The Secret Life of Sam (Mama Krzewski's Blog)

Purgatory

2012-01-26T11:18:00.001-08:00

I'm sitting in the local library because I do not want to go back home. I hate the fact that certain words in my life have zero meaning whatsoever, or that they are so hollow, I might as well not use them. I refuse to believe that this is just my depression, I've had this all my life. No, I feel that what I am going through is the direct result of purposeful disenfranchisement. And I long to escape.

Years ago I had a "day-mare", a nightmare in the middle of the day...and it's coming true for me right now. I'm in the prime of my life alone, surrounded by people who choose to either ignore me or ridicule me. My mother's smear campaign is ongoing, her family seeks to undermine me any chance they get, people I once called friends don't even bother to call anymore...and all I mostly get in the form of "advice" is to get over it.

I'm honestly at the point where I don't even want to bother anymore. I don't want to bother with my health, I don't want to bother with my future, I don't want to bother with relationships or dreams. I only bother because my son didn't ask to be concieved, and I owe him a decent chance at life. But it's so hard dealing with my special child with the grinning monkeys that are my parents dancing around every time it's time for me to struggle with any aspect of taking care of him. I hate both of my parents, I'm not even going to be in the least tactful about it now. They have declared all out war on me, and if I cannot fight back, at least I'm not going to sit here and smile and act like nothing is going on.

My brother told me that I just "let mom get to me". What? From the time she reluctantly squeezed me into this world, my every movement was controlled by this woman. She has crippled me, and I'm trying to make a life out of the rubble. I sit and feel ashamed of myself because someone stepped into block my natural progress, and at 30 years of age I should have more to show for myself besides a stroke history, depression and a kid. I'm tired of everything being such a damn struggle. But I don't trust anyone enough to take care of my child...so I just try to keep moving. But I don't know how long I can. I need help. I deserve a support system, more than just a half-assed family who only appears to jeer at me. I long for peace, to be able to have a quiet day, instead of the turmoil that is my everyday. I run as fast as I can from dysfunction and addiction, and they still follow me. Still.

For the first time in many years I can honestly say that I am back in the valley again. And I have no idea what I'm going to do now. Mild depression is one thing; you can move and fight through that. But when you just don't give a shit anymore?

Marking Off the Days...

2011-10-11T13:08:00.000-07:00

They sent home a calendar in Steven's backpack today. I decided to put it up on the wall. I can't use it for the purpose they intended (it has suggestions of things to do with your children, but Steven is not developmentally ready for that yet), but I am using it to mark off the days.

I'm reading a book on Borderline Parents, and it's sad that my mom embodies all of the subsets of the borderline person (waif, queen, hermit, witch). I feel kind of upset that I'm back to reading books on psychology to validate my experiences. To keep telling myself, "It did happen".

I spend my days looking for work and meticulously cleaning up after myself. Mom is rarely home. I guess she feels driven out by her child who is trying to be invisible. Read up on BPD, the histronics these people exhibit is insane. What's really scary is that I could become just like her. So I have to watch how I deal with my son, how I deal with others.

I've been re-evaluating my relationship with my brother today. I've always considered us to be close, hell Mom forced us into it. But I am hurt by the fact that he can only admit Mom's abuses to me in private. When asked to say it to the family, he claims they already know. Well if they do, then they must think it's all okay...because no one has ever spoken up in my defense. The women in my family on my mom's side are notorious for trying to screw with their children, especially their daughters.

I've ceased communication with my brother, because each time I try to break free of my mom's abuse, he tells me I'm just like her. That's his way of keeping me quiet. Little did he know that I almost didn't have kids...because I was afraid I'd be an abuser. People, words have power.

My brother has always played the middle ground. My strongest witness, and the most he can do is claim that he tells mom about herself. It's not doing any good, mom still feels that I've made my entire childhood up. No, she insists. I think she knows the truth. When you try to bring it up, she'll attempt to self-destruct.

