I get to be cynical today. Its not an emotion or behavior I am fond of – but there are times when there is no alternative. Today is one of those times.
Let’s see… My house has been in a state of renovation for 5 months now. 5 months of dust and people in my house from 8am to 4pm. No peace and quiet. Constantly keeping the 4 dogs contained and the one from not biting anyone. Can you blame her – she is tired of it too.
5 months of living in the basement and walking thru sawdust, of moving furniture and let’s not forget: paying bills that seem unending.
I almost lost it yesterday with one of the contractors – I cannot help myself I am coming to my wits end.
And then, if that wasn’t enough to set the sanest of people off – I have a teenage daughter going through puberty – who is, basically, a train wreck!
On Monday when she got into my car from basketball practice – I heard the door opening and a bunch of gasping and my immediate reply was, “What is wrong?”
But to my surprise, she was laughing. I mean really laughing. It was a shock to my system – one that took a few minutes to comprehend. See, every time – or almost everytime – Abby gets in the car after a practice or some event she is crying. She is either sick or hurt or a teenage girl and the world is falling to pieces. To hear her laugh – well, that was pretty much unbelievable.
But, I should have know better… flash forward 24 hours and we are back to huffing and puffing, to being a brat and then 36 hours later – in tears that everyone is mad at her.
I can barely contain my own emotions these days – let alone calm the fleeting ones of my teenage daughter.
Sigh.
She is off to school and I am home thinking about yoga and attempting to ignore the painter and the carpenter one floor down.
But, what will be most irritating to me today is when I walk into Walmart or get a sandwich at Jimmy Johns and the employees will immediately greet me with a half hearted, “Hi!” when I walk in the door.
I am, I think it is safe to say, a generally, nice, friendly person. But, for whatever reason – I don’t want to be greeted when I walk into an establishment by some stranger who is only really acknowledging my presence because someone is paying them to do so.
I want to walk in and order my sandwich in peace – no conversation needed.
I want to wheel my cart into the store – as I look at my list and not feel the push to make conversation with some “greeter.”
Isn’t there enough pressure in life to get along? Now I have to get along with random people just because for $7/hour they say hi to me.
I know it is many things for me to sound like this. I am certain that I sound like a selfish bitch, or a cynic, or lunatic… I get it, I do.
But really think back to the last time you walked into a store and the employees started talking to you… did you really feel like talking back?
They do it at all stores these days. All the stores Abby shops in – even with the music blaring – “Hi, what can I help you find? The graphic tees are 2 for $10 today.”
Here is the reality of that scenario… more than likely he or she will not be able to find you what you want and the graphic tee you pick will not be a part of the 2 for $10 deal! So why do they even bother?
Are there some random test cases situations where shoppers actually said that they enjoyed the interaction with the employees – that it made them actually buy more?
I don’t believe it.
It only makes me want to get the hell out of there and shop somewhere we I am left alone to wander aimlessly.
The other day I walked into Menards – and immediately, I felt the knot in my stomach – the customer service employee would undoubtedly be greeting me and I was going to feel the need to acknowledge him.
But, as I walked through the sliding door – I looked away and pretended not to hear the prostituted hello…and kept walking.
I had just left my house – bustling with people who want to ask me questions and talk about the work to be done and I just couldn’t bare one more person making conversation. And should I have to – when I walk into a store where I am going to spend money? Shouldn’t I be treated the way I want to?
This weekend as we were on a mad search for what turned out to be a needle in haystack (an entry door with sidelites – in stock) we found one and the manager who took the sale began telling us his life story. Things like where he vacations, the house he rents, the boat he lost… The three of us listened as our stomachs rumbled for lunch and after we listened to ten stories we didn’t want to hear – we handed over $1500 and said thank you!
It is a goofy world we live in… I know I sound cold and heartless but aren’t we all running on empty – aren’t we all craving a little down time – even if it has to be in the way of walking aisles buying toothpaste?
All I am saying is that I don’t need any extra stress in my life. I don’t need to feel pressure to be nice to a person I don’t know and won’t ever know and who is only being nice to me because it is their job description.
I will say, “Hi,” when I feel like it.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Tails: A matter of time and fate
I have been away for nearly a month – an amazing trip to Antarctica. And while that deserves its own blogs of varying proportions something else amazing hit me the other day: my first day back.
Last Friday in Miami on my way almost home – I got a call from my friend, Mary, who is also the teacher Thorp and I volunteer with at the school where we do therapy dog work. Somehow, through various happenings, the paper wanted to do a story on us and how we created a curriculum based on my trip to Antarctica and Thorp, the therapy dog. The news reporter and the photographer were going to come to the school the day after I got back to interview us and take pictures.
Mary and I were pretty excited.
But, the real story lies beneath the initial, “I am going to be in the paper” excitement.
See, it is almost 4 years to the day that I brought Thorp home from the puppy mill auction. A day that will forever be burned in my brain and my heart. A day that changed my life just as much as it changed Thorp’s.
