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. **
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Change is afoot!
So, in the next few days, the first smallish but significant steps will be taken toward the simpler life I want to create. Partly it's because we just can't afford the stuff anymore, but it's also because I was very hesitant to get it in the first place, and I am actually looking pretty forward to the demise of the electronic tether and brain sucker.
The cell phones and the satellite television are going away this week! I am getting a landline for the first time in about 5 years, and over the next few months we'll get a Roku box or two so that we can Netflix on the TV, but the laptops will do just fine for the interim. I am actually excited about this! We can maybe all focus on more real stuff. I largely got the satellite service because I knew I was going to be on medication that was going to make me sick, so the option of vegging in a brainless manner was quite attractive, and also because once we moved to this house, the little converter boxes that the g'vmt made us all get the other year no longer worked, so I wasn't even going to be able to veg on real crap, like Maury and Divorce Court. We had a rooftop antenna at the old place, not one here, and even though we are directly across the river from one of our local stations, and not more than 4 miles from the others, all we were able to bring in over here were 5 crystal clear televangelist channels. Not PBS, not NBC, nothing. So, we got the stupid satellite, and I've hated it from the beginning. It's so damn easy to get completely hooked on the 250 channels of absolute garbage, ya' know? Jeez, even the History Channel is almost all Ancient Aliens, and Proof of Extraterrestrial Seeding of Planet Earth, and other complete junk science. And the commercials! Gawd, the commercials! Hate hate hate the commercials!!! Even PBS is annoying me with their Chuckie Cheese sponsored kid programming. Cannot express the distaste I have for my grandson telling me that,
"We have to go to Chuckie Cheese, Gramma, because I am a kid, and Chuckie Cheese is where a kid can be a kid, so we have to go there!"
Okay. It's cute. He says some very cute things! He's 4! But it's more insidious. My gut reaction is more on the level of oh yuck. Really PBS? Chuckie Cheese? Video games and crappy pizza? Isn't that kinda antithetical?
*sigh*
And all because Curious George and Sid the Science Kid need funding. And I get that, I do! I love and support public television and radio, but jeez luhweez! Can a kid be a kid at the damn park please?! It's like my thing with moving to the mountains. Okay. For one, I grew up at the base of the Colorado Rockies, in Denver. I was lost in ideas of Pike's Peak from my swing set. If I could just get high enough, I could jump from the swing, and fly all the way to the tippy top. We went up up up nearly every Sunday. Squaw Pass, Berthoud Pass, Brekenridge for waffles, Everygreen for chicken, Georgetown for tumbled rocks and geodes. I love so many mountain towns in Colorado, but man... it's as expensive to live in Nederland as it is to live in San Francisco! I couldn't afford San Francisco in '83, let alone now! And the other thing that really struck me last winter, while watching my loved Planet Earth DVD set, is I want to go for walks in mountain meadows and look at wildflowers instead of putting in the 'Mountains' DVD to watch the meadows of wildflowers be passively shown to me in hi def (right. Like I have hi def. My tv is so old, both sides are cut off because the screen is still SQUARE!! Aren't I quaint?!) but you get the point. I don't want Connor to experience the world through the filters of screen and electricity, and I don't want to experience the world that way either.
Tonight while reading Corduroy, when little bear friend went up the escalator and thought to himself that maybe this was a mountain, Connor said he'd like to climb a mountain, but that the escalator was not a mountain. He'd like to climb a real one.
Right there with ya', dude. lets go find us a mountain, and climb it together. Lets take take the time to stop and look at the flowers, and the creeks, and the fallen leaves. Lets go! Into the wild blue yonder!
We'll go climb some mountains, and conquer some challenges, and be alive and free in the real air. And we'll start with whatever hills or valleys or parks we can find around here. Real air, real world, real life, here we come!!
The cell phones and the satellite television are going away this week! I am getting a landline for the first time in about 5 years, and over the next few months we'll get a Roku box or two so that we can Netflix on the TV, but the laptops will do just fine for the interim. I am actually excited about this! We can maybe all focus on more real stuff. I largely got the satellite service because I knew I was going to be on medication that was going to make me sick, so the option of vegging in a brainless manner was quite attractive, and also because once we moved to this house, the little converter boxes that the g'vmt made us all get the other year no longer worked, so I wasn't even going to be able to veg on real crap, like Maury and Divorce Court. We had a rooftop antenna at the old place, not one here, and even though we are directly across the river from one of our local stations, and not more than 4 miles from the others, all we were able to bring in over here were 5 crystal clear televangelist channels. Not PBS, not NBC, nothing. So, we got the stupid satellite, and I've hated it from the beginning. It's so damn easy to get completely hooked on the 250 channels of absolute garbage, ya' know? Jeez, even the History Channel is almost all Ancient Aliens, and Proof of Extraterrestrial Seeding of Planet Earth, and other complete junk science. And the commercials! Gawd, the commercials! Hate hate hate the commercials!!! Even PBS is annoying me with their Chuckie Cheese sponsored kid programming. Cannot express the distaste I have for my grandson telling me that,
"We have to go to Chuckie Cheese, Gramma, because I am a kid, and Chuckie Cheese is where a kid can be a kid, so we have to go there!"
