Hi peeps! It's been forever cuz I've been BUSY and also, not really doing anything interesting enough to write about. Well, except for that I did get a job, sort of, and entered training and worked for four very long nights. But then I found out that I was not getting PAID for said training, and that made me unhappy, and that I was gonna have to buy my own uniform, and apron, etc... and then I may or may not have a job in the longrun, because the restaurant owner had brought in 30 people all the while knowing he could only keep 10. Also, I have, in the last 17 years since I last waited tables, become OLD and also FAT, which made waitressing waaaaaay harder than I remember it being, and it made it very difficult to walk after all the working, and I didn't love it. So suffice it to say that now I do NOT have a job. Well, I mean, I have lots of JOBS, but not a paying one. But the restaurant owner was adorable to me when I went in to talk to him about this, and said to me, in his Greek accent that I love, "Growing old is natural. Only thing not natural is having bad attitude. You don't have this, you have great attitude! You the sweetest woman I ever met, and I never forget it!"
And it was killing me too, just those four days, because it was the first time I had been out and about since the babies were born, and there were SO MANY stories to tell and people to imitate, but I couldn't do it cuz that's how people lose their jobs, so I didn't.
Now I'm back to sitting around the house, watching the twins and staring at my laundry pile. Periodically, I fold the laundry pile, and try to put it away, but there are piles that need to go to consignment, piles that don't fit, piles that are for next season, piles that are socks without a match, piles that go in the babies room but they're asleep at the time so I can't get in there, etc..... and as soon as I start making any headway, my daughter comes upstairs with another clean load and tosses it down, and it all begins again. And laundry is not an interesting blog topic. So I have found myself out of subjects!
Once upon a time, many years ago, I was a well-rounded person (I'm still well-rounded, but that's a different story!) I played the piano, and I went to see the symphony. I had dinner with friends, and had conversations. I read books, and not just the Bible reading for the week or People magazine either, sometimes I read ACTUAL books! I learned how to analyze handwriting and how to crochet, I studied foreign languages and wrote short stories. Now I stare at laundry piles and play with babies.
Today, my baby son had diarrhea in the car on the way to the meeting and pooped out his diaper and all over his dress pants. That was fun.
One of these days, I'm gonna have an interesting thought or an interesting experience, and I will write about it. For now, I'm gonna go vegitate on the couch and watch my Tivoed episode of "The Neighbors" and stare at the laundry some more. Good night, all!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
In Which I Love Benadryl
Babies are sick for like the zillion and twelfth time, and that is only a SLIGHT exaggeration! Lol! It's colds this time, and they've had them for over a week. I took them to the Dr. yesterday and she says they don't have sinus infections or anything like that, just a nasty, nasty cold. She recommended I give them a tiny amount of Benadryl before bedtime to help them breathe and therefore sleep. This worked WONDERFULLY! The whole time they've been sick, they've been waking up periodically and screaming, and not taking their naps during the day, cuz they can't breathe through their nose and they can't suck their fingers if they're gonna breathe through their mouth. So last night I gave them a nice warm bath, cleaned the crusty boogers off their little faces, slathered them in Vaseline like the Dr. told me to do since they're all dry and getting eczema and sores on their faces from all the runny noses, gave them 3/4 of a tsp of Benadryl each, just like she told me to do, snuggled them up and put them to bed. They slept from about 7 last night till 10:30 this morning! Then they got up, ate, played a minute, and then requested to go back to bed! And they are just not waking up from a 3 hour nap.
In case you're wondering how they ask to go to bed, seeing as how they hardly talk at all, this is how: They start crying and crying and crying and nothing I do or give them makes them stop. Then I ask "Do you want to go night-night in your bed?" and they stop crying, hold out their arms for me to pick them up, and the second I do, they put their thumb (or fingers, in Weston's case) in their mouth and start sucking away, and lay their head on my shoulder. There's no misinterpreting it! Although, on occasion, if we have people over or something and they're feeling overloaded, they've "asked" to go to bed and then just played in their together, giggling and talking and NOT going to sleep.
Anyway, it's been nice because I have had some time to myself today, and actually used it to clean off the dining room table, the computer desk, wash all the dishes, start some dinner, and study for the meeting. And I found all kinds of stuff I had forgotten about lost in the piles on my computer desk! An ultrasound, my husband's phone number list he's been searching for for like, EVER. My old list-making notebooks from before the babies were born with lists that say things like "Check blood sugar, call in blood sugar numbers, ultrasound at 11, fetal non-stress test at 2." Brings back a lot of scary memories from when the babies weren't out yet and I was so worried about their health and MY health and whether or not the horribleness of that pregnancy was gonna ever be over....really puts their colds into perspective! They may have disgusting runny noses and itchy little faces, but they're gonna be fine, and they're adorable, and most of all, they're OUT OF MY BELLY!!!! And when their little colds are really bad, I can give them 3/4 of a tsp of Benadryl which knocks them out immediately into a nice, deep sleep....Hallelujah for Benadryl!
In case you're wondering how they ask to go to bed, seeing as how they hardly talk at all, this is how: They start crying and crying and crying and nothing I do or give them makes them stop. Then I ask "Do you want to go night-night in your bed?" and they stop crying, hold out their arms for me to pick them up, and the second I do, they put their thumb (or fingers, in Weston's case) in their mouth and start sucking away, and lay their head on my shoulder. There's no misinterpreting it! Although, on occasion, if we have people over or something and they're feeling overloaded, they've "asked" to go to bed and then just played in their together, giggling and talking and NOT going to sleep.
Anyway, it's been nice because I have had some time to myself today, and actually used it to clean off the dining room table, the computer desk, wash all the dishes, start some dinner, and study for the meeting. And I found all kinds of stuff I had forgotten about lost in the piles on my computer desk! An ultrasound, my husband's phone number list he's been searching for for like, EVER. My old list-making notebooks from before the babies were born with lists that say things like "Check blood sugar, call in blood sugar numbers, ultrasound at 11, fetal non-stress test at 2." Brings back a lot of scary memories from when the babies weren't out yet and I was so worried about their health and MY health and whether or not the horribleness of that pregnancy was gonna ever be over....really puts their colds into perspective! They may have disgusting runny noses and itchy little faces, but they're gonna be fine, and they're adorable, and most of all, they're OUT OF MY BELLY!!!! And when their little colds are really bad, I can give them 3/4 of a tsp of Benadryl which knocks them out immediately into a nice, deep sleep....Hallelujah for Benadryl!
Monday, January 14, 2013
In Which I Speak of the Unspeakable
Haven't written anything in quite some time. And the greater likelihood is that I will write what I'm thinking of tonight and then delete it away. And here's the reason why: My family is suffering from a horrible problem, one that lots of people suffer from, and most people worry about at least some time in their life, but yet the entire subject is so humiliating and so taboo, you almost never hear details about it. If you have a terminal illness, or some other horrible problem, you can go to your friends and talk to them about it, and they give you emotional support to get through it. They know you're not asking them for a cure, you just need someone to talk to about what's gnawing away at your insides. But THIS problem is one of the last social taboos. You can't talk to anyone about it out of fear they'll think you're asking them to help you solve it, so you suffer in silence. I've been trying that tactic for a really long time, but I find now that I can't think, I can't write, I have trouble smiling or laughing, and I'm having violent nightly panic attacks from trying to hold it all in without venting. Worrying about it consumes most of my waking hours, and often haunts my dreams. Having it changes the way I eat, speak, think, my hobbies, the way I look, and everything else about me. It is something so horrible and so dire that I sometimes hide in the bathroom so that no one hears my sobs. I find I can no longer write on my blog because this thing is so big and so bad, I find it difficult to concentrate on or talk about anything else, and when I TRY to think of something funny, or amusing, or on the lighter side, this thing is lurking in the shadows, always hovering over me, reminding me that I shouldn't be laughing, or smiling, or thinking frivolous or happy thoughts, because IT is coming for me, and it's going to get me. This thing I'm talking about is severe financial problems. Poverty.
I didn't try in school. I was smart, and I knew it, and I thought I could get by with just that. I knew I wasn't going to college, and I figured I'd work at odd jobs and pioneer and hopefully marry someone who could help me make ends meet. I married Charles, and he had a home already, that he was buying, and his vehicles were paid for, and I thought that gave us a head start. He worked laying brick and I worked waitressing, temping, whatever I could find, so that we could try to cover our bills.
Brick masons are out of work when it's below 30 degrees outside, or if it rains, or if there's a downturn in the economy and people stop building things. Charles was always missing work and we were always in bad shape. With waitressing, the tips are up and down and sometimes nonexistent. I was still a kid then, really, and was still trying to pay off a car, and wanted to go on trips and do other stuff, and we were always on the brink of financial disaster, even way back then.
Then we started having children. Charles changed jobs and has tried several things, he cleaned carpets for awhile, which was not very lucrative, but better than the brick thing. Then he got a job teaching masonry for the high school, which was great, but they got rid of the masonry program and laid him off after three years. He worked delivering wine for awhile after that, but fell off the back of the delivery truck one day and broke his wrist and shredded his rotator cuff, and required three surgeries and months of therapy to try to fix it. It's still not right. Since then he's worked for the city, but the pay is minimal, the benefits cover him only, and it's definetely not enough for a family of six to live on.
I've done everything I could think of over the years to try to make some money. Including :Waitressing, temping, making and selling baked goods, making and selling jewelry, selling Avon, making calls for a nursing company, working at Old Navy, cleaning houses, working as a lunch lady, and working as a janitor. Most of the time, I've done two or three of those things at once, trying to keep us afloat. We had finally, FINALLY gotten to a place where we could safely pay all our bills and have a little bitty bit left over when we were working for the city, working being a lunch lady, and cleaning a bank at night. And that's when I got pregnant with the twins. Then it all went to the proverbial hell in a handbasket. Now we're down to just the one job, Charles working for the city, and me taking care of the babies twenty-four seven, and worrying myself into hysteria about how we're going to survive. We now make HALF of what we did before we had the twins, and we've added two people.
We are almost surely going to lose our house, and probably soon. It seems ironic, given the fact that this house is already way too small for our family, and in the ghetto, and falling apart and we can't afford to fix it. But we can no longer afford to pay even the mortgage on THIS house.
We have applied for and receive all the proper government aid, which it humiliates me to even admit, because I know how many people feel about such things. Yes, I'm admitting it, we survive off food stamps. And my kids only get to go to the Dr. because of Medicaid. Charles has insurance through work on himself, so that just leaves me. When I have asthma, or my depression is really bad and I need to change meds, or my thyroid needs to be checked, I have to mull over whether or not I can live through it without going to the Dr., because we SO cannot afford it. And when an emergency happens, such as, say, last year when I fell on my face while trying to stop my kid's rooms from flooding in our leaky basement, and I turn black and blue and it feels like something's broken in my cheek, I choose to ignore it. People say things like "That looks broken!" "You should go get that checked out!" Well, I can't afford to. And I have no insurance. And I'm sure it'll be fine if I just ignore it long enough. And that is how it came to be a full year later and I still have a giant dent on my cheekbone where I apparently broke it or damaged the underlying tissue so badly, my face will never be the same. I can live with the dented face, but one of my biggest worries is that next time, instead of a dented face, I find a lump in my breast, or something like that, and can't get it treated because I'm uninsured and poor, and my four children end up without a mother, homeless and living with their father in our van.
Speaking of the children, I look at them, and I feel horrible pangs of guilt because I wasn't more careful with birth control. I sometimes wonder if I'm a horrible, selfish person because I didn't give up my beautiful babies to someone more responsible than I am who can actually pay their bills and provide them with a decent place to live. They are so wonderful and they deserve a great life, and yet they have an idiot for a mother who wasn't careful and therefore had them unexpectedly when she couldn't afford to take care of them. They deserve better than me. Knowing that is such a severe blow to my ego, I cannot even put it into words. I am so thankful every day that they are here and healthy, but feel so guilty at the same time that they are here when I can't afford to properly take care of them.
The older kids need stuff for school, that seems so simple, "I've gotta have a display board for my science project and it's due on Thursday!" "My Spanish professor says we have to have a Spanish/English dictionary, she's mad we don't already have one, cuz it was in the syllabus." "Can you get me a jacket to wear to school in uniform colors? It's freezing in our classroom, but they won't let me wear this one you got me at the consignment shop because it says 'Old Navy' on it, I need a plain navy blue one." There's something like that nearly every day, something they want or something they need, and they're certainly not trying to be brats about it, they just need what they need and what can they do but ask for it? Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how I can make the kids use only so many squares of toilet paper for the next few days, and what we can feed the cat instead of cat food, because we HAVE to make it till payday before we can buy ANYTHING. Much less a jacket, or a dictionary, or a display board.