But right now I'm thinking about my relationship with my brother. Was it abusive as well?

Sure he meant well. He protected me from bullies, and he at least admits mom treated me unfairly. But I also got tied up, put in the trunk of the car, once he hit me so hard it left a knot for days. I've had dirty socks stuffed in my mouth. But the worst of all has been the ridicule. Every time my brother did something to me, he told me, "you know you want to laugh", and being a child, the power of suggestion did me over. So for years, I have been laughing as he has laughed at me. He often refers to me as his "psycho sister", and is very condescending about my "book learning". I don't understand why.

One of the most enduring pieces of his ridicule has been him teasing me when I danced. He always told me I had no rhythm. But I have loved dance and longed to dance all my life. Shirley Temple was my idol, because she could sing and dance, and so could I. My childhood was filled with dreams of being the first black girl to play Annie on Broadway. My brother laughed it away, my mom beat it away.

I hope that one day I can regain all that I have lost at the hands of my family, both those overt in their abuse and those who were covert, in that they let it happen. I really do not like that I have to deal with this stuff all over again. I thought I was free. I guess I was wrong.

One thing about having a borderline parent is that you do not know how to have healthy relationships. I will not even presume to say that my relationship with Steve has always been healthy. But he's stifled me far less than my family has. And our love for our son has changed a lot. That little boy does not deserve to suffer like we have. Steve had his own hard road to travel as a kid. I'm still cracking open that Pandora's Box.

Every day that I'm blessed to get up, I'm going to mark off the previous day on the calendar...if I didn't do that before going to bed. And then I'm going to do whatever it is I have to do that day, until I find myself ready for bed. Before I know it, summer will be here and we will be leaving this place forever.

Immaculate

2011-10-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

There's a chess app on my nook, I wonder if I should learn how to play. It'd be a good way to pass the time. Besides, I feel like the strategy would be helpful to me.

Apparently the best way to survive this war is to make myself as invisible as possible, to give my mother nothing to complain about. Which strangely enough upsets her.

At this point in time, I exchange few words, make no eye contact, and I have erased evidence of my presence from every room in the house except the bedroom that I sleep in. My son's high chair is still in the dining room, but apparently Mom likes to pretend she has a grandchild and not a daughter. So long as she doesn't try to hurt him to get to me, that's fine.

My room is immaculate. Occasionally she sees me picking up lint balls off the floor (they have wood floors...dust magnets), or washing something, and I see her tense. It'd be so much easier for her to complain if I was as sloppy as she says. But now there's nothing to complain about. And I plan to keep it that way.

I managed to set up a little workspace in the bedroom; I'm looking for jobs when Steven is at school. Hopefully soon I'll find something. Preferably before the holiday season. I could use a routine right about now. Anything to keep me out of the house when my son is not here to take up my time and attention.

Onto Steven...something good to think about:

Steven is really doing well in school. He likes to color now, so I went out and got him a whole bunch of crayola twistables crayons. I have to keep him from eating the wax, though. But he loves to scribble. He loves the colors. They read every day in school, so I think that he'll finally be ready for me to read to him from books other than the ones on my nook (he was attracted to the glowing screen). I plan to read to him nightly, he has a pretty good book collection.

Big Steve and I talk when we can, and we see each other when we can. The distance is hard, realizing the circumstances behind it is even harder. But I feel like the situation is going to cement our family bond. It was our child that caused us to reconsider, and discussing him and his future is always a favorite thing for us to do. The pastor at my church said to read your children, not script them. I think that both Steve and I were scripted. Me, especially. At least Steve's mom loves him and will allow him to make his own decisions. She even accepted our marriage. I was shocked at that.

One day at a time. I just keep telling myself, one day at a time. I'm reading a book on dealing with a borderline parent, I really feel like my mom has BPD. I guess I'm back to just coping. But it'll all get better. I'm determined to morph into who I'm truly meant to be, to break this cycle of just coping with pain from day to day. It doesn't have to be that way.