Okay. It's cute. He says some very cute things! He's 4! But it's more insidious. My gut reaction is more on the level of oh yuck. Really PBS? Chuckie Cheese? Video games and crappy pizza? Isn't that kinda antithetical?
*sigh*
And all because Curious George and Sid the Science Kid need funding. And I get that, I do! I love and support public television and radio, but jeez luhweez! Can a kid be a kid at the damn park please?! It's like my thing with moving to the mountains. Okay. For one, I grew up at the base of the Colorado Rockies, in Denver. I was lost in ideas of Pike's Peak from my swing set. If I could just get high enough, I could jump from the swing, and fly all the way to the tippy top. We went up up up nearly every Sunday. Squaw Pass, Berthoud Pass, Brekenridge for waffles, Everygreen for chicken, Georgetown for tumbled rocks and geodes. I love so many mountain towns in Colorado, but man... it's as expensive to live in Nederland as it is to live in San Francisco! I couldn't afford San Francisco in '83, let alone now! And the other thing that really struck me last winter, while watching my loved Planet Earth DVD set, is I want to go for walks in mountain meadows and look at wildflowers instead of putting in the 'Mountains' DVD to watch the meadows of wildflowers be passively shown to me in hi def (right. Like I have hi def. My tv is so old, both sides are cut off because the screen is still SQUARE!! Aren't I quaint?!) but you get the point. I don't want Connor to experience the world through the filters of screen and electricity, and I don't want to experience the world that way either.
Tonight while reading Corduroy, when little bear friend went up the escalator and thought to himself that maybe this was a mountain, Connor said he'd like to climb a mountain, but that the escalator was not a mountain. He'd like to climb a real one.
Right there with ya', dude. lets go find us a mountain, and climb it together. Lets take take the time to stop and look at the flowers, and the creeks, and the fallen leaves. Lets go! Into the wild blue yonder!
We'll go climb some mountains, and conquer some challenges, and be alive and free in the real air. And we'll start with whatever hills or valleys or parks we can find around here. Real air, real world, real life, here we come!!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
New Year!
Welcome, 2011!!! I am so frickin' glad to see you! 2010 was not my favorite, not by a long shot. You, 2011, you I have high hopes and expectations for. You will bring new starts, new changes, new chances. You will bring new friends! You will carry me back to the Rockies. And you will not pull any rugs out from under me, okay? Can we shake on that? Alrighty then.
New Year's Eve was a very chill event this year. Really, it usually is. We don't go out in the crazy crowds of drunken revelers. Some years, we've spent drunkenish revelry safely at a neighbor's house while kids sledded the teensy hill at the end of the block. But mostly, we're major New Year's Eve homebodies. This year was amplified by it being Friday, and I had done quite a bit more than usual on Friday this week, and I was tired. I got some silly string and some sparklers, some orange juice to mix with my icky-tummy Fresca. We mixed some virgin mimosas, toasted with Connor, chased each other around (well, me and Connor) with the two cans of silly string, then swept up the carnage, got him in his pull-up and his puppy-footed jammies and froggy boots, and out on the deck we went with sparklers. It was about 7:30. We yelled, "Happy New Year!!!" and hooted and hollered and danced about with our sparklers (one each. It went quickly). I'm sure the neighbors suspected we couldn't tell time... but who gives a rip?
Then back inside, I retreated to my upstairs domain of Tylenol and cough syrup, Connor went to bed shortly thereafter, Jim came up at 11:59 and we counted down from 10, the end. Yay! 2010 goes into the books. 2011 is HERE! I have been so anticipating 2011. Why, you may ask? So many things are in the works for this year! And when I can say, "This year we're going to ________________" it just feels so much more imminent and real than saying "Next summer we're going to ________________". I'm going to try out a few of these, just to demonstrate...
This year, we're leaving west Michigan!
This year, my treatment will be over!
This year, we are moving to Montana!
