So, Gramma is cranky at a couple things today, one of which I suppose is, in the great scheme of things, unavoidable. The other is just the system doing its lovely job of suppressing the effusiveness of small boys.
So. Perimenopause. According to the interwebs, this is the period (HAHA) of years (!!!!) preceding menopause. I'm there, folks. I'm there. Ugh. This is not fun! THIS part could go for 10-15 years?! Good grief!!! I'm already 45!!! How the fuck long am I supposed to deal with this crap?! And I have no intention of using the hormone shit. I'm actually looking forward to not having a period anymore. Why in fuck would I want to take shit that not only increases my risk of breast cancer, but keeps the blood flowin'? No fucking thank you!!!
But let me tell you... this is getting annoying... the damn periods are getting heavier and longer. LONGER!! Like, for instance, this month's super-fun time. First day of was last week Monday. Morning. Early. It is now this week Monday. Though not exactly doing what one could call 'flowing', little lovely watery bits of leaking are most certainly still going on. Count 'em folks... This puts me on day fucking EIGHT!!! What. The. Fuck. Seriously.
In other news, just saw a post from my daughter... apparently a quote from someone at school... "Your son (that would be MY grandson) is showing early signs of ADHD. Maybe a physician could help?" Okay. Saw that one coming. He is indeed a high-energy kid. He's a 5 year old boy! He's fucking supposed to be a high energy kid!!! Yeah, he's not the best listener, but ADHD?! Ummmm... no. There's nothing hyperactive about his energy level, and there's nothing wrong with his attention span. He's not easily distracted. If anything, he's the opposite! He's funny, charming, empathetic... and very very focused. He's definitely on his own agenda. He has to understand the 'Why' of a request, the reason something needs to be done. It needs to make sense TO HIM. Ohmigosh. Independent thought?! From a kindergartener!? We better drug that right out of his system NOW!!!
Ugh. I really hate public school.
And perimenopause.
They both make me extra cranky.
Showing posts with label grandparenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandparenting. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
the Circle comes back around...
Last week I put a ring on a man's hand. He put a ring on mine. Sitting in the car outside the head shop, my husband and I discovered that $15.00 rings, and a heart connection can make for a very emotional recomittment to one another.
We've had some hard years here. We've nearly spun apart/imploded multiple times. Having teenagers is really fucking hard. Being in work you hate, and in a school that tells you you're full of shit for your ideas, and discovering just how fucked up a family can be can really make a person miserable. When you have two partners in this kind of emotional place together, and they have completely different coping mechanisms, shit sucks. A lot.
But we kept muddling. We didn't throw in the towel, and then as we went through other important and difficult things... not the least of which was a serious illness... a new perspective emerged. As we got through this long and fairly horrid winter, some things came clear for me. Most importantly, what I value in life, who I want to be, how I want to live. I want to live in love. I want to have fun, I want to have friends, I want to be frivolous and spontaneous. Things don't matter at all. My people matter. Right now, this man and this boy with home I share this space.
I determined that through all the shit, I had pretty much shut down, become isolated and resentful, and felt very, very alone. I've become quite untrusting, scared of reaching out to make friends. I just feel so different from the sort-of peers I kind of have. But I kept on swimming, ya know? But what of my husband? He was having a completely horrid time of things too! I got so stuck in how put-upon I was, how stressed and over-extended I was, and how he wasn't sucking it up and doing more was sooooo unfair, that I just got disconnected and emotionally shut down. That is what I needed to do to get through the ongoing crises that were my daily everydays. But I forgot a major thing; I forgot to give. I mean, to REALLY give. I was giving, and that was all I was doing, but I wasn't giving to my partner. I was expecting. I never really gave a thought to where he was emotionally in this whole mess. Even though I've known him now for nearly 29 years, and I know know know how emotional he is, and how he processes, I was angry with him for being, well, himself. And in my anger, I left him kind of out to dry. I wasn't his shoulder, anymore than he was mine, but see, the thing is, he needs a shoulder before he can be one. I hold together in the crisis, and come apart after. He falls apart in the midst of, and bucks up once it's dealt with. I expected him to be right there in the thick of everything with me. But I know he can't do that. It was unfair of me.
As I went through this icky medical crap over the winter, and felt like shit, and was pretty fucking useless, he was there. He fed me, he loved me, he took care of the boy and the house. He was my friend from back when I was a girl, that friend that was there in a heartbeat when I needed him. And I realized just how much this man means to me. I totally got just how empty my life would be without him. He's been my rock for 29 fucking years. There's no one on this planet that knows as much of ME as he does. And yet, he loves me. Completely, and for just exactly who I am. No bullshit. No filters. He knows the rawest, most true me. The worst parts of my history. And yet... he loves me.
As I found myself at this epiphany of the depths of my love for my husband, and the understanding that I'd let him down as surely as I'd felt let down myself, my heart just flooded open. All the ... whatevers ... that had built up; I dunno... protection? Coping? Distance? they just - POOF All gone. I wanted to give. And so, give I did. It feels so very good! And in my giving, he has opened his heart again too, and he gives, and we are... well... we are partners again.
I'm all giddy in love again! I feel as though we are treading rather too close to barfingly cute for people of our age, but who gives a good goddamn?! We can't keep our hands off each other, we once again call each other by Jim Dear and Darling, and we, losers of wedding rings some 10 years past, bought rings for each other. Slim, sterling bands, bought at the head shop. Somehow completely appropriate for a couple who married on Hippie Hill.
Then, we got in the car, parked on the curb there on West Leonard, Connor buckled securely in his seat, so very curious about what Gramma and Papa were up to. Jim found the smaller ring, and put it on my finger. The finger that's been wedding-band-free for 10 years, and ring-free for 2, and he said, "With this ring, I thee wed. Again." And I put the larger band on his wedding-band-free for 10 years finger, and repeated his words.
And we meant them. With even more of our hearts than we meant them almost 23 years ago. We've been together longer than we've been not-together. We share children and a grandchild, and a lifetime of memories and history. The feeling - well, I can't even articulate the feeling. Rushes of gratitude, and love, and security, and safety, and just... tingly goodness! It really is an amazing thing, what the sight of a band on the third finger of your left hand, and the hand of your partner, does for one emotionally. A beautiful thing. An incredibly, powerfully meaningful thing. My oldest, dearest, truest friend. My partner. Love of my life. My Husband.
Weird as it is, this is probably the best ring I've ever had.
We've had some hard years here. We've nearly spun apart/imploded multiple times. Having teenagers is really fucking hard. Being in work you hate, and in a school that tells you you're full of shit for your ideas, and discovering just how fucked up a family can be can really make a person miserable. When you have two partners in this kind of emotional place together, and they have completely different coping mechanisms, shit sucks. A lot.