I think the reason why it's so hard right now, is because I've had a tentative taste of freedom, even though things were not easy in that situation either. Anything other than Mom has always been the lesser evil. But Mom knows that too, and deep inside she's fighting to keep me imprisoned, while I'm fighting like hell to escape. She knows this goodbye will be the final one. But it needn't be that way if she could only admit to what she's done. Just tell me I'm not crazy. Still, she'd literally rather die than do that. She'd rather keep up the oppression. So I must needs go.

Paranoia

2011-10-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

I wonder if the people involved in the family drama with me and my mom understand just how mentally ill she is. She is a Borderline Mother.

I fully admit that I struggle with depression, anxiety, and now paranoia. I don't believe in hiding my anger. I don't always express it loudly, but I express it.

Apparently now that I just don't speak to my mother, and I shuffle through my day, not asking for anything and not hoping for anything, my mother feels unsafe in her own house.

Of course this is but another of her carefully orchestrated lies. Since she's not getting the normal reaction out of me, she's recruiting new troops in her war against me (people I thought I could trust), and laying the foundation that I'm plotting to do her harm.

I just want to escape. I never wanted to come back here.

It's hard, not knowing if tomorrow my son and I will be put out because I refuse to play in the farce. I just hope I can find work soon. Meanwhile I'm doing my best to give her nothing to complain about...which only angers her. Is that not sick? I'm trying to do what she wants...leave no trace of my existence in this house. I clean more than she does, ask for no rides, cook when they're not around, and stay in the room I sleep in. I come out to run errands, take Steven to the park, go to the doctor...things like that. Then I retreat.

But it's not good enough. I'm alive and determined to have a happy ending to my life, and my mother will stop at nothing to destroy that.

Yet she is afraid.

Minesweeper

2011-10-09T14:41:00.000-07:00

I suck at this game, though it's apparently very simple, just a bit of logic.

Perhaps that's why the game of Minesweeper that is my life, I keep failing at utterly. I don't have any more limbs left.

Seriously, I do not want to be a drama magnet...I don't. I don't!

But the roller coaster crests yet another hill, and my stomach flies up into my throat.

It turns out that someone I thought I could trust I cannot, someone I thought I'd never trust again I'm clinging to for life, and some folks just haven't changed in that one is just as evil as ever, and the other will always use denial as a shield.

Since coming back to my mother's house, it seems like I've ended up back where I started. Suddenly that rundown apartment doesn't seem as bad after all. I'll take a cardboard box to the emotional pain I deal with constantly here. Being told essentially that I'm psycho, that I've invented a false reality. The sad thing is, that even though I felt every beating, I felt the razor on my wrist, I felt the tubes down my throat when they pumped my stomach, I felt the taunts and teasing, I felt the loneliness and depression....

I still wonder if they're right, that I'm really THAT crazy, and none of it ever happened. They are so insistent, that I question myself sometimes.

But then my mother pulls more of her shit, and I bounce back to the present.

I've never really put in one place everything that this woman has done to me to make me hate her so. Perhaps I should now, in case someone wonders, then they can refer back to this.

SO WTF IS GOING ON?

My mother had me only for the purpose of keeping my dad around. She got pregnant to snag him, she got pregnant again hoping to keep him. Mom resented her life at home, and sought a man and the chance to play house as an escape. She and my dad divorced when I was 7. I'd been watching them fight for years before that, Daddy was sleeping in the basement years before that, if he was even home.

When Daddy left, Mom turned on me.

I got beaten for missing him. I got beaten when she had a bad day at work. I got beaten for mixing her cold cream with her blush to see what color it made (I was like, 8). I got beaten for putting my bread crusts under the carpet in the living room (I thought they'd disappear) once, when my brother wouldn't cut them off my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Beatings comprised of stripping me naked and hitting me as hard as she could with a belt or switch until SHE was tired. I was expected not to cry...not that I ever succeeded with that. She would draw out the agony of waiting, I'd know before she got home what was coming, and I'd be forced to wait for her while she "got comfortable". She'd tell me her father didn't beat clothes, so neither would she. She taught me to be ashamed of my body, I have never felt comfortable being naked in front of my mother. When she was done, she'd leave the instrument of abuse on the radiator downstairs and tell me that she wasn't finished with me.

