After the “Unfortunate Incident of 2006″ (otherwise known as the death of my mother and the follow-up falling apart of my life), I have used this space to write when I hurt, laugh when I need to laugh over the funny, and share when I need to know I am not alone.
A very good friend brought up the fact that I seem jaded after events that took place in the last year or so. You think?
I would have to say the first several months I was too much in shock to see the way things in my life were changing or falling apart. Looking back at that time I still try to come to grips with how I feel about a lot of it. I lost friends, a job and a mentor in that time. Sometimes I become so hurt by all of it, I feel my heart will never be the same. Other times I become so angry it colors how I see other situations in my life.
At some point I think I may have become that cynical person I never liked. That is not me. At least, that is not who I have always been. Friends who have never given me a reason to doubt them are kept at arms length. Have I been burned so badly by those who cut bait and ran when things were so tough in my life that I now fear those who actually stuck with me? I don’t want to be that person that keeps her cards held so closely to her chest that she never lets anyone in. I question some peoples’ motivations. (”Why do you want to know that? Do you really care? What is in it for you if I tell you? Who are you going to tell if I am honest with you?”) I guess I get caught up sometimes in a world of in between. Between trusting what I know and hurting from what I thought I knew.
I admit that in certain areas of my life, I have become jaded. At times so angry I don’t know what to do with myself. Other times I want to just cry and beg for an explanation from those who kicked me while I was down and took off. I am not saying I am innocent in changes that took place. I checked out. I get that. I know that there are “friends” who cannot handle that and there are friends who will still be there after everything is said and done. I have learned and am learning the difference.
I have had to learn that some people do not allow you to change. Do not allow you to break down and come back. Hell, I learned that lesson when I got clean. Some will never see that you are doing better. That you have changed and are not the person before, but still good. I will never try to tell anyone I am the person I was before I became an addict. Just as I can never try to convince anyone that I am the same person that I was before my Mom died. I am not. Life kicking your feet out from under you will change you to the core. Sometimes you are blessed enough to find that when you recover– when you are able to stand up again– you are not standing alone. It is a given that some people won’t be there anymore. That is just how it goes. It sucks, but it is life. So, if I know this, why is it so hard to let go and realize that the weakness lies in them, not me?
But the thing is, all that happened, all the hurt, all the lies are in the past. I cannot fix them, change them or make them go away. Yet, here I sit with my stomach in knots if someone brings it up. I doubt people that perhaps I shouldn’t doubt. Honestly, that part is the part that gets to me the most. I miss the way certain things were in my life. Certain friends I could count on for anything at anytime. Now? I don’t know. I truly don’t know. Is it real? Have we changed from friends to aquaintances now? Is it my fear of being burned again or is the underlying hesitation in the friendship real? I don’t know.
What do I know? I know that for me, as an addict, being in this place is not good for me. It is deadly and dangerous. Right now, I am in a bad place mentally but a good place professionally. In other words, changes are taking place that are both exciting and scary. Thrilling and terrifying. Big enough to be life changing. And yet, I am freaking out…and celebrating (albeit a bit hesitantly until all is said and done) that I am finally moving forward with a dream come true.
I stand on the edge of something big. I look behind to see where I have been and what good it has done for me and what harm it has caused. I look at the big leap and wonder what happens after it. Jumping into new situations with new people is terrifying to me. And I suppose my biggest question is this: How do I hold on to the good things that led me here and at the same time embrace the new things where I am going? Is there room for both? The old ties into the pain, but was not all bad. The new is scary and exhilirating.
Change. It terrifies me. And? It exhilirates me! It is the only thing that anyone can count on. But me? I have that whole love/hate relationship with change. I fear it. It shakes things up and makes me feel as if my life is one huge snow globe. I am powerless to stop things and terrified of where things will land after all of the shake-up is finished. Exciting. Scary. Anticipation. Hesitation. Change.