So, this Tuesday I took Thorp to the groomer to look white and fluffy for the camera and “his” big interview and as I drove there I realized that it was nearly 4 years ago that I was driving there in tears with a sightly, terrified dog that I blindly rescued the day before. A dog that unknowingly to me to would have endless emotional baggage.
I remember calling the groomer practically begging for an appointment because the strange, sick dog I took home smelled and his coat was so matted – it was solid as concrete. I remember leaving him at the groomer – clueless and overwhelmed by the horror I saw the previous day. And I remember picking him up – seeing him completely shaven down to nearly bare skin. And I guess that day, everything he ever knew about life – was shaved away, too. From that day on, he would be loved and cared for.
From that day on neither of our lives would ever be the same.
It was a long road between then and now. For Thorp and for me.
But, on Tuesday, here we both were – in a place that demonstrated how far we had come. We had taken all the bad we had both experienced. The trials and tribulations we accumulated and they brought us here – to a place that showcased Thorp as a hero – a friend – an educational mentor to kids.
I, too, have changed.
I remember 4 years ago, the anger and the tirade I felt. The depression and the grief. What I saw at that auction changed everything I knew about life and suddenly in 24 hours I became an activist and now, in hindsight, a freak!
I ranted and raged to anyone and especially the newspaper. I demanded change and the truth and felt like no one would ever understand.
But, on Wednesday, when I was interviewed, I was calm. Yes, they asked about Thorp’s background and I was eager to share his beginnings and where he came from – but I did it with poise and integrity. And, the reporter got it.
There Thorp and I were – taking in the interview – both relaxed – telling of our tale but confident in who we both became.
Four years ago, I walked into an Amish barn and what I saw appalled me. I took this unbelievable leap of faith and brought home a dog for $65.00.
There are so few things in life that we are ever really certain of. So, few moments that reach from inside our souls and tell us what to do. But, when those moments arise, no matter how far fetched they may seem, I have learned that we have to listen to them.
Many people only talk about fate as an excuse or as justification for their actions but when fate truly intervenes in your life – deep down you’ll know it.
Somehow, I knew that day that I took Thorp home it was the beginning of something bigger than myself…and here we are our changed lives impacting kids lives for the better.
Last Friday in Miami on my way almost home – I got a call from my friend, Mary, who is also the teacher Thorp and I volunteer with at the school where we do therapy dog work. Somehow, through various happenings, the paper wanted to do a story on us and how we created a curriculum based on my trip to Antarctica and Thorp, the therapy dog. The news reporter and the photographer were going to come to the school the day after I got back to interview us and take pictures.
Mary and I were pretty excited.
But, the real story lies beneath the initial, “I am going to be in the paper” excitement.
See, it is almost 4 years to the day that I brought Thorp home from the puppy mill auction. A day that will forever be burned in my brain and my heart. A day that changed my life just as much as it changed Thorp’s.
So, this Tuesday I took Thorp to the groomer to look white and fluffy for the camera and “his” big interview and as I drove there I realized that it was nearly 4 years ago that I was driving there in tears with a sightly, terrified dog that I blindly rescued the day before. A dog that unknowingly to me to would have endless emotional baggage.
I remember calling the groomer practically begging for an appointment because the strange, sick dog I took home smelled and his coat was so matted – it was solid as concrete. I remember leaving him at the groomer – clueless and overwhelmed by the horror I saw the previous day. And I remember picking him up – seeing him completely shaven down to nearly bare skin. And I guess that day, everything he ever knew about life – was shaved away, too. From that day on, he would be loved and cared for.
From that day on neither of our lives would ever be the same.
It was a long road between then and now. For Thorp and for me.
But, on Tuesday, here we both were – in a place that demonstrated how far we had come. We had taken all the bad we had both experienced. The trials and tribulations we accumulated and they brought us here – to a place that showcased Thorp as a hero – a friend – an educational mentor to kids.
I, too, have changed.
I remember 4 years ago, the anger and the tirade I felt. The depression and the grief. What I saw at that auction changed everything I knew about life and suddenly in 24 hours I became an activist and now, in hindsight, a freak!
I ranted and raged to anyone and especially the newspaper. I demanded change and the truth and felt like no one would ever understand.
But, on Wednesday, when I was interviewed, I was calm. Yes, they asked about Thorp’s background and I was eager to share his beginnings and where he came from – but I did it with poise and integrity. And, the reporter got it.
There Thorp and I were – taking in the interview – both relaxed – telling of our tale but confident in who we both became.
Four years ago, I walked into an Amish barn and what I saw appalled me. I took this unbelievable leap of faith and brought home a dog for $65.00.
There are so few things in life that we are ever really certain of. So, few moments that reach from inside our souls and tell us what to do. But, when those moments arise, no matter how far fetched they may seem, I have learned that we have to listen to them.
Many people only talk about fate as an excuse or as justification for their actions but when fate truly intervenes in your life – deep down you’ll know it.
Somehow, I knew that day that I took Thorp home it was the beginning of something bigger than myself…and here we are our changed lives impacting kids lives for the better.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Truths: On the brink
You know those glossy pages of home decorating magazines – the ones that picture gorgeous homes showcasing their recent makeovers? They’re beautiful, right? Spitting images of a dream come true. Fresh paint, granite counters, custom kitchens, sparkling large windows… It is everything a person can hope for.