Hell, I even got beaten for throwing up at dinner. I had a sensitive stomach, and if I didn't finish it all, I got beaten. If I gagged, I got threatened. Once she made me eat something out of the trash can that I'd thrown in there.

My mother was the ultimate imposing figure in my life. She was God and the Devil. I feared her, hated her, and longed for her to just be nice to me and love me.

She beat me until I became her size. Then the abuse just continued on psychologically. Still, she called me names and berated me from childhood. I was "stupid", "lazy", "worthless", "good-for-nothing", and the biggest insult of all "just like your father". This was the biggest dart she had, because I knew she hated him as much as I loved him.

My dad was gentle, yet ineffective. He never beat me, but he never saved me either.

I grew up hearing aunts laugh about how upset my mom was when she found out she was having me. Stupid women, they didn't realize I was smart enough to put things together. I started wondering at an early age why a mother would NOT want to have a child. And when I learned about abortion and adoption? Then I wondered why my mom hadn't done that, and what life might have been like, living with God or another family. Hell, when I was five I demanded to see my birth certificate. I thought I'd feel better if I knew I was adopted.

I had immense vocal talent as a child. My mom made a point never to encourage it. She said it was because she was made to sing. I tried to reason that I wanted to sing...that didn't do any good. I had musical outlets through chorus until I graduated high school...and then my talent died along with the dream of college. Mom said that she didn't want the Department of Education to steal her identity, hence she would not sign my financial aid forms.

I was suicidal by the age of 12, and that continued until I was in my early 20s. I cut, overdosed on all the meds I was prescribed (14 at one point). The answer to my ailments was so simple, I was depressed. CT scans, X-rays...I've been irradiated so much...and all because the doc was too cowardly to tell my mom she was an abusive bitch.

I got dragged into a dream when I was 13...mom married for opportunity, and off we went to Europe. For the first time I had a name; I wasn't just someone's child or sister. I began to blossom...and Mom killed that, too. She sent me home with the lie that I was on drugs and trying to seduce her alcoholic husband (happy 17th anniversary, you fools...). I didn't find this out for 15 years, and for 15 years her sisters have treated me like trash. When I had my stroke, they were still so scandalized by why my mom would send me 3,000 miles away from her to my father who couldn't afford to take care of me (she had to send me maxi pads and underwear...and that was my birthday present one year), that they believed her when she said I faked my stroke. How the hell do you fake yourself into intensive care? I almost died, and my family wasn't there.

While in Germany, Mom got upset that I learned German in six months and made friends. She hated my closest friend, often yelling at her to the point where the girl would break down in tears (mom told me she was crazy). On my 15th birthday, my mother came home from being out with my stepdad, storms into my room where I'm eating cake with friends, and starts screaming at me for no reason. I look up, and all my friends are gone. They were forbidden from coming to my house after that. But not from being my friend. Their parents understood that my mom wasn't a good person.

Mom hated every friend I made as a child. And when she learned that Jessi, my German friend was especially close to me, she sent me back to the States just to get me away from her. Just to be spiteful. No matter that all the things she claimed Jessi was lying to me about could be proven, no matter that I had the chance to go to college for free, and the chance to have a wonderful life abroad. She hated me that much, that she'd ruin all that. Then to top it off, she gave the empty promise that I could come back (I lived off that dream, school at my dad's was so horrible, the kids threw trash at me), and then faked being hurt that I was upset for the wrong reasons and not concerned with being with her. She said she honestly thought I wanted to come back to Germany to be with her. I had agreed to get a job, not see my friends, come straight home...just to last until age 18 there, so I could tell her to suck it and run.