I am not a fan of song quoting blogs, but when it was emailed to me, I thought–I get that. In a whole new way, I get that. I am not going to quote all of the song, but the part that hit me hard was this:
Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I’m not sure I could. They say time heals everything,
But I’m still waiting
I know you said why can’t you just get over it…
It turned my whole world around…
Why can’t I just get over it? I ask myself that everyday.
Why did I write all of this? I have no idea other than the fact that I am in a bad place right now and that bad place takes me there. For just 10 minutes I want to trust that what I see is real. To not be angry or hurt or hesitant. For just 10 minutes I want to feel like I used to before everything– me included– changed. I just want to feel good right now. All I could think about last night was how much I wanted to hit the bottle. For a nice relaxing glass of wine? No. To drink everything away and pretend that I am not in a bad place. If that is not the sound of warning sirens blasting, I don’t know what is.
Sometimes I have to wonder is it my addict mind that takes a bad few days and tangles them all up into all of the bad that has happened in the past year or is that something that other people go through? Do others get burned and move on or does it haunt them later when it comes to new situations? I have no idea. All I do know is that I am in a place where I am struggling just to make it through the day without a slip. And right now, I have no idea who I can talk to about it. No idea where to turn. And that sucks.
Yes, I have been getting those IMs and emails. I will tell you. Passed out sicker than a dog on my couch/bed/floor.
It seems my son decided to bring home some cooties and share them. I don’t remember what it is officially called. I call it “tonsilfunkilitis” personally. Basically it is not tonsillitis or strep. It is, however, something that takes your tonsils and swells them to the size of grapefruits to where you begin to feel as if your uvula is being put in a Half Nelson by these massively disgustingly huge and sore tonsils. Gross? I know. Welcome to my world.
So, I have been offline, out of touch and completely off the grid when it comes to human interaction. I did, however, manage to watch the entire first season of Heroes. (Talk about messed up, jacked up and just wrong dreams! Fevers and Heroes make for interesting subconscious mind games, let me tell you!) I also was able to watch a movie or two. But most of the time I slept, wept and drank anything that could get past the wrestling match in my throat.
To those I was supposed to contact, I apologize. To those I harassed while in my fever induced state, I blame it on delirium. And to those that I owe something to, today is my catch up day and you will find it all (Ohhhh how I dream big!) finished today.
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In the meantime, I have managed my first deadline of the week over at Fresh Brewed Reviews. This is an awesome story that I have had read to me about a gazillion times in the last week, but never tire of it. Go check out why it’s all about the girl and how she loves that!
I found this online tonight and knew it was a Must Share Moment. *Note: Just get through the Potato Salad song and you will be amazedshocked horrified at the mad skillz these women have. And before anyone asks, I am TOTALLY calling the part of “Wagon Girl!” Now, if only I can get two more people to join me in taking this on the road.
Today was one of those days where you really need to watch your step around me. I am on edge, crawling out of my skin and ready to fight. The kids? They can do no right. The husband? Don’t even try. The PTA? Can I be any more antagonistic towards “the way things are done?” Usually, these days come and the family (and most friends) learn to just stay out of the way. Why the angst? Partially because I have been working really hard the last few weeks and it is taking a toll. And, partially because I have been stewing over a situation that I need to just release. For me–a recovering addict– you cannot stay in a bad place for very long and come out unscathed. I just wanted to be left alone. Visions of solitude danced in my head as the evening approached. The kids rejoiced that it was cereal for dinner night. But all thoughts of solitude or self-absorption were immediately wiped away with that one thing that can pull any mother out of a funk.
That blood curdling scream of her child in pain.
My younger daughter slammed her hand in a door. It took me less than a nano-second to go from “Leave me alone” to “Come to me” when I heard her cries. Any thoughts of fatigue or “me time” vanished. All desire to be left alone were replace with that undeniable energy and desire to help my child in pain.
