
It seems our 9 soon to be 10 year old is in need of a uniform. I have gone from moderately pissed to extremely pissed in 1 second flat.
I have made it a routine of asking her every night before bed.....
Do I physically go and check every item?
No.
Do I peel through her backpack for the seven hundreth time?
No.
I am sorry....but at some point she has to be responsible for herself. I think 5th grade is a GREAT jumping off point for the diving board that is life's responsibility.
Apparently husband disagrees as he so angrily pointed out with his, "you deal with it...I can't handle it this morning".
Really?? Seriously??
You can rebuild a cars engine but you can't deal with finding khaki bottoms and school shirt. What the shit?
When did it become universal that wives...mothers...women, have to be the one to deal with the clothing crisises of the world??
I don't remember signing that form. I don't remember allocating that task to myself and myself alone. I don't remember saying..."I will take every midnight feeding and diaper change. I will miss work for every flu, fever, cold and pre-menstrual moment that our darling daughters display. I will make sure that clothing is readily available at their fingertips even when they hide it under beds, cram it in closets and never seem to grasp that the dirty stuff goes in the laundry hamper so I must go on an expedition daily to hunt down necessary items."
Nope...must have missed that meeting.
I must have...in all my mental undoing...been able to achieve some level of teaching responsibility because I have a teenager daughter that not only manages to get up on time with the aid of an alarm clock even when she had to stay up late to write a paper or talk to a friend over matters of great social importance but who also has clean clothing to get dressed in. Part of this is from the fact that while I was a single mom I relied heavily upon a schedule. She learned to respond to that level of organization and THANKFULLY it has carried over into this next facet of her growing up.
She remains fully responsible for her clothing. She dirties it...therefore...she washes it! I know! Brilliance...sheer and total brilliance.
I will give it to Hannah that she has been raised in a bit less of a structured enviroment but she has had something that Olivia didn't which was a constant two parent household from conception, to birth and everyday thereafter. You would think that would lend itself to a more concrete foundation to build upon.
Sadly this has not been the case. I will concede that my past 3 years of in and out deep depression have made structure a bit difficult. But where I slipped in the parental department I thought my significant other would step up and cover the bases I was missing. That hasn't happened. Jon has managed to keep the financial aspect of our life afloat but when it's come to maintaining a standard of parental structure...not so much.
This is not a husband bashing post. It is merely an observation that no matter how far I fall I am still expected to pull myself together to maintain a certain standard for my children. If the tides turned and it was Jon that began to crack and fall apart I would hope that I would find the strength to not only hold it together for myself but maintain a level of stucture for the kids.
I wish that I could let go of the anger that this moment of Monday madness has brought upon me, but I can't. It's just another reminder of how no matter what happens it always falls to the mother to keep it together. I will never truly be able to step out of my role and find a way to pull myself together. At least not while there are socks, underwear and pants to be located.
Just another notch on the belt of failure I've created in this downward dip known as depression. Pass the prozac please!
~JP
I lifted my very sleep deprived head and then jammed it back down on to the pillow when it was deemed that I still had a few more minutes of well deserved sleep. Apparently, now late husband felt that I didn't need that sleep. My husband felt that my time would be better served by finding him a t-shirt and boxers. Ummmm....at what point did it become my responsibility to make sure that a perfectly able 33 yr old man had clothing?
We are digressing. This is definite back sliding on the roles of our marriage.
I am not wife circa 1950's who is responsible for laying out clean undergarments for his wearing each day. I don't run to him when I need clothes. Not. His. Responsibility. Am big girl. Able to find my own underwear.
I instruct him where he can find said items, albeit rather rudely and sleepily.
I lay back down just as soon as I can see his needs have been met. You're welcome. I want to scream that at him, but I am tired!
Not but a few minutes later I am roused....yet again. This time though, I'm not just aggitated and rude...I am pissed.
It seems our 9 soon to be 10 year old is in need of a uniform. I have gone from moderately pissed to extremely pissed in 1 second flat.
I have made it a routine of asking her every night before bed.....
- Do you have a clean uniform for school?