I attempted suicide for the first time when she dropped that bomb on me. And her reaction? She drank a whole bottle of wine. Wow.

Mom had to keep painting stories to get my family to look away from my mental breakdown.

Her lies were so convincing, even my dad believed her for a while. When I was a teen, my depression was seen as dangerous. No one tried to help me, they just judged me. Those years were so lonely, I spent 17 hours a day in my room on school days, and the full 24 on weekends. I came out to eat and pee. When my dad died, somehow I got the blame. You see, I was that bad of a child.

And the ironic thing is, I was accused of trying to seduce a man who was grooming me for molestation. When I finally told my mom...she called me a whore behind my back. Funny thing is, she asked me (only because my brother was there) why I didn't tell her before. I told her I figured she wouldn't believe me. And it was convenient for her not to. This man used to stand NAKED at the foot of the steps leading to the lower level each day when I left for work. It scared me so badly. He would find ways to touch my butt, or catch me alone in a room. I used to pray for protection from the evil of that place. And my mom didn't even believe me. But when Woman Thou Art Loosed the movie came out, all of a sudden (in front of her friends) she was my advocate.

When I graduated high school, since I couldn't get financial aid, I started work, hoping I could pay my way through school. Well, I had never been taught to save (hell, I was never taught most things a female should know), so I spent what I wasn't paying mom in rent. I racked up debt. By the time I had paid it off and was able to sign my own FAFSA forms, I had had my stroke.

25 years old, thinking that I just can't win.

I paid this woman tens of thousands in rent, and she was telling her family that I wasn't paying a dime. I used to wonder why she got so upset at me laying the rent money on her bed...it was because she was telling my stepdad that I wasn't paying rent.

I finally escaped when I was 27. I pretty much pulled a move like her, being pregnant and moving in with the father...but we weren't married, and I actually wanted my child. Mom convinced me to move nearby "so she could help". At that time I still held out the hope that she'd care one day. I ended up moving out of that house with no help (Steve was coming from 60 miles in the opposite direction). My mom and stepdad sat and watched me carry every heavy thing alone.

I told myself I'd go to a shelter before I'd live with my mother again.

Mom has done her best to break me and Steve up. She thinks it's okay to spend his money, but I should not let him be a dad. Steve and I have had our own troubles, as laid out earlier in this blog, and they ultimately led me to leaving him twice, the second time landing me back here. My mother told the cops to go away, that she'd take care of me. But she hasn't.

The last time I had a seizure, she was downstairs playing frecell. The baby was running wild. Steve came from work and called 911 himself. But he's a deadbeat according to mom.

Mom told the whole world she was helping me....while doing nothing. I can't even go to the bathroom without having my son in there with me.

She's accused me of infesting her home with ants because I'm so filthy (um, I have to clean every day because my son eats things off the floor if given a chance). She said I gave her MRSA (we'd have had to have skin-to-skin contact for that, and she won't let me touch her...never has). She's now saying she's afraid for her life...because I have just stopped talking to and fighting her. For a minute, she was trying to get me to pay her rent out of my social security. The goal is to leave here! I have to save to do so.

I found out this week that for the past three months she's been talking with Lisa, a person I thought was my friend. Lisa had been pressuring me to go to therapy with my mom, her reasoning being that her adoptive mom was so much worse, and if she could forgive so could I.

Um, I'm not really mad about my past. I'm just tired of being asked to act like it didn't happen. It's really messing with me.

Well, Lisa and my mom have their bitterness towards men in common, and apparently last thanksgiving Lisa was listening to my mom a lot more closely than I was aware, as Mom sat at the dinner table over Thanksgiving and went on and on about how angry and disturbed I was.

So now they talk via cell phone behind my back. They'd made plans to bumrush me on Thanksgiving, but I found out about that. I won't be here. The reason for their ire? I'm back with Steve! I should be struggling on my own like them....to hell with how doing it on my own would affect my kid. I "coped"...so have other kids...so would my autistic son. But there not there as Little Man stares at Daddy out the window and freaks out when the bus takes him away.