After the meeting when everyone's going "Y'all going to eat? We're going to Katana!" or wherever it may be... and Dalton's going "Can we go? My friends are going?" and Brenna's saying "Can we, Mom? All my friends are going too!" And no, we can't go. We have to go home and eat whatever I bought on sale with food stamps and cooked the day before so that we could have something ready when we got home from the meeting. That part is not so bad, at least not to me. It's not a necessity to go out to eat. But I know how it feels to be a teenager, and everyone else is going, and you don't get to because your family is poor. I HATE that for Brenna. I just hope that going through it makes her a stronger, better, more understanding person when she's older. The kid's big going-out-to-eat-treat is Saturdays in field service when we stop at McDonalds for break. I do everything in my power to save enough money so that when we do that, they can at least enjoy a little fast food then with everyone else. I guess technically I should NEVER spend money on us eating out, and pack them little snacks and make them have that instead, but I just don't have the heart. And when there's a decent movie on at the 2$ movies, I take Brenna if I can. We both need a little escape and a little treat now and then.
We'll survive. I know we will, we always have. And I pray ALL THE TIME and I have family members praying with me that something miraculous happens and we be able to keep our house, or I somehow find a way to work without all the money I could earn going straight to daycare for the twins and Dalton, or that Charles suddenly gets a HUGE promotion, or that someone calls and offers him a wonderful new higher-paying job with lots of benefits. I keep reminding myself that the Bible promises we won't have more than we can bear, and that if the flowers and the birds are dressed beautifully and have enough to eat, so will we. Having sustenance and covering, we will be content with these things. I pray about it, and I feel better sometimes, and then something else happens and I feel like I'm losing my mind sometimes, and up and down and up and down on the roller coaster that is life I go. Fortunately, I've gotten old and fat and I now have a huge dent in my face, so even if I were desperate enough to want to, I couldn't fall back on a career of stripping! Lol! JUST KIDDING!!!! (A little humor popped out there, I had a happy/funny thought, I love it when that happens!) I know that many people go through this stuff, and some of my family's even going through stuff like this with me right now. It helps to know I'm not the only one, and it helps to talk about it too, from time to time, but only with those who will not make it their personal mission to try to "fix" it (really only Jehovah can fix this one, and I HATE feeling like a charity case, and part of the reason I refuse to talk about this is because I don't want anyone to think I want them to give me money! Sometimes you just need a friend to vent to!) and those who will not judge ("I saw her buy a 2.50 bottle of wine! She shouldn't even be purchasing that when she's living off government money!") So if anyone reading this feels tempted to do either one of those things, DON'T and bite me. But I guess I felt that I couldn't keep it bottled up much longer. Trying to hide how bad things are and sound amusing and happy is just too much of a hypocritical charade for me these days. I'm down to my last thread of sanity here, and it's a frayed one! My sister said I should just stop trying to hide it all and maybe others would help pray for my family and the prayers would make a difference. So this is what I am asking anyone who reads this for: Please pray for my family to figure out our way. Please pray for us to have food, clothing, and shelter, and to be able to live simply but have what we need. Please pray for me to keep the shred of sanity I have left, and to keep my faith strong, and to have hope and courage that things will get better. And please pray these things for all the others out there who, like me, worry about these issues all the time but rarely speak of them in detail with others out of complete humiliation. Most of all, please pray that the time comes soon when none of us have to deal with poverty anymore. And anyone who's reading this who is going through or has gone through the same kind of thing, please tell me all about it so I don't feel so embarrassed and alone! Because I swear to you, I would rather post a picture of my obese self buck naked than to post what I have written here. But I started this blog to tell my story, and right now, this is the only story that I have to tell.
I didn't try in school. I was smart, and I knew it, and I thought I could get by with just that. I knew I wasn't going to college, and I figured I'd work at odd jobs and pioneer and hopefully marry someone who could help me make ends meet. I married Charles, and he had a home already, that he was buying, and his vehicles were paid for, and I thought that gave us a head start. He worked laying brick and I worked waitressing, temping, whatever I could find, so that we could try to cover our bills.
Brick masons are out of work when it's below 30 degrees outside, or if it rains, or if there's a downturn in the economy and people stop building things. Charles was always missing work and we were always in bad shape. With waitressing, the tips are up and down and sometimes nonexistent. I was still a kid then, really, and was still trying to pay off a car, and wanted to go on trips and do other stuff, and we were always on the brink of financial disaster, even way back then.
Then we started having children. Charles changed jobs and has tried several things, he cleaned carpets for awhile, which was not very lucrative, but better than the brick thing. Then he got a job teaching masonry for the high school, which was great, but they got rid of the masonry program and laid him off after three years. He worked delivering wine for awhile after that, but fell off the back of the delivery truck one day and broke his wrist and shredded his rotator cuff, and required three surgeries and months of therapy to try to fix it. It's still not right. Since then he's worked for the city, but the pay is minimal, the benefits cover him only, and it's definetely not enough for a family of six to live on.
I've done everything I could think of over the years to try to make some money. Including :Waitressing, temping, making and selling baked goods, making and selling jewelry, selling Avon, making calls for a nursing company, working at Old Navy, cleaning houses, working as a lunch lady, and working as a janitor. Most of the time, I've done two or three of those things at once, trying to keep us afloat. We had finally, FINALLY gotten to a place where we could safely pay all our bills and have a little bitty bit left over when we were working for the city, working being a lunch lady, and cleaning a bank at night. And that's when I got pregnant with the twins. Then it all went to the proverbial hell in a handbasket. Now we're down to just the one job, Charles working for the city, and me taking care of the babies twenty-four seven, and worrying myself into hysteria about how we're going to survive. We now make HALF of what we did before we had the twins, and we've added two people.
We are almost surely going to lose our house, and probably soon. It seems ironic, given the fact that this house is already way too small for our family, and in the ghetto, and falling apart and we can't afford to fix it. But we can no longer afford to pay even the mortgage on THIS house.
We have applied for and receive all the proper government aid, which it humiliates me to even admit, because I know how many people feel about such things. Yes, I'm admitting it, we survive off food stamps. And my kids only get to go to the Dr. because of Medicaid. Charles has insurance through work on himself, so that just leaves me. When I have asthma, or my depression is really bad and I need to change meds, or my thyroid needs to be checked, I have to mull over whether or not I can live through it without going to the Dr., because we SO cannot afford it. And when an emergency happens, such as, say, last year when I fell on my face while trying to stop my kid's rooms from flooding in our leaky basement, and I turn black and blue and it feels like something's broken in my cheek, I choose to ignore it. People say things like "That looks broken!" "You should go get that checked out!" Well, I can't afford to. And I have no insurance. And I'm sure it'll be fine if I just ignore it long enough. And that is how it came to be a full year later and I still have a giant dent on my cheekbone where I apparently broke it or damaged the underlying tissue so badly, my face will never be the same. I can live with the dented face, but one of my biggest worries is that next time, instead of a dented face, I find a lump in my breast, or something like that, and can't get it treated because I'm uninsured and poor, and my four children end up without a mother, homeless and living with their father in our van.
Speaking of the children, I look at them, and I feel horrible pangs of guilt because I wasn't more careful with birth control. I sometimes wonder if I'm a horrible, selfish person because I didn't give up my beautiful babies to someone more responsible than I am who can actually pay their bills and provide them with a decent place to live. They are so wonderful and they deserve a great life, and yet they have an idiot for a mother who wasn't careful and therefore had them unexpectedly when she couldn't afford to take care of them. They deserve better than me. Knowing that is such a severe blow to my ego, I cannot even put it into words. I am so thankful every day that they are here and healthy, but feel so guilty at the same time that they are here when I can't afford to properly take care of them.
The older kids need stuff for school, that seems so simple, "I've gotta have a display board for my science project and it's due on Thursday!" "My Spanish professor says we have to have a Spanish/English dictionary, she's mad we don't already have one, cuz it was in the syllabus." "Can you get me a jacket to wear to school in uniform colors? It's freezing in our classroom, but they won't let me wear this one you got me at the consignment shop because it says 'Old Navy' on it, I need a plain navy blue one." There's something like that nearly every day, something they want or something they need, and they're certainly not trying to be brats about it, they just need what they need and what can they do but ask for it? Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how I can make the kids use only so many squares of toilet paper for the next few days, and what we can feed the cat instead of cat food, because we HAVE to make it till payday before we can buy ANYTHING. Much less a jacket, or a dictionary, or a display board.
After the meeting when everyone's going "Y'all going to eat? We're going to Katana!" or wherever it may be... and Dalton's going "Can we go? My friends are going?" and Brenna's saying "Can we, Mom? All my friends are going too!" And no, we can't go. We have to go home and eat whatever I bought on sale with food stamps and cooked the day before so that we could have something ready when we got home from the meeting. That part is not so bad, at least not to me. It's not a necessity to go out to eat. But I know how it feels to be a teenager, and everyone else is going, and you don't get to because your family is poor. I HATE that for Brenna. I just hope that going through it makes her a stronger, better, more understanding person when she's older. The kid's big going-out-to-eat-treat is Saturdays in field service when we stop at McDonalds for break. I do everything in my power to save enough money so that when we do that, they can at least enjoy a little fast food then with everyone else. I guess technically I should NEVER spend money on us eating out, and pack them little snacks and make them have that instead, but I just don't have the heart. And when there's a decent movie on at the 2$ movies, I take Brenna if I can. We both need a little escape and a little treat now and then.
We'll survive. I know we will, we always have. And I pray ALL THE TIME and I have family members praying with me that something miraculous happens and we be able to keep our house, or I somehow find a way to work without all the money I could earn going straight to daycare for the twins and Dalton, or that Charles suddenly gets a HUGE promotion, or that someone calls and offers him a wonderful new higher-paying job with lots of benefits. I keep reminding myself that the Bible promises we won't have more than we can bear, and that if the flowers and the birds are dressed beautifully and have enough to eat, so will we. Having sustenance and covering, we will be content with these things. I pray about it, and I feel better sometimes, and then something else happens and I feel like I'm losing my mind sometimes, and up and down and up and down on the roller coaster that is life I go. Fortunately, I've gotten old and fat and I now have a huge dent in my face, so even if I were desperate enough to want to, I couldn't fall back on a career of stripping! Lol! JUST KIDDING!!!! (A little humor popped out there, I had a happy/funny thought, I love it when that happens!) I know that many people go through this stuff, and some of my family's even going through stuff like this with me right now. It helps to know I'm not the only one, and it helps to talk about it too, from time to time, but only with those who will not make it their personal mission to try to "fix" it (really only Jehovah can fix this one, and I HATE feeling like a charity case, and part of the reason I refuse to talk about this is because I don't want anyone to think I want them to give me money! Sometimes you just need a friend to vent to!) and those who will not judge ("I saw her buy a 2.50 bottle of wine! She shouldn't even be purchasing that when she's living off government money!") So if anyone reading this feels tempted to do either one of those things, DON'T and bite me. But I guess I felt that I couldn't keep it bottled up much longer. Trying to hide how bad things are and sound amusing and happy is just too much of a hypocritical charade for me these days. I'm down to my last thread of sanity here, and it's a frayed one! My sister said I should just stop trying to hide it all and maybe others would help pray for my family and the prayers would make a difference. So this is what I am asking anyone who reads this for: Please pray for my family to figure out our way. Please pray for us to have food, clothing, and shelter, and to be able to live simply but have what we need. Please pray for me to keep the shred of sanity I have left, and to keep my faith strong, and to have hope and courage that things will get better. And please pray these things for all the others out there who, like me, worry about these issues all the time but rarely speak of them in detail with others out of complete humiliation. Most of all, please pray that the time comes soon when none of us have to deal with poverty anymore. And anyone who's reading this who is going through or has gone through the same kind of thing, please tell me all about it so I don't feel so embarrassed and alone! Because I swear to you, I would rather post a picture of my obese self buck naked than to post what I have written here. But I started this blog to tell my story, and right now, this is the only story that I have to tell.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
In Which I Relax With My Family
Today was such a great day! Not in a riding roller-coasters, dancing and drinking champagne kind-of way. But in a chilling out with my family kind of way.
Dalton (who is nine) is off staying with my Aunt, so the house is unusually calm and quiet, even with 3 other children present! Lol! I spent yesterday putting together lasagna, and my sister made cake and salad, and she and her Beloved Hub came this morning (we haven't seen each-other in quite some time) and played with babies, ate, and talked all day. The babies warmed back up to her pretty quickly. When it's been awhile it takes them a few minutes, but I swear they know her now and it doesn't take long for them to be all over her, begging for snuggles and attention. She read them books, did "piggies," and all that good stuff babies like. We watched them jump in Aila's crib for the longest time, they both use it like it's a trampoline. We fed them and cleaned them up and all of us went to the park and took them for a walk and watched them play on the playground equipment. We all jumped and dove and climbed and did whatever it took to save the two of them from breaking their little necks, which they seemed DETERMINED to do. Weston kept trying to see what kind of noise he could make if he banged his head into the metal poles that held up the equipment, and Aila kept trying to walk off the steps at full speed. There was a lot of gasping and grabbing and going "NO!" But with four adults all working together, they not only survived, they had a great time playing.