What’s funny is how they never show the pictures of during the renovation?
Sure, just like diet commercials, they show you the before… the fat lady wearing a bikini or the kitchen with the red laminate counters and brick linoleum – but what about the in between. You know the fat lady craving that donut or the boxing of the all the crap that was in that dated kitchen so the reno could begin.
No, no one shows you any of that stuff – because no one ever wants to think about that.
I didn’t.
I am unsure of the internet rules of using foul language in a blog – so I will refrain – but if you could just envision what I would say right now… It would be something like… “My house is a ------ disaster! And, I am on the brink of ------- insanity.”
There I said it.
Right now, as I type there is a saw blade ramming through three layers of flooring in my laundry room: 2 layers of god awful linoleum and 1 layer of hideous tile. If the noise of the saw wasn’t enough to make your skin crawl – surely the fine white powder that is spreading thru my house like a nuclear cloud should be.
Oh but wait… let’s talk about what the dust is falling on top of… Piles of crap that is stuffed in every nook and cranny of the upstairs right now. (Oh who am I kidding, the downstairs, too).
See, if gutting the first floor wasn’t enough, we decided to completely re-do all the trim, doors and windows upstairs. That doesn’t sound like a big deal in theory – until you realize that everything in every room needs to be moved so that it can be done. Pieces of each room are spread out like the rubbish from a bomb. To be honest – I don’t even know where my laundry basket is right now. Maybe in the office?
There are rooms plasticed off – there are closets without doors, there are shoes in bookcases. I can’t even make this stuff up. I am living in chaos.
Every morning I wake up and scurry around making room for yet another guy to work. Moving that dresser into the hall and checking to make sure my underwear isn’t laying around somewhere.
It all started so simple. In fact, I would even be showered by the time the guys got here – that was a few months ago. Now they are lucky if I brush my teeth and pull my hair back.
I used to vacuum, keep the house in order – but that too has been shot to hell – being that half of our current floors are plywood and we have no kitchen – only studs on a wall.
Today, they pulled out the washer and dryer – and yes, it was embarrassing. There was nearly enough dog hair to make another dog – not to mention dog treats, bobby pins, dryer sheets and wrappers… It was disgusting and a few months ago I would have lowered my head in shame – but today – I laughed it off and grabbed a dustpan. I just don’t have it in me to care anymore. I can only imagine inviting them all over for a party in a few months so they can see we really don’t live like slobs.
How can I let something like that bother me. I have a dishwasher in my dining room (though as I type – that seems convenient), there is a refridgerator in my living room and a stove in the middle of both. With a brand new table and chairs scattered amongst it all.
That is what I do – keep myself preoccupied with the new. Focusing on the happily ever after. The new furniture, the new lighting, the new flooring, the new counters… I stare at my mock up boards – reminding myself of what will replace the stenciled walls and dated oak trim.
This morning that just isn’t enough. I almost broke down into tears. Yes, I wanted this. I did. But, moving one pile into another room for the hundredth time is killing me.
However, forever the optimist I try to look on the bright side… all of these piles reaffirm that we have too much stuff… Piles of too much. Piles that need to go. It is obvious as you move them – that they are taking up space – physical and emotional – that is exhausting and wasteful.
The problem is that right now – all I can do is move them. There isn’t time to sit down and sort them into the piles they teach on “Hoarders” or “Clean Sweep.” You know the “keep” “donate/sell” or “throw away.” My only category is “find a spot.”
We are 6 weeks from completion. At least that is what I hope.
Right now I can hear the guys upstairs saying, “How bad is the dust right now?”
“Pretty bad.”
Yeah it is pretty bad…keep that in mind the next time you flip thru the fancy pictures in House Beautiful – long before they had that shiny new kitchen – they had a shit full of dust and piles of crap stacked in the dining room. Sure it was all worth it – but right now its hard to see the light out my new windows.
What’s funny is how they never show the pictures of during the renovation?
Sure, just like diet commercials, they show you the before… the fat lady wearing a bikini or the kitchen with the red laminate counters and brick linoleum – but what about the in between. You know the fat lady craving that donut or the boxing of the all the crap that was in that dated kitchen so the reno could begin.
No, no one shows you any of that stuff – because no one ever wants to think about that.
I didn’t.
I am unsure of the internet rules of using foul language in a blog – so I will refrain – but if you could just envision what I would say right now… It would be something like… “My house is a ------ disaster! And, I am on the brink of ------- insanity.”
There I said it.
Right now, as I type there is a saw blade ramming through three layers of flooring in my laundry room: 2 layers of god awful linoleum and 1 layer of hideous tile. If the noise of the saw wasn’t enough to make your skin crawl – surely the fine white powder that is spreading thru my house like a nuclear cloud should be.
Oh but wait… let’s talk about what the dust is falling on top of… Piles of crap that is stuffed in every nook and cranny of the upstairs right now. (Oh who am I kidding, the downstairs, too).
