Eye Opener

This last Thursday we had the kiddos and M had a band concert. Before the concert we went to McDonald. N had a letter jacket on that he recently got. It’s a normal letterman’s jacket like you would picture in your head; wool body and leather sleeves with patches. The jacket was so heavy though that N couldn’t feed himself.

N has muscular dystrophy. It’s a degenerative muscle disease that put him in a wheel chair years before I met him. He’s in a motorized chair and plays power soccer. His form of MD is harsh, but he has a light variation of it. A Friend of his on power soccer has a much more severe form and he cannot feed himself, can’t move his head, and has circulation issues. Friend can talk and he can still move himself in his chair. The boys are about the same age so it is interesting (I know it is a horrid word to use) to see how Friend is progressing compared to N. Seeing what we have to “look forward to” in the future.

So seeing N struggle to get the burger to his mouth and fail was really, really hard.  M fed him his burger and fries. Thankfully he’s not a real big eater and is a smallish kid. Soon we will be having to feed him all of his meals. I wonder if he'll let R or I do it? Or will he demand that A or M be the ones to feed him? I wonder how hard it will be to let go of his pride?

But what it did more than anything was remind us that N won’t be around forever.  He won’t be around for the girl’s weddings or to see their babies. He won’t get married or have children of his own. He should be around for their high school graduation, but nothing is ever certain. At that point he’ll be 23, almost 24. That will be getting close to the end. I’ve heard 25 thrown out a lot about his age at death (give or take of course.)  So he could (and will) miss a lot.

I’m not sure how R will handle it all. I know he’ll have regrets about how he and N are not close and how short tempered he was with N. No amount of reminding him how frustrating N was will help. So how do I convince him that he needs to take this time and really bond with his son. Not for N’s sake (because he doesn’t care) but for his own? So that when N passes, R will know he did everything he could? That he was the BEST Dad he could possibly be to this difficult child?

Or will N die leaving R feeling like he should have done more. I hope not, but I know R and I know that he will hold on to guilt like this forever.

I wonder, will I cry?

Water water everywhere...

A week ago we came home after a nice dinner and drinks, ready for the next step of the evening only to find water. Water coming out of a faucet and running everywhere because the faucet had been tilted to the right and the water was not running into the very large utility sink beneath it, but rather over the edge onto the utility room floor. And through the walls. Into the garage. Into the basement. Water everywhere. It had been on for hours. He had left the house around 1:30 or 2 that afternoon, and then had met me for drinks and food. We got home around 7 or 7:30. Early for us. Thank goodness!

I ran to Menards, he started cleaning up and told me "It's not as bad as it looks." I had only seen the laundry room at that point. I believed him. When I got home with a new wet/dry vac and a $35 fan (the only large fan I could find in the cold of winter) I went downstairs to help.

And I saw water.
Everywhere.
It was worse than it looked.
Much, much worse.

Water/wetness was on the concrete wall, the studs, the sheet rock. Everything was soaked. Enough water on the floor that the sump pump went off. A couple of times. Water in a vent that we had to put a hole in to get out.

On the finished side of the basement the wall was wet. There was a water bubble under the paint. The carpet was wet. The electronics were hit (I have not been brave enough to try them yet to see if they are damaged.) The ceiling was wet.

Instead of spending the evening relaxing in a warm glow, we were standing in cold water cleaning up all the water. Wasting that lovely buzz we had gotten snuggling at the restaurant on sucking up water from the carpet, walls, etc.

Now to the best part. I never lost my cool. I held it in. Now his ex would have chewed him a new one. She would have screamed and yelled, and told him that he was the one who caused this so he could fix it. Then she'd get on the phone and call her mother and complain LOUDLY about what a screw up he was. The needling would continue for weeks as she told everyone what an idiot her husband was until she felt she got enough mileage out of it, or until he did something else wrong in her eyes.

I could see him when I said "I figured out what that stream of water out the garage was. The water was on in here." The look in his eyes. Like a dog or small child getting ready to be hit. Knowing that not only are they going to be blamed for this, but that the blame would harsh and continuing and never forgotten. I know what his marriage was like before me. I also know what his childhood was like. So, I held it in. There was no reason to yell. He beats himself up worse than I ever could.

Instead I released it in the car on the way to and from Menards about WHO in their RIGHT MIND would leave the water not just on, but on and the faucet aimed outside of the sink? Who DOES this?

My darling husband that's who. He is wonderful but absent minded. He gets focused on doing one thing to the exclusion of everything else. He puts his headphones on and blocks out the world (including me, the kiddos, eating, etc.) to get what he is working on, done. Which also means that sometimes he has accidents like this. That is who he is. He will work from sun up to midnight on something stopping only at the brink of exhaustion to have a drink, a quick snack (because he is shaking from lack of food), bathroom, and sleep only if necessary. That is the man I married and promised that I would love "for better or worse."

This quality is what makes him so good at his job. It is what makes him finish projects he starts around the house. It is what makes him a "doer" instead of a "sitter." I had a sitter before. I didn't like it. I couldn't get him to do anything. Take out the trash, do his share of housework, yard work, snow removal, cook, laundry, nothing. All he did was sit and play video games.