But I'm supposed to make that a regular part of his life.

One day, when I was 14, I looked up a book on child abuse in my school library. I knew I was being abused. What I didn't know was that I was depressed and suicidal. Sure, I knew that I was sad and wanted to die, but I didn't know that these things had actual clinical terms. After reading this book, I went to the school guidance counselor, who recommended me to the school psychologist.

I've been in therapy for 16 years. It's the only place where I can talk about my reality.

That's all I really want, to say that it happened. I don't want to punish my mom (I want to move far away from her and not let her know where I'm going), I don't want to flay anyone.

I just want to be free to cry sometimes. That's all. I've held it in for 30 years. Do I have to wait until Mom's dead too to be able to speak freely?

I feel like every step I take is unsure. I never know when Mom is going to go whispering to her sisters, apparently my brother has chosen the side of abuse, he refuses to fully acknowledge what is going on. He wants me to "keep quiet". I'm sorry, but I must cry out.

Every day is like walking through a minefield in the world that includes my mom.

I want to be free. And I don't want the day of freedom to come when they bury her. That's too long to wait.

Married Life

2011-10-04T12:34:00.000-07:00

Well I can legitimately call it that now. I was not all that thrilled with the whole shacking up thing. But I also don't believe in walking away from beds that I've made. With that said, don't get the idea that I am unhappy.

What I am about to say is going to piss off a few folks, but all I have to say to that is this: I've been very sick for almost five years. There are some folks who have been very caught up in living their own lives, and I got tired of chasing you. On the 9th of September of this year, I became a married woman. I married my son's father for no reasons other than it was the right thing to do before God, it was the right thing to do for our son, and after much discussion during the times we did things together with the baby, we decided to work things out. If the decision I've made is one that you cannot understand, this is due to lack of information. There is one person who is trying to label me a liar right now because she felt that an offer of help meant an opportunity to control. She got put in her place. I'm sorry, but I don't do clubs. Not even the Single Angry More Accomplished Than Men Yet Lonely club. Not to mention the hypocrisy of insisting that I waste my time in therapy with someone who had me mixing OTC meds in elementary, hoping they'd kill me and get me away from her....yet also insisting that conflict with a man is unacceptable. Mom can beat the shit out of you for years, lie to and about you, never tell you she loves you call you a whore, block your college education, tell people you gave her MRSA...and much more....but two fights that should not have but did include alcohol, mixed in with crushing poverty and babymamadrama....that's not acceptable. No, I should continue to stay under my mom's thumb.

Okay....

You know, there was once a time when I wished for nothing more than my parents to get back together. Their actions that led up to their divorce crushed me, and the years of being slapped, kicked, beaten, scoffed at and called names by a woman who STILL HAS NOT MOVED ON, almost killed me. 25 years of depression, 10 struggling with thoughts of suicide...was that fair to me?

All too often people go into marriage blind. Oh, you love this person....beautiful happy ending. You're so caught up in the fact that the ceremony went off without a hitch, that you aren't hearing the promises that you are making.

Well....Steve and I lived out those vows for 3.5 years before we said them.

Wanna know my rationale behind becoming Mrs. Krzewski? Some simple math.

Number of days Steve has been in my life: 1330

Number of times that I have seen the interior of a hospital since my stroke, not counting Steven's birth: 125+

Number of times Steve has been at that hospital with me: 60+

Number of times my Mom has bothered: 10?

Number of times she complained about the inconvenience: 10!

Subtract Mom and Steve's visits from the number of times I've had to go to get the number I went alone....amd note that many of these happened either before I met Steve, or after the baby was born.

Number of times friends/family were there with me during this mess: 5-

Number of points of contention between me and Steve to begin with: 4

Number to date: 2

Number of huge arguments: 2 (That does not diminish the intensity of them)

Number of times a week someone calls to simply say "how are you?" ....