See, if gutting the first floor wasn’t enough, we decided to completely re-do all the trim, doors and windows upstairs. That doesn’t sound like a big deal in theory – until you realize that everything in every room needs to be moved so that it can be done. Pieces of each room are spread out like the rubbish from a bomb. To be honest – I don’t even know where my laundry basket is right now. Maybe in the office?
There are rooms plasticed off – there are closets without doors, there are shoes in bookcases. I can’t even make this stuff up. I am living in chaos.
Every morning I wake up and scurry around making room for yet another guy to work. Moving that dresser into the hall and checking to make sure my underwear isn’t laying around somewhere.
It all started so simple. In fact, I would even be showered by the time the guys got here – that was a few months ago. Now they are lucky if I brush my teeth and pull my hair back.
I used to vacuum, keep the house in order – but that too has been shot to hell – being that half of our current floors are plywood and we have no kitchen – only studs on a wall.
Today, they pulled out the washer and dryer – and yes, it was embarrassing. There was nearly enough dog hair to make another dog – not to mention dog treats, bobby pins, dryer sheets and wrappers… It was disgusting and a few months ago I would have lowered my head in shame – but today – I laughed it off and grabbed a dustpan. I just don’t have it in me to care anymore. I can only imagine inviting them all over for a party in a few months so they can see we really don’t live like slobs.
How can I let something like that bother me. I have a dishwasher in my dining room (though as I type – that seems convenient), there is a refridgerator in my living room and a stove in the middle of both. With a brand new table and chairs scattered amongst it all.
That is what I do – keep myself preoccupied with the new. Focusing on the happily ever after. The new furniture, the new lighting, the new flooring, the new counters… I stare at my mock up boards – reminding myself of what will replace the stenciled walls and dated oak trim.
This morning that just isn’t enough. I almost broke down into tears. Yes, I wanted this. I did. But, moving one pile into another room for the hundredth time is killing me.
However, forever the optimist I try to look on the bright side… all of these piles reaffirm that we have too much stuff… Piles of too much. Piles that need to go. It is obvious as you move them – that they are taking up space – physical and emotional – that is exhausting and wasteful.
The problem is that right now – all I can do is move them. There isn’t time to sit down and sort them into the piles they teach on “Hoarders” or “Clean Sweep.” You know the “keep” “donate/sell” or “throw away.” My only category is “find a spot.”
We are 6 weeks from completion. At least that is what I hope.
Right now I can hear the guys upstairs saying, “How bad is the dust right now?”
“Pretty bad.”
Yeah it is pretty bad…keep that in mind the next time you flip thru the fancy pictures in House Beautiful – long before they had that shiny new kitchen – they had a shit full of dust and piles of crap stacked in the dining room. Sure it was all worth it – but right now its hard to see the light out my new windows.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Truths: A little more eggnog please
Where to start these days? In a world full of uncertainty I think my house tops the list of utter chaos. Lots of people say that – but few could ever entertain the thought of their house looking like mine right now.
I would love to say something like, “there is wrapping paper all over the room, the ornaments have crashed to the floor, and the outside lights are hanging by a string” but the truth is our Christmas is going just fine.
The presents are all wrapped and my holiday cards are sent. In fact, we have already celebrated two of our main Christmases. We went up to our cabin where I decorated our tree and I cooked and we enjoyed being with our granddaughter. Watching her play in her new pink kitchen and undress her new doll – who for some reason HAD to be naked all of the time. It was a great time.
Then, last night, we did the modern version of Christmas and “Skyped” with our grandson in San Diego. We spent an hour in the virtual world living room and got to see him open his gifts and find utter amusement with the wrapping paper and the buttons on the computer – which often interfered with our techno communication. None the less, it was a lot of fun and I can say that I actually felt like we were all together. Now that is making good use of the cyber world we live in.
However, while the celebrations are still to come – there is a circus going on in our house.
For a few months now things have been moving at a steady even somewhat slow pace with our remodel. Beautiful custom built-ins have been created and modest changes have been made to the house… that is until last week when what I thought was a house became a pit filled with crap we probably never needed… and now we are hauling it from one room to another.
We are replacing all of the dated oak trim and shitty hollow doors with trendy white trim and true six panel doors through out the house and all new windows, too. No, it doesn’t seem like a big deal – but can I even describe what it is like to empty one room so the trim can be nailed in, the windows can be installed and the painter can come?
It started out smooth. Me carefully organizing anything that came out of a closet… placing it in a fashion that maintained a sense of control. Until one day, there was no more room, the windows were coming and the next thing I know – my underwear is tossed into a linen closet, my blow dryer is under the bed and my nightstand is in the bathroom. Chaos, utter chaos.
We are living like that right now. And if you want to know how crazed this all is – I showered at my ex-husband’s house yesterday. Really think about that.
So, as I gaze at my pretty tree and the mound of wrapped presents, as I read through the holiday cards and write out the ingredients for the Christmas cupcakes I will bake – there is stomping feet, hammering of nails and the smell of paint lingering above me.
Thank God no one at our house believes in Santa Claus anymore – because one look in the Monroe house and Santa is running out the door – that is if he can find the door behind the piles of laundry and dog beds.
