January 23, 2012

  • What’s going on….?

    I fell into the holiday blues more than usual this year, but, the truth is, it wasn’t a short drop. The
    journey into it took some time.

    When stress gets to be too much for me, I remove the things from my life that I can control. For
    instance, the year Craig and I got married, my father went into the hospital and came close to losing
    his life, my mom was in and out of the hospital, Craig’s dad had gone into the hospital, I was planning
    a wedding, working lots of hours, and my boss was a bitch who just didn’t like me. I couldn’t control
    the health of our family members, and there was no way I was going to cancel our wedding, so…I quit my
    job. It helped immensely, and though I missed all my friends from work, and I really missed my job, I
    really didn’t miss all the stress involved with working for the people I worked for. I paid off my car,
    quit my job, and realized it was one of the best decisions I’d ever made.

    Now, though, I find that I’m removing myself from friendships, and limiting my contact with most people.
    There are so many things I’m worried about; rather than say something I’ll regret to someone I care
    about, it’s easier to become a near-recluse.

    After my grandpa died in the summer, many past hurts came reeling to the forefront at warp speed. Now,
    my grandma is living with my parents – which isn’t so bad, but promises aren’t being kept, not enough
    outside assistance is being willingly given – and my own mom’s health has taken a beating because of it.
    I’m very concerned for her and for her well-being, but the only thing I can really do is be there to
    assist when they need it. There’s so much frustration, though, for me, as I watch my parents care for a
    grandparent who wasn’t really available when our family needed it, and the hurt comes back. More than
    once I’ve wanted to ask her why she didn’t like my brother or I; what was wrong with us that made her
    never want to show affection or caring or any sort of emotion toward us? But I realize that won’t help
    anything, and really, do I want to know the answer? It’s done, and nothing can make up for that. There
    are just so many things I want to say about this….but…my thoughts are a jumbled mess, and I can’t
    make sense of them.

    And then there’s always finances. Always. Sure, Craig got a new job, and the pay is a little bit
    better, but every time we think we’re making ground, my gall bladder needs to come out, or the car needs
    a new transmission, or fuel pump, or the puppy we lovingly adopted got sick within a few days of joining
    the family. You know, the usual. The only reason the kids got Christmas gifts this year is because
    Craig got some unexpected money, so we used that. It wasn’t huge, but we tried. Hell, we forgot to let
    the kids get something for each other until after we’d used that budgeted money, so we took them to a
    thrift store. I’m not ashamed of that, by any means – the kids got some really thoughtful gifts for
    each other, and it was a fun day – but still. And then there’s the time I didn’t realize Craig had left
    a cup of water on the table, and it got knocked over. All over his laptop. And it sat in the pool of
    water, running, for several hours. It still works, but it’s acting weird, and I feel guilty because we
    can’t get a new one. We owe too much money to Brandon’s school, and Melena’s preschool. Fuck, I feel
    guilty going out for cheap pizza. Or buying a Corona knock-off at Aldi. Or taking the kids to a full-
    price movie. I’ve got a long list of things I want, but honestly, they’re not a priority. Haven’t had
    a new bra in at least 4 years, but it’s okay, I’ll manage. I could use new undergarments and jeans, as
    well, maybe a shirt or two – but I don’t go anywhere important, so I can’t justify it.

    But worst of all is what I’m going through with Brandon. He’s incredibly smart, and very sensitive.
    Also, a little lazy with his school work. Combine all of those, and I’ve got a child who’s recently
    told me that he never feels like anything he does is good enough. Which breaks me apart, totally tears
    into my psyche. I try so hard not to be that parent. I know what it’s like, never feeling good enough.
    After this revelation, I feel even less “good enough”, because I love him and his sister so much and I
    want the very best for them but I also don’t want to be too hard on them.

    So I’ve gotten very involved with my family. After only half-way having Craig around for the last two
    years, getting used to him being home evenings and weekends has been almost as hard as getting used to
    his overnight schedule. And it’s so nice having him *home*, even if he still irritates me a lot. We
    all know I irritate him even more, so it all balances out. And I’ve gotten involved in scouts, by
    taking a leadership role with the pack. It’s nice. Brandon enjoys scouts, Melena is an honorary
    member, and they’re doing well with it.