But we kept muddling. We didn't throw in the towel, and then as we went through other important and difficult things... not the least of which was a serious illness... a new perspective emerged. As we got through this long and fairly horrid winter, some things came clear for me. Most importantly, what I value in life, who I want to be, how I want to live. I want to live in love. I want to have fun, I want to have friends, I want to be frivolous and spontaneous. Things don't matter at all. My people matter. Right now, this man and this boy with home I share this space.
Badlands, May 2009
I determined that through all the shit, I had pretty much shut down, become isolated and resentful, and felt very, very alone. I've become quite untrusting, scared of reaching out to make friends. I just feel so different from the sort-of peers I kind of have. But I kept on swimming, ya know? But what of my husband? He was having a completely horrid time of things too! I got so stuck in how put-upon I was, how stressed and over-extended I was, and how he wasn't sucking it up and doing more was sooooo unfair, that I just got disconnected and emotionally shut down. That is what I needed to do to get through the ongoing crises that were my daily everydays. But I forgot a major thing; I forgot to give. I mean, to REALLY give. I was giving, and that was all I was doing, but I wasn't giving to my partner. I was expecting. I never really gave a thought to where he was emotionally in this whole mess. Even though I've known him now for nearly 29 years, and I know know know how emotional he is, and how he processes, I was angry with him for being, well, himself. And in my anger, I left him kind of out to dry. I wasn't his shoulder, anymore than he was mine, but see, the thing is, he needs a shoulder before he can be one. I hold together in the crisis, and come apart after. He falls apart in the midst of, and bucks up once it's dealt with. I expected him to be right there in the thick of everything with me. But I know he can't do that. It was unfair of me.
As I went through this icky medical crap over the winter, and felt like shit, and was pretty fucking useless, he was there. He fed me, he loved me, he took care of the boy and the house. He was my friend from back when I was a girl, that friend that was there in a heartbeat when I needed him. And I realized just how much this man means to me. I totally got just how empty my life would be without him. He's been my rock for 29 fucking years. There's no one on this planet that knows as much of ME as he does. And yet, he loves me. Completely, and for just exactly who I am. No bullshit. No filters. He knows the rawest, most true me. The worst parts of my history. And yet... he loves me.
 |
| Goat Rock Beach, May 2009 |
I'm all giddy in love again! I feel as though we are treading rather too close to barfingly cute for people of our age, but who gives a good goddamn?! We can't keep our hands off each other, we once again call each other by Jim Dear and Darling, and we, losers of wedding rings some 10 years past, bought rings for each other. Slim, sterling bands, bought at the head shop. Somehow completely appropriate for a couple who married on Hippie Hill.
 |
| November 8, 1988 |
 |
| May, 2009... same spot! |
And we meant them. With even more of our hearts than we meant them almost 23 years ago. We've been together longer than we've been not-together. We share children and a grandchild, and a lifetime of memories and history. The feeling - well, I can't even articulate the feeling. Rushes of gratitude, and love, and security, and safety, and just... tingly goodness! It really is an amazing thing, what the sight of a band on the third finger of your left hand, and the hand of your partner, does for one emotionally. A beautiful thing. An incredibly, powerfully meaningful thing. My oldest, dearest, truest friend. My partner. Love of my life. My Husband.
 |
| April 7, 2010 |
Weird as it is, this is probably the best ring I've ever had.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Aaaaaand... a bump in the road
Sooooo....
That new drivetrain? The one that came out of the same vehicle we have basically? Yeah. Won't fit. The transmission is 3 inches longer, and the bolt pattern is different. Jim took copious pictures, and took those with him when he went to look at the drivetrain, to guard against just such an event. But, there you have it. When they're sitting side by side, and a guy has a tape measure in hand, things are much more tangible.
Now, interestingly enough, it seems that getting this old thing, and following the signs to the parts to get it put together has led us to a much better vehicle.
Jim picked up an engine stand Thursday from a guy close by us. He and his fiance are selling everything and moving to Arizona. He's got a Chevy RV sitting in the yard. It belonged to his parents, it's in great shape, 75,000 original miles, and he wants $1800 for it. We're going to put this RV we have up for sale, along with the engine and transmission, and buy that one.
So, while Jim was kind of feeling defeated and frustrated by this turn of events, it occurred to us that, well, if he hadn't gone to get the stand, he wouldn't have met this guy, or found this vehicle. It's not on craigslist, it doesn't have a For Sale sign, nothing. We literally wouldn't have ever found it if we hadn't gotten the one we have. So, this was all maybe just a test to see how dedicated we are to this whole notion. I guess we pass muster!
In other news...
An entire sweater for a tall scrawny young man is almost done. I think it's long enough finally. We'll see I guess. I know the arm is long enough, because it's long enough for his dad. I've lengthened the body twice now. It's 24 inches from the back of the neck to the hem. I'll have to go corner him and shove it over his head again.
I've finished a fun gift for a lovely young woman who will be all growed up offishul-like sometime in the next week or so here. She's about to move into a little house with her adored boyfriend, so I thought a fun wallhanging would be appreciated. I hope Andy likes unicorns.
I'm going to have to come up with a couple more things though. 21 is kind of a significant birthday from what I'm told. And of course she specifically requested Bar Money. How's $21 bucks sound, kid? HA! Like she's going to have to buy her own drinks... I guess point more being she can.
Also...
Spring! Happy Equinox out there, folks! Sadly, I missed the supermoon last night, but man oh man! Spring has come to western Michigan! It is raining cats and dogs today, all the snow will be washed away by morning, and there are crocuses blooming! Rilo got out for the first loooong walk this past week, and was that little doggie-girl ever excited to see her leash! Thought she might take the whole door down, she was in such a hurry!
Connor continues to do wild and woolly things, never ceasing to amaze. He got new shoes this week, as it is now sneaker weather again. Fastest shoe shopping trip evah! Went to Target, he spotted 'THE shoes' immediately; Spiderman, with light-up webs on the side! We discovered that he wears a size 12 (!) now, which means he got them on the big guy side of the aisle, rather than the little guy side. This was Tuesday. Wednesday morning he leapt from bed, called out, "C'mon, Gramma! Let's get me to school!" He was dressed and downstairs, in those shoes, before I was fully conscious. Then, of all crazy, unexpected things, he is brushing his own hair!! Big guy shoes turned him into a really big guy, at least for one morning. LOL! He was earnin' some preschool street cred with those babies, lemme tell you! Huh-larious!!! Another awesome step forward is his interest and ability to make his own fruit salad. Cuttin' up strawberries and bananas... he was so impressed to show that skill off to Ellie and Amber, young lady friends of 6 and almost 8 who came to dinner last night. While waiting for the lame grown-ups to quit yakking and order some pizza already! he proudly cut a lovely bowl of strawberries for each of them. What a nifty guy! Now, if he'd just stop filling up my camera memory with pictures of his butt...