We came back to the house and fed them a snack of bananas and cheese and juice, and then watched them run around the living room acting crazy, meowing at the cat, standing on their heads, etc... Then Brenna my 16 yr old) got a sheet and played with the twins under it as if it were a tent. They giggled their little heads off and it was quite adorable, if I do say so myself. By the time my sister had to leave, they were worn out and ready for bed.
Brenna and I watched a movie together that I had recorded and now it's time for me to head to bed myself. Just really enjoyed my day with my hubby and my sister and my kids, and now I'm just missing the one who's gone to his Auntie's house! I sure do love my crazy house full of youngins! It's crowded and messy and loud, but there's a lot of love in here.
Dalton (who is nine) is off staying with my Aunt, so the house is unusually calm and quiet, even with 3 other children present! Lol! I spent yesterday putting together lasagna, and my sister made cake and salad, and she and her Beloved Hub came this morning (we haven't seen each-other in quite some time) and played with babies, ate, and talked all day. The babies warmed back up to her pretty quickly. When it's been awhile it takes them a few minutes, but I swear they know her now and it doesn't take long for them to be all over her, begging for snuggles and attention. She read them books, did "piggies," and all that good stuff babies like. We watched them jump in Aila's crib for the longest time, they both use it like it's a trampoline. We fed them and cleaned them up and all of us went to the park and took them for a walk and watched them play on the playground equipment. We all jumped and dove and climbed and did whatever it took to save the two of them from breaking their little necks, which they seemed DETERMINED to do. Weston kept trying to see what kind of noise he could make if he banged his head into the metal poles that held up the equipment, and Aila kept trying to walk off the steps at full speed. There was a lot of gasping and grabbing and going "NO!" But with four adults all working together, they not only survived, they had a great time playing.
We came back to the house and fed them a snack of bananas and cheese and juice, and then watched them run around the living room acting crazy, meowing at the cat, standing on their heads, etc... Then Brenna my 16 yr old) got a sheet and played with the twins under it as if it were a tent. They giggled their little heads off and it was quite adorable, if I do say so myself. By the time my sister had to leave, they were worn out and ready for bed.
Brenna and I watched a movie together that I had recorded and now it's time for me to head to bed myself. Just really enjoyed my day with my hubby and my sister and my kids, and now I'm just missing the one who's gone to his Auntie's house! I sure do love my crazy house full of youngins! It's crowded and messy and loud, but there's a lot of love in here.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Well, it's happening again. I've been feeling depressed, overwhelmed, angry at the world, etc... and just not felt like writing or doing anything else. Looking back at my blog posts, I realize that the last time I felt that way for an extended period of time was about a month ago, for about a week. If you know what I mean. So that MAY have something to do with it.
I have issues with depression, which I am not shy about, but it's hard for me to write about on here or talk about in front of people I don't know very well. You never know who "gets" it and who will just think you're a wack-job. Of course, I kinda AM a wack-job, but you know what I mean. Sometimes I just feel uncomfortable letting people know just how crazy I really am. But then sometimes I think it might help other people if they are also kinda crazy and they read about my craziness and then they knew they were not alone in their nuttiness. So I vascillate about whether or not to discuss it here. I think part of it is PMS, part of it is just that the whole world SUCKS and that, like the bumper-stickers say, "If you're not outraged then you're not paying attention." I also saw a snippet of an interview that David Lettermen recently did with Oprah where he discusses his own depression, and he said "It's like looking at the world with 20/20 vision."
I have strong faith, and I have my beliefs about the future, but that doesn't make the PRESENT a whole lot easier. This world is a horrible place where unimaginably horrible things happen and no one is really safe and secure ever at any given time. You ever ride a ride at the fair or something and once it starts moving you realize it's really just too much for you to handle, you're terrified, and you just want OFF THE RIDE!? And you start praying and praying that if you can just get off the ride without dying you'll never, ever get on one like it again? That's kinda how I feel about life sometimes. It's too much! I'm not tough enough for this! Please God, make it stop!!!! And Tom Cruise can bite my hiney, cuz I'm here to say that when you take antidepressants, it takes the edge off that feeling. All the problems are still there, but for some reason, you can DEAL with it better when your seratonin level is right and your brain chemicals are firing right. At least, till PMS time rolls around and you get struck with it again. :) Gotta love PMS! Remember that song from West Side Story "I Enjoy Being A Girl?" Well, that's a bunch of crap!
So anyway, enough about that for today, but that's what happens to me sometimes, and that's the way I've been feeling lately. Just overwhelmed and sad. But then, a couple of wonderful things happened, and now I'm feeling better. First, I went to Walmart to buy myself a bottle of the cheapest possible wine, since I have recently discovered that a glass of wine, much like my meds, also takes the edge off! So I get in the line with my purchase and the lady carded me. I laughed my butt off, and I needed that. The laughing improved my mood, if not the flattery! Next, my sister texted me today, and informed me that she had dusted a live bat while she was cleaning a house, and it had flown around the room, and she had freaked out and was hiding in the bathroom while texting me. My sister is usually not afraid of anything, and the thought of the bat taking off when she dusted it and also of her hiding in the bathroom for some reason sent me into a fit of giggles that lasted so long I started wheeze-laughing like Deputy Dog. She could've gotten rabies and it really wasn't funny, but for some reason the mental image of it just had me dying! Thirdly, my Aunt Marilyn took my son for a few days, and I will miss him badly, but now that's one less child around here for me to worry about for a few days, and that takes a little load of stress off. Lastly, Brenna and I went to the 2$ movies tonight, which we haven't done in forever, and before the movie started a very annoying college girl and her mother had an extremely loud, obnoxious conversation RIGHT BEHIND US. Everyone else in the theater was whispering their conversations, but these two just practically SCREAMED theirs, and you could tell it was because they were the kind of people who want you to know that a) the girl is in college and b) she has some friends. So through this, Brenna and I came to know that the girl rides horses, lives in the creepiest building on campus, doesn't have any labs next semester, has two roommates named Katy and Veronica, and they are all taking a car trip to Michigan next year, and they plan to rent a car because by then Veronica will be 21. Also, we learned that this girl snarfs popcorn like her bucket is the last one on earth, but we did not learn that from her SAYING it. Anyway..... we were trying not to look at each-other and not to crack up laughing while they were talking to each-other SOOOO LOUDLY, but then the conversation went like this... Mom: So have you talked to Katy lately? Girl: Why would I? Mom: Because she's your roommate! Girl: Mama, that girl ain't never there exceptin to eat (insert chomps on popcorn here) and leave! And, she's so LOUD. I cain't stand how loud that girl is!
At this point, Brenna and I are shaking all over and tears are running down our faces. God forbid Katy be LOUD! Why, THAT would be obnoxious! And then, Mama chimed in with this gem... "Well, you ain't exactly quiet yourself!" At that point I was starting to snort and we had to get up and move to other seats way behind them cuz I was afraid they would beat us up when they realized we were laughing at them. And not WITH them, mind you, we were laughing AT them.
So anyway, the movie was stupid but just that little show was worth the 2$ all by itself. Now I'm gonna take me some ibuprofen, have a glass of wine, and try to get a good night's sleep. I think the funk is finally lifting! At least till next month, at about this time.
I have issues with depression, which I am not shy about, but it's hard for me to write about on here or talk about in front of people I don't know very well. You never know who "gets" it and who will just think you're a wack-job. Of course, I kinda AM a wack-job, but you know what I mean. Sometimes I just feel uncomfortable letting people know just how crazy I really am. But then sometimes I think it might help other people if they are also kinda crazy and they read about my craziness and then they knew they were not alone in their nuttiness. So I vascillate about whether or not to discuss it here. I think part of it is PMS, part of it is just that the whole world SUCKS and that, like the bumper-stickers say, "If you're not outraged then you're not paying attention." I also saw a snippet of an interview that David Lettermen recently did with Oprah where he discusses his own depression, and he said "It's like looking at the world with 20/20 vision."
I have strong faith, and I have my beliefs about the future, but that doesn't make the PRESENT a whole lot easier. This world is a horrible place where unimaginably horrible things happen and no one is really safe and secure ever at any given time. You ever ride a ride at the fair or something and once it starts moving you realize it's really just too much for you to handle, you're terrified, and you just want OFF THE RIDE!? And you start praying and praying that if you can just get off the ride without dying you'll never, ever get on one like it again? That's kinda how I feel about life sometimes. It's too much! I'm not tough enough for this! Please God, make it stop!!!! And Tom Cruise can bite my hiney, cuz I'm here to say that when you take antidepressants, it takes the edge off that feeling. All the problems are still there, but for some reason, you can DEAL with it better when your seratonin level is right and your brain chemicals are firing right. At least, till PMS time rolls around and you get struck with it again. :) Gotta love PMS! Remember that song from West Side Story "I Enjoy Being A Girl?" Well, that's a bunch of crap!
So anyway, enough about that for today, but that's what happens to me sometimes, and that's the way I've been feeling lately. Just overwhelmed and sad. But then, a couple of wonderful things happened, and now I'm feeling better. First, I went to Walmart to buy myself a bottle of the cheapest possible wine, since I have recently discovered that a glass of wine, much like my meds, also takes the edge off! So I get in the line with my purchase and the lady carded me. I laughed my butt off, and I needed that. The laughing improved my mood, if not the flattery! Next, my sister texted me today, and informed me that she had dusted a live bat while she was cleaning a house, and it had flown around the room, and she had freaked out and was hiding in the bathroom while texting me. My sister is usually not afraid of anything, and the thought of the bat taking off when she dusted it and also of her hiding in the bathroom for some reason sent me into a fit of giggles that lasted so long I started wheeze-laughing like Deputy Dog. She could've gotten rabies and it really wasn't funny, but for some reason the mental image of it just had me dying! Thirdly, my Aunt Marilyn took my son for a few days, and I will miss him badly, but now that's one less child around here for me to worry about for a few days, and that takes a little load of stress off. Lastly, Brenna and I went to the 2$ movies tonight, which we haven't done in forever, and before the movie started a very annoying college girl and her mother had an extremely loud, obnoxious conversation RIGHT BEHIND US. Everyone else in the theater was whispering their conversations, but these two just practically SCREAMED theirs, and you could tell it was because they were the kind of people who want you to know that a) the girl is in college and b) she has some friends. So through this, Brenna and I came to know that the girl rides horses, lives in the creepiest building on campus, doesn't have any labs next semester, has two roommates named Katy and Veronica, and they are all taking a car trip to Michigan next year, and they plan to rent a car because by then Veronica will be 21. Also, we learned that this girl snarfs popcorn like her bucket is the last one on earth, but we did not learn that from her SAYING it. Anyway..... we were trying not to look at each-other and not to crack up laughing while they were talking to each-other SOOOO LOUDLY, but then the conversation went like this... Mom: So have you talked to Katy lately? Girl: Why would I? Mom: Because she's your roommate! Girl: Mama, that girl ain't never there exceptin to eat (insert chomps on popcorn here) and leave! And, she's so LOUD. I cain't stand how loud that girl is!
At this point, Brenna and I are shaking all over and tears are running down our faces. God forbid Katy be LOUD! Why, THAT would be obnoxious! And then, Mama chimed in with this gem... "Well, you ain't exactly quiet yourself!" At that point I was starting to snort and we had to get up and move to other seats way behind them cuz I was afraid they would beat us up when they realized we were laughing at them. And not WITH them, mind you, we were laughing AT them.
So anyway, the movie was stupid but just that little show was worth the 2$ all by itself. Now I'm gonna take me some ibuprofen, have a glass of wine, and try to get a good night's sleep. I think the funk is finally lifting! At least till next month, at about this time.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
In Which The Kids Are Sick Adadgummedgain
Twins and I were waiting in the van for Dalton to get off the bus on Friday so we could go run some errands. He jumped in and announced that his head hurt and that he couldn't wait to get home, put on some pajamas, and "rest my head." I thought that was kind of a weird thing to say, but I wasn't too concerened. A little later, while running the errands, he asked me, "Mom, what's the flu?" I explained what it is and asked why he wanted to know. "Cuz some of my friends at school are out cuz they have the flu." Should've been clue number two, but it didn't register. Then we picked up Brenna, and we all went home. When we pulled into the driveway, Dalton said "I can't wait to go inside and run myself a nice hot bath. I might even put a cold washcloth on my head to make it feel better." Brenna turned to me, confused, and made a very rude and yet hilarious comment about him turning into a girl. I STILL didn't think to check the kid's forehead. He took his bath, wrapped himself in a giant blanket (and it was warmish!) and laid down on the sofa, and that's when I saw it. Whenever he gets a fever, his eyes turn down even more than they normally do, and they sink back in his head. Charles saw it at about the same time I did and said "Does he have a fever?" Sure enough, he was burning up.