    I am still trying to process all of this, and make it through the other side without another breakdown
    like I had last weekend. Friends, it’s really nothing personal. I don’t have the energy to be a good,
    attentive friend right now, and I apologize. 

July 19, 2011

  • ………

    I’m usually okay with grief.  I know my feelings, and I’m not afraid of them. 

    This time, though, I’m feeling conflicted.

    My paternal grandfather died two days ago.  Yes, I’m sad, in much the same way I’d be sad that anyone has died.  We knew it was coming, and I tried to prepare myself, but I just couldn’t feel the emptiness I’d felt when my maternal grandmother died, or even when my uncle died, and I really rarely saw my uncle.

    The thing is, I really don’t know my father’s side of the family well, with the exception of his younger brother; nor do they really know me and my family.  Growing up, my grandparents never really seemed all that interested in myself or my brother.  We were always told to quit being so loud, stop running, behave…..but we were good, quiet kids.  I read a lot, my brother liked to play cars.  I was nothing like who I am now – I was shy and quiet, and never had a lot to say to many people.  I can’t speak for my brother, but I know I never really felt welcome or loved or even part of the family.  I know my mom’s mom loved me, because she talked to me, cheated me at checkers, and hugged me.  I never expected her to buy me things, and she didn’t, really, because she didn’t have much money, but she’d make sure I had apples, my favorite fruit, and would make fried chicken for me whenever I wanted it.  There were plenty of tabloids for me to read, a creek to play in….plenty of great memories for me to pass to my kids.

    I don’t have many memories of my dad’s parents, though.  My grandpa worked at KCTV 5, as an engineer, and worked late hours.  I remember him spending a lot of time in his room on his CB radio, telling us to be quiet.  I remember him telling my brother to quit talking so much at dinner.  Instead of getting praise for raising some grades, we were ridiculed for not raising all of them. 

    I was asked to scan photos, create a slideshow, and make a poster for the visitation and funeral.  I thought I could handle it, because I thought I was so emotionally detached from all of this.  I was wrong.  I spent several hours crying about the things I missed out on with my grandparents, and the things they missed out on with us.  Especially difficult to scan were the photos of my grandfather working at the television station.  You see, when I was in college, I managed to get a job at the local television station doing the exact same things he did.  He never wanted to talk about it, never told me he was proud or thrilled or happy, and when I asked if he could help me get a job when I got home, he really wasn’t interested.  I was devastated.  For once, he and I had something in common, but I felt like I was of no consequence to him.

    My dad asked me to read a passage at the funeral, as well; it was so hard to tell my father no, that I couldn’t do it, but I feel like I’d be a hypocrite if I did read.  I have no ill feelings toward my grandfather, I just have….no feelings. 

    I’m sad that things are turning out for my dad in the way they are, too, but to be honest, it’s not unexpected.  It is what it is, and I only hope my dad got the acceptance he was looking for before his own father died.  That’s all I can ask for.  

     

May 1, 2011

August 31, 2010

  • Working things out…

    Something Old Hat posted on Facebook yesterday really resonated with me – why do people clam up when it comes to talking about their personal troubles?  I’ve been actually trying to work this out recently, trying to make a conscious effort not to keep everything bottled up inside, when something has occurred and I’ve been asked not to relay the information.  It’s hard to deal with.

    I love my daughter more than anything in the world (except, of course, for my son!)  My children mean so much to me, even though they very often irritate the holy crap out of me.  Then again, who *doesn’t* irritate the holy crap out of me?  But something changed in me after she was born.  Was it because she was so difficult to console for the first four months of her life?  Because she didn’t want anyone but me, and nobody seemed to be able, or even want, to help me take a break?  Or was it a giant combination of things that contributed, with her neediness being the proverbial straw that broke that camel’s back?  I don’t know.  Needless to say, since her birth, I have far less patience than I ever have at any other time in my life.  I deal with stress far worse than ever, and considering it’s never been my strong suit, understand that it’s even more difficult now.  My temper, which has always been quick, would now be considered hair-trigger.  I have severe anxiety attacks; I don’t enjoy going anywhere alone, least of all with the kids.  Noisy places make my brain stop working, very literally.  I feel myself going into “fight or flight” mode.  None of this even feels like me, and it’s been very hard for me to live with that.