Crafty goodness continues unabated. Working on some flowers, crocheted from various and sundry material. I like ribbon! It is shiny, and it doesn't split when crocheting! But... it comes in such little spools! I have a ribbon sunflower almost done, but no more bright yellow. I'm out, and, sadly JoAnn is out too. I did get the center completed, so yay for that!!
*sigh*
Maybe soon... I guess I'll have to make do with my yarns. Rough life. I know, I know. And the daffodil and columbine I made with yarn are so very, very awesome! No pics of those yet...
In the next weeks, I'm going to be doing some writing/processing of the last few years of our lives here. I've had some epiphanies about a bunch of stuff, and I need to get it down and out. Along with that, I'll be writing more about the crafting, getting my etsy shop, zoesdyedreams, up and running, and continuing to chronicle the saga of the RV. My goal is to take an hour a couple days a week, and focus on one area. So, if you wanna come along, I'd love the company!
Peace out there, ya'll.
That new drivetrain? The one that came out of the same vehicle we have basically? Yeah. Won't fit. The transmission is 3 inches longer, and the bolt pattern is different. Jim took copious pictures, and took those with him when he went to look at the drivetrain, to guard against just such an event. But, there you have it. When they're sitting side by side, and a guy has a tape measure in hand, things are much more tangible.
Now, interestingly enough, it seems that getting this old thing, and following the signs to the parts to get it put together has led us to a much better vehicle.
Jim picked up an engine stand Thursday from a guy close by us. He and his fiance are selling everything and moving to Arizona. He's got a Chevy RV sitting in the yard. It belonged to his parents, it's in great shape, 75,000 original miles, and he wants $1800 for it. We're going to put this RV we have up for sale, along with the engine and transmission, and buy that one.
So, while Jim was kind of feeling defeated and frustrated by this turn of events, it occurred to us that, well, if he hadn't gone to get the stand, he wouldn't have met this guy, or found this vehicle. It's not on craigslist, it doesn't have a For Sale sign, nothing. We literally wouldn't have ever found it if we hadn't gotten the one we have. So, this was all maybe just a test to see how dedicated we are to this whole notion. I guess we pass muster!
In other news...
An entire sweater for a tall scrawny young man is almost done. I think it's long enough finally. We'll see I guess. I know the arm is long enough, because it's long enough for his dad. I've lengthened the body twice now. It's 24 inches from the back of the neck to the hem. I'll have to go corner him and shove it over his head again.
I've finished a fun gift for a lovely young woman who will be all growed up offishul-like sometime in the next week or so here. She's about to move into a little house with her adored boyfriend, so I thought a fun wallhanging would be appreciated. I hope Andy likes unicorns.
I'm going to have to come up with a couple more things though. 21 is kind of a significant birthday from what I'm told. And of course she specifically requested Bar Money. How's $21 bucks sound, kid? HA! Like she's going to have to buy her own drinks... I guess point more being she can.
Also...
Spring! Happy Equinox out there, folks! Sadly, I missed the supermoon last night, but man oh man! Spring has come to western Michigan! It is raining cats and dogs today, all the snow will be washed away by morning, and there are crocuses blooming! Rilo got out for the first loooong walk this past week, and was that little doggie-girl ever excited to see her leash! Thought she might take the whole door down, she was in such a hurry!
Maybe soon... I guess I'll have to make do with my yarns. Rough life. I know, I know. And the daffodil and columbine I made with yarn are so very, very awesome! No pics of those yet...
In the next weeks, I'm going to be doing some writing/processing of the last few years of our lives here. I've had some epiphanies about a bunch of stuff, and I need to get it down and out. Along with that, I'll be writing more about the crafting, getting my etsy shop, zoesdyedreams, up and running, and continuing to chronicle the saga of the RV. My goal is to take an hour a couple days a week, and focus on one area. So, if you wanna come along, I'd love the company!
Peace out there, ya'll.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
My American Dream
I have an American Dream. Part of it is finally realized! I am a homeowner.
 |
| The homestead |
This is our Conestoga Wagon. We are pioneers. We are going boldly forth, traveling west into the relatively unknown, to make our own way, to create our own reality, to stick it to the man, if you will, and be real people, true to ourselves and our passions.
Some have said we're out of our minds. Some think we're going to break down, and if that happens, the authorities will come take the kid. Because yeah, of course, every time a car carrying children breaks down on a road trip, it is considered neglect, and the kids are confiscated. Sheesh. Gimme a big ol' break.
'But how will you make money?!'
Have you SEEN the art my husband can make?! Have you seen the art I can make?! Apparently not... But we can make some sweet art, and we can sell it at art fairs, and music festivals, allowing us to travel in the summer, and hunker, making art, in the winter. Also, did you know that they pay people to ride their bikes along with bicycle tours to make repairs to the bikes of other riders? Because my husband can do that with his eyes closed. He does need both hands, or I'd say with one hand tied behind his back. His toes are pretty nimble though, so maybe...
'But that's delusional! You're not in your 20s! It's a midlife crisis! You need a reality check!'
We're not delusional. We wanted to do this in our 20s. We were scared to take the leap. All the messaging from our families and society assured us that we were delusional, and if we wanted to support our little family, we needed to straighten up and fly right. So we went to college, and got educated, and got a whopping debt. That was our most salient take-away from college. Our debt. A degree is not a guarantee, folks, of money, or happiness, or anything like that.
So, if a kid in their 20s wants to do something like this, you tell them they're delusional, they need to grow up and get real. If a couple of 45 and 50 want to do this, you tell them they're not kids, they're having midlife crises, and they need to grow up and get real. What could be more real?!
'You won't have room for ANYTHING!!!'
Exactly. We as a family, and we as a society, have too. much. stuff. I am sick to death of stuff... needing stuff, wanting stuff, storing stuff, having stuff get covered in pet hair, and my hair, and actually losing my glasses to a tribble the size of Rhode Island for a freaking month. The less shit I have, the less shit I have to maintain, the more space I have in my head and my heart for the people I love. The more time I have to play my dulcimer, or draw with Connor, or go for walks, just because.
'But what if this?! What if that?!'
Well, we'll deal with it if it happens, as we've dealt with everything else that the universe has thrown our way for the last 23 years that we've been together. We have faced down some mighty demons, let me tell you. We've been hanging out for almost 30 years. This will be easy. This will be healthy. This will be good.
'But you have to have a job...'
Why? Who says? We can be creative and crafty, just like all those writers and photographers and artists that are on your list of 'admired people'. We may not make much money, but hell! We don't make much money now!