I told him to go watch movies in his room and stay there so he'd be away from the babies. They have had flu shots, but you know how it is, there's so many different strains, it seems like people always get it anyway. And everyone in our house has taken turns being sick for the past month or so, so here we go again. Also, the babies have had diarrhea for 2 days straight, but I'm telling myself they're just teething. They get all pitiful when they've had an "episode," and they come to me wanting to be picked up. I pick them up, and then get a whiff, or worse, feel something wet. Twice now I've had to change my own clothes. That's always fun.
So today, we missed service (but everyone slept in till 11 and it felt great!) and we also had to cancel plans we had to go to someone's house for dinner. Bren and I waited till the babies went to bed and snuck off to Target to look at things we want but can't afford and then to the frozen yogurt place to make sure we, and when I say "we" I mean of course I, don't waste away to nothing for the winter, cuz that would be unfortunate. Brenna made jokes the whole time about how cool she is and how all her friends are probably so jealous, getting to hang out with her mom on a Saturday night at Target. But I swear, to me there is nothing quite as fun as when the two of us are together and alone in the car and can sing along to the Shakira cd and imitate the parts where she sounds like a goat, the parts where she sounds like Kermit the Frog, and even imitate the guitar. Or when we're walking through the store and we pass someone who's doing something (talking too loud on their cellphone, or some stupid teenage boy acting a fool to impress his friends, or a goth and highly unbathed couple looking at Twilight posters, etc...) and we don't even say a word, we just meet eyes and share our opinion via meeting of the minds. It's so cool to have a younger, cuter, smarter, thinner, better-at-math version of myself to hang out with!
Later, we'll watch SNL together and then quote the funny parts to each other for weeks. Also, we both have that Raynaud's syndrome thingy where are feet and hands are always frozen from poor circulation. So when we watch SNL together we will both try to stick our feet under the other's hiney for warmth. It's a tradition.
Behind me there are nasty, nasty high chairs and a nasty, nasty floor beneath them where earlier, while "eating" dinner, Aila decided to throw meatloaf, green beans, and pickled beets. I am so sick of cleaning up those kinds of messes, I just left it there and went to Target. Now I'm leaving it there and typing. I should probably go clean it up. *Sigh.*
So if you don't hear from me for a few days, it's because I'm back in sick kid land. Checking temperatures, changing poo diapers, and stepping in pickled beets.
I told him to go watch movies in his room and stay there so he'd be away from the babies. They have had flu shots, but you know how it is, there's so many different strains, it seems like people always get it anyway. And everyone in our house has taken turns being sick for the past month or so, so here we go again. Also, the babies have had diarrhea for 2 days straight, but I'm telling myself they're just teething. They get all pitiful when they've had an "episode," and they come to me wanting to be picked up. I pick them up, and then get a whiff, or worse, feel something wet. Twice now I've had to change my own clothes. That's always fun.
So today, we missed service (but everyone slept in till 11 and it felt great!) and we also had to cancel plans we had to go to someone's house for dinner. Bren and I waited till the babies went to bed and snuck off to Target to look at things we want but can't afford and then to the frozen yogurt place to make sure we, and when I say "we" I mean of course I, don't waste away to nothing for the winter, cuz that would be unfortunate. Brenna made jokes the whole time about how cool she is and how all her friends are probably so jealous, getting to hang out with her mom on a Saturday night at Target. But I swear, to me there is nothing quite as fun as when the two of us are together and alone in the car and can sing along to the Shakira cd and imitate the parts where she sounds like a goat, the parts where she sounds like Kermit the Frog, and even imitate the guitar. Or when we're walking through the store and we pass someone who's doing something (talking too loud on their cellphone, or some stupid teenage boy acting a fool to impress his friends, or a goth and highly unbathed couple looking at Twilight posters, etc...) and we don't even say a word, we just meet eyes and share our opinion via meeting of the minds. It's so cool to have a younger, cuter, smarter, thinner, better-at-math version of myself to hang out with!
Later, we'll watch SNL together and then quote the funny parts to each other for weeks. Also, we both have that Raynaud's syndrome thingy where are feet and hands are always frozen from poor circulation. So when we watch SNL together we will both try to stick our feet under the other's hiney for warmth. It's a tradition.
Behind me there are nasty, nasty high chairs and a nasty, nasty floor beneath them where earlier, while "eating" dinner, Aila decided to throw meatloaf, green beans, and pickled beets. I am so sick of cleaning up those kinds of messes, I just left it there and went to Target. Now I'm leaving it there and typing. I should probably go clean it up. *Sigh.*
So if you don't hear from me for a few days, it's because I'm back in sick kid land. Checking temperatures, changing poo diapers, and stepping in pickled beets.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
In Which I Got Mad Skills Yo
Yesterday I was riding along in the van with the twins, and they were hungry, and I did my little trick of running through McDonalds and picking up some value fries, and then tossing them to the twins all the way in the back. It occurred to me that not just anyone could do this, and I am now a near pro. If it were an olympic event, I would win. The twin's carseats are in the waaay back third row of the van, and I'm in the front driver's side (natch) and the trick is to throw the fry from one end so that it flies, end over end, right into the lap of the baby. Then they giggle, pick it up, and eat it. They're only one, so if the fry goes too far to the right or left, or misses their lap, they can't retrieve it, so it requires some pretty good hand-eye coordination to accomplish, but it is possible. And yes, I do this only at stoplights! I often wonder what the people in the cars behind me think I'm doing. As I was doing this yesterday, I thought of my sister and her three, year- apart babies, and how she used to cram bits of peanut butter sandwich into their little mouths in the station wagon on their way to places.
Another skill I have acquired since having the twins is the superhuman strength needed to hold two massive babies at once. At this point, Weston weighs just over 25lbs, Aila just over 20lbs. But I can have one on each hip, and walk around holding them ok. Which is not to say it feels great, because it doesn't, but it's much better than listening to screaming because somebody wants their mommy. When I go to bed at night, my spine sounds like a bowl of Rice Krispies, cuz it's all "Snap, Crackle, and Pop!" But I can do it, and I often do.
Also, whipping up a meal for tiny hungry people. I'm pretty sure at this point I can make four slices of french toast and two scrambled eggs with cheese in a matter of seconds, with one arm tied behind my back, AND blindfolded. Anything they like to eat, I've mastered it, in record time.
The other mommy skill I have whipped is DIAPERS. The other day, I had a record of 7 poopy diapers all in one day. Weston 4, Aila 3. Today so far, there have been 3. You would not BELIEVE the amount of poo that can come out of two very healthy eating one-year olds. Also, how much you can tell about how healthy they eat FROM their poo. There's corn, there's kale, there's definite blueberry! And Aila's love for cherry tomatoes is quite evident. It's lovely. Everytime I think it's over with for awhile cuz I just changed one, one of them walks by and I get a whiff.
I can bathe them from head to toe in seconds flat. They're used to it, they don't even mind me pouring the water over their heads to wash and rinse their hair, it doesn't faze them. Also dressing them. Didja read that funny viral post about dressing a baby being like trying to get a live squid in a string bag with no arms hanging out? That's EXACTLY what it's like, but I've discovered the secret. Weston will be still if you hand him a shoe to hold. Especially one with laces. Aila will be still if you hand her a hairbrush and tell her to brush her hair and make it pretty. I can get myself and the two babies dressed, and the diaper bag packed with cups of warm milk etc.. and get four kids in the car and buckled in ALL in the time it takes my husband to dress himself. I am the master. I am Supermom. And we're usually ONLY about 15 minutes late! Lol!
I can also push a cart with one baby in it while holding the other on my hip, get a double stroller with two babies in it down stairs, open my own doors while pushing the double stroller, load the van with two babies, the groceries I just got, AND put the double stroller back in the van all by myself.
I hear a lot of "Wow!" and "Well, you've sure got your hands full!" and "How do you do all that?" When I'm out and about with the twins. I enjoy the praise, but the truth is, anybody could do it if they HAD to. It's not easy and it takes a little muscle and planning and ingenuity, but it can be done. So for all the moms out there, and especially the ones who had tiny ones right in a row, or the ones like my cousin and I who did it two at a time, We are women, hear us roar! We have skills we didn't even know we had. And if the olympics ever comes out with a poo cleaning event, I'll see you guys there!
Another skill I have acquired since having the twins is the superhuman strength needed to hold two massive babies at once. At this point, Weston weighs just over 25lbs, Aila just over 20lbs. But I can have one on each hip, and walk around holding them ok. Which is not to say it feels great, because it doesn't, but it's much better than listening to screaming because somebody wants their mommy. When I go to bed at night, my spine sounds like a bowl of Rice Krispies, cuz it's all "Snap, Crackle, and Pop!" But I can do it, and I often do.
Also, whipping up a meal for tiny hungry people. I'm pretty sure at this point I can make four slices of french toast and two scrambled eggs with cheese in a matter of seconds, with one arm tied behind my back, AND blindfolded. Anything they like to eat, I've mastered it, in record time.
The other mommy skill I have whipped is DIAPERS. The other day, I had a record of 7 poopy diapers all in one day. Weston 4, Aila 3. Today so far, there have been 3. You would not BELIEVE the amount of poo that can come out of two very healthy eating one-year olds. Also, how much you can tell about how healthy they eat FROM their poo. There's corn, there's kale, there's definite blueberry! And Aila's love for cherry tomatoes is quite evident. It's lovely. Everytime I think it's over with for awhile cuz I just changed one, one of them walks by and I get a whiff.
I can bathe them from head to toe in seconds flat. They're used to it, they don't even mind me pouring the water over their heads to wash and rinse their hair, it doesn't faze them. Also dressing them. Didja read that funny viral post about dressing a baby being like trying to get a live squid in a string bag with no arms hanging out? That's EXACTLY what it's like, but I've discovered the secret. Weston will be still if you hand him a shoe to hold. Especially one with laces. Aila will be still if you hand her a hairbrush and tell her to brush her hair and make it pretty. I can get myself and the two babies dressed, and the diaper bag packed with cups of warm milk etc.. and get four kids in the car and buckled in ALL in the time it takes my husband to dress himself. I am the master. I am Supermom. And we're usually ONLY about 15 minutes late! Lol!
I can also push a cart with one baby in it while holding the other on my hip, get a double stroller with two babies in it down stairs, open my own doors while pushing the double stroller, load the van with two babies, the groceries I just got, AND put the double stroller back in the van all by myself.
I hear a lot of "Wow!" and "Well, you've sure got your hands full!" and "How do you do all that?" When I'm out and about with the twins. I enjoy the praise, but the truth is, anybody could do it if they HAD to. It's not easy and it takes a little muscle and planning and ingenuity, but it can be done. So for all the moms out there, and especially the ones who had tiny ones right in a row, or the ones like my cousin and I who did it two at a time, We are women, hear us roar! We have skills we didn't even know we had. And if the olympics ever comes out with a poo cleaning event, I'll see you guys there!
Monday, December 3, 2012
In Which I Have Nightmares
It's time for bed, but I'm procrastinating. Play one more video game, write something on my blog, whatever. I really NEED my sleep since I've been chasing twins all day today, and tomorrow I'm gonna get up and chase twins all day AGAIN, but I'm putting it off. Putting off going to bed because I'm still nervous from last night, during which, at about 2am, when I was asleep, I heard my husband gasp in a horrible way, so I woke up and rolled over to check on him, and about that time, he screamed "HEEEEYYY!" in his maddest possible voice. I woke him up asking "What's wrong? What's wrong?" He was just having a nightmare. People were attacking him, and he was frozen, and he thought if he could yell at them loud enough, it would scare them away. I'm sure "HEY!" wouldn't scare off would-be attackers, probably not even dream ones, but it sure scared the poop out of me! He never does that. I'm the one who has nightmares and talks in my sleep and screams in my sleep and all that stuff. It took hours for my adrenaline to quit surging so I could fall back asleep. *Shudder.*
I myself have been having really bad nightmares lately, and so has Brenna. We dream about people in our family getting shot, or killed in some other horrible way. We dream about tornadoes coming and smashing us and our family to bits. We have horrible ones about Charles in particular, I think because the two of us watched him have the seizure the day he flatlined before he got his pacemaker. I honestly think Bren and I both have a mild case of PTSD from that little episode.
Sometimes I have nightmares that no one wants to be friends with me anymore. Or that I'm at a convention and I can't find my family. Sometimes I'm in a crowded movie theater, and it's very dark, and I'm looking for whoever I'm supposed to be meeting, but every time I think it's them and walk up and start to sit down, the face turns around and it's someone scary.
But my favorite nightmares are the ones about peeing. I have them all the time. I'm really not sure WHY, except maybe I really need to wake up and go to the bathroom. I'll be in a place full of people, and the signs will say that this is the restroom, but I'll go in there and there are no walls, no stalls, nothing. And what's purported to be the commode will be something like and upholstered chair, with no hole in it or anything. And I'll be aruguing with people "But this is not a toilet! But everyone can see me! I really have to go! Where's the real toilet?" But people will convince me to pee on a chair with upholstery and no walls around it with all kinds of people watching me, and I'm the most horrible kind of mortified.