As we examined her finger to see if she fractured it, I knew that my heart was beating as fast as hers was only with a little extra pounding because I am the Mom and I need to make this better for her. Right. Now. There came an amazing adrenaline rush as I was able to speed through the task of getting the ice, the Advil and the favorite stuffed animal all while wiping away tears of pain. Her physical pain. My heart breaking for her. They were matched only by the undeniable bond and knowledge that came from knowing I was needed in that moment. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
After she had her finger put in a splint and the tears had dried, suddenly, it didn’t seem so awful being needed tonight. We curled into one another and read book after book until she fell asleep. Though being needed by so many people so often can be draining, there some those moments where you would never dream of being anywhere else. No matter what.
I have no style. None. No. Wait. I do. My style is “I work from home so I can wear my pj’s and socks all day and no one cares” OR when I need to get dressed up I have “I am a PTA mom and can get away with jeans and t-shirts because kids make messes” style. So I have style. In fact, Nina Garcia (best known for her appearnace as the unerring, fromidable fashion judge on Project Runway), author of The Little Black Book of Style says I can have my own style. Though I know that is not what she had in mind when that message came across. Actually, I really did like the message that I can create my own style. One that makes me feel confident. (And I do mean beyond pj’s or jeans and t-shirts.) I love that there is such a strong emphasis on “being your own muse” and creating your own style. Without the freak.
As for how much I will actually get out of this book, probably not as much as someone else who is out and about in the “real world” more than I happen to be. I am not sure the book is the right fit for me, but it is nevertheless and incredible book. My favorite section? The Fashion Cliff Notes Decade by Decade. The illustrations are beautiful! Ruben Toledo is an illustrating master.
I do recommend this book for women who are looking for a bit of style guidance. It is a great, quick read with incredible advice from people who know fashion and style. I even learned a thing or two about ways to update my style. Just because I am a PTA/Soccer mom doesn’t mean I have to look like a slob. And just because I will never wear anything that is fresh off of a runway doesn’t mean I cannot have style.
Style is internal. And everyone can create their own. And good style? It will bring out your confidence. And any woman who has confidence is beautiful!
I am giving away the free copy of The Little Black Book of Style! Do you want a copy? Just comment and let me know about your worst fashion mistake. If for no other reason than I need the entertainment! The winner will be chosen at random. I look forward to reading what you have to done horrible in the name of bad fashion!
Why my son has banned me from meeting his teachers
September 12, 2007
Last night we had open house for the teen. The students can go, but it is basically for the parents to see the classrooms, meet the teachers and hear what is expected of the kids that year. Since the boy was sick that day, he stayed home. In each class the teacher would ask about him. I got used to the usually response.
“He’s fine. Doing much better. He should be here tomorrow.”
Of course all of that was spoken in my very best Stepford, smiling way. (Have to make a good impression after all.)
Then we met his Theatre teacher and things went downhill. As with every other class, we walked in and introduced ourselves. I expected the same banter I had the previous 5 classes. But no.
She shakes my hand and says, “How’s your mom?”
I replied, “Fine…well…only…ummm… just.. a little bit dead.”
Complete with the hand gesture for “a little bit.” (I can’t make this stuff up.)
I looked at my husband. His mouth was agape with horror.
Flustered and horrified, I frantically slithered to the back of the classroom and sat down. My husband sat down in front of me and turned to look at me.
“What?” I hissed at him.
” ‘Fine? Just a little bit dead?‘ Are you kidding me?”
“She threw me off guard. That is not a normal question. Either you know my situation or you just don’t ask because that is not normal open house conversation. She was supposed to ask about the boy!” I snarled back at him. “What was I supposed to say?”
“Well, just about anything would have been better than that!” Then he turned around shaking his head at his poor pathetic wife.
So, I did what anyone sitting in a junior high classroom who wants to become invisible does. I sank as low in my chair as I could and began to pick at my nail polish just praying the bell would ring soon so I could bolt out of there before anyone noticed me.