I don’t drink eggnog – but if I did I would undoubtedly fill it with booze. The truth is – I don’t even need the eggnog…
I would love to say something like, “there is wrapping paper all over the room, the ornaments have crashed to the floor, and the outside lights are hanging by a string” but the truth is our Christmas is going just fine.
The presents are all wrapped and my holiday cards are sent. In fact, we have already celebrated two of our main Christmases. We went up to our cabin where I decorated our tree and I cooked and we enjoyed being with our granddaughter. Watching her play in her new pink kitchen and undress her new doll – who for some reason HAD to be naked all of the time. It was a great time.
Then, last night, we did the modern version of Christmas and “Skyped” with our grandson in San Diego. We spent an hour in the virtual world living room and got to see him open his gifts and find utter amusement with the wrapping paper and the buttons on the computer – which often interfered with our techno communication. None the less, it was a lot of fun and I can say that I actually felt like we were all together. Now that is making good use of the cyber world we live in.
However, while the celebrations are still to come – there is a circus going on in our house.
For a few months now things have been moving at a steady even somewhat slow pace with our remodel. Beautiful custom built-ins have been created and modest changes have been made to the house… that is until last week when what I thought was a house became a pit filled with crap we probably never needed… and now we are hauling it from one room to another.
We are replacing all of the dated oak trim and shitty hollow doors with trendy white trim and true six panel doors through out the house and all new windows, too. No, it doesn’t seem like a big deal – but can I even describe what it is like to empty one room so the trim can be nailed in, the windows can be installed and the painter can come?
It started out smooth. Me carefully organizing anything that came out of a closet… placing it in a fashion that maintained a sense of control. Until one day, there was no more room, the windows were coming and the next thing I know – my underwear is tossed into a linen closet, my blow dryer is under the bed and my nightstand is in the bathroom. Chaos, utter chaos.
We are living like that right now. And if you want to know how crazed this all is – I showered at my ex-husband’s house yesterday. Really think about that.
So, as I gaze at my pretty tree and the mound of wrapped presents, as I read through the holiday cards and write out the ingredients for the Christmas cupcakes I will bake – there is stomping feet, hammering of nails and the smell of paint lingering above me.
Thank God no one at our house believes in Santa Claus anymore – because one look in the Monroe house and Santa is running out the door – that is if he can find the door behind the piles of laundry and dog beds.
I don’t drink eggnog – but if I did I would undoubtedly fill it with booze. The truth is – I don’t even need the eggnog…
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Truths: Where to begin?
I have so much to say after yesterday that I don’t even know where to start. I try to look at days like yesterday as learning experiences and maybe as I write this blog something of an educational nature will come to me. I hope.
The day started out in a way that some would find disappointing from the get go. The painters were supposed to come and start spraying all the new trim boards which will undoubtedly be a three day project. But, early on I found out that the painter was sick and wouldn’t be coming at all.
For me it was actually a huge relief – almost cause for celebration. For the last two months someone has been in my house working everyday and to know that no one would be here and I would be home all day (my car is in the shop…part two of the story)- I couldn’t stop smiling.
I worked out – walked around in my spandex because NO ONE was hear to see me… and then I got down to business and took on wrapping presents. I told my friend, Nancy, “Wrapping presents always seems like such a fun, Christmassy, thing to do – but in reality it is just a pain in the ass.”
Worse is when you have PMS. PMS and the paper rips or the tape runs out or the damn shirt won’t fit in the box (the few boxes you did get from the stores – they always seem to run out every Christmas – can no one anticipate anything?)
So, if wrapping gifts and PMS don’t go together you can surely imagine what it is like when the dealership calls to tell you that your car won’t be ready and they don’t even know what is wrong with it.
I avoided these calls and left them to Bill. I knew me responding to any of it would have ended in a lawsuit.
And, if all of that isn’t enough – add a hormonal 13 year old to the mix and it is nothing short of disaster. And while you might be smiling – it is NOT funny.
Abby pretty much had a hissy fit and blamed us for the fact that she would be up until midnight studying for a test that she knew NOTHING about all because we had to go get my car – not my car – but the loaner they were giving us – because they are idiots and don’t know how to rotate four tires in less than 8 hours. (its Anderson BMW in Crystal Lake, IL – I thought you should know.)
It’s a 20 minute car ride to the dealership and NO ONE talks. All you hear is deep sighs and bodies shifting. I can feel my stomach turn upside down and my head exploding.
I remember these days with my mom. I do. So, now, instead of antogoninzing the situation, I choose to say nothing at all. I am sure some psychologist is gasping because I am teaching my daughter to avoid conflict. But conflict with an adolescent girl seems more deadly than a future of poor communication skills.
And then as we ate dinner out – the words that I have feared all a long came blurting out, “I HATE the divorce!”
It was dumb of me to ask – but at the time I didn’t get it. “What divorce?”
“Yours and dad’s, duh!” Okay she didn’t actually say, “Duh,” but I know it was implied.
The weird thing about the divorce is that we have been divorced for 10 years – it is pretty much all Abby knows and yet, one day, we all knew it would surface.