It would be nice to understand WHY I dream these things and how to make all dreams good ones. I guess I'll just go on to bed and hope that tonight I have the ones with the giant houses that I've inherited, or the ones where I'm flying, or the ones where I'm running naked and happy through fields full of fruit trees or down beautiful beaches. Those may be weird, but they're my happy ones, and they're infinitely preferable to the ones where my teeth shatter and fall out, or I pee in a chair in the middle of a mall. Anyone else have this kind of weirdness in their subconscious? Please say yes!
I myself have been having really bad nightmares lately, and so has Brenna. We dream about people in our family getting shot, or killed in some other horrible way. We dream about tornadoes coming and smashing us and our family to bits. We have horrible ones about Charles in particular, I think because the two of us watched him have the seizure the day he flatlined before he got his pacemaker. I honestly think Bren and I both have a mild case of PTSD from that little episode.
Sometimes I have nightmares that no one wants to be friends with me anymore. Or that I'm at a convention and I can't find my family. Sometimes I'm in a crowded movie theater, and it's very dark, and I'm looking for whoever I'm supposed to be meeting, but every time I think it's them and walk up and start to sit down, the face turns around and it's someone scary.
But my favorite nightmares are the ones about peeing. I have them all the time. I'm really not sure WHY, except maybe I really need to wake up and go to the bathroom. I'll be in a place full of people, and the signs will say that this is the restroom, but I'll go in there and there are no walls, no stalls, nothing. And what's purported to be the commode will be something like and upholstered chair, with no hole in it or anything. And I'll be aruguing with people "But this is not a toilet! But everyone can see me! I really have to go! Where's the real toilet?" But people will convince me to pee on a chair with upholstery and no walls around it with all kinds of people watching me, and I'm the most horrible kind of mortified.
It would be nice to understand WHY I dream these things and how to make all dreams good ones. I guess I'll just go on to bed and hope that tonight I have the ones with the giant houses that I've inherited, or the ones where I'm flying, or the ones where I'm running naked and happy through fields full of fruit trees or down beautiful beaches. Those may be weird, but they're my happy ones, and they're infinitely preferable to the ones where my teeth shatter and fall out, or I pee in a chair in the middle of a mall. Anyone else have this kind of weirdness in their subconscious? Please say yes!
Monday, November 26, 2012
In Which Christmas Gets On My Last Nerve
Well, tis the stinking season! I know I don't celebrate Christmas for religious reasons, but I'm telling you, I honestly believe that if the holiday were central to my religious beliefs there are some things about it that I would still just LOATHE.
Item 1: Those dadblasted Salvation Army bell ringers.
For goodness sake, they are EVERYWHERE!!! Now say, hypothetically, that one WAS a celebrator of the Christmas holiday, and one had to go out Christmas shopping. One would never, I'm assuming, find all the presents in one place, so one would have to travel from store to store, and at all of said stores, would be accosted by the bell ringers. Flailing about with their obnoxious bells, screaming their little greetings of things like the one I heard today at Walmart, which was "Merrr Christmas!" (there was no y on the end of merry!) So what's the etiquette rule on stuff like that? If you give to the one in front of the door at Walmart, do you have to give to the one at the door at Kmart? And what about Target? Since I myself do not celebrate the holiday and do not wish to give to their cause, I find myself avoiding eye contact and trying to dodge in and out of stores unnoticed. But I imagine that even those who do celebrate the holiday and wish to give SOMETIMES still do not want to be accosted with the bells and screamed greetings ALL THE TIME.
Item 2: The "Christmas Spirit." Now I'm no expert, obviously, but from what I can tell, the "Christmas spirit" entails fighting over socks in department stores, or fighting over parking spaces in malls, and stealing whenever anyone isn't watching their purse carefully enough. I personally do not care for what I have seen of the Christmas spirit. In fact, I can never wait for the holidays to be over so that people's "spirit" can get a little calmer and go back to normal.
Item 3: The worms that crawl into ones brain and lay eggs there which turn into larvae which thereafter turn into more worms that never, ever get out of your brain that are also known as Christmas Carols.
Why, WHY are these particular songs so catchy??? I have never celebrated the holiday in my entire life. How I know the words to all these songs is completely beyond me. But I can be in a store and hear a little snippet of one, and I swear to you, it will be days, DAYS I TELL YOU, before I can get it out of my head. In my Jr. High French class, the teacher taught the other kids one French Christmas carol. I learned it by osmosis, just sitting there in the room, doing other work while they learned it. In fact, to my recollection, I was one of the FIRST kids to learn all the words. The kids who actually practiced the song and celebrated the holiday had a much harder time with it than I did. Well, the music to that particular song is now featured, without lyrics, in a commercial for Biltmore Estate. This class I took was um, about 25 years ago. I never sang the durn song. And yet, after that commercial runs, I sit around for hours with the words running through my head "Ah flambeau Jeanette Isabella....le Christ et nee, Mary appelle...Ah, ah, que le mere et belle! Ah, ah, ah que l'enfant et beau!" IN FRENCH!!!! Even the stupid carol in a language I DO NOT REALLY KNOW will not get out of my head! AAAARRRRGH!!!!
Ok, well, I'm done venting now. I'm gonna go off to bed now and try to not hear the Salvation Army bells and the Christmas Carols in my head.
Item 1: Those dadblasted Salvation Army bell ringers.
For goodness sake, they are EVERYWHERE!!! Now say, hypothetically, that one WAS a celebrator of the Christmas holiday, and one had to go out Christmas shopping. One would never, I'm assuming, find all the presents in one place, so one would have to travel from store to store, and at all of said stores, would be accosted by the bell ringers. Flailing about with their obnoxious bells, screaming their little greetings of things like the one I heard today at Walmart, which was "Merrr Christmas!" (there was no y on the end of merry!) So what's the etiquette rule on stuff like that? If you give to the one in front of the door at Walmart, do you have to give to the one at the door at Kmart? And what about Target? Since I myself do not celebrate the holiday and do not wish to give to their cause, I find myself avoiding eye contact and trying to dodge in and out of stores unnoticed. But I imagine that even those who do celebrate the holiday and wish to give SOMETIMES still do not want to be accosted with the bells and screamed greetings ALL THE TIME.
Item 2: The "Christmas Spirit." Now I'm no expert, obviously, but from what I can tell, the "Christmas spirit" entails fighting over socks in department stores, or fighting over parking spaces in malls, and stealing whenever anyone isn't watching their purse carefully enough. I personally do not care for what I have seen of the Christmas spirit. In fact, I can never wait for the holidays to be over so that people's "spirit" can get a little calmer and go back to normal.
Item 3: The worms that crawl into ones brain and lay eggs there which turn into larvae which thereafter turn into more worms that never, ever get out of your brain that are also known as Christmas Carols.
Why, WHY are these particular songs so catchy??? I have never celebrated the holiday in my entire life. How I know the words to all these songs is completely beyond me. But I can be in a store and hear a little snippet of one, and I swear to you, it will be days, DAYS I TELL YOU, before I can get it out of my head. In my Jr. High French class, the teacher taught the other kids one French Christmas carol. I learned it by osmosis, just sitting there in the room, doing other work while they learned it. In fact, to my recollection, I was one of the FIRST kids to learn all the words. The kids who actually practiced the song and celebrated the holiday had a much harder time with it than I did. Well, the music to that particular song is now featured, without lyrics, in a commercial for Biltmore Estate. This class I took was um, about 25 years ago. I never sang the durn song. And yet, after that commercial runs, I sit around for hours with the words running through my head "Ah flambeau Jeanette Isabella....le Christ et nee, Mary appelle...Ah, ah, que le mere et belle! Ah, ah, ah que l'enfant et beau!" IN FRENCH!!!! Even the stupid carol in a language I DO NOT REALLY KNOW will not get out of my head! AAAARRRRGH!!!!
Ok, well, I'm done venting now. I'm gonna go off to bed now and try to not hear the Salvation Army bells and the Christmas Carols in my head.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
In Which I Am Out of School, So Why Do I Have To Do Homework Dadgummit?
I hate homework. I hated homework while I was in school. I frequently, in fact, did not DO my homework while I was in school, and instead waited until I was in the class before the class I had to turn in the homework for, and would hastily make an attempt at doing the homework without the teacher in the class I was currently in catching me. And because I was doing homework for another class while in THAT class, I would proceed to make horrible grades for THAT class, because I hadn't been paying attention or doing my work in that class, I had been doing homework for the next class. Because that's the kind of organized, motivated, super a-plus kind of student I was. Now if it happened to be that I was in a class like Theater Arts, Music Appreciation, or Creative Writing, which I happened to love, THEN I would pay attention, and I would work hard. But if the class was something pertaining to, oh, I don't know, Biology or Math of any sort, I was going to have my brain shut off while I was in there anyway, so there was really no point in me even taking up space in their desks.
I also hated projects. And I would remember that I had one on like the night before it was due at about 9:30pm, and then go crying about it to my mother.
My most vivid project memory was when we were supposed to do a science project. I had a friend, Jennifer, who lived up the street from me. She was the type of person who wrote everything out in neat handwriting, then typed it, then put the typed pages in a little fancy folder so it looked like something important, and started on things way, way, way before they were due. She always got a's and she ended up going to Duke University. She was my closest friend at school, which was funny, because we were so opposite in a lot of ways. I was the type of person who scribbled out my reports on paper out of a ringed notebook that had to be ripped out and had all the messy edges and looked like a piece of trash. And I never started anything until the very, very last minute.
So one year, we had a science project, and it could be on almost anything, but it had to glow under a UV light because they were gonna make a cool display in the school window. Jennifer worked for about a month on a highly detailed cross-section of a cell. I waited till the night before, and I took a piece of plywood and spray painted it black. Then I took some glow-in-the-dark paint I had bought in order to make paint blotches on a white pair of Keds I liked to wear, and I poured the orange glow-in-the-dark paint onto a round styrofoam ball like you use to put flowers in that I had made my mom drive me to Hungates to pick up at about 9pm. There wasn't enough paint to cover the whole thing, so the back was all white, and I was too stupid to think to cut across the styrofoam ball to make it flat on one side to lay on the board. I just used super-glue to glue down the white side onto the black spraypainted plywood. And then I wrote "Mars" underneath it. "Mars" came unglued and rolled down my driveway the next morning, and by the time I got it to school, it was caked in gravel, which I had to try to shake off before I attempted to re-glue it to the board. Jennifer laughed like crazy at me and my pathetic project. She laughed until our grades came back and she had made an A plus, and I had made an A minus. Then I laughed like crazy.
Anyway, the point of all this is that I hate homework and school, and schoolwork, and projects, and I certainly didn't wanna start having to do them for my kids when THEY went to school, and yet here I sit, with a piece of paper Dalton brought to me saying "You have to fill this out by tomorrow!" Where I have to answer the following questions: 1) What is the question being studied? 2) State the hypothesis, problem, or engineering goals. (Ok, I just PUT a period there, because it is a statement, but on the actual sheet from the school, they finish off the previous statement with a dadgummed QUESTION MARK, yet I'M the one who didn't pay attention in school!) 3) Detailed description of methods/procedures to be used; type of data to be collected, how data will be analyzed. 4) Bibliography/References (include at least 3 sources) Then last, it says "I agree to assist the student in completing a project for the Science Fair." and there's a space for me to sign my name.
Well, NO, I do not agree to help the student. I don't WANT to do a project for the science fair! And yet, on a previous page, I was informed that it is REQUIRED, so I guess you've got me over a barrel, now don't you, school people? Furthermore, what kind or REFERENCES am I supposed to have for a science fair project? Dalton was gonna do one about toy cars with weights and how fast they go depending on how weighted, etc...but where are there REFERENCES to that?
I HATE stuff like this, and it seems like there's more and more of it, where the parents have to do the work for the students. I don't wanna do the work. I graduated. I have four children to look after, and I'm busy, and I don't CARE about weighted cars or what happens if you mix chemicals.
I think I'm gonna spraypaint a ball orange and super-glue that crap on a piece of plywood.
I also hated projects. And I would remember that I had one on like the night before it was due at about 9:30pm, and then go crying about it to my mother.
My most vivid project memory was when we were supposed to do a science project. I had a friend, Jennifer, who lived up the street from me. She was the type of person who wrote everything out in neat handwriting, then typed it, then put the typed pages in a little fancy folder so it looked like something important, and started on things way, way, way before they were due. She always got a's and she ended up going to Duke University. She was my closest friend at school, which was funny, because we were so opposite in a lot of ways. I was the type of person who scribbled out my reports on paper out of a ringed notebook that had to be ripped out and had all the messy edges and looked like a piece of trash. And I never started anything until the very, very last minute.