- Do you have anything that we need to look over or sign that has to be returned tomorrow?
Do I physically go and check every item?
No.
Do I peel through her backpack for the seven hundreth time?
No.
I am sorry....but at some point she has to be responsible for herself. I think 5th grade is a GREAT jumping off point for the diving board that is life's responsibility.
Apparently husband disagrees as he so angrily pointed out with his, "you deal with it...I can't handle it this morning".
Really?? Seriously??
You can rebuild a cars engine but you can't deal with finding khaki bottoms and school shirt. What the shit?
When did it become universal that wives...mothers...women, have to be the one to deal with the clothing crisises of the world??
I don't remember signing that form. I don't remember allocating that task to myself and myself alone. I don't remember saying..."I will take every midnight feeding and diaper change. I will miss work for every flu, fever, cold and pre-menstrual moment that our darling daughters display. I will make sure that clothing is readily available at their fingertips even when they hide it under beds, cram it in closets and never seem to grasp that the dirty stuff goes in the laundry hamper so I must go on an expedition daily to hunt down necessary items."
Nope...must have missed that meeting.
I must have...in all my mental undoing...been able to achieve some level of teaching responsibility because I have a teenager daughter that not only manages to get up on time with the aid of an alarm clock even when she had to stay up late to write a paper or talk to a friend over matters of great social importance but who also has clean clothing to get dressed in. Part of this is from the fact that while I was a single mom I relied heavily upon a schedule. She learned to respond to that level of organization and THANKFULLY it has carried over into this next facet of her growing up.
She remains fully responsible for her clothing. She dirties it...therefore...she washes it! I know! Brilliance...sheer and total brilliance.
I will give it to Hannah that she has been raised in a bit less of a structured enviroment but she has had something that Olivia didn't which was a constant two parent household from conception, to birth and everyday thereafter. You would think that would lend itself to a more concrete foundation to build upon.
Sadly this has not been the case. I will concede that my past 3 years of in and out deep depression have made structure a bit difficult. But where I slipped in the parental department I thought my significant other would step up and cover the bases I was missing. That hasn't happened. Jon has managed to keep the financial aspect of our life afloat but when it's come to maintaining a standard of parental structure...not so much.
This is not a husband bashing post. It is merely an observation that no matter how far I fall I am still expected to pull myself together to maintain a certain standard for my children. If the tides turned and it was Jon that began to crack and fall apart I would hope that I would find the strength to not only hold it together for myself but maintain a level of stucture for the kids.
I wish that I could let go of the anger that this moment of Monday madness has brought upon me, but I can't. It's just another reminder of how no matter what happens it always falls to the mother to keep it together. I will never truly be able to step out of my role and find a way to pull myself together. At least not while there are socks, underwear and pants to be located.
Just another notch on the belt of failure I've created in this downward dip known as depression. Pass the prozac please!
~JP
Sunday, September 6, 2009
I'm hoping the rest of the day turns out more interesting than this post...
It's Sunday....yeah, I know....pointing out the obvious. Yesterday was...well...it was crap. Stayed up all night Friday being completely pissed at the husband. For what I am not completely sure of at this point.
Then I accused him of giving me poisoned ice cream because I had been bitchy. He say's he didn't. Turns out he is probably right. It seems that my body does not like Hagaan Daaz Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream as much as I'd like it to and so I spent the better part of Friday evening and into the early hours Saturday vomiting and in extreme gutteral pain. Apparently my body staged a revolt when it read "15 Worst Desserts" and realized that it was consuming #14 on the list.
I spent a good part of the day Saturday feeling guilty for A) being mean to Jon and B) consuming more than a days worth of calories in just under 1 hour the night before with that damn ice cream that then acted as if it were an alien trying to escape from my intestines. I did manage to pull myself together long enough to go and get Hannah from her sleepover. She had a blast and this made me realize that I am most likely next up on the list to host the tweens at my house.
It is only 20 days until my little one turns the big 1-0!! I can't believe it. I came back to the house and immediately climbed back into my bed and contemplated how I could possibly get out of having a slumber party. That thought train was derailed when I began to have an immense stabbing pain in my left boob.