While everyone with the negative opinion is shaking their heads, Steve and I still have a small child to think about.

Sometimes you grow up instead of grow apart, with only that poor child between you, feeling like they have to choose each time they love one of you because neither would suck it up and move forward.

Is everything "all better" now? HELL NO! But it's closer to that point than it's ever been. Add to that the happy, giggly little boy who snuggles between his parents the few times we do have to spend together. I'm not killing his happiness. He has enough disadvantages to worry with, I'm not adding parental drama to it.

Right now, Steve and I are working on building a future for Little Man. We're also getting to know each other for real this time. If that is wrong, neither of us want to be right.

Kissy Kissy

2011-09-26T12:23:00.000-07:00

18 months ago, the picture below was not reality.

But now my son hangs on my neck, makes sure he's touching me before he goes to sleep at night, and kisses my forehead at least once a day.

When he's not getting into stuff. *laughing*

Like he is right now.

Will blog longer another time. Like when he's asleep.

A Grain of Sand on Life's Beach/Feeling Insignificant

2011-09-23T17:52:00.000-07:00

I've always hoped that someday my name would be in lights of some sort, as a way to make up for all of the abuse and disregard I have endured in my life. I want all the people who have teased me, misjudged me, abused me and rejected me to look up and see what an awesome person I am.

Totally unrealistic, right?

Not to mention, it smacks of pride.

Every now and again I search out certain peers from my school days online, just to see how they are doing. I think I'm beginning to see the flaw in my thinking. I always search out the ones I envied to begin with, and with my life it's not hard to see people that you wish you could be. Few of my peers have seen the days I have. They've known the love and support of their parents, if not their whole families. People just don't realize what a platform to success that is. Unless you are a complete and utter brat, if you are loved and the people who love you point you in positive directions, you will fly somewhere.

Me, nobody bothered much with me. I can't say that no one taught me anything, because I did learn by observation, and by cause and effect, but I have rarely known someone I could call a mentor. I've had a few women in my life who took the time out to talk to me, and I will always be grateful for that...but I have been no one's apprentice. I miss having someone to look up to.

Tonight I realize that I need to get over my approval addiction. My purpose in life has nothing to do with the approval of others (in fact, I'll probably end up upsetting the apple cart many a time). So some of my peers lead these interesting, shining lives. My life is book-worthy, and one day I'll birth that book. I wasn't meant to be a singer. At least I don't think I was. That doesn't mean I won't ever lift my voice, but if I were supposed to devote my life to it, I think more opportunities would have come through by now. I'll leave that spotlight for my best friend.

I do know that one thing I am supposed to do is live my life as an example of the goodness of God, and to talk about/teach that goodness to others. I'm only 30, so I have a ways to go before anyone will listen to me. But meanwhile, I think if I can just focus on the future and keep moving, I won't get so disappointed and sad when someone else once again lives out one of my long-buried dreams. It really doesn't matter in the long-term scheme of things.

So I see other people doing great things. I try to do something great each day. What's important is not that a great number of people see, rather that the people closest to me benefit by it....and that God sees.

For a second there, I allowed myself to feel really small. But then I looked at the picture below and realized what a superwoman I truly am.

Life on the Spectrum...

2011-09-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

I'll never forget that day when the doctor told me that Steven needed to be evaluated for Autism. I'd always felt that something wasn't quite right about his development, but that term was very new to me.

Since that day almost a year-and-a-half ago, life has been very eventful. Steven has been evaluated by the county for services, and he received some help from them, but both Daddy and I were very lukewarm about the progress we saw. At times I thought that Steven hated his speech therapist. I'm sure she wasn't too pleased at having to come to our house. But she was an angel to him, and for that I am grateful. He had a few weeks of behavioral therapy, but his therapist took ill, and that was put on hold.