So one year, we had a science project, and it could be on almost anything, but it had to glow under a UV light because they were gonna make a cool display in the school window. Jennifer worked for about a month on a highly detailed cross-section of a cell. I waited till the night before, and I took a piece of plywood and spray painted it black. Then I took some glow-in-the-dark paint I had bought in order to make paint blotches on a white pair of Keds I liked to wear, and I poured the orange glow-in-the-dark paint onto a round styrofoam ball like you use to put flowers in that I had made my mom drive me to Hungates to pick up at about 9pm. There wasn't enough paint to cover the whole thing, so the back was all white, and I was too stupid to think to cut across the styrofoam ball to make it flat on one side to lay on the board. I just used super-glue to glue down the white side onto the black spraypainted plywood. And then I wrote "Mars" underneath it. "Mars" came unglued and rolled down my driveway the next morning, and by the time I got it to school, it was caked in gravel, which I had to try to shake off before I attempted to re-glue it to the board. Jennifer laughed like crazy at me and my pathetic project. She laughed until our grades came back and she had made an A plus, and I had made an A minus. Then I laughed like crazy.
Anyway, the point of all this is that I hate homework and school, and schoolwork, and projects, and I certainly didn't wanna start having to do them for my kids when THEY went to school, and yet here I sit, with a piece of paper Dalton brought to me saying "You have to fill this out by tomorrow!" Where I have to answer the following questions: 1) What is the question being studied? 2) State the hypothesis, problem, or engineering goals. (Ok, I just PUT a period there, because it is a statement, but on the actual sheet from the school, they finish off the previous statement with a dadgummed QUESTION MARK, yet I'M the one who didn't pay attention in school!) 3) Detailed description of methods/procedures to be used; type of data to be collected, how data will be analyzed. 4) Bibliography/References (include at least 3 sources) Then last, it says "I agree to assist the student in completing a project for the Science Fair." and there's a space for me to sign my name.
Well, NO, I do not agree to help the student. I don't WANT to do a project for the science fair! And yet, on a previous page, I was informed that it is REQUIRED, so I guess you've got me over a barrel, now don't you, school people? Furthermore, what kind or REFERENCES am I supposed to have for a science fair project? Dalton was gonna do one about toy cars with weights and how fast they go depending on how weighted, etc...but where are there REFERENCES to that?
I HATE stuff like this, and it seems like there's more and more of it, where the parents have to do the work for the students. I don't wanna do the work. I graduated. I have four children to look after, and I'm busy, and I don't CARE about weighted cars or what happens if you mix chemicals.
I think I'm gonna spraypaint a ball orange and super-glue that crap on a piece of plywood.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
In Which I Have Nothing to Say
I am having a severe case of the blues, the blahs, and the all-around writer's block. Just wanted to explain my absence and to apologize to anyone who has perhaps come to this site looking for a new post for like, the last couple weeks or so, and found na-da. I hate it when I go to people's blogs to see what's new in their lives and there's nothing for days and days....but sometimes there's just nothing you feel like writing about, and this is one of those times!
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
In Which I Let My Nutty Son Have His Own Blog
So most of you probably know by now that Dalton has his own blog. He is just in seventh heaven, runs in from school wanting to write on it, checks it periodically for comments and to see the counter that tells him how many people have read it. I think he thinks he's famous now. What I really, really like about it is that the typing keeps him busy and quiet for an extended period of time!!! Thanks to everyone for reading it and leaving him comments, he's thrilled beyond words.
Other news for today: The babies are never, ever going to get over this cold. They keep sneezing and their little noses are so red from all the boogers! Aila couldn't even drink her milk this morning because she couldn't breathe through her nose, so she'd take a couple of sips and then run out of breath and pull her sippy cup out of her mouth and pant for a little bit and then take a few more sips. It was pitiful! The good thing is, they act like they don't feel horribly badly. They still laugh and play. But they just spend an awful lot of time wanting to lay on me and suck their fingers, and fighting over who gets my lap, and then grinning and snuggling under their covers like they're very happy to be there when I put them in bed for a nap. I have never seen babies who love their beds quite as much as those two.
The thing they seem to enjoy the most since they've been sick is a nice hot bath. I've been making their baths warmer and deeper since they've been sick, and they sorta flop over in the water like they're about to swim and get their whole bodies in there...I guess the warm water feels good and the steam helps their congestion. Tonight, our goober cat who has always, always, since he was a kitten loved the water jumped in the bath with them and played in it. The cat was walking around in there, pawing at their bath toys, drinking a little of their bathwater (ew!) and Weston was watching his every move, grinning his head off and screaming "TIDDY!" Aila was leaning over and laying her head on the cat and making her little "Ohhh" noise she makes when she's giving a hug. It was all adorable except for the constant stream of boogers I was having to wipe off everyone's noses with a warm washcloth! I'm so ready for everyone to get well, and scared to death I'm going to get it myself once they're feeling better!
Other news for today: The babies are never, ever going to get over this cold. They keep sneezing and their little noses are so red from all the boogers! Aila couldn't even drink her milk this morning because she couldn't breathe through her nose, so she'd take a couple of sips and then run out of breath and pull her sippy cup out of her mouth and pant for a little bit and then take a few more sips. It was pitiful! The good thing is, they act like they don't feel horribly badly. They still laugh and play. But they just spend an awful lot of time wanting to lay on me and suck their fingers, and fighting over who gets my lap, and then grinning and snuggling under their covers like they're very happy to be there when I put them in bed for a nap. I have never seen babies who love their beds quite as much as those two.
The thing they seem to enjoy the most since they've been sick is a nice hot bath. I've been making their baths warmer and deeper since they've been sick, and they sorta flop over in the water like they're about to swim and get their whole bodies in there...I guess the warm water feels good and the steam helps their congestion. Tonight, our goober cat who has always, always, since he was a kitten loved the water jumped in the bath with them and played in it. The cat was walking around in there, pawing at their bath toys, drinking a little of their bathwater (ew!) and Weston was watching his every move, grinning his head off and screaming "TIDDY!" Aila was leaning over and laying her head on the cat and making her little "Ohhh" noise she makes when she's giving a hug. It was all adorable except for the constant stream of boogers I was having to wipe off everyone's noses with a warm washcloth! I'm so ready for everyone to get well, and scared to death I'm going to get it myself once they're feeling better!
Monday, November 5, 2012
In Which My Son Wants Me To Read His Journal
I am so confused by my son. When I was a kid, I always kept a journal, and it was of utmost importance to me that my mother never read it. This was so important to me, in fact, that I went to all kinds of trouble to ensure she never read it. I hid it in my closet, and she found it. I hid it in a drawer underneath a bunch of other stuff, and she found it. She would say little things to let me know, without coming right out and saying it, that she had read it, and that she KNEW things. Things she could not possibly have known, had she not read my journal. More than once, she said a little something like that, just to let me know, and I grew so afraid and freaked out that she had read my private thoughts, I remember the hairs ACTUALLY standing up on the back of my neck. I started keeping my journal locked in my locker at school, but then a friend who knew my locker combination went in there and read it. Eventually I learned that if you really want to keep your private thoughts private, don't write them down. Anywhere.
I swore to myself that when I had children, I wouldn't search their rooms for their journals, and even if they had one and left it right out where I could see it, I would not read it.
But then there's my almost 9-yr old son, Dalton. He WANTS me to read his journal. He ASKS me to read it. His grandparents just sent him a journal with a lock and key on it, so that no one could get in, and he wrote in it, and then promptly brought it before our entire family and had his father, sister and I GUESS what he had written in it, and then told us when we were right or wrong. I love that he's so open and feels that he can share anything with us. But then again, sometimes I am absolutely flabbergasted by the things that I read, and the fact that he doesn't have the good sense to know he ought to be at least a little embarrassed. He writes about a girl at school whom he has nicknamed "Twinklepuff," and how he thinks she likes him because she calls him "MR. Twinklepuff." He writes about how he rode his bike outside until he "definetely had hypothermia." He writes all kinds of crazy, funny, sometimes intensely personal things, some of which I won't even quote because even though HE's not embarrassed for everyone to know them, I AM! I don't know, maybe he's just like me. I blog about my most embarrassing moments, maybe he's just doing the same thing. Come to think of it, one day Dalton will discover blogging, and if he hasn't learned to keep a little to himself, one day the whole world will be able to read about whatever rotten and horrible he did that day. Better yet, one day he'll probably be blogging about ME, old and frail and in a nursing home, and it'll be stuff like "Today, my mom peed all over herself again..." *Sigh.*
I swore to myself that when I had children, I wouldn't search their rooms for their journals, and even if they had one and left it right out where I could see it, I would not read it.
But then there's my almost 9-yr old son, Dalton. He WANTS me to read his journal. He ASKS me to read it. His grandparents just sent him a journal with a lock and key on it, so that no one could get in, and he wrote in it, and then promptly brought it before our entire family and had his father, sister and I GUESS what he had written in it, and then told us when we were right or wrong. I love that he's so open and feels that he can share anything with us. But then again, sometimes I am absolutely flabbergasted by the things that I read, and the fact that he doesn't have the good sense to know he ought to be at least a little embarrassed. He writes about a girl at school whom he has nicknamed "Twinklepuff," and how he thinks she likes him because she calls him "MR. Twinklepuff." He writes about how he rode his bike outside until he "definetely had hypothermia." He writes all kinds of crazy, funny, sometimes intensely personal things, some of which I won't even quote because even though HE's not embarrassed for everyone to know them, I AM! I don't know, maybe he's just like me. I blog about my most embarrassing moments, maybe he's just doing the same thing. Come to think of it, one day Dalton will discover blogging, and if he hasn't learned to keep a little to himself, one day the whole world will be able to read about whatever rotten and horrible he did that day. Better yet, one day he'll probably be blogging about ME, old and frail and in a nursing home, and it'll be stuff like "Today, my mom peed all over herself again..." *Sigh.*
Sunday, November 4, 2012
In Which I Get Attached To People I've Never Met
A couple weeks ago, it was Whitney Heichel. I was sad when I read about her on the news and had no idea she was one of Jehovah's Witnesses. I was hoping they would find her, but thinking it hardly seemed likely. I was thinking how pretty she was and how adorable her husband was and how cute and happy they looked together. Then I read on facebook that she was one of Jehovah's Witnesses. All the sudden, it's different. She's one of ours! If I lived where she did, she'd be my friend and I'd work with her in service and I'd have been at her wedding and bridal shower. It's just amazing how much it really affects (did I do it right this time?) us when we find out something has happened to one of us. We call each-other brother and sister, and you don't realize just how true those terms are. So you read about something like that, and then you find out it's your sister, and suddenly the stakes are so much higher, and you feel like you know her, and her mom personally, even though you really don't. Then the bad news starts rolling in and I'm crying reading the news online, and then I'm crying reading the posts her friends and family made on facebook. Then I'm crying looking through the photos from her funeral and seeing all the friends, in a Kingdom Hall, dealing with the loss. I'm thinking that I'm gonna just have to quit looking at the pictures and reading about it all because it's just making me sad and I don't actually know her or her family, and there's no use being sad for someone I don't know when there are so many people to be sad for that I DO actually know.
About that time, I start reading about the little two year old boy with the spiky hair and the adorable grin who loves Lightning McQueen and got hit in the head by a large tree limb when Sandy was coming through Georgia. And then I find out that his family is in the same congregation with my cousin and also an old friend, and they are hurting about it because they're watching his family hurting about it. And the little boy's parents are also Witnesses, and once again, he's not just an adorable little two year-old boy, he's one of ours. If his family were in my congregation, his mom and I would be stuck in the mother's room together with our children. He's not just any kid, he's family. Now I'm checking for updates several times a day to see if he's still hanging on, and how he's doing, and worrying cuz tonight, they're gonna try to slowly take him out of his medically induced coma, and his mommy's a nervous wreck about it. So I'm a nervous wreck about it too. I hope it helps somehow to have the prayers and support of thousands of brothers and sisters who don't actually know you. I wish I could DO something for his family. But there's only one thing I can do for them, so I'll be praying for little Tripp Halstead and for his parents and his family. Hoping that everything turns out ok for them, and that if it doesn't, they'll have the strength to endure.
About that time, I start reading about the little two year old boy with the spiky hair and the adorable grin who loves Lightning McQueen and got hit in the head by a large tree limb when Sandy was coming through Georgia. And then I find out that his family is in the same congregation with my cousin and also an old friend, and they are hurting about it because they're watching his family hurting about it. And the little boy's parents are also Witnesses, and once again, he's not just an adorable little two year-old boy, he's one of ours. If his family were in my congregation, his mom and I would be stuck in the mother's room together with our children. He's not just any kid, he's family. Now I'm checking for updates several times a day to see if he's still hanging on, and how he's doing, and worrying cuz tonight, they're gonna try to slowly take him out of his medically induced coma, and his mommy's a nervous wreck about it. So I'm a nervous wreck about it too. I hope it helps somehow to have the prayers and support of thousands of brothers and sisters who don't actually know you. I wish I could DO something for his family. But there's only one thing I can do for them, so I'll be praying for little Tripp Halstead and for his parents and his family. Hoping that everything turns out ok for them, and that if it doesn't, they'll have the strength to endure.