    At the end of last school year, though, sometime in May, I resolved to finally do something about it, and I talked to my doctor.  I truly, honestly had some very rough evenings throughout the course of the early part of the year, and I really, truly contemplated thoughts of suicide.  There, I said it.  Yes.  I really, absolutely did.  I didn’t want my children to suffer without a mother, but I also didn’t want them to suffer through a mother like me.  If anyone caught on, nobody said anything to me, further exacerbating how I felt.  I felt useless, hopeless, and lonely. 

    On the way to my regular check-up with my doctor, though, something clicked.  Maybe it’s because I was by myself, and I had nobody to worry by talking to my doctor.  Maybe I realized I was tired of not living, just existing, and that it was up to me, and only me, to do something about it.  On my way to the appointment, I passed a cosmetology school, and I vowed right then that if I managed to own up to how I felt, I would get my hair cut and colored.  Really.  So I talked with my doctor.  I told him how lonely I felt, how much I despised Craig’s job and his schedule, how I hated feeling like a single parent, and how much I wanted to be ME again.  He understood, and he understood how hard it was for me to admit to any of this.  He asked if I would be willing to take some prescriptions to help me feel better, and I agreed.  Not even reluctantly.  And when I walked out of that office, I felt like *years* of grief, guilt, fright, and terror had been lifted.  I suddenly felt more like myself.  And I did get my hair cut – close to two feet cut off – and I did get my hair colored.  And I felt happy and joyful and LIKE ME.

    In the months that have passed, I’m doing better.  I may accidentally forget to take every other medication, but I never forget my Zoloft.  I don’t ever want to go back to what I was in the past.  I’m tired all the time, and I still get irritated (oh boy, do I!), but I don’t lash out like I have in the past, and I don’t have the feelings of rage always smoldering inside.  Rather, it’s just a slow simmer of irritation; that, I can certainly live with. 

    However, I find myself being tested yet again.  Our bathroom needed an emergency remodel; I love the results, but it was hard to figure out how to pay for it.  The good part was finding out that, over the years of trying so earnestly to pay down debts and get our credit in shape, we’d done it!  We succeeded!  The answer to paying for our remodeling would pay our debt management program, but open another loan – but with a VERY low APR.  We would cut our monthly expenses very drastically and hopefully not feel so over-our-heads so much!  And then our car had problems, to the tune of several thousand dollars, using up the spare money we were going to put toward the kids’ schools.  Craig has been trying so hard to find a job with good pay and normal hours, but the job market still isn’t great, and he’s often up against so many other candidates.  He’s been burned too many times at his current employer and is now reluctant to apply for anything with them, and I try so very hard to keep my words respectful of his company and his team when speaking online only so I won’t jeopardize his job, our livelihood.  It’s hard for me to keep my irritation of others to myself, quite frankly, and to say his company, his current position, irritates me, is a vast understatement.  But I try.  I’m trying to learn how to communicate more effectively with my husband and children, and I’m trying to learn how to ask for help when I need it.  It’s so hard, some days more than others.  I’m trying to figure out how to be the kind of parent my kids need, how to earn some extra money, how to spend some time for me, all while not beating myself up so much.  I’m really my own worst critic.  I always have been; I always know I could do better.  But as a parent, you don’t get monthly reviews.  You don’t get *any* reviews.  You see the good things, but often don’t absorb them.  I often forget to notice all the wonderful things about my children when I hear “stop touching me!” for the thousandth time in the day, after they’ve been told to keep their bodies to themselves.  I get frustrated, and it shows, far more than I would like it to show.  I know I’m not perfect, so why am I killing myself about my lack of perfection? 