This year, Connor will be 5!
This year, I will sew, open an Etsy shop with the MI-Ties, and begin to rely on my craftiness rather than the establishment for my income and well-being.
This year, Connor will go to kindergarten! (Holy holy holy shit!!! Already?! Finally?! Time is sooooo weird watching a kid grow.)
This year, I will learn new outdoorsy skills. Maybe kayaking? Maybe whitewater rafting? Definitely skiing once the snow falls in Montana.
See? See how much more imminent and real it sounds when you get to preface a statement with 'this year'? And I get so much hope and energy and motivation from those words: 'This Year'.
Also this year, no resolutions. Only resolve to remember some things...
I can trust the universe.
I am capable.
I am talented.
My life is more full when it is more simple.
Taking care of myself IS taking care of my family.
So:
Simplify
Trust
Accept the challenges that find their way to me with grace
Take risks
BE fucking PRESENT
I will turn 45 this spring. That feels like a nice, solid, strong number-place from which to launch into the world again. A good place to go find my bliss, my grown-up bliss this time. My authentic, true, honest self. And having made that determination... I feel free, and alive, and purposeful.
Wishing all good things for all those that I love, those that I know, those that I'm going to meet on this next leg of my journey.
New Year's Eve was a very chill event this year. Really, it usually is. We don't go out in the crazy crowds of drunken revelers. Some years, we've spent drunkenish revelry safely at a neighbor's house while kids sledded the teensy hill at the end of the block. But mostly, we're major New Year's Eve homebodies. This year was amplified by it being Friday, and I had done quite a bit more than usual on Friday this week, and I was tired. I got some silly string and some sparklers, some orange juice to mix with my icky-tummy Fresca. We mixed some virgin mimosas, toasted with Connor, chased each other around (well, me and Connor) with the two cans of silly string, then swept up the carnage, got him in his pull-up and his puppy-footed jammies and froggy boots, and out on the deck we went with sparklers. It was about 7:30. We yelled, "Happy New Year!!!" and hooted and hollered and danced about with our sparklers (one each. It went quickly). I'm sure the neighbors suspected we couldn't tell time... but who gives a rip?
Then back inside, I retreated to my upstairs domain of Tylenol and cough syrup, Connor went to bed shortly thereafter, Jim came up at 11:59 and we counted down from 10, the end. Yay! 2010 goes into the books. 2011 is HERE! I have been so anticipating 2011. Why, you may ask? So many things are in the works for this year! And when I can say, "This year we're going to ________________" it just feels so much more imminent and real than saying "Next summer we're going to ________________". I'm going to try out a few of these, just to demonstrate...
This year, we're leaving west Michigan!
This year, my treatment will be over!
This year, we are moving to Montana!
This year, Connor will be 5!
This year, I will sew, open an Etsy shop with the MI-Ties, and begin to rely on my craftiness rather than the establishment for my income and well-being.
This year, Connor will go to kindergarten! (Holy holy holy shit!!! Already?! Finally?! Time is sooooo weird watching a kid grow.)
This year, I will learn new outdoorsy skills. Maybe kayaking? Maybe whitewater rafting? Definitely skiing once the snow falls in Montana.
See? See how much more imminent and real it sounds when you get to preface a statement with 'this year'? And I get so much hope and energy and motivation from those words: 'This Year'.
Also this year, no resolutions. Only resolve to remember some things...
I can trust the universe.
I am capable.
I am talented.
My life is more full when it is more simple.
Taking care of myself IS taking care of my family.
So:
Simplify
Trust
Accept the challenges that find their way to me with grace
Take risks
BE fucking PRESENT
I will turn 45 this spring. That feels like a nice, solid, strong number-place from which to launch into the world again. A good place to go find my bliss, my grown-up bliss this time. My authentic, true, honest self. And having made that determination... I feel free, and alive, and purposeful.
Wishing all good things for all those that I love, those that I know, those that I'm going to meet on this next leg of my journey.
Yay yay yay!!! Good News at Last!!
So, on the 29th, I had my first appointment with my gastroenterologist guy since starting interferon. I had gotten blood work done the first week of December, had to go back a week later for a redraw as one got sent out to Mayo and the clinic didn't send enough blood... jeezuhs, they take about enough to power at least a rodent! But, went back, got the more juice sucked out, Dr's nurse called to tell me that the blood work looked really good. It was a viral load count. She said I was responding spectacularly. Yay!