Friday, November 2, 2012
In Which I Have A Parent/Teacher Conference
Had a parent/teacher conference with Dalton's teacher yesterday. I was a nervous wreck, as we had gotten a lot of emails from her early in the year about difficulties she was having with him.
Got there, and she had another parent in the room with her, so I had to wait my turn in the hallway. There was a large bulletin board on the hallway wall with tacked up books some of the kids in his class had made about geography, explaining what a mesa, plains, mountains, and valleys and stuff are. I found Dalton's and started reading. There were factual components, such as "a mesa is a mountain with a flat top." But there were also very Daltonesque parts throughout his little book. "Mountains are not really pointy, that's just the way you draw them." "Some people think valleys are called valleys because they look like little 'vs.'" Or how about this one "A canyon is really nothing but a ridiculously large hole in the ground." And then there was my absolute favorite, "The plains are also called flatlands, because there is really nothing there to see. Except in movies and on tv, often you will find cruel people in saloons." When I read that one, I actually snorted!
Anyway, finally got in to see the teacher, and she said that although they got off to a rocky start at the beginning of the year, she now loves having Dalton in her class, says he has vastly improved. She said she's found that what he needs more than anything is to continue to be challenged, and she said she has found it best to have him help other students, which keeps him busy. She also said she would not be suprised at all if he grows up to be a writer, and she is not the first of his teachers to tell me that. Although, I don't really know what genre he would specialize in, because do you classify it as fiction or nonfiction when someone writes that in the movies, flatlands have cruel people in saloons?
Got there, and she had another parent in the room with her, so I had to wait my turn in the hallway. There was a large bulletin board on the hallway wall with tacked up books some of the kids in his class had made about geography, explaining what a mesa, plains, mountains, and valleys and stuff are. I found Dalton's and started reading. There were factual components, such as "a mesa is a mountain with a flat top." But there were also very Daltonesque parts throughout his little book. "Mountains are not really pointy, that's just the way you draw them." "Some people think valleys are called valleys because they look like little 'vs.'" Or how about this one "A canyon is really nothing but a ridiculously large hole in the ground." And then there was my absolute favorite, "The plains are also called flatlands, because there is really nothing there to see. Except in movies and on tv, often you will find cruel people in saloons." When I read that one, I actually snorted!
Anyway, finally got in to see the teacher, and she said that although they got off to a rocky start at the beginning of the year, she now loves having Dalton in her class, says he has vastly improved. She said she's found that what he needs more than anything is to continue to be challenged, and she said she has found it best to have him help other students, which keeps him busy. She also said she would not be suprised at all if he grows up to be a writer, and she is not the first of his teachers to tell me that. Although, I don't really know what genre he would specialize in, because do you classify it as fiction or nonfiction when someone writes that in the movies, flatlands have cruel people in saloons?
Thursday, November 1, 2012
In Which I Have Two Sick Babies
Haven't written on here in quite some time. Been pretty darn busy and my mind has been elsewhere. Both the twins were acting very strange, just really grumpy and nothing making them happy, and wanting to sleep all the time. Then on Tuesday afternoon, as I was telling Charles about how weird they'd been acting, we each noticed that the baby we were holding had a rather warm forehead. They got warmer and warmer till bedtime, and just wanted to lay there, glassy-eyed, not moving, on our laps. Finally took a temp and it was about 101. The next morning they no longer felt warm, but they still acted grumpy and fatigued pretty much all day. Auntie Marilyn came to the rescue and came and helped me hold and feed and bathe and all that good stuff, even stayed overnight to help me, which was wonderful. Especially wonderful to Weston, who is completely enamored with her and her little songs she sings, and the way she does his "piggies," etc... Aila is more reserved, as always. But she sat very still on Marilyn's lap this morning in her litle polka-dot pajamas, stone-faced, while Marilyn poked all her dots and said "Polka-dot, polka-dot, polka-dot.." etc... No smile, no facial movement at ALL out of Aila. But the second Marilyn stopped, Aila grabbed her hand and put it to her pajamas as if to say "Do it again." She may not have smiled, but she clearly liked it. Then Weston got jealous and Marilyn had to poke the dinosaurs on HIS pajamas and say "Dinosaur, dinosaur, dinosaur..."
The babies did finally seem to have their appetite back today, and were thrilled when I made them a big plate of cut-up, syrupless french toast. Aila grabbed two pieces, one for each hand, so Weston grabbed the hand she wasn't eating out of and stuck it in his own mouth.
Also new around here, Weston following the cat around yelling "Tiddy!!!" (Kitty, in case you were wondering.) It's pretty darn cute.
I'm wiped out and don't have any interesting things to write about, other than watching my poor sick babies, so, oh well. Maybe soon. I'm gonna try to load a video I took of them Wednesday when they were feeling horrible but being very sweet to each-other. I already put it on facebook, but I'll put it here too, because I just think it's the sweetest thing. I've watched it about 50 times myself already! Hope it'll load...
The babies did finally seem to have their appetite back today, and were thrilled when I made them a big plate of cut-up, syrupless french toast. Aila grabbed two pieces, one for each hand, so Weston grabbed the hand she wasn't eating out of and stuck it in his own mouth.
Also new around here, Weston following the cat around yelling "Tiddy!!!" (Kitty, in case you were wondering.) It's pretty darn cute.
I'm wiped out and don't have any interesting things to write about, other than watching my poor sick babies, so, oh well. Maybe soon. I'm gonna try to load a video I took of them Wednesday when they were feeling horrible but being very sweet to each-other. I already put it on facebook, but I'll put it here too, because I just think it's the sweetest thing. I've watched it about 50 times myself already! Hope it'll load...
Thursday, October 25, 2012
In Which 9 yr old Boys Irritate the Snot Out Of Me
Can we talk for a moment about how irritating 9 year old boys are? It's MY blog, so of course we can! :) 9 yr old boys are THE WORST.
I first discovered this when my brother turned 9. His teeth grew fuzz. He smelled horrible. A mixture of boy-child wet puppy smell and adult body odor. He wore stupid stuff trying to look cool, like parachute pants and calculator watches. Everything about him made me kind of want to throw up. I was only 3 years older, so it wasn't like I was an adult or anything, but even I could see this weird changing time from boy to adolescent, and it wasn't pretty. About the time he hit 13 or 14, he suddenly became very likable and not so gross, so I guess it was that weird age range of pre-teen.
Next was my cousin, who we'll call "Z" to protect the guilty. You wanna talk about some fuzzy teeth?! Z had the fuzziest teeth ever. You know how 9 year olds have those GIANT front teeth that are way too big for their heads? Why is it that God made it so that right when their teeth are THAT HUGE is the same time they decide there's no need to brush? Once again, after a few more years, he became fun to be around again, and grew into his teeth, and started to brush them.
After I was an adult, another cousin and HIS cousin, both of whom I was around a lot, turned 9 at the same time. I kinda remembered that it was a gross age from my previous experience, but these two made it perfectly clear to me that it was something about this particular age.... We'll call them "G" and "J." J's mom brought him over for me to babysit. I liked kids, and thought this would be fine. I had a metronome, those little "tick-tock" devices that one uses to count off beats when you're playing music. Well J found it, almost immediately, and had to play with it. It wasn't a toy, and it was kind of expensive. But I let him anyway, cuz it kept him quiet. So this is what I heard "Tick----tock-----tick------tock------tick---" He had it set on a slow time. Then he messed with the weight that made it change speeds "Ticktockticktockticktockticktock" on and on and on and on and on until I couldn't stand it anymore. "J, do not play with that anymore. Turn it off." I said. He looked at me, and grinned a sly devil grin, showing his giant fuzzy teeth. "J, I said DO NOT DO IT AGAIN." He flicked it, "TICKTOCK!" and laughed. He just HAD to do it one more time, to show me who was boss.
G would argue incessantly with his Mama, because he was 9 and therefore knew everything. We were outside, and a baby in the family threw up or something and got stuff everywhere. "G, run to the car please and get me the baby wipes." said his mother. "Why?" said G. "Because the baby threw up and we need it! GO!" "Uh! Why do I have to go get it?!"
Another time, we were at his house, my mom and I, while his mother was gone. He was skateboarding across his kitchen, and I am not making this up, on his knees. Whamming into the cabinets, scraping up the floor, falling off and rolling around. My mom said to him "G, please stop doing that, you're gonna get hurt." "But WHY?! I'm not gonna get hurt, I'm fine! I'm just...." I couldn't take it anymore "GET OFF THE SKATEBOARD BECAUSE SHE SAID TO DO IT AND SHE'S OLDER THAN YOU AND IF SHE SAYS NOT TO, DON'T DO IT!!!" "Whatever!" he said, and then he was sad cuz I had yelled at him, and I felt horrible because I had yelled at him. I had loved this kid to pieces and held him and played with him since he was a tiny baby, and now he was getting on my last nerve. And do you know why? BECAUSE HE WAS NINE!
Nine year old boys (and I'm sure it's true of girls as well, but for some reason they don't bother me quite as badly) start getting hormones. They have a weird smell, and then they don't want to bathe. They think they know EVERYTHING, and there is no reasoning with them. They feel grown-up, so they get all "You're stupid and I know more than you" and "I look cool in my navy blue tie with my black suit, and don't tell me what to do!" You could LITERALLY tell a 9 year old boy the sky was blue and they would argue "Actually it's kind of a periwinkle" or whatever, trying to show off their advanced knowledge. Their teeth are too big for their heads, but they don't want to brush them. They talk back to their moms, because they're growing up and they're testing their boundaries. They're too big for toys, so instead they want to hang around and hear all the adult conversation. But they hang around DIRECTLY UNDERNEATH YOUR BUTT-CHEEKS and they overhear everything you don't want them to hear, and then quote it at inopportune times. "My mom told my dad they can't make the mortgage payment this month, so we may have to move." or other stuff like that. You say "Stop!" and they keep on going, you say "STOP" in a more forceful way, and they continue doing what they're doing, at least one more time, just so you know you don't really have control over them, because, after all, you're an idiot and they are all-knowing. Then, when you completely lose your mind and yell and get really, really angry....they cry their eye-balls out and ask why you don't love them anymore and want to hug you, because they're really just 9 years old, and they're still (despite what their hormones are telling them) just a little kid, and they don't really MEAN to be bad. And then you try to comfort them by giving them the hug they so desperately need, but dadgummit their breath smells like something died in their esophagus and their body odor is so puppy-doggish and pungent, and it's everything you can do to not gag.
So, this is all my way of telling you that right now, I have a very-close-to-nine-year-old boy. He is reminding me very much of my brother and cousins lately. He has been the light of my life, and I find him brilliant and amazing and funny, and when I'm not desperately trying to pay attention to my 1 yr old twins, I love to hear all the weird things he has to say. But he is a nine year old boy, and he is making me tired. And right now I can't wait for another few years to pass when he becomes your garden-variety teenager, and I can enjoy being around him more fully. (notice the careful wording!) So if you're the mother of a nine year old boy, or have ever had one, and you have experienced any of these things as well, feel free to comment, so I don't feel like I am all alone in my traumatic 9-yr-old experiences.
I first discovered this when my brother turned 9. His teeth grew fuzz. He smelled horrible. A mixture of boy-child wet puppy smell and adult body odor. He wore stupid stuff trying to look cool, like parachute pants and calculator watches. Everything about him made me kind of want to throw up. I was only 3 years older, so it wasn't like I was an adult or anything, but even I could see this weird changing time from boy to adolescent, and it wasn't pretty. About the time he hit 13 or 14, he suddenly became very likable and not so gross, so I guess it was that weird age range of pre-teen.
Next was my cousin, who we'll call "Z" to protect the guilty. You wanna talk about some fuzzy teeth?! Z had the fuzziest teeth ever. You know how 9 year olds have those GIANT front teeth that are way too big for their heads? Why is it that God made it so that right when their teeth are THAT HUGE is the same time they decide there's no need to brush? Once again, after a few more years, he became fun to be around again, and grew into his teeth, and started to brush them.
After I was an adult, another cousin and HIS cousin, both of whom I was around a lot, turned 9 at the same time. I kinda remembered that it was a gross age from my previous experience, but these two made it perfectly clear to me that it was something about this particular age.... We'll call them "G" and "J." J's mom brought him over for me to babysit. I liked kids, and thought this would be fine. I had a metronome, those little "tick-tock" devices that one uses to count off beats when you're playing music. Well J found it, almost immediately, and had to play with it. It wasn't a toy, and it was kind of expensive. But I let him anyway, cuz it kept him quiet. So this is what I heard "Tick----tock-----tick------tock------tick---" He had it set on a slow time. Then he messed with the weight that made it change speeds "Ticktockticktockticktockticktock" on and on and on and on and on until I couldn't stand it anymore. "J, do not play with that anymore. Turn it off." I said. He looked at me, and grinned a sly devil grin, showing his giant fuzzy teeth. "J, I said DO NOT DO IT AGAIN." He flicked it, "TICKTOCK!" and laughed. He just HAD to do it one more time, to show me who was boss.