Connor can go to school. Or not. If it doesn't work for him, he'll not go. We're perfectly capable of facilitating some high-quality learning, if maybe not in the most conventional manner. And, having taught college for several years, let me assure you all that going to school in no way assures that a young adult has the ability to do research, to write, to actually think. Which is sort of a prerequisite for learning.
Jim watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid a couple weeks ago. One line summed it all up.
"Well, we tried going straight. Now what?"
Yup. We tried going straight. Now what indeed. Going straight didn't work, hasn't worked, isn't going to work. We are not straight. We are creative and analytical, we are unconventional. We are not happy trying to be straight. Jim is not happy when he's not making beautiful things. He hasn't made something to completion in years. He needs to cut glass with Miles Davis playing loud. He needs to play guitar. He needs to go stand in a beautiful river with a fly rod, whether or not he catches anything, or keeps anything he catches. I need to sit in front of a wood stove and knit. I need to cook, and preserve, and maybe even have bees and/or chickens. I need to sew, and set Connor loose with glue and sticks and pine cones. Connor needs to get muddy, turning over rocks, looking for frogs and bugs, he needs to learn how to skip rocks and build forts.
And really, isn't this the true American Dream folks? Self sufficiency? Making your way, making your life, using your own two hands? A friend posted a Ben Harper song , My Own Two Hands, a week or so ago, asking her readers what we would do with OUR own two hands. Well, here's my answer... I'll make my own American Dream, I'll make my own life, an authentic life for my little family, and I'll do it with my own two hands. And Jim's own two hands. And Connor's own two hands, because you know what? Those little hands are mighty capable too. They can knead bread, they can draw, they can give some killer hugs. We will build a life, a true American Dream, not this material success bullshit that is empty and hollow and spirit-killing. We will build the life WE dream, the life we choose, not the life that somebody somewhere hands us the blueprint for and says, "This is how it is done. This is what you 'need', these are the things you 'want', this is how reality looks."
Reality is not a singular noun. It is a plural verb. It is fluid, it is different for each person. Bucky Fuller wrote a book, "I Seem to be a Verb". Genius, that man. Too bad they thought he was crazy. But that is the curse of the creative, of genius. The masses, the people who live in their narrow, prescribed 'reality', think the creative and the geniuses are nuts. Too bad for them.
With my own two hands, I'm going to make that crazy old RV beautiful! It's going to have a yellow and purple kitchen. It's going to have glow-in-the-dark stars on a black ceiling above the bed. It's going to have pretty cushions, and braided rag rugs. It is my homestead, my frontier. I am going forth boldly into my future. Maybe we'll rent someplace when we get where we're going. Maybe we'll live in the RV. Maybe we'll do a combination. Maybe we'll get some jobs, maybe at the health food store and the bike tour company, and save a little bit of cash to buy a couple acres, and build an earthship or a yurt. Who knows?
What I do know is that this isn't right. This doesn't feed my mind, body or soul. This shit only steals from my essence. It crushes who I am, it makes me a nervous, cynical, unpleasant person. I am none of those.
The only things that truly matter in life are the people that we love. This version of somebody else's 'reality' steals people away from one another in the name of taking care of those very same people. Screw that, man. Seriously. Screw that. There is no beauty there. There is no love. In my American Dream, it's all about the beauty and the love and the truth. That is our reality. That is the reality I choose.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The AT&T wringer
That's what the nice guy I finally talked to in Kalamazoo called it last Friday.
"My god. You've talked to everyone on the planet."
"Yes. Yes, I have. I'm glad you can see that!"
"You've really been through the AT&T wringer."
Yup. Eight hours of prepaid cell minutes. That would be $60 of minutes cards, plus the cost of the cheapest Tracfone I could buy. Why? Because AT&T gave me an on-date of January 10th. When did I get my internet? Today. January 19th. When do I get my phone? Supposedly now tomorrow, January 20th. What transpired between the 10th and today is, to put it mildly, unbefreakinglievable.
When finally yesterday, having gone to my bff's house to use her landline, where it took yet another 2 hours (total time on phone: 8 hours, 20 minutes. Total number of calls: 12. Total number of people talked to: at least 20. Total number of reasons given: at least 10) to finally get some explanation and resolution. I totally lucked out and got a woman who knew both the phone crap and the internet crap, and was able to look at everything that had happened, and figure out what to do.
Somewhere along the line, my phone order had been cancelled! And yet, accounts showed that my phone service was waiting on a deposit. Which I then 'paid', but not really, because the order had been cancelled. My internet, so the story goes, had been whatevered by the tech who came out to set the house up because the gate to the backyard was closed and 'client not home', which I was, halfway watching for him. He didn't knock or ring the bell to be let in. So, then, my internet turn-on was cancelled. They changed my due-on date 5 times. FIVE TIMES!!!
While I had little hope going into today, I did have hope, because the nice woman at AT&T who seemed to actually know what the hell she was talking about gave me hope. And lo and behold!!! A tech showed up just after noon, for an 11-1 appointment time, and got me up and running in about half an hour! So now I really have hope for the phone going on tomorrow night.
Let me just say how incredibly relieved I am to have my netflix for my day in bed tomorrow. Holy smokes, people!!!
In other news, Mr. Nic Mann, generous sperm donor of my darling and beloved grandson, has done it again! There is a new young woman expecting his daughter on May 19. Connor will be 5 on May 14. I know I know... how hilarious is that?! And, even better, she's not the girl he's been with since Cassady was pregnant, and is still with now! Nope. She's a summer fling of not-girlfriend status. My attitude about not jamming him up too much more by trying to get his child support increased (I mean, it did get set when he was a 17 year old high school student, and as a 22 year old man it is the same measly little pittance) has completely shifted. New babymama will for sure sue for child support, and will get more, as he is an adult with two jobs, so I will be going in to see what we can do to get Connor's support increased before the new bebeh comes about.
She seems like a nice girl who wishes she'd had a perspective on Cassady and Connor that didn't come from Nic prior to being where she is now. We're going to have lunch soon, she and I and her mom. She and Cassady have bonded over Nic's douchiness, and she reached out to me on facebook. Man oh man. Curveballs! BattahbattahbattahSWING!!!
I got five years under mah belt here with jackassedyness on the part of babydaddy, his scary mom, and his nice but disconnected dad. None of whom know his current predicament. Isn't that cool! He's such a big boy, he hasn't mentioned to any of his parents (his 'team'... ya'll may remember... the 'team' who informed me that I needed to pull parent rank and haul Cassady down to the abortion clinic?) that another one is on the way.
Ya'll, somebody call Maury. Sheeee-it.
Is it bad that I find this all highly amusing?
** apparently, he did tell his mom, who, unsurprisingly, tried to pay for an abortion. She was turned down. **
"My god. You've talked to everyone on the planet."