R is different. While he is absent minded at times he does gets shit done. He makes me feel bad because I can't keep up (I get distracted by shiny things.) He will help clean the house and will not stop until it is done. (Unlike me who will do a little here, a little there, and eventually finish a few hours later because of all of said shiny things I run into. :) ) He can clean a 4500 square foot house, do the laundry, and do all the yard work in under one day because he is so focused. It is a quality I LOVE about him, but at times that quality is clearly detrimental.

I sometimes wish that while he was focused he could also see what else is going on around him. But that is not who he is. If I try and change him I will end up frustrated and so will he. He is a good man and a hard worker even if he can't always see the forest for the trees. He is wonderful. He tries so hard. He works so hard to make me happy, and he does. I am very happy with him. I'm lucky.

But so is he. :)

Let the ride begin

Like millions of other people, this year I decided that I am going to lose weight. I have to.  I weigh more now than I ever have in my life. My pants barely fit…hell let’s be honest, 1 pair fits and I have about 15 in my closet. My shirts look awful. I have a closet full of clothes that don’t fit. I huff and puff walking into work with my laptop bag. I huff and puff walking up the stairs. I huff and puff doing just about everything.

And yet…my husband tells me how beautiful I am. How he loves my curves.

Why is it that my ex got me at my physical best and my current husband, who is the most wonderful, perfect-for-me man in the whole universe, gets this? This lump. This chunk-a-lunk. He freaked out because he hit 202. I thought, “What I wouldn’t give to be at 202.” 

So.

That is what got me motivated.

A PR in weight.

The last PR I want to make on the upward end of this situation. The lowest I recall being is 170. So that’s the goal. Eating less, moving more. I know HOW to do it. I just need TO do it. I'm wishing MYSELF luck. I CAN do this. I can lose this weight. I can be a healthier version of myself. I WILL be a healthier version of myself.

I owe it to R.

to his children

to my "glimmer" child

and most importantly

I owe it to myself.

Bye, bye PR! I'm glad to see you go. I will be successful. I will NOT see that number on the scale ever again.

Freak

We had the kids over new years. I knew it wouldn’t be as great as last year. I expected it. It was fun, but ended badly.  We picked up the kids on Friday…after having them Wednesday and Thursday nights too. We had them through Monday at dinner time. We have them tonight. I’m not sure I can do it.

I am dreading going home today. Yesterday did not go well. At breakfast while trying to open their Disney closed little eyes and explain that yes they could ask a boy to the dance if they wanted to go to the dance with said boy that badly. Their father then asked, had I ever asked a boy out and I said yes. To that the girls called me a “weirdo” and “freak.”

Freak.

I spun. And spun, and spun and spun. Like a top that never quits. I spun back to elementary school where I was teased. Mercilessly.

Freak

Their favorite word. Freak. A word that caused dread. It was used instead of my name. It was whispered, yelled, spoke, screamed. All so I could hear it. So I would know I was a freak. The cruelness in the sound of the word. The way it was said. Spit through the teeth. Lips curled in an evil snarl. Eyes sparkling at the obvious discomfort it caused.

Freak

I’ve worked hard to create the person I want to be. I learned in my junior year of high school that you needed to fake being the confident person you want to be if you don’t have inner confidence. (How else could a freak have confidence if it was not faked?) I’ve faked it enough that I have some and can turn on and off a little extra when I need it. I know when I need that layer of extra inner confidence and I get it. It’s like a bullet proof vest. Nothing gets to me when I have it on.

Freak

But when I’m sitting at breakfast with my family I shouldn’t need it. I’m amazed at how often I do need it though, especially with them. But that vest gets heavy and I can’t wear it all the time. It is like they can sense when I take it off. When I’m vulnerable.

FREAK

And out it comes. The silent sleeping viper. The nasty snake I thought was dead. Out to bite me again. It bit and ice shot through my veins. I physically curled up. My head almost touching the table top. My husband’s touch was what brought me out, asking me what was wrong. I looked at him. Stunned. Had he not heard that? Had he checked out during this? Or was he condoning their behavior?

Freak

I explained that it hurt my feelings when they called me these names and that I was not going to do dishes, they could. I was going to my sewing room and I was going to sew. They were to leave me alone. He asked them to apologize, which they did in between laughs. Unless I totally lost it, they were not going to understand how hurtful they were. I didn’t have the energy to lose it though.

Freak

Instead I gathered up my diet coke and I walked upstairs and closed my door. I turned on my movie, my sewing machine, and iron. Safe actions. Quiet actions. I was safe. I would not be judged or called names in that room. I was away from all of them.

They were taken back to their mother’s early. And I’m glad for it. There are moments that I love them and moments that I despise them. They are mean, cruel little people. Part of me knows that if we were to have a baby, it would be different than these impolite little shits. It would have morals, an internal compass, empathy, kindness, compassion. It would be raised to wait to eat until all are seated and have their meals. It would know how to set a table. It would understand that disrespect would not be tolerated.

Or would it? These two nasty little girls would be around for its first very formative years. They could “ruin” it. I believe they act as they do because they were allowed to and saw their bother get away with it.

But what if its genetic? What if nasty is in their genes? What if the baby is nasty too? Worse yet, what if the baby is a freak?

Like Mom.