It wasn't the ungodly chest pain that I had been having a couple months ago that led me to be hospitalized and then diagnosed with costochondritis which left me homebound for over a month. No this was clearly just in my left breast.
When Jon came home from work I told him that I was having boob pain. The teenage boy in him shown in his eyes as I could see that he thought he could just "massage" away the pain. I instead opted for a heating pad and then an ice pack. I of course turned to my trusty WebMD because I was sure it would tell me that I was dying.
Apparently I was wrong and it turns out this kind of thing is actually common in women between the ages of 30 to 45. Really?? I swear whoever said that it was a beautiful thing to be a woman was clearly a man.
The more I tried to relax and not think about the increasing stabby pain in my boob the more it hurt. Finally I gave up and went to sleep. I woke up twice in the middle of the night thinking that my breast was on fire. That is how bad the pain was.
This morning it is still pretty bad. It only hurts REALLY bad when Penny decides to use it as a trampoline which surprisingly is ALOT. Jon has stopped eyeing it as if he has the "magical" touch that could surely make all it's ailments go away.
We are trying to head to the beach to spend some family time. Of course this means we have to wait for the teenager to come home. I'm thinking this detail alone will mean that we will be spending our day here instead of on some beach. Trying to do anything that requires waiting on Liv's schedule is like planning your day around me waking up at a decent hour. It ain't gonna happen so just stop waiting for it.
I actually woke up early and was rewarded with Mc Donald's breakfast. This made Penny very happy. I am beginning to realize that with my kids getting older I am totally gonna turn into one of those weird woman that thinks her pet is her baby. This point was driven home while we drove the 1.5 miles to the Mc Donald's and I had a pretty detailed conversation with my dog about what she would like to eat.
When we got to the drive thru I had to stiffle that laughter over the jackleg that they had running the intercom where you order. You couldn't understand the words that he was saying. Jon ordered and the guy was supposedly repeating the order back to us and we had to have him repeat it twice. You couldn't understand a word of what he said. It was ridiculous.
Then when we pulled around to pay, the guy that took our money could be understood clear as a bell. Ummmm....hello...why the hell wouldn't you let him be on the intercom?? Very sad Mc Donald's...very, very sad.
Penny of course got everyone's attention. At least no one called her a chihuahua this time. Not that she cares mind you. As long as there is a biscuit in it for her you can call her whatever breed of dog you want. She spent the short drive home shaking in anticipation of whatever treat was going to be bestowed upon her.
Hannah gave her some pancake and she got biscuit, sausage and egg from me. Jon gave her nothing...he's so selfish. After eating all I wanted to do was come and lay back in bed. I decided to come back and write for a little bit.
Outside of posting "Penny's Thoughts of the Day" I haven't been writing much. Not feeling very inspired or funny lately. That worries me a little. I am usually able to laugh my way through just about anything...but lately it seems harder than usual.
After I post this I think I will check the classifieds. Still hoping to find a job. Really needing to go back to work. It will help me feel a little less useless. September is a hard, hard month for me. It's when everything fell apart 3 years ago. Trying to motivate myself during this time period is almost impossible.
Jon just came in to say that he will be picking up Olivia in a little while so I guess that I will put off the job search until tomorrow or Tuesday and instead go and get stuff ready to get out of the house for a little while. I'm hoping that getting a little sun and spending the day with Jon and the girls will turn my mood around or at least take my mind off my stabby boob pain. It's friggin aggrivating!
Hope everyone has a fun and safe Labor Day.
~JP
Then I accused him of giving me poisoned ice cream because I had been bitchy. He say's he didn't. Turns out he is probably right. It seems that my body does not like Hagaan Daaz Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream as much as I'd like it to and so I spent the better part of Friday evening and into the early hours Saturday vomiting and in extreme gutteral pain. Apparently my body staged a revolt when it read "15 Worst Desserts" and realized that it was consuming #14 on the list.