"Yes. Yes, I have. I'm glad you can see that!"
"You've really been through the AT&T wringer."
Yup. Eight hours of prepaid cell minutes. That would be $60 of minutes cards, plus the cost of the cheapest Tracfone I could buy. Why? Because AT&T gave me an on-date of January 10th. When did I get my internet? Today. January 19th. When do I get my phone? Supposedly now tomorrow, January 20th. What transpired between the 10th and today is, to put it mildly, unbefreakinglievable.
When finally yesterday, having gone to my bff's house to use her landline, where it took yet another 2 hours (total time on phone: 8 hours, 20 minutes. Total number of calls: 12. Total number of people talked to: at least 20. Total number of reasons given: at least 10) to finally get some explanation and resolution. I totally lucked out and got a woman who knew both the phone crap and the internet crap, and was able to look at everything that had happened, and figure out what to do.
Somewhere along the line, my phone order had been cancelled! And yet, accounts showed that my phone service was waiting on a deposit. Which I then 'paid', but not really, because the order had been cancelled. My internet, so the story goes, had been whatevered by the tech who came out to set the house up because the gate to the backyard was closed and 'client not home', which I was, halfway watching for him. He didn't knock or ring the bell to be let in. So, then, my internet turn-on was cancelled. They changed my due-on date 5 times. FIVE TIMES!!!
While I had little hope going into today, I did have hope, because the nice woman at AT&T who seemed to actually know what the hell she was talking about gave me hope. And lo and behold!!! A tech showed up just after noon, for an 11-1 appointment time, and got me up and running in about half an hour! So now I really have hope for the phone going on tomorrow night.
Let me just say how incredibly relieved I am to have my netflix for my day in bed tomorrow. Holy smokes, people!!!
In other news, Mr. Nic Mann, generous sperm donor of my darling and beloved grandson, has done it again! There is a new young woman expecting his daughter on May 19. Connor will be 5 on May 14. I know I know... how hilarious is that?! And, even better, she's not the girl he's been with since Cassady was pregnant, and is still with now! Nope. She's a summer fling of not-girlfriend status. My attitude about not jamming him up too much more by trying to get his child support increased (I mean, it did get set when he was a 17 year old high school student, and as a 22 year old man it is the same measly little pittance) has completely shifted. New babymama will for sure sue for child support, and will get more, as he is an adult with two jobs, so I will be going in to see what we can do to get Connor's support increased before the new bebeh comes about.
She seems like a nice girl who wishes she'd had a perspective on Cassady and Connor that didn't come from Nic prior to being where she is now. We're going to have lunch soon, she and I and her mom. She and Cassady have bonded over Nic's douchiness, and she reached out to me on facebook. Man oh man. Curveballs! BattahbattahbattahSWING!!!
I got five years under mah belt here with jackassedyness on the part of babydaddy, his scary mom, and his nice but disconnected dad. None of whom know his current predicament. Isn't that cool! He's such a big boy, he hasn't mentioned to any of his parents (his 'team'... ya'll may remember... the 'team' who informed me that I needed to pull parent rank and haul Cassady down to the abortion clinic?) that another one is on the way.
Ya'll, somebody call Maury. Sheeee-it.
Is it bad that I find this all highly amusing?
** apparently, he did tell his mom, who, unsurprisingly, tried to pay for an abortion. She was turned down. **
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Thoughts about holidays...
So, this comes from a novel-length comment I left on the blog of digthischick and her thoughts about Christmas, traveling for Christmas, taking on a bunch and forgetting 'important' things, and finding the actual importance of 'things'. And list making to help the forgetting things thing.
Mostly those of you reading this know me IRL. You know that I don't do ginormous present giving, but I like to decorate a lot, and I like to cook and feed people a lot. And you know about my health challenges this fall, and can reach the conclusion that I was totally off my holiday game. And that this was hard on me, but I found great freedom in letting go. Just, accepting what I was and was not able to do, and finding peace with that. So, some of my thoughts and lessons learned with illness over the holidays.
This year, I have learned a whole whole lot. This year, I’m not healthy, and the treatment for my not-healthiness makes me tiiiirrrred, and sick much of the week, and really unable to do much of anything. Including have a job, which means we’ve cut the income by over half. Which means, with those things combined, both Thanksgiving and Christmas were extremely low-key events. For the woman who makes a dozen pies, muffins, rolls, cookies and a cake just to get started, usually for about 5 or 6 people, coming up with 3 pies, and going all vegan for my son with very simple food, was great for Thanksgiving. And nobody had any less enjoyment of hanging out. I laid down in the living room, and listened to my lovely son play his dad’s guitar. The kid’s got chops. I napped happy.
Christmas, I managed to get boxes in the mail to 2 households in CA (well, 3, but 2 are neighbors… my mom, brother and sil, so one box for them, yay! and one for SoCA) on TUESDAY!!! They got to them on Christmas eve. No cards. No wrapping. Gift bags with tissue that I had in the ‘save for projects’ area of the basement. Wrapped Connor’s gifts, with help from Papa, didn’t make tags, used last year’s left over paper. Rolled up Morningstar Farms sausage links in Pillsbury crescent rolls. Twice. Once for us, and once when the lovely son came over, and rolled up the rest.
The tree, which is pink tinsel this year, to make dealing with the whole tree thing easy for the sick girl, had 4, count ‘em 4, ornaments. I couldn’t find the box, and I don’t have the umph to dig. I found 3 of the 4 on Christmas eve. Usually I am miss Tall Live Yummy-smelling Tree. Nope. Saw the pink tinsel in September, and snapped it up before they were going, anticipating exhaustion and no interest in searching for just the right tree in December. Thank goodness. Phew! And dudes, it was freakin' after Soltice before Connor finally drug the thing up from the basement and said we NEEDED to put it up. Yeah, suppose it was time!
And, ummmm… house decorations? Hahahahahahahahaha!!! Yeah, my orange, cranberry and chili pepper garland from last year is the extent of it. I ALWAYS get garland, and hang lights and baubles from the garland, and the live tree, and decorate the tree in the front yard with pine cone bird feeders and disco ball decorations and ribbon, and the mantle has candles and sparkly stuff, and branches, and it is beautiful!!! And, I’ve learned, totally not a necessity. I felt bad, I felt totally off my game, I felt as though I were disappointing my family. Nope. Turns out they just want ME! They want me relaxed, and healthy, and taking care of myself and not thinking so much about what I think they ‘need’. Huh! Who knew?
And thus I learned… I learned, again, that Christmas truly is in the being with people who matter in your life. This year, it was just the four of us; me, Jim the hubs, Jorma the son, Connor the grandson. And it was perfectly fine. It was relaxed. It was calm. There was no rushing anywhere. The bigger folk hung out, talked about books and what schools Jorma is going to apply to. We talked about work, we talked about how nice it was to spend a quiet day with each other, the little one playing new games and doing new puzzles, and the tech-free teen enjoying a rare evening of television.