    Why do I keep everything to myself?  I look at Craig and often think that I shouldn’t burden him, because hey, his hours suck, he doesn’t get to spend as much time with the kids as he’d like, he’s underpaid and under-appreciated at work, and he doesn’t get nearly enough rest.  He’s got it just as bad!  Or I see what my friends deal with, and my issues seem silly.  I’m sure they’d be willing to hear me out, but there have been times I’ve heard “Well, at least you have…” or “At least you’re not…”…and I don’t want to minimize their problems, but I want someone to recognize when I’m hurting and need help, and understand that by attempting to minimize what bothers me, I personally feel minimized or marginalized.  And I’m trying to learn how to deal with that. 

    And I’m trying to learn how to share these kinds of things, so it really is hard when I’m supposed to keep it to myself.

June 6, 2010

May 19, 2010

  • Wow, a whole lot of changes in the last day!  
    I had my regular 3-month checkup with my doctor yesterday.  On the way there, I pass a beauty school; I’ve been there before, when a family friend attended several years ago.  I’ve been looking for a day to get up to see her at her salon, but she’s a bit of a drive, and almost everyone knows I strongly dislike driving on the highway, and then there’s the whole bit with the kids – they won’t enjoy accompanying me anyway.  So I drive past this school, and think to myself that it would be great to get a hair cut and color finally, after waiting nearly two years, and I wonder if they have an opening?  And, if you know me at all, you know the “thinking about it” stage ended right there, and turned into the “find their number and make an appointment” stage.  So, after my appointment, I called, showed up there ten minutes later, and by noon had cut off over a foot of hair, then had blonde chunks put in.  You can see everything on my Facebook photo album.  When I got home, I colored my hair purple.  I didn’t realize how unlike myself I feel when my hair is my natural brown color, but WHEW all I can say is, it’s good to have me back.  Also, NOBODY knew.  I showed up to pick the kids up from school, and one mom, who has known me since first grade back in 1980 said she’d never seen my hair that short in her life!  My kids LOVE the purple, and are thrilled to show it off to their friends.  Their friends look at me like I’m crazy.  What’s new?  But I feel more like I’m supposed to feel.

    At the doctor’s office, I finally talked to him about my large amounts of stress and anxiety, and what that’s doing to me.  He suggested doing something for myself once in a while, and I rolled my eyes at him.  It would be great, but after so many years of not taking much care of me, I don’t know what it is I want to even do.  Classes aren’t a great option because of Craig’s wonky work schedule, and there’s the whole “I dislike driving at night” thing.  Shopping?  Bah.  I’d rather shop online; besides, that takes a little more money and it’s not like we need more crap.  Seriously.  I’m not a manicure/pedicure kind of girl for the most part…I like computers/technology and reading and chocolate and beer and photography and fire.  So.  But he also gave me a prescription for Zoloft and Xanax.  I’ve never been on anything like that ever in my life.  It’s frightening.  The Zoloft is for every day, Xanax is “as needed”.  I’ve taken my first dose of both.  The Xanax made me feel a little lightheaded and dizzy, and I slept forever!  I don’t notice much with the Zoloft, except my head is killing me.  I felt so much better after talking about it with my doctor, though.  Only Craig knows.  Well, and you, now.  I’ve gotten so frustrated with trying to talk in person with some people about what’s been going on in my head for the past several months that I’m just starting to shut down in that respect.  Craig figures that I put on such a strong outer face that people don’t realize I’m asking for help when I’m asking for help.  That doesn’t ever make me feel any better.  A cry for help is a cry for help, right?  But we’ll see how this helps me out.  Also, I’m losing weight very slowly, but losing.  My doctor said that I need to keep doing whatever it is I’m doing.  I’m doing nothing.  Seriously.  But it’s working, so don’t knock it, right?

    And it has been rainy and cold for a while, so we’re not getting outside much.  No big deal, really, until the other day.  THERE ARE TOO MANY MOTHERFUCKING ANTS ON THIS MOTHERFUCKING PLANE.  I came into the kitchen one morning to find the counter black and moving.  TEENY TINY SWEET ANTS.  I want you to die in a fire, ants, I really do.  They got into my sealed sugar container, for crying out loud!  They’ve never done that!  And they walked in my coffee mug!  Every time I look at them, I just want to lay down a line of fire.  I want to heat a pot of oil and just drop them in.  Oh ants, I don’t mind you outside.  But please, just stay outside!  