I spent a good part of the day Saturday feeling guilty for A) being mean to Jon and B) consuming more than a days worth of calories in just under 1 hour the night before with that damn ice cream that then acted as if it were an alien trying to escape from my intestines. I did manage to pull myself together long enough to go and get Hannah from her sleepover. She had a blast and this made me realize that I am most likely next up on the list to host the tweens at my house.
It is only 20 days until my little one turns the big 1-0!! I can't believe it. I came back to the house and immediately climbed back into my bed and contemplated how I could possibly get out of having a slumber party. That thought train was derailed when I began to have an immense stabbing pain in my left boob.
It wasn't the ungodly chest pain that I had been having a couple months ago that led me to be hospitalized and then diagnosed with costochondritis which left me homebound for over a month. No this was clearly just in my left breast.
When Jon came home from work I told him that I was having boob pain. The teenage boy in him shown in his eyes as I could see that he thought he could just "massage" away the pain. I instead opted for a heating pad and then an ice pack. I of course turned to my trusty WebMD because I was sure it would tell me that I was dying.
Apparently I was wrong and it turns out this kind of thing is actually common in women between the ages of 30 to 45. Really?? I swear whoever said that it was a beautiful thing to be a woman was clearly a man.
The more I tried to relax and not think about the increasing stabby pain in my boob the more it hurt. Finally I gave up and went to sleep. I woke up twice in the middle of the night thinking that my breast was on fire. That is how bad the pain was.
This morning it is still pretty bad. It only hurts REALLY bad when Penny decides to use it as a trampoline which surprisingly is ALOT. Jon has stopped eyeing it as if he has the "magical" touch that could surely make all it's ailments go away.
We are trying to head to the beach to spend some family time. Of course this means we have to wait for the teenager to come home. I'm thinking this detail alone will mean that we will be spending our day here instead of on some beach. Trying to do anything that requires waiting on Liv's schedule is like planning your day around me waking up at a decent hour. It ain't gonna happen so just stop waiting for it.
I actually woke up early and was rewarded with Mc Donald's breakfast. This made Penny very happy. I am beginning to realize that with my kids getting older I am totally gonna turn into one of those weird woman that thinks her pet is her baby. This point was driven home while we drove the 1.5 miles to the Mc Donald's and I had a pretty detailed conversation with my dog about what she would like to eat.
When we got to the drive thru I had to stiffle that laughter over the jackleg that they had running the intercom where you order. You couldn't understand the words that he was saying. Jon ordered and the guy was supposedly repeating the order back to us and we had to have him repeat it twice. You couldn't understand a word of what he said. It was ridiculous.
Then when we pulled around to pay, the guy that took our money could be understood clear as a bell. Ummmm....hello...why the hell wouldn't you let him be on the intercom?? Very sad Mc Donald's...very, very sad.
Penny of course got everyone's attention. At least no one called her a chihuahua this time. Not that she cares mind you. As long as there is a biscuit in it for her you can call her whatever breed of dog you want. She spent the short drive home shaking in anticipation of whatever treat was going to be bestowed upon her.
Hannah gave her some pancake and she got biscuit, sausage and egg from me. Jon gave her nothing...he's so selfish. After eating all I wanted to do was come and lay back in bed. I decided to come back and write for a little bit.
Outside of posting "Penny's Thoughts of the Day" I haven't been writing much. Not feeling very inspired or funny lately. That worries me a little. I am usually able to laugh my way through just about anything...but lately it seems harder than usual.
After I post this I think I will check the classifieds. Still hoping to find a job. Really needing to go back to work. It will help me feel a little less useless. September is a hard, hard month for me. It's when everything fell apart 3 years ago. Trying to motivate myself during this time period is almost impossible.
Jon just came in to say that he will be picking up Olivia in a little while so I guess that I will put off the job search until tomorrow or Tuesday and instead go and get stuff ready to get out of the house for a little while. I'm hoping that getting a little sun and spending the day with Jon and the girls will turn my mood around or at least take my mind off my stabby boob pain. It's friggin aggrivating!
Hope everyone has a fun and safe Labor Day.
~JP
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