This was perhaps the first year that I haven’t stressed, I haven’t rushed around needing one. more. thing! to make things just. right. I let it go, I let it unfold, and it was all just as good as any other. Maybe even better.
And just before Christmas, as I was putting my sweet boy to bed, he grabbed me in a fierce hug and said, "The best present is having you for a Gramma. I love you sooooo much." You know what? We're doing just fine. We don't need the trappings and the things. We have love. We have home and food and snuggly beddies with cozy-warm blankets. Truly all we need, all that matters.
I am so glad that I was reminded of these things. There are blessings in hardship, and I am grateful to be reminded of that as well.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Bull-headed little monkey... wonder where he gets that...
Oy. The Boy was truly amazingly stubborn today. He was sooooo cute in the doing of it though. He finally spilled his little dudely guts to Papa once Papa got home. It was all cool, though not as minor as I would have hoped...
So, this afternoon, I'm sitting on the couch after working on Mom's book for a while. Connor, who has been hanging in the dining room with some Johnny Test on Netflix, comes slinking through the living room, in monkey print footie jammies and his silky blue cape, looking much like Rilo does when she has pooped in a carpeted closet. Seriously. We have two carpeted areas in the house; Connor's room and my closet. Those are the only places in the house she ever poops, and damn, can you see it in her little doggie slink. Anyway...
Here comes Connor all slinky-ass. He says,
"I need to go to my room." This is completely out of the ordinary, other than when he is trying to avoid getting caught at something, for instance, cutting all his shoelaces up with my kitchen scissors, or having taken my Blackberry apart and put the battery, cover and base phone unit in three different places. Argh...
Me: "What happened, sweetie? Why don't you show me?"
Him: "Nope. You won't like it."
Me: "Ummm... well, why don't you show me anyway. I'm not going to get mad at you, but I need to see what happened. If you spilled something, or broke something, it needs to get cleaned up."
Him: "Well, you won't like it. I don't feel like telling you."
Me: (Internally) goddammit kid, what the fuck? really?! what the hell did you do?
(To him): "Okay. I'm going to go in the dining room, and see what it looks like happened."
There is nothing obvious in the dining room. My computer is not wet, it is not sticky. Connor suggest I look near the drawers, in which are the electronic gizmos like chargers and cords, and various and sundry other things... not all electronic, but... lots of stuff. I look under. Can't see anything that would for even a moment cause the cageyness that he's demonstrating. I think. I check in the drawers. I check Papa's guitar, which is leaned against the pass-through. All fine. I check the bookshelves for damage or missing items. Nada. Holy hell! What has gotten him sooooo knowing that I will not like whatever it is that a) he's willing to go take himself to his room to be alone and b) I can't fucking find whatever it is? Like, this should be something major, and I'm just not seeing ANYTHING!!
Okay. So, Jim calls, we go pick him up at the bus stop downtown. We go pick up pizza, and I tell Jim about this most confusing behavior, and that after many attempts, we have decided that Connor will hang out upstairs until he is completely ready to tell Gramma what happened that he is so worried about, and to trust Gramma to not lose her marbles IF he provides the information, and Gramma doesn't have to have any, ahem, nasty surprises. We've traveled the 'nasty surprise' road. Blech. He played in his room for like 2 hours, coming down for a hug and another couple minutes of talking every 15 or so. He would come down, get real snuggly, tell me he was ready, he thought, to talk to me about his worries. I had to close my eyes and my mouth, and hold him, and he put his fingers IN my ears, and told some truly imaginative stories.
"I was drinking icicles." (Yeah, no. I knew for a fact he hadn't opened any doors, and besides, he can't reach the icicles yet. They aren't that long. Not to mention, who the hell d'ya think showed the kid that icicles are yummy? That's right... that would be Gramma.)
"I was climbing the highest tree. With all the ice." See above re: sliding door.
*sigh*
But really, it was kind of awesome! He played really happily, and very creatively, and I hung on the couch at the bottom of the stairs, waiting, and reading, and kinda vegging, which is pretty much my MO this winter. Really, if fear of getting in trouble is all it takes for him to take himself upstairs to his room and not even want TV, we should do this more often. No. Wait. Kidding...
So, we get home, having told the tale to Papa, and I swear, about 5 minutes after coming in the door, and finding absolutely nothing of concern in the dining room, Papa looked at Connor and said,
"Was it IN the dining room? Or where you downstairs?"
Holy shit. Duh!!!
"I was in the basement... Sorry Papa."
"Let's go take a look. It's okay."
*sigh* "Oooookaaaaayyyy...."
Resignedly, Connor follows Papa downstairs.
Turns out, the little mongrel, for whatever reason, decided he felt like he should climb up on the washing machine, and had used the door to the dryer as a step. It apparently made a noise that freaked him out, and he hightailed it upstairs and slunk through the living room on his way up to his bedroom, at which time he ran into me.
So, no yelling ensued, it appears the dryer still functions, although I won't know for sure until I run a load tomorrow. Hopefully, we don't have to add 'dryer' to the list of things in need of replacement when we leave...
And most importantly, hopefully Connor will be a little more willing to tell us what's up, and also develop an awareness that he cannot slink past Gramma without her noticing. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, as it were.
Ooooooo!!! Turnips!!! I should get some turnips...
God I'm easily distracted these days... someday, my brain will figure out a way to ooze back into my skull. Like, when Kindergarten starts next fall? At least maybe it can ride around on my shoulder then, rather than having to be hunted down every. damn. time. I need it?
So, this afternoon, I'm sitting on the couch after working on Mom's book for a while. Connor, who has been hanging in the dining room with some Johnny Test on Netflix, comes slinking through the living room, in monkey print footie jammies and his silky blue cape, looking much like Rilo does when she has pooped in a carpeted closet. Seriously. We have two carpeted areas in the house; Connor's room and my closet. Those are the only places in the house she ever poops, and damn, can you see it in her little doggie slink. Anyway...
Here comes Connor all slinky-ass. He says,
"I need to go to my room." This is completely out of the ordinary, other than when he is trying to avoid getting caught at something, for instance, cutting all his shoelaces up with my kitchen scissors, or having taken my Blackberry apart and put the battery, cover and base phone unit in three different places. Argh...
Me: "What happened, sweetie? Why don't you show me?"
Him: "Nope. You won't like it."
Me: "Ummm... well, why don't you show me anyway. I'm not going to get mad at you, but I need to see what happened. If you spilled something, or broke something, it needs to get cleaned up."
Him: "Well, you won't like it. I don't feel like telling you."