    Also, school is almost out.  I don’t know what I’m going to do about that.  Please pray for my kids.  I’m sure they’ll need it.  =)

     

May 9, 2010

  • As always, my thoughts and opinions may be offensive. I won’t apologize, though, because they’re *mine*. It’s mother’s day, again; Craig didn’t get home from work until 6 am this morning, and then left again by 1:15 pm. The weather is cool, the kids are currently asleep, and all is quiet except for that damned cardinal out back with his incessant “peep peep peep! peep! pe-peep peep peep peep peep peep peep!”. I don’t know why he’s carrying on, there’s nobody out back right now. What a glorious mother’s day, right?

    Except that I often miss the days before motherhood. That’s not to say I want to give it all up and go back – I love my children and wouldn’t trade them for anything, but sometimes, this job is just too hard for me. I miss being able to sleep until I felt like waking up, or playing video games all day with Craig. I miss staying out all night, going to the movies, having a beer with friends, or just having a social life that doesn’t include the little ones. The days where getting out of the house wasn’t a 45 minute ordeal, when making dinner meant that everyone would be happy with what came out of the kitchen. When going to the store took less than three hours, and I only had to stop for a bathroom break if *I* really needed it. I miss spontaneity. It’s hard to do when your husband works shit hours, and when you’ve got one beautiful princess who turns into a raging Battle Toad if she misses her nap! And when your sweet, intelligent grade-schooler’s super-powers are nagging, whining, and complaining until everyone around him turns into homicidal maniacs. No, sir, I do not enjoy taking them to the store with me, and anything spontaneous requires copious planning, preparation, and sometimes a shot of vodka.

    This is not a job I want to give up, but it’s not a job I can quit. I can’t just say “nope, I’m off the clock, time’s up, you’re not paying me for this”, no. Required breaks? In my emotional well-being, maybe, but that’s it. This is by far the most challenging job I’ve ever taken on – I’ve worked with 20 grade-schoolers at once on a daily basis, with at least five being “high maintenance” – this job is far more difficult. The pay sucks, too. Sure, everyone says being a parent is a reward in itself, and it pays off when they’re adults. That doesn’t make the job any easier. I also know there are so many people in the world who would love to be in my shoes! Firstly, you can’t have them. Secondly, I have a little understanding of that, and really. REALLY. It’s still a hard job and more than once I have wanted to throw in the towel. What parent hasn’t? If you say “not me! NEVER me!”, are you really, truly being honest with yourself?

    I don’t hate Mother’s day, and I don’t hate being a parent. I love my children more than anyone could ever imagine, and if someone tries to harm them, you’d better believe I will turn into a howling banshee and rain fire down the gaping maw of your throat after I’ve decapitated you with my bare hands. Yes, I would do that for my children. But there are also days that the threat of selling them to the gypsies sounds better than the alternatives.

February 26, 2010

  • Stereotypes?

    For some reason or another, watching a Ni Hao, Kai-lan DVD with Melena this morning made me ponder stereotypes as I washed my hair.  Yeah, my neurons fire in a really bizarre way (which I’ll prove later in this entry), but you wouldn’t have me any other way.  And by that, I mean you’re just not having me anyway.

    So.  Surely there are a few stereotypes that bother you on a really personal basis; what are they?  Of course, I have a few!

    That moms who stay at home to raise children are stupid.  There are still people who believe that stay-at-home moms stay at home because they’re too dumb or incapable to get a job elsewhere.  Among the mom-friends I have, that is absolutely false, and it really truly bothers me.  I have never been a girl who would hide my intelligence to attract friends or a mate, and I really get offended when someone questions my intelligence.  No, really, I’m not stupid because I’m a girl or I stay at home with the kids.  No, I don’t have a job because I’m too dumb to work.  I don’t have a job because I am just not cut out for the job pool most of the time, and I believe I can prove it!