So that was the ultimate bomb of the day and that pretty much put me in a dark place. One bottle of 64 wasn’t going to make that go away. I don’t even know if a case would have helped. But, being that it was my lucky day – we didn’t have any 64 at home. Go figure.
We are home now – and Abby is in her room – still sighing and stomping – Bill and I are in the basement – mostly silent – because what is there to say… and out of the blue, Keith, my ex-husband, comes over.
For a moment – I really thought Abby called him begging for an escape out of the Hell we have her in but no, he stopped by because he had gotten me a gift certificate that I needed for someone for Christmas. Isn’t that what all ex-husbands do? And how many women actually feel blessed to see their ex-husband at the door.
One because I did think he was taking Abby away… and two – because it broke up the wall of tension building in our house.
I know suicide is not a laughing matter – but I can’t help but think that it was the mom of a teenage daughter who said, “I would rather slit my wrists.” Because that is truly how I felt last night.
Sure by the time we went to bed – the house and its raw emotions had settled down – and by this morning things were back to whatever normal around here is…but enough had been said and not said to make me realize that last night wasn’t really the last night – it was just the first night of more like it to come.
I am going to have to step up my game to straight shots and forget about beer. What else can I do?
And, that is my educational take away.
The day started out in a way that some would find disappointing from the get go. The painters were supposed to come and start spraying all the new trim boards which will undoubtedly be a three day project. But, early on I found out that the painter was sick and wouldn’t be coming at all.
For me it was actually a huge relief – almost cause for celebration. For the last two months someone has been in my house working everyday and to know that no one would be here and I would be home all day (my car is in the shop…part two of the story)- I couldn’t stop smiling.
I worked out – walked around in my spandex because NO ONE was hear to see me… and then I got down to business and took on wrapping presents. I told my friend, Nancy, “Wrapping presents always seems like such a fun, Christmassy, thing to do – but in reality it is just a pain in the ass.”
Worse is when you have PMS. PMS and the paper rips or the tape runs out or the damn shirt won’t fit in the box (the few boxes you did get from the stores – they always seem to run out every Christmas – can no one anticipate anything?)
So, if wrapping gifts and PMS don’t go together you can surely imagine what it is like when the dealership calls to tell you that your car won’t be ready and they don’t even know what is wrong with it.
I avoided these calls and left them to Bill. I knew me responding to any of it would have ended in a lawsuit.
And, if all of that isn’t enough – add a hormonal 13 year old to the mix and it is nothing short of disaster. And while you might be smiling – it is NOT funny.
Abby pretty much had a hissy fit and blamed us for the fact that she would be up until midnight studying for a test that she knew NOTHING about all because we had to go get my car – not my car – but the loaner they were giving us – because they are idiots and don’t know how to rotate four tires in less than 8 hours. (its Anderson BMW in Crystal Lake, IL – I thought you should know.)
It’s a 20 minute car ride to the dealership and NO ONE talks. All you hear is deep sighs and bodies shifting. I can feel my stomach turn upside down and my head exploding.
I remember these days with my mom. I do. So, now, instead of antogoninzing the situation, I choose to say nothing at all. I am sure some psychologist is gasping because I am teaching my daughter to avoid conflict. But conflict with an adolescent girl seems more deadly than a future of poor communication skills.
And then as we ate dinner out – the words that I have feared all a long came blurting out, “I HATE the divorce!”
It was dumb of me to ask – but at the time I didn’t get it. “What divorce?”
“Yours and dad’s, duh!” Okay she didn’t actually say, “Duh,” but I know it was implied.
The weird thing about the divorce is that we have been divorced for 10 years – it is pretty much all Abby knows and yet, one day, we all knew it would surface.
So that was the ultimate bomb of the day and that pretty much put me in a dark place. One bottle of 64 wasn’t going to make that go away. I don’t even know if a case would have helped. But, being that it was my lucky day – we didn’t have any 64 at home. Go figure.
We are home now – and Abby is in her room – still sighing and stomping – Bill and I are in the basement – mostly silent – because what is there to say… and out of the blue, Keith, my ex-husband, comes over.
For a moment – I really thought Abby called him begging for an escape out of the Hell we have her in but no, he stopped by because he had gotten me a gift certificate that I needed for someone for Christmas. Isn’t that what all ex-husbands do? And how many women actually feel blessed to see their ex-husband at the door.
One because I did think he was taking Abby away… and two – because it broke up the wall of tension building in our house.
I know suicide is not a laughing matter – but I can’t help but think that it was the mom of a teenage daughter who said, “I would rather slit my wrists.” Because that is truly how I felt last night.
Sure by the time we went to bed – the house and its raw emotions had settled down – and by this morning things were back to whatever normal around here is…but enough had been said and not said to make me realize that last night wasn’t really the last night – it was just the first night of more like it to come.
I am going to have to step up my game to straight shots and forget about beer. What else can I do?