I certainly hope she didn’t say anything important because I definitely didn’t hear a word of it.
My bigger mistake came when I relayed the story to the teen.
“Mom! Now she is going to think my mom is completely crazy!”
I gave him my very best ‘Well, DUH‘ look.
[Updated to add: It is okay to laugh at this! I think the teacher had me confused with another parent who probably had a mom who was sick. And trust me when I say, my Mom would think it is hysterical that I answered that way. I think it is funny. The things I say. This is why I am not allowed in public often.]
Now that the kids are in school and I have a manuscript due like yesterday and work piling up left and right, I decided to sit down and catch up on the programs I recorded with my DVR. (No, it is not a TiVo. I got the one that came with my satellite. And let me tell you this. This thing is snobby and not even a little bit kind in its opinions on what I record.)
As I pull up the menu of hours upon hours of shows, I decide on Big Brother 8. Oh, sure, I watch the live feeds (shut-up!) but there might have been something I missed or at the very least want to see how CBS edits the real deal. Midway through the show my DVR freezes. Then it turns itself off. When it comes back on and reboots (taking at least 5 minutes of my precious stalling time), BB8 has been erased. Not just the one I was watching, but all of them. (I know! I couldn’t believe the horror either.)
Being alone, I had no problem in freaking out on the DVR.
“What’s up with that? Why did you have to go and delete all of those shows? And just BB8? What’s your problem? You think you are too good to hold onto reality TV? Puhleez! You are just a DVR. And that was RUDE! What a poopy head!” (My Lessons in Maturity Classes begin next month.)
I think I angered it in my mild attempt at smack talk.
I scroll through the menu again. What other stored up, brain-rotting television do I have to watch? I decide to settle in and catch up on Army Wives. I liked the first few shows and haven’t watched in weeks. With less than 10 minutes to go in the show, the DVR again freezes, shuts off and then won’t reboot. It just glares at me. After chastising and berating it, it blinked on. Then off. And back on. Only to have erased every Army Wife program I had recorded.
Seriously? This is how it’s going to be played?
I get up and yank out gently remove the “smart card” and do what I do with any card/game/electronic device I own. I blow on it. (It is a proven fact that blowing on it fixes it.)
When I replace the card and the system takes, oh about 10 minutes to recover, I have gone from having 26 hours left of recording time to 70 hours. 26 to 70. You can do the math (I don’t do math after 9pm.) That means, my DVR chose (and yes I choose to believe it was a conscience choice) to delete HOURS that I had recorded of shows that I may or may not want to watch. I mean, I had Ellen on the Plane recorded. I had High School Musical I and II on there. I even had the a few Gilmore Girls on there.
So, what did my snobby, judgmental DVR leave me? Three episodes of Blues Clues (which by the way no one in this house watches anyway), four Suite Life of Zach and Cody episodes, and over a months worth or Days of Our Lives. (Oh, and about 18 different shows from the Discovery channel which will probably still be there after my DVR accidentally gets tossed into the street to be plowed down by the next speeding SUV or Mini-van to travel through this part of Stepford. Assuming something so tragic as that were to happen.)
Apparently, my DVR does not like reality TV, talk shows or Lifetime movies and/or series. It does however like shows for preschoolers, educational programming and SOAP OPERAS. (Please, like I can’t just watch one show of Days after a month of missing it and not be totally caught up. Here: DiMira’s bad. Brady’s and Horton’s good. At least one person is in the hospital who might die but probably won’t. Someone is pregnant (and in peril!). And at least one couple is having a misunderstanding that they just might not recover from. And that is without watching even though my DVR really wants me to!)
I glared at it.
It blinked back.
Such as smart ass.
Anyone want to set a girl up with a TiVo? I am betting they are a lot less temperamental and actually allow you to choose your own shows without interfering with your choice of programming. I hate my mocking, self-important DVR.