G would argue incessantly with his Mama, because he was 9 and therefore knew everything. We were outside, and a baby in the family threw up or something and got stuff everywhere. "G, run to the car please and get me the baby wipes." said his mother. "Why?" said G. "Because the baby threw up and we need it! GO!" "Uh! Why do I have to go get it?!"
Another time, we were at his house, my mom and I, while his mother was gone. He was skateboarding across his kitchen, and I am not making this up, on his knees. Whamming into the cabinets, scraping up the floor, falling off and rolling around. My mom said to him "G, please stop doing that, you're gonna get hurt." "But WHY?! I'm not gonna get hurt, I'm fine! I'm just...." I couldn't take it anymore "GET OFF THE SKATEBOARD BECAUSE SHE SAID TO DO IT AND SHE'S OLDER THAN YOU AND IF SHE SAYS NOT TO, DON'T DO IT!!!" "Whatever!" he said, and then he was sad cuz I had yelled at him, and I felt horrible because I had yelled at him. I had loved this kid to pieces and held him and played with him since he was a tiny baby, and now he was getting on my last nerve. And do you know why? BECAUSE HE WAS NINE!
Nine year old boys (and I'm sure it's true of girls as well, but for some reason they don't bother me quite as badly) start getting hormones. They have a weird smell, and then they don't want to bathe. They think they know EVERYTHING, and there is no reasoning with them. They feel grown-up, so they get all "You're stupid and I know more than you" and "I look cool in my navy blue tie with my black suit, and don't tell me what to do!" You could LITERALLY tell a 9 year old boy the sky was blue and they would argue "Actually it's kind of a periwinkle" or whatever, trying to show off their advanced knowledge. Their teeth are too big for their heads, but they don't want to brush them. They talk back to their moms, because they're growing up and they're testing their boundaries. They're too big for toys, so instead they want to hang around and hear all the adult conversation. But they hang around DIRECTLY UNDERNEATH YOUR BUTT-CHEEKS and they overhear everything you don't want them to hear, and then quote it at inopportune times. "My mom told my dad they can't make the mortgage payment this month, so we may have to move." or other stuff like that. You say "Stop!" and they keep on going, you say "STOP" in a more forceful way, and they continue doing what they're doing, at least one more time, just so you know you don't really have control over them, because, after all, you're an idiot and they are all-knowing. Then, when you completely lose your mind and yell and get really, really angry....they cry their eye-balls out and ask why you don't love them anymore and want to hug you, because they're really just 9 years old, and they're still (despite what their hormones are telling them) just a little kid, and they don't really MEAN to be bad. And then you try to comfort them by giving them the hug they so desperately need, but dadgummit their breath smells like something died in their esophagus and their body odor is so puppy-doggish and pungent, and it's everything you can do to not gag.
So, this is all my way of telling you that right now, I have a very-close-to-nine-year-old boy. He is reminding me very much of my brother and cousins lately. He has been the light of my life, and I find him brilliant and amazing and funny, and when I'm not desperately trying to pay attention to my 1 yr old twins, I love to hear all the weird things he has to say. But he is a nine year old boy, and he is making me tired. And right now I can't wait for another few years to pass when he becomes your garden-variety teenager, and I can enjoy being around him more fully. (notice the careful wording!) So if you're the mother of a nine year old boy, or have ever had one, and you have experienced any of these things as well, feel free to comment, so I don't feel like I am all alone in my traumatic 9-yr-old experiences.
Monday, October 22, 2012
In Which I Fret Over Vaccinations
Tomorrow is vaccine day, the twins get the infamous MMR shot that all the controversy swirls around. I tried to do a little research, to see if I had reason to worry or to try to fight it. Apparently, the Moms of a lot of kids with autism swear that the symptoms coincided with their child getting this shot. While Dr.s swear it has nothing to do with it, and have done a bunch of studies and found nothing to prove it. Meanwhile, even in countries such as Japan where they've changed the protocol and now give the vaccine in several doses, autism rates continue to rise.
So If I allow the shots to be given, are my children going to suddenly develop autism, leading me to spend the rest of my days hating myself for my mistake? Or if I refuse the shots, are my children going to get measels, mumps, or rubella, possibly die from these diseases, or cause someone else to get sick?
Feeling very caught between the proverbial rock and hard place and like I'll be a bad mother no matter what I do. NOT LIKING THIS.
So If I allow the shots to be given, are my children going to suddenly develop autism, leading me to spend the rest of my days hating myself for my mistake? Or if I refuse the shots, are my children going to get measels, mumps, or rubella, possibly die from these diseases, or cause someone else to get sick?
Feeling very caught between the proverbial rock and hard place and like I'll be a bad mother no matter what I do. NOT LIKING THIS.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
In Which I Hate Math
Got an email from Dalton's teacher tonight saying that he's been having trouble with word problems in math, and she thinks I oughtta practice them with him at home.
Those of you who really know me know just how funny that is. That's like if she asked Charles to work with him on doing things faster. It's like if she asked Steven Hawking to work with him on his jogging skills. Math is not just something I hate, it's something I simply cannot do.
I have had this problem since I was a little kid. I guess nobody noticed it till I got older. The first big clue was when I in 7th grade math class, and we were learning geometry, and the teacher talked for a week about parallel planes. After about the 3rd day, I was wondering why we kept discussing this subject, I thought it was just the same word problem that we'd been going over for days, and, stupidly, I raised my hand. "Ms. Packard, I just don't get it. We've been talking about parallel planes for 3 days now, and I mean, really, just how often is it an issue that 2 planes are flying side by side? Why do we keep talking about this?" There was a loooonnnng pause and a lot of confused faces as people tried to figure out if I was serious. Then there was BOOMING laughter, and that was just from the teacher. I was looking around at everyone as they rolled around in their chairs laughing going "What? WHAT??!!" mad that they were laughing at me and not understanding why. Ms. Packard told it in the teacher's lounge, and it became the stuff of legend. Teachers I barely knew made jokes about it to me. Sigh.
A few years later, I'm an older teenager, I forget how old, 17 or so, and I'm in the store with my mother. There's something I'm considering buying, and the sign said "5 for a dollar." I'm staring at it going, "Ok, I know that 4 quarters is a dollar, and each quarter is 25 cents, but if they are 5 for a dollar, how much is one?" I stood there thinking, trying to picture the math problem in my head, trying to divide....Mom saw the look on my face (gears turning) and said "What?" and I said it, out loud. Worst mistake EVER. "Well, these are 5 for a dollar, but I only want one, so how much would one be?" She's like "Shelly, come ON. If they're 5 for a dollar, one would be.....???..." and stared at me like it should just "bing" into my head any second. It didn't. She finally had to tell me. I know how much one would be now, but frankly, only because she told that story so many times, the answer got drilled into my brain. I can't just figure it out like a normal person.
I also can't tell time on a regular clock. It's related, apparently it's all on the same side of your brain. Whereas a normal person might see 12:42, for example, I see 3 minutes till 15 minutes till 1. It's not that I don't KNOW what time it is, it's just that I can't say it. Unless it's on the quarter hour, in which case I can verbalize it ok. Otherwise people will ask me "Could you tell me what time it is?" And I have to stare at my watch going "Ummmm...." While I figure out how to say 4:26 instead of 4 minutes till 30 minutes after 4.
There is also my issue with left and right. And by issue, I mean, I can't tell them apart. I have to envision myself "writing" with my "right" hand. Or hold them up to see which one makes an L for "left." I'm 41, it's humiliating.
When I was 19, I stopped to get gas one day. My family can stop reading now, cuz they've all heard AND told this one a million times! Anyway, I pulled my car up to the gas pump, and got out. But when I got out I realized my tank was on the other side. I got back in my car, started it up, and drove around to the next pump. I got out, looked for the tank, and realized it was still on the other side. I got back in my car, started it BACK up, pulled around a couple pumps down and hopped out again....it was STILL on the wrong side! I was late to get somewhere and I was getting very frustrated! So I tried AGAIN. Suffice it to say, this went on for a good solid 3 minutes until finally I was sobbing in frustration and embarrassment, and the gas station attendant came out of the station, crying himself (from laughter, and I am not making this up) and said, through his giggles and tears, while wiping his eyes, "Maam, if you get back in your car, I will direct you around to the pump where the tank will be on the correct side, I promise!" and he did. That remains one of my top 5 most embarrassing moments in all of my 41 years of life, and I've done a lot of embarrassing things, so that's really saying something.
It's just irritating to me, because I think I'm a relatively smart girl, but this math stuff that everyone else can do just fine, my brain just shuts down and CANNOT and WILL NOT do it. Thank goodness for calculators, is all I can say.
So, anyway, I don't think I'm gonna be helping Dalton with word problems any time soon. Particularly not if it's a word problem about those pesky parallel flying airplanes!
Those of you who really know me know just how funny that is. That's like if she asked Charles to work with him on doing things faster. It's like if she asked Steven Hawking to work with him on his jogging skills. Math is not just something I hate, it's something I simply cannot do.
I have had this problem since I was a little kid. I guess nobody noticed it till I got older. The first big clue was when I in 7th grade math class, and we were learning geometry, and the teacher talked for a week about parallel planes. After about the 3rd day, I was wondering why we kept discussing this subject, I thought it was just the same word problem that we'd been going over for days, and, stupidly, I raised my hand. "Ms. Packard, I just don't get it. We've been talking about parallel planes for 3 days now, and I mean, really, just how often is it an issue that 2 planes are flying side by side? Why do we keep talking about this?" There was a loooonnnng pause and a lot of confused faces as people tried to figure out if I was serious. Then there was BOOMING laughter, and that was just from the teacher. I was looking around at everyone as they rolled around in their chairs laughing going "What? WHAT??!!" mad that they were laughing at me and not understanding why. Ms. Packard told it in the teacher's lounge, and it became the stuff of legend. Teachers I barely knew made jokes about it to me. Sigh.
A few years later, I'm an older teenager, I forget how old, 17 or so, and I'm in the store with my mother. There's something I'm considering buying, and the sign said "5 for a dollar." I'm staring at it going, "Ok, I know that 4 quarters is a dollar, and each quarter is 25 cents, but if they are 5 for a dollar, how much is one?" I stood there thinking, trying to picture the math problem in my head, trying to divide....Mom saw the look on my face (gears turning) and said "What?" and I said it, out loud. Worst mistake EVER. "Well, these are 5 for a dollar, but I only want one, so how much would one be?" She's like "Shelly, come ON. If they're 5 for a dollar, one would be.....???..." and stared at me like it should just "bing" into my head any second. It didn't. She finally had to tell me. I know how much one would be now, but frankly, only because she told that story so many times, the answer got drilled into my brain. I can't just figure it out like a normal person.
I also can't tell time on a regular clock. It's related, apparently it's all on the same side of your brain. Whereas a normal person might see 12:42, for example, I see 3 minutes till 15 minutes till 1. It's not that I don't KNOW what time it is, it's just that I can't say it. Unless it's on the quarter hour, in which case I can verbalize it ok. Otherwise people will ask me "Could you tell me what time it is?" And I have to stare at my watch going "Ummmm...." While I figure out how to say 4:26 instead of 4 minutes till 30 minutes after 4.
There is also my issue with left and right. And by issue, I mean, I can't tell them apart. I have to envision myself "writing" with my "right" hand. Or hold them up to see which one makes an L for "left." I'm 41, it's humiliating.
When I was 19, I stopped to get gas one day. My family can stop reading now, cuz they've all heard AND told this one a million times! Anyway, I pulled my car up to the gas pump, and got out. But when I got out I realized my tank was on the other side. I got back in my car, started it up, and drove around to the next pump. I got out, looked for the tank, and realized it was still on the other side. I got back in my car, started it BACK up, pulled around a couple pumps down and hopped out again....it was STILL on the wrong side! I was late to get somewhere and I was getting very frustrated! So I tried AGAIN. Suffice it to say, this went on for a good solid 3 minutes until finally I was sobbing in frustration and embarrassment, and the gas station attendant came out of the station, crying himself (from laughter, and I am not making this up) and said, through his giggles and tears, while wiping his eyes, "Maam, if you get back in your car, I will direct you around to the pump where the tank will be on the correct side, I promise!" and he did. That remains one of my top 5 most embarrassing moments in all of my 41 years of life, and I've done a lot of embarrassing things, so that's really saying something.
It's just irritating to me, because I think I'm a relatively smart girl, but this math stuff that everyone else can do just fine, my brain just shuts down and CANNOT and WILL NOT do it. Thank goodness for calculators, is all I can say.
So, anyway, I don't think I'm gonna be helping Dalton with word problems any time soon. Particularly not if it's a word problem about those pesky parallel flying airplanes!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)