And, that is my educational take away.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Truths: 13
13 years ago, right now (its 9:30am) I walked into Good Shepherd hospital to have a baby. My water had broke at 7am… you know where you feel like you can’t stop peeing and within 15 minutes I had a contraction. A real contraction not one of those Braxton Hicks kind that you worry about early in pregnancy… the ones you swear you will get confused with for real thing and spend sleepless nights panicking that you won’t know when you are going into labor… Even though every doctor and mother on the planet promise you that you will KNOW…
Boy, when you get that first contraction – you KNOW.
While I never had another baby – my labor was relatively easy. I mean as far as having a watermelon come out of your body easy… and only after I got the epidural.
That was 13 years ago… and there are days, like today that I wish I could have that epidural again!
See, it is Abby’s birthday today and according to her and by 7am this morning (ironically when my water broke in 1998) this is her worst birthday ever!
She had to wear her pom uniform which is painstakingly itchy (I can’t really argue – polyester?), she HATES (I don’t approve of her using that word… I only use it on a very select but deserving people) her teachers – ALL of them… AND, if that weren’t bad enough she has a band concert tonight “on her birthday!”
(Now, I think a band concert on any night is punishment but I guess on your birthday it could be worse.)
So, even though she got some presents and hand delivered flowers from her dad and Carol this morning and calls and texts – this is undoubtedly the worst day of her 13 year old life!
Which pretty much makes it the worst morning of my life! Have you dealt with an unstable, moody girl at 7am?
13 years ago she screamed bloody murder when she took her first breath and today she wallowed away when she took her first step out of bed.
Despite the wrath of the morning – today gives me pause to celebrate her life. The places we have been in just 13 years and the amazing way she has changed nearly everything about me.
I won’t lie – the toddler years weren’t easy for me and even some of the early school years – and certainly days like today with her are no picnic in the park… But, now as she matures I see this real person who I am so proud of.
In less than 2 years she will be driving, 2 more and she will be in college, 2 more and she will be drinking (who am I kidding – that is probably just 3 years away). The first 13 years are safe ones the next 13 – God help me.
Today marks her entrance into a teenager, which by the looks, of it marks my opened gate to hormonal hell… But we will be okay (as long as I keep the cocktails coming)
All jokes aside, I had no idea what I was doing 13 years ago. I remember walking out of the hospital with this little baby and thinking, “I cannot believe they just let us leave. They didn’t even tell us what to do.”
But, we faked our way for the last 13 years – and I think we have done okay. The 6 pound baby has become a beautiful girl – teenager now… and while she is having the worst day of her life – I am counting my blessings.
Boy, when you get that first contraction – you KNOW.
While I never had another baby – my labor was relatively easy. I mean as far as having a watermelon come out of your body easy… and only after I got the epidural.
That was 13 years ago… and there are days, like today that I wish I could have that epidural again!
See, it is Abby’s birthday today and according to her and by 7am this morning (ironically when my water broke in 1998) this is her worst birthday ever!
She had to wear her pom uniform which is painstakingly itchy (I can’t really argue – polyester?), she HATES (I don’t approve of her using that word… I only use it on a very select but deserving people) her teachers – ALL of them… AND, if that weren’t bad enough she has a band concert tonight “on her birthday!”
(Now, I think a band concert on any night is punishment but I guess on your birthday it could be worse.)
So, even though she got some presents and hand delivered flowers from her dad and Carol this morning and calls and texts – this is undoubtedly the worst day of her 13 year old life!
Which pretty much makes it the worst morning of my life! Have you dealt with an unstable, moody girl at 7am?
13 years ago she screamed bloody murder when she took her first breath and today she wallowed away when she took her first step out of bed.
Despite the wrath of the morning – today gives me pause to celebrate her life. The places we have been in just 13 years and the amazing way she has changed nearly everything about me.
I won’t lie – the toddler years weren’t easy for me and even some of the early school years – and certainly days like today with her are no picnic in the park… But, now as she matures I see this real person who I am so proud of.
In less than 2 years she will be driving, 2 more and she will be in college, 2 more and she will be drinking (who am I kidding – that is probably just 3 years away). The first 13 years are safe ones the next 13 – God help me.
Today marks her entrance into a teenager, which by the looks, of it marks my opened gate to hormonal hell… But we will be okay (as long as I keep the cocktails coming)
All jokes aside, I had no idea what I was doing 13 years ago. I remember walking out of the hospital with this little baby and thinking, “I cannot believe they just let us leave. They didn’t even tell us what to do.”
But, we faked our way for the last 13 years – and I think we have done okay. The 6 pound baby has become a beautiful girl – teenager now… and while she is having the worst day of her life – I am counting my blessings.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Tails and Truths: Plans are what you make – life is what you get
Yesterday I emailed back and forth with a fellow rescue friend who met me during the time when I attended my first Amish dog auction. Thorp, the dog I rescued, was technically supposed to go to her and to Chinese Crested Rescue. It wasn’t that they “wanted” him necessarily – it was just that they were willing to save him, if needed.
I wasn’t ever a part of that plan because I attended that auction not knowing anyone and certainly I never even thought of taking a dog home that day.
That day will be re-lived in my head for the rest of my conscious life. It changed every part of who I am and who I will be. Neither of which I ever planned on to begin with.