School has just begun and the kids are whining about homework. I had some sympathy but not too much. I mean, I have been there and done that. And it is still minor homework. Until? Until they assigned me homework. I was supposed to write an essay about my older son in a million words or less for his English teacher. I am sure I made the English teacher weep a bit with my style of writing. But? Don’t care. He can’t fail me. (I don’t think.) So I thought I would share it with you.
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An Essay About My Son by Epstein’s Mother*
This is quite an assignment. Trying to tell you about my son in less than a million words will be a challenge. Seeing as I am a writer, I will do my best to keep it closer to 995,000. (But we all know how wordy we writers can be.)
I know that I am biased, but I have to tell you that son is one of the funniest people I know. Even though I am his mother and have no choice in whether or not he is in my life, I would still choose to be his friend. That boy? He just has the funny!
He is an observer. An observer of life, of people and of situations around him. He does not jump right into the unknown without first taking in the situation. Not to say he cannot be just as impulsive as the next teen. He certainly has that down. (Just ask him to clean his room and you will see his immediate need to jump out of his seat and be occupied by the nearest situation not involving room cleaning.) However, those times when you think he has pulled away or not paying attention, most likely he is assessing the situation around him. He can tell you a lot about the people around him whether or not you were even aware that he was paying attention.
He does tend to keep emotions locked inside at times, but he is good at eventually coming around and opening up and talking. In January 2006 his grandmother passed away. He was as strong as a kid his age could be who had to go through this, but it did take him a while to work it all out. If there was any worry I had about him, it would be that he tends to keep too much inside. I am, however, so thankful that as he is getting older, he is becoming more open and willing to talk freely to me. (We must not speak of this lest it curses the process and we lose the magical “teen who talks to his parent” ritual.)
He is not the type of teen who wants to find the perfect clique of friends to hang out with. He wants to be friends with people he enjoys being around. To him, it does not matter what “group” you belong to or what sports you play (or don’t play). If you are a good person, he wants to be your friend. That is one of those areas that I would love to say I have a part in creating, but it is just who he happens to be. That is just the kind of person he is. Kind and non-judgmental.
He is very protective of the people he cares about. He will go to the ends of the Earth to protect and support his friends. He is fiercely loyal. His little sister is seven years younger than he is and looks to him when she is hurt or upset or just wants a hug from her brother. (We are really planning on cashing in on this as she reaches her dating years!) This year is the perfect example. His younger brother started sixth grade and was nervous. Whereas he would get digs with his brother—as brothers are apt to do—he still made sure that his friends knew who his brother is and that they would respect him. Of course, being an older brother, he would rather sever a limb than let his brother know he is looking out for him. Which brings us back to one simple fact: he is definitely a typical teen. But way cooler!
Now, according to my word count I still have well over 994,000 words left, but I will leave you with this:
He is a good kid. It is just that simple. He is a good person. You are lucky to have him in your class. I am fairly sure his homework won’t always be without errors (though I am sure it will be very close because I am his mother and must say that!) And, I know, he may not be the perfect teen, either. (For which I am deeply thankful because I would be miserable with a perfect kid. All of that endless correcting me would become tiresome!) Even without using the rest of my 994,000+ words, I can tell you something I am absolutely positive about!
You are lucky that you get to know this person. I know I have been!
—- *)Yes, I did go there. I did pull out a Welcome Back Kotter reference. If you are too young to understand it, please never, ever tell me.
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Oh, I have reviews! Did you check out my new Fresh Brewed Blog?
Bedtime in D Major (or how my kids get a “D” in bedtime)
September 6, 2007
Because you seemed to have enjoyed my Momsense post, I wanted to give you one more little child raising song that my husband sent to me. It is longer, so you may have to be patient. But, you can listen to it while your children are not going to bed when they are supposed to be going to bed. Or when they come in for the eleventy hundredth glass of water, you can ignore them and watch this.
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