    I don’t enjoy meetings, reports, or metrics.  Just let me do my damned job and let me do it well, everyone will be happy, and you can go enjoy playing golf or whatever it is you would rather be doing.  I hate meetings *so much* that, at one of the last “all hands” meetings the CIO or CTO (or whatever CIEIO) had called for all of the call center jockeys (and bear in mind we were mostly all computer geeks who had some weird aversion to meetings), I spent the better portion of the week creating a Corporate Buzzwords Bingo game for myself and my friends and we spent the meeting playing and snickering.  Really.  I can’t even go to an Avon sales meeting without causing some sort of trouble (that’s an entry for another day), but for me, meetings have mostly been giant pep-rallies (usually without the pep), or scare tactics, or a way to show off new corporate language or an excuse to get catering.  If you’re going to pay me to work, please, let me work and leave me alone.  I’m also bad at funerals, because my mind starts to wander, then I get the giggles, then I look disrespectful.  I can’t help it if I prefer to think of the deceased in happier times; it’s a whole lot more fun than being grief-stricken.  Case in point:  A few weeks ago we attended the funeral of my best friend’s mother-in-law.  She had been preceded in death by her husband.  Someone was speaking about how they were now united in Heaven, as angels watching down over us.  And I started giggling.  You see, the husband was a tall man (compared to me – I’m 5’3!), and rotund.  He was usually a jolly man, and played Santa every year.  He had a beautiful, authentic-looking suit and I’m pretty sure he didn’t pad it!  Anyway, I suddenly pictured in my mind this jolly man as an angel: wearing nothing but a tiny cloth diaper and fluttering around on teeny-tiny wings that were ill-fitting for a man of his stature.  I shared this with my friend’s husband, as this was his father, and he said that he could see his father dressing up like that.  And at the funeral prior, for the mother of an old college friend, everyone kept talking about how they lost this woman.  The first thing that always comes to my mind when someone says they’ve lost someone is that they’re wandering around the local Wal-Mart, waiting for someone to call them to the service desk.  Or maybe their feet are poking out of some lost-and-found box somewhere. 

    ^^^^^^^^^^^^THIS^^^^^^^^^^^ is why I don’t have a job, folks.  Not because I’m a stupid moron who couldn’t perform on the job even if I had special super job-performing powers. 

    I also have a hard time being a female techie.  It has, for so long, been a male-dominated profession (and really, it still is!) that people can’t fathom a female knowing much at all about technology.  I can’t handle that.  I’m not a hardware guru by any means: I couldn’t tell you the difference between DIMM and SDRAM chips or SATA and EIDE hard drives, but I know how to get that information, and I know how to translate it into something almost anyone would understand.  Craig’s the hardware guy, and gets into those details.  Don’t get me wrong, I know my fair share about hardware, but I’m more of a software, documentation, and training kind of girl.  I can set up new computers, troubleshoot software problems, teach you how to use it, and I’ve even built my own PC from the ground up.  I get excited when the Microcenter flyer comes in, and even more excited when we get to go there!  I went with my parents to help them purchase new computers earlier in the week and I was quite possibly more excited than them.  I enjoy researching new problems, technology, and information.  I am also a girl.  One time, several years ago, we went into a computer store to pick something up for myself, and to assist a friend who was looking for something.  The sales-dude bypassed *me* and headed straight to Craig.  I was fuming mad and complained to the corporate offices.  *I* was the one in looking for something, with money earned from *my* business!  I knew exactly what I wanted but didn’t know where to find it.  I admit that Craig knows an awful lot more than me about a whole lot of computer stuff, but that’s not to say I don’t know anything, either.  I know plenty of women in the IT field who are every bit as knowledgeable as their male counterparts, but because of gender, they’re often given short shrift.  Of course, then I start thinking about gender inequality in the workplace in general, and I get even angrier.  Why is it that I don’t work for someone else again? 

    So what stereotypes really personally affect you?  What sets your blood to boiling?  And are you interested in going to a meeting with me someday?  :)

February 18, 2010

  • FINALLY!

    I got to meet lilms-sassy!  She came over today so I could turn her into a new KC Freecycle moderator.  How many times have we tried this?  She brought her two little daughters, who are both adorable and disgusting, just like Melena.  Thanks for coming over, we had fun and it was great to finally meet you!!

January 26, 2010

  • It has been a long, tough time for my family, and just when things are taking a turn for the better…

    My mother apparently has a tumor in her abdomen.  The word “cancer” has been tossed around.  I don’t know anything more than that she was going in for more tests today, and that she had to drink large amounts of barium last night as we were leaving her house.