So, better yet... When I went to my appointment and spoke with my Dr., he told me that I had actually tested negative! The hepatitis was all gone! At 13 weeks into treatment! He said I could stop now if I wanted, or if he was ruining my life, but that he's pretty anal, and would like me to do one more round, that being 4 weeks. As I had already ordered my next shipment, I was totally fine with that. But seriously?! I was stunned! Stunned I tell you! Holy hell! I thought for sure I was on this shit until the end of April. End of January!?!? No problem!
And the following Wednesday, the first Wednesday without an injection since the 15th of September, we have tickets to the Decemberists. February 2nd. Happy Day! The last pills will have been downed, and I will be free! Free to get a job, free to start clearing out the house as I will have some ENERGY! Oh man, I am just ecstatic! I am virus-free! My life, my future, just turned the corner back toward positive and hopeful.
Now to get someone to draw me a tattoo design of a fabulous, majestic, Pegasus, winged warhorse of vengeance. My medicine is called Pegasys, I kid you not, and I said, when I started, that I was going to envision this icky poison as the winged horse of vengeance, stomping the shit out of the virus, and if it was successful, I was going to get a tattoo. So, guess it's already time to think about the art. So amazing! I feel so relieved and thankful. And so glad that it's almost over.
So, better yet... When I went to my appointment and spoke with my Dr., he told me that I had actually tested negative! The hepatitis was all gone! At 13 weeks into treatment! He said I could stop now if I wanted, or if he was ruining my life, but that he's pretty anal, and would like me to do one more round, that being 4 weeks. As I had already ordered my next shipment, I was totally fine with that. But seriously?! I was stunned! Stunned I tell you! Holy hell! I thought for sure I was on this shit until the end of April. End of January!?!? No problem!
And the following Wednesday, the first Wednesday without an injection since the 15th of September, we have tickets to the Decemberists. February 2nd. Happy Day! The last pills will have been downed, and I will be free! Free to get a job, free to start clearing out the house as I will have some ENERGY! Oh man, I am just ecstatic! I am virus-free! My life, my future, just turned the corner back toward positive and hopeful.
Now to get someone to draw me a tattoo design of a fabulous, majestic, Pegasus, winged warhorse of vengeance. My medicine is called Pegasys, I kid you not, and I said, when I started, that I was going to envision this icky poison as the winged horse of vengeance, stomping the shit out of the virus, and if it was successful, I was going to get a tattoo. So, guess it's already time to think about the art. So amazing! I feel so relieved and thankful. And so glad that it's almost over.
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?
Friday, December 3, 2010
questions...
I have a friend, a single mother, who experienced a journey through breast cancer a few years ago. She's actually still dealing with reconstructive surgeries. During this time, the father of her very young (then) son came back into her life to 'help' with their son. Daddy was an abuser. She's also still dealing with the fall-out of him breaking into their home and physically attacking my friend. In front of their boy. Dickweed.
Anyhoo... as I go through this treatment with interferon for the Hepatitis, I find myself thinking about her quite frequently. I am having a pretty hard time with this. I feel like crap. I am tired tired tired. Some days I am sitting on the couch, and I hit the wall and literally fall over, unable to stay awake, getting Connor to come climb up on the couch with me, sitting behind my folded knees to watch some Nick Jr. or a movie. If he's behind my knees, I'll wake up if he goes wandering about. At least to a point of consciousness that I'm aware of noises he's making, and his general whereabouts in the house. This is absolutely nothing in comparison. She was single, with a really small kid, not a big ol' boy who's going to kindergarten next fall. She was on chemo, recovering from a double mastectomy. With an abusive asshole to boot. I really have a deep admiration for her fortitude. I'm struggling, and I haven't needed surgery, and the hair I lost recently I paid someone to cut off.
I miss my friends. I know it's been years and years, but I miss my friends. I miss my shared life with Alana, and Lisa and Andy, and Bonnie, and Zanana, and Becky, and the passel of kids that were in that life... My own darlings, Jesse and Willow and Rhia and Tehya and Tatiana and Amber and Justin and Mariah and Jarrod and Olin...