But yesterday, my friend emailed back, “You were meant to be at that horrific auction.”
And, I must have been.
We spend so much of our lives planning. Soul searching and seeking out opportunities we think will be right for us. We want to be “something” that we usually are not and we always desire what we don’t already have.
I believe the actual quote is something like, “Life is what happens as you are busy making plans.”
How true.
Oh how VERY true.
Going to that auction and rescuing Thorp was never in any plans I etched out. Battling WI legislation and becoming a part of a rescue group attending dog auctions wasn’t something I went to school for. And, if those weren’t enough moments to last me a lifetime – who would have thought I would keep going and train the misfit of a dog I rescued by a freak accident to be a therapy dog. I didn’t even know much about therapy dogs… let alone think to have one of my own.
However, as much as my life changed in the years that I got involved with mill dog rescue – nothing would have ever prepared me for actually doing therapy work with Thorp. No one on this Earth could have told me that I would find something that had nothing to do with animals so rewarding.
Thorp and I have developed a reading program with the kids we see at Clay. We work in small groups or one on one with the kids teaching them how to read. (Okay, Thorp just sits there).
For that 90 minutes I sit on our blanket and work with the kids who are challenged in ways no one may ever understand or be able to “fix” - I am completely present. I don’t think many of us are ever completely present in any given moment. We worry about things, we think about what we have to do next – it is truly hard to stay in the moment.
But not for me at Clay. And for an impatient person as I am – being in the moment and working with the kids is therapeutic in a way I would have never fathomed.
I never planned to work with kids – it never seemed like something that spoke to me. But as I sit and sound out words with kids who are trying so hard to fit into life the best way they know how – it feels unbelievably truthful.
I leave the school balanced and passionate about what I did. I think about those kids long after I leave and wonder what it is I could do to offer more of myself.
In many ways, I ponder my future with the kids – if I should consider further schooling and make it a profession – or would it then just become a job?
The multiple experiences that I have had in the last 4 years have taught me a few things – one of which is the most important. We can’t make an outline for everything that we do – at some point we have to take a deep breath and allow life to happen to us. Not as victims – as active participants willing to be open to experiences we never would have chosen but find ourselves in.
It is these experiences that can lead us to destinations we didn’t plan on and these experiences define who we truly are and what makes us tick.
Its difficult to open one’s soul up to the unknown and then to blindly follow where it takes you. But having been guided by fate – I can assure you that there is no greater journey than the one you never planned on.
I wasn’t ever a part of that plan because I attended that auction not knowing anyone and certainly I never even thought of taking a dog home that day.
That day will be re-lived in my head for the rest of my conscious life. It changed every part of who I am and who I will be. Neither of which I ever planned on to begin with.
But yesterday, my friend emailed back, “You were meant to be at that horrific auction.”
And, I must have been.
We spend so much of our lives planning. Soul searching and seeking out opportunities we think will be right for us. We want to be “something” that we usually are not and we always desire what we don’t already have.
I believe the actual quote is something like, “Life is what happens as you are busy making plans.”
How true.
Oh how VERY true.
Going to that auction and rescuing Thorp was never in any plans I etched out. Battling WI legislation and becoming a part of a rescue group attending dog auctions wasn’t something I went to school for. And, if those weren’t enough moments to last me a lifetime – who would have thought I would keep going and train the misfit of a dog I rescued by a freak accident to be a therapy dog. I didn’t even know much about therapy dogs… let alone think to have one of my own.
However, as much as my life changed in the years that I got involved with mill dog rescue – nothing would have ever prepared me for actually doing therapy work with Thorp. No one on this Earth could have told me that I would find something that had nothing to do with animals so rewarding.
Thorp and I have developed a reading program with the kids we see at Clay. We work in small groups or one on one with the kids teaching them how to read. (Okay, Thorp just sits there).
For that 90 minutes I sit on our blanket and work with the kids who are challenged in ways no one may ever understand or be able to “fix” - I am completely present. I don’t think many of us are ever completely present in any given moment. We worry about things, we think about what we have to do next – it is truly hard to stay in the moment.
But not for me at Clay. And for an impatient person as I am – being in the moment and working with the kids is therapeutic in a way I would have never fathomed.
I never planned to work with kids – it never seemed like something that spoke to me. But as I sit and sound out words with kids who are trying so hard to fit into life the best way they know how – it feels unbelievably truthful.
I leave the school balanced and passionate about what I did. I think about those kids long after I leave and wonder what it is I could do to offer more of myself.
In many ways, I ponder my future with the kids – if I should consider further schooling and make it a profession – or would it then just become a job?
The multiple experiences that I have had in the last 4 years have taught me a few things – one of which is the most important. We can’t make an outline for everything that we do – at some point we have to take a deep breath and allow life to happen to us. Not as victims – as active participants willing to be open to experiences we never would have chosen but find ourselves in.
It is these experiences that can lead us to destinations we didn’t plan on and these experiences define who we truly are and what makes us tick.
Its difficult to open one’s soul up to the unknown and then to blindly follow where it takes you. But having been guided by fate – I can assure you that there is no greater journey than the one you never planned on.
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