    In recent years, many of my friends have lost parents, and hopefully, I’ve been able to help them through the grieving process; but then again, maybe not.  I have seen what it does to people, and I don’t want to go through it.  Not now.  

    The look of terror in my mother’s eyes yesterday as she finally told me nearly rent my heart in two.  She had recently attended a funeral for a friend who’d succumbed to brain cancer, and the reason that the friend didn’t have a church service is because she was angry.

    Angry at god, for taking her away from her precious grandchildren.  Angry with everyone.  

    While my mother and I don’t always see eye to eye, (what children do?), we talk almost every day.  The days we don’t talk, I worry about her.  I know she hasn’t felt well for two years, and I worry.  It’s my job.

    When I was a brand-new mom, with tiny little Brandon, Craig worked two jobs so that we could have extra money.  He was also scared of being a dad, and working made him feel like he was doing something important for his growing family.  My mom knew I didn’t like being left alone, so she would come get Brandon and I, and sometimes our dog, and let us stay with she and my dad until Craig could come over after working.  She and Brandon created a very special bond, then, as she rocked him to sleep while she watched Dr. Phil (and fell asleep herself).  She and Brandon are so very, very close and I don’t want anything to happen to her for his sake.  Am I strong enough for myself and my family?  I have my doubts.

    Melena was a very fussy, difficult baby to deal with.  While I was dealing with that, my mom was trying to come to terms with the fact that my dad may have been cheating on her.  We’re not sure if he ever physically did anything with anyone else, though we know he was getting photos emailed to him, and he was corresponding with many women through chat and email, and we know that he was professing his love.  It was a very rough time for my mother, and she always blames herself when my dad was like this.  Mind you, he has cheated on her before, at least once when I was Brandon’s age.  My father has broken my mother down so much that she thought she was at fault for his indiscretions.  She thought she could change his ways by treating him like a king.  She has commented on more than one occaision that she felt she lost out on so much with her new baby granddaughter.  At the time, I was so angry with my father because I was essentially alone and helpless in a very difficult part of my life, but I made it through.  I’m so sad for my mother because she did miss out on the first year of Melena’s life, but Melena adores her nonetheless.

    When Craig worked at Sprint, he would go to a week-long conference once a year; it just happened to be right after school started.  My mom would let us come stay at her house for the week so that I wouldn’t have to be alone that whole time (I get jumpy after dark – it was worse when the kids were so little).  She liked knowing we were safe with her.

    When my mom found out that Craig and I weren’t going to be able to provide any gifts for anyone at all this Christmas, she made sure our kids had gifts to unwrap.  She also made sure we had a few, ourselves.  My mom isn’t rich, doesn’t have a well-paying job.  She doesn’t even have a high school diploma.  But she made sure my kids didn’t suffer because of our shitty financial problems.

    We live in an awful school district, and are surrounded by even worse school districts.  The kids go to a Catholic school, and are doing well.  We can’t afford it.  My parents have paid for most of this year’s tuition so that they don’t have to go through the heartache of being pulled out since we can’t pay for it.  I’ve been through that, it happened to me at that same school when I was younger.  It was heartbreaking.  

    I am angry at the doctors.  My mother can only afford an HMO plan.  Yes, she has health insurance.  But the doctors so far don’t often take her seriously.  She’s uneducated, ofen uneloquent, so why would they believe her?  Who knows how long she has suffered from this – too long, though – when someone could have helped?  Sooner?  Maybe?  

    I am angry at the doctors.  We are not data on charts, or forms, or hastily scribbled notes on a prescription pad.  We breathe, we live, we hurt, we bleed, just the same as they do. Do they forget that?  Do they forget about the Hippocratic Oath, “To keep the good of the patient as the highest priority”?  When my mother has been passed from doctor to doctor, with pains and ailments gone mostly untreated, why?  Yes, she should be her own best advocate, but when a physician doesn’t want to listen, then what?  

    For several years, while Craig worked at H&R Block, he worked very closely with the founder of the Bloch Cancer Foundation and his assistant.  She is still there, and will assist us, though I hope we have no reason to call her.