I have some good friends here. They have assured me that I can call if I need anything. But I'm not likely to call. Truly. I have a super hard time with that. And the one thing I really really really need help with? The one thing my friends don't do: little kids. Connor is totally alone. We have no friends from the preschool after 2 plus years. All of my friends are my age, with grown kids. Barb has the youngest kid, at 13, almost 14. I miss the house full of kids, I miss the watching of each other's kids while various permutations of us did stuff, whether it was homework or cleaning the house before the parents came to visit. Or just going to the grocery store without kids. I still remember after one of my kids' birthday parties, Lisa said to Andy, I'm going to run to the co-op. I'm leaving the girls with you. Alana and I looked at each other, and both of us looked at Jim, a gleam of hope in our collective eye. "Go chicks. We've got it. The dads are on." Alana and I were absolutely giddy! Which sort of scared us, but we had a good laugh over how excited we got at the prospect of a grocery shopping trip sans littles. And the big big big upside? We had loved and trusted friends when we needed 'couple time'. Now, with our lack of social support, we have to find a sitter who will stay with Connor out of their love of us, and the goodness of their hearts. Mostly, our wonderful youngest kid. Primarily, though, we switch off, and do nothing together. One of the things we were most looking forward to when the kids got grown. Didn't expect do-overs.
And support in illness. Whether mine, or that of the kid, or Jim's, or worst, when both Jim and I are sick, and Connor isn't, we have no-one who has our backs. Connor has an immune system of steel. Jim and I can be totally out of it, and Connor is in the fullness of health and 4 year old energy. Holy crap. Seriously?! If there were justice in the world, adults would have the energy of 4 year olds! How the hell is a 40 or 50 year old supposed to even begin to keep up with that?
I miss my friends. I miss my community. I am hopeful I will be able to build community again in my life. I am super duper hoping that I manage to make it through the next 3 months of this treatment without losing my mind, without succumbing to the irritability or the depression. Without losing my patience too often with my sweetness and light.
Anyhoo... as I go through this treatment with interferon for the Hepatitis, I find myself thinking about her quite frequently. I am having a pretty hard time with this. I feel like crap. I am tired tired tired. Some days I am sitting on the couch, and I hit the wall and literally fall over, unable to stay awake, getting Connor to come climb up on the couch with me, sitting behind my folded knees to watch some Nick Jr. or a movie. If he's behind my knees, I'll wake up if he goes wandering about. At least to a point of consciousness that I'm aware of noises he's making, and his general whereabouts in the house. This is absolutely nothing in comparison. She was single, with a really small kid, not a big ol' boy who's going to kindergarten next fall. She was on chemo, recovering from a double mastectomy. With an abusive asshole to boot. I really have a deep admiration for her fortitude. I'm struggling, and I haven't needed surgery, and the hair I lost recently I paid someone to cut off.
I miss my friends. I know it's been years and years, but I miss my friends. I miss my shared life with Alana, and Lisa and Andy, and Bonnie, and Zanana, and Becky, and the passel of kids that were in that life... My own darlings, Jesse and Willow and Rhia and Tehya and Tatiana and Amber and Justin and Mariah and Jarrod and Olin...
I have some good friends here. They have assured me that I can call if I need anything. But I'm not likely to call. Truly. I have a super hard time with that. And the one thing I really really really need help with? The one thing my friends don't do: little kids. Connor is totally alone. We have no friends from the preschool after 2 plus years. All of my friends are my age, with grown kids. Barb has the youngest kid, at 13, almost 14. I miss the house full of kids, I miss the watching of each other's kids while various permutations of us did stuff, whether it was homework or cleaning the house before the parents came to visit. Or just going to the grocery store without kids. I still remember after one of my kids' birthday parties, Lisa said to Andy, I'm going to run to the co-op. I'm leaving the girls with you. Alana and I looked at each other, and both of us looked at Jim, a gleam of hope in our collective eye. "Go chicks. We've got it. The dads are on." Alana and I were absolutely giddy! Which sort of scared us, but we had a good laugh over how excited we got at the prospect of a grocery shopping trip sans littles. And the big big big upside? We had loved and trusted friends when we needed 'couple time'. Now, with our lack of social support, we have to find a sitter who will stay with Connor out of their love of us, and the goodness of their hearts. Mostly, our wonderful youngest kid. Primarily, though, we switch off, and do nothing together. One of the things we were most looking forward to when the kids got grown. Didn't expect do-overs.
And support in illness. Whether mine, or that of the kid, or Jim's, or worst, when both Jim and I are sick, and Connor isn't, we have no-one who has our backs. Connor has an immune system of steel. Jim and I can be totally out of it, and Connor is in the fullness of health and 4 year old energy. Holy crap. Seriously?! If there were justice in the world, adults would have the energy of 4 year olds! How the hell is a 40 or 50 year old supposed to even begin to keep up with that?
I miss my friends. I miss my community. I am hopeful I will be able to build community again in my life. I am super duper hoping that I manage to make it through the next 3 months of this treatment without losing my mind, without succumbing to the irritability or the depression. Without losing my patience too often with my sweetness and light.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