Me: (Internally) goddammit kid, what the fuck? really?! what the hell did you do?
(To him): "Okay. I'm going to go in the dining room, and see what it looks like happened."
There is nothing obvious in the dining room. My computer is not wet, it is not sticky. Connor suggest I look near the drawers, in which are the electronic gizmos like chargers and cords, and various and sundry other things... not all electronic, but... lots of stuff. I look under. Can't see anything that would for even a moment cause the cageyness that he's demonstrating. I think. I check in the drawers. I check Papa's guitar, which is leaned against the pass-through. All fine. I check the bookshelves for damage or missing items. Nada. Holy hell! What has gotten him sooooo knowing that I will not like whatever it is that a) he's willing to go take himself to his room to be alone and b) I can't fucking find whatever it is? Like, this should be something major, and I'm just not seeing ANYTHING!!
Okay. So, Jim calls, we go pick him up at the bus stop downtown. We go pick up pizza, and I tell Jim about this most confusing behavior, and that after many attempts, we have decided that Connor will hang out upstairs until he is completely ready to tell Gramma what happened that he is so worried about, and to trust Gramma to not lose her marbles IF he provides the information, and Gramma doesn't have to have any, ahem, nasty surprises. We've traveled the 'nasty surprise' road. Blech. He played in his room for like 2 hours, coming down for a hug and another couple minutes of talking every 15 or so. He would come down, get real snuggly, tell me he was ready, he thought, to talk to me about his worries. I had to close my eyes and my mouth, and hold him, and he put his fingers IN my ears, and told some truly imaginative stories.
"I was drinking icicles." (Yeah, no. I knew for a fact he hadn't opened any doors, and besides, he can't reach the icicles yet. They aren't that long. Not to mention, who the hell d'ya think showed the kid that icicles are yummy? That's right... that would be Gramma.)
"I was climbing the highest tree. With all the ice." See above re: sliding door.
*sigh*
But really, it was kind of awesome! He played really happily, and very creatively, and I hung on the couch at the bottom of the stairs, waiting, and reading, and kinda vegging, which is pretty much my MO this winter. Really, if fear of getting in trouble is all it takes for him to take himself upstairs to his room and not even want TV, we should do this more often. No. Wait. Kidding...
So, we get home, having told the tale to Papa, and I swear, about 5 minutes after coming in the door, and finding absolutely nothing of concern in the dining room, Papa looked at Connor and said,
"Was it IN the dining room? Or where you downstairs?"
Holy shit. Duh!!!
"I was in the basement... Sorry Papa."
"Let's go take a look. It's okay."
*sigh* "Oooookaaaaayyyy...."
Resignedly, Connor follows Papa downstairs.
Turns out, the little mongrel, for whatever reason, decided he felt like he should climb up on the washing machine, and had used the door to the dryer as a step. It apparently made a noise that freaked him out, and he hightailed it upstairs and slunk through the living room on his way up to his bedroom, at which time he ran into me.
So, no yelling ensued, it appears the dryer still functions, although I won't know for sure until I run a load tomorrow. Hopefully, we don't have to add 'dryer' to the list of things in need of replacement when we leave...
And most importantly, hopefully Connor will be a little more willing to tell us what's up, and also develop an awareness that he cannot slink past Gramma without her noticing. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, as it were.
Ooooooo!!! Turnips!!! I should get some turnips...
God I'm easily distracted these days... someday, my brain will figure out a way to ooze back into my skull. Like, when Kindergarten starts next fall? At least maybe it can ride around on my shoulder then, rather than having to be hunted down every. damn. time. I need it?
Monday, March 29, 2010
It was 20 years ago today...
... that my beautiful daughter Cassady Rose was born.
Just a few hours old with her very smitten daddy
3 months
But today, today is my daughter. My girl. My heart. The one I totally get, as hard as she is for others to grasp. My mother and I, we GET her. She is a free spirit. She always has been. She's flown by the seat of her pants, and lived by her own rules since before she was conceived. I was sitting with my husband one evening, looked at him, and I knew... my daughter wanted to come to me. Six months later, I learned I was pregnant. And I knew, knew I would have a girl. And then I woke up one morning knowing her name. She picked us. She is us. She is amazing. A wild, wooly girl who leaps weeks to months prior to looking. She speaks with conviction prior to thinking. She has paved her own way her entire life.
She was born almost 3 weeks late. I woke up in labor on a Thursday morning after learning of the sudden death of a dear friend the evening before. For some reason, she held on until he left. I knew the moment I heard of his passing that she would come the next day. I knew I wake in labor, and I did. Our midwives came early, and passed a long hard day with us. I was sleep-deprived from the previous day's news, and my energy flagged. I heard whispered discussions of transporting me if I didn't start making some progress. One of my midwives, Luna I think, went for recharge, and a friend made miso soup. My energy picked up, and we made it through. I rocked on hands and knees for what felt like forever to get her to flip head-to-back so that she could make an easier passage. Jim below me, talking to her, Michelle behind me, giving counter-pressure during contractions.
Oh man, that was a long day
I was almost fully dilated and pushing. My water broke, she flipped, Luna I think gave the order to lay down on my side NOW. From there, I remember just fuzzy voices of Luna by my feet giving direction to Michelle, who passed it on to Jim, who guided me. My very pregnant friend C'Dale, she of the miso soup, was in the fridge with the Ben and Jerry's when my dear friend Francine said, "Look at that face!" The BnJ was thrown into the freezer, "Face?! Where's a face?!" And my daughter was born. She was born with her eyes open. She looked around the room at her audience while her little wriggly body was still inside. Once she was out and on my chest, she looked around, stretched, sighed deeply and contentedly, and just snuggled into my shoulder. My daughter. I didn't even need to check... I knew. My daughter had come through to me. The first place she went was to our dear friend's funeral service in San Francisco. She was 3 days old. It was April Fool's Day. The irony; it burns.
Her first year flew in a dream-daze of nursing, and cuddling, and playing, and basking in mommyhood as I'd been unable to with my older son, now 5, who'd been born just a week after my 19 birthday, in a crap-ass relationship with a crap-ass 'man'. This was completely different.
She was a bright, bubbly, outgoing and fantabulous little being of light. She loved her Daddy beyond measure, even though I had the boobs! Sheesh!
6 months - mohawked little dumpling
Her second year heralded changes brought incredible advances in language and sociability. She was talking in articulate, long sentences by 17 months. "Daddy, I believe I've left my doll in the car. Do you think you might be able to get her, please?" Too soon, her son would mirror that exact skill.
Second birthday with her beloved aunties
When she was two, she got a brother
His story next month... what a cute little monkey! I very carefully coordinated us. We are rockstars! And young... jezuhs, so young...
Two and a half, Redwood Park, Arcata, CA
She sang, she danced. My friend Tyme called her the humming baby. She was always always always always moving through life skipping and dancing and humming to herself. She NEVER simply walked. Her son mirrors this as well. She loved to be center stage. Loved loved loved attention, brought joy and consternation wherever she went, entrancing and frustrating, in the most charming and disarming way, any and all who crossed her path.
Seventh birthday. What a goofy frosting princess.
We had some serious fun in the 5-9 years. God, how I love those years! Such wonderful little loves they are! Connor will enter those years in one more year. Not to minimize the adorableness of 4, but man, 5! Sooooo helpful, so generous, so funny. They get jokes, they tell actual jokes, they just are so... big. Lovelovelove... She's certainly opened unexpected musical doors, and I learned all about swimming, a skill I never mastered. She swam like a fish. She sang like a goddess, she loved all kinds of music. From the Backstreet Boys to The Dresden Dolls, my musical horizons have been tremendously expanded by her. And we've always been advocates of going to live music. The girl was at 25 Grateful Dead concerts by the time she was two.
Dancing with Sarah, who was in C'Dale's belly at Cassady's birth, thus why C'Dale was in the Ben and Jerry's. Last shows we saw before Jerry's death. Eugene, OR, 1993. Sarah's brother Ben in the foreground. Ah, good times with logical family.
And then, yeah. Backstreet Boys. She was almost 10.
They were actually soooo good that I bought her the coolest, most expensive shirt, and made her daddy take her back the second night. They had a great time. Even Dad. LOL!!!
She's gone through several incarnations in the years since. She's loved punk, she's loved indie, she's loved alt-pop. She's cut her hair almost off, she's bleached it, dyed it blue, purple, green. She's pierced lots o' body parts. The nipple was the hardest for Mommy to contend with. Lips, tongue, nose, belly button... I'm completely inured to face metal these days, along with gauged ears.
Funky glasses, and funkyish hair
Happy and breathtaking
Weird anti-mullet and super-sweet frames
Pixie and faux fur
Momentary interest in fixed-gear bikes at 18
Brief flirtation with "I am an anarchist punk"
Nineteen -- yeah, that's my kid. No doubt about it
She loves her boy. She was barely 16 when he was born. He entered the world on Mother's Day 2006. She had a natural birth, with midwives. She caught her son herself. He was 8lbs, 12 oz and perfect.
She loved him and nursed him, and tried to deal with the trauma of Connor's father simply vanishing when she was 8 and a half months pregnant. He'd been solid all the way through, and then, BAM! New girlfriend, totally absent. As he has remained. She started sort of coming and going. She went to family in Washington to try and get her feet under her. Connor stayed with us. He was 5 months old. She came back, and tried some more. She just simply couldn't do it anymore by the time he was 20 months. She loves him, she spent time with him almost every day. But the day-to-day ins-and-outs were just too much for her to manage. She did the hardest thing, and the truly good-mom thing; she admitted her limitations, and asked us to care for him. That had been part of the deal when she chose to have him. We'd be here, no matter what. She went to Portland to try to make her way. She came back after 3 months, and tried to get herself together here. Michigan is just not a good place for my darling. Too much yuck. Too small for such a decent-sized city. Too much history. Doesn't matter what she does, to many all she'll be here is 'that dumb bitch who had a baby at 16'. Not fair. My poor girl.
Last fall, after a horrendous summer, she went to California. She went to find her way among family, and lifetime friends. She's found a way of living that is meaningful to her, that allows her to be exactly who she is among people who love her for just exactly that, where here, she is denigrated and demonized for being exactly who she is, and thus has not been her authentic self since she was about 11. Her authentic self is emerging strong, she is competent, she is truly finding her way. The one thing that keeps her from being totally whole is that her boy is still here in Michigan with us. But she knows that it would be selfish to try to take him on as her own again at this point in her life as well as his. For her birthday, she asked for a ticket home for his birthday. I'll be purchasing that gift tomorrow. Connor is beside himself. We haven't seen her since September 4th...
Brand new boy
She loved him and nursed him, and tried to deal with the trauma of Connor's father simply vanishing when she was 8 and a half months pregnant. He'd been solid all the way through, and then, BAM! New girlfriend, totally absent. As he has remained. She started sort of coming and going. She went to family in Washington to try and get her feet under her. Connor stayed with us. He was 5 months old. She came back, and tried some more. She just simply couldn't do it anymore by the time he was 20 months. She loves him, she spent time with him almost every day. But the day-to-day ins-and-outs were just too much for her to manage. She did the hardest thing, and the truly good-mom thing; she admitted her limitations, and asked us to care for him. That had been part of the deal when she chose to have him. We'd be here, no matter what. She went to Portland to try to make her way. She came back after 3 months, and tried to get herself together here. Michigan is just not a good place for my darling. Too much yuck. Too small for such a decent-sized city. Too much history. Doesn't matter what she does, to many all she'll be here is 'that dumb bitch who had a baby at 16'. Not fair. My poor girl.
Last fall, after a horrendous summer, she went to California. She went to find her way among family, and lifetime friends. She's found a way of living that is meaningful to her, that allows her to be exactly who she is among people who love her for just exactly that, where here, she is denigrated and demonized for being exactly who she is, and thus has not been her authentic self since she was about 11. Her authentic self is emerging strong, she is competent, she is truly finding her way. The one thing that keeps her from being totally whole is that her boy is still here in Michigan with us. But she knows that it would be selfish to try to take him on as her own again at this point in her life as well as his. For her birthday, she asked for a ticket home for his birthday. I'll be purchasing that gift tomorrow. Connor is beside himself. We haven't seen her since September 4th...
Birthday last year! Three! He's three!!! She had just turned 19.
Birthday ice cream.
Last trip to the park before she left.
The boy she left...
... the boy she's coming back to...
... and the Mommy that's coming back to him.
My daughter. My one and only baby girl. Truly a young woman, strong, self-directed, breathtakingly beautiful, and as an old, dear friend commented to me after meeting her for the first time since she's been in CA... "... a delight. A whimsical delight."
What more could a mama hope for? She is the girl of my dreams. Good dreams and Mommy-nightmares alike. The girl of my dreams. More my girl than I ever could have imagined, or believed possible.
Two decades I've been her mama. What a wonderful ride it's been...
1990
2010
My darling Cassady,
"Faring thee well now. Let your life proceed by its own design. Nothing to tell now. Let the words be yours I'm done with mine, done with mine..."
Love you more than words can ever, ever convey. Happy twentieth birthday. Next year, the Meanwhile!
Peace
Love you more than words can ever, ever convey. Happy twentieth birthday. Next year, the Meanwhile!
Peace
NOTE: This should have gone up yesterday, March 29th... took me that long to figure out how to correctly insert photos.
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