I have higher hopes for school. Steven does much more when other kids are around. He's even eating school lunch. It's pummeling through his digestive system, but he'll get used to it. I just have to make sure he doesn't squat on the floor. That was somewhat okay when I was dealing with dry dingleberries. But anything mushy....hell no.

Speaking of poop...yeah, that's a new part of life on the Autism Spectrum for me. My son is a sensory seeking child, so anything that feels different or new...he's attracted to. Apparently that includes sticking his finger up his butt and plucking out turds. It used to be that he'd just "clean out his diaper himself" if I didn't smell him in time, but for a minute there, he would poop in the tub. Oh....my....gosh. He's pretty much over that part (I monitor him closely), but he still likes to poop and paint if you don't watch him. Not to mention, he's gotten used to doing the little toddler squat, and has to use different muscles to sit on the pot. So sometimes he will get up and use the floor. Did I just write a paragraph about my son's bowel movements? Dude.

Steven's still not saying much, but he will mimic. It's kind of garbled, but enough to make you turn your head and ask yourself if he said what you thought he said. He's not as frustrated lately when it comes to communication, perhaps I'm reading his cues better. Steven has many ways to let us know what he wants. Among them are:

-Covering his eyes to let you know he's feeling shy (new)

-Plugging his ears to let you know he doesn't like a sound (somewhat new)

-Pulling his high chair into the kitchen and climbing into it when he's hungry (not new)

-Yelling the moment he sees his milk or juice (LOL, since birth)

-Various facial expressions

-Sqatting in the corner when he has to go potty

When I write about these things, it's amazing how far he has come. I was reading his IEP the other day (Individualized Education Plan), and it made me smile, how the person who wrote his IEP took pains to emphasize his character. My son may be autistic, he may not talk, but he's very affectionate to those he trusts, clever (now, if he poops in the tub he hides it under the bath mat), and stubborn. I don't think I could have him any other way than who he is, and if that means him being autistic, then so be it.

However, dealing with the people who don't understand is hard. I'm grateful that his dad is paying attention, that the paternal grandparents are as well, and for his teachers. Not to mention the mothers I know with kids on the spectrum, and his old daycare provider. Because it takes a lot of self-control not to punch someone when I'm in a loud, populated place and my kid is screaming and stimming because he's scared...and someone comes up to me and tells me to spank him. Wow. How about I just smack you?

I discipline my child, but only when I can clearly see on his face that he knows he's into something he should not be. Other than that, I must leave room for where he is right now.

I'm used to the midnight diaper changes, I'm used to the night terrors which seem to scare us more than they do him. I'm used to being awakened at dawn. I think I might be falling in stride with this thing. My fellow autism moms said it would start to get easier. I'm beginning to think they might be right. Steven likes his routine...and so do I. :-)

Steven and Preschool....

2011-09-21T07:31:00.000-07:00

So my son has started preschool. Um, this day came waaaaaay to early for me. Steven isn't even three yet, and yet every day I get him up, make him eat breakfast, put him on the potty (and pray he stays there, not to mention keeps his aim straight), get him dressed, and off we go to wait for his bus. Below is a picture of Steven on the second week of school.

The first week was definitely an adventure. I was happy to see the beginning of the school year because it meant a break for me. Steven stopped going to daycare back during the summer, when Steve and I split. I was still very ill then, and barely able to keep up with him. These few hours of quiet I get each day, I truly treasure. I wasn't sure how I'd feel the first day of school (hell, Big Steve was in mourning), but I actually did pretty well. I didn't cry. Everyone said I was going to cry, but I was more proud than anything. It's been quite a journey, navigating Steven's developmental delays.

As time passes, I can read his cues better, and so can his father. Yes, Steve is still in our lives. Another blog for another time, but I quickly came to the conclusion that my son wanted him around. Steven is deliriously happy when both his parents are in the same place. He's also more bratty, but at least he's tag-teamed. The boy is quick, he can toss a chicken nugget and flee before you have a chance to go get it. Very scary for me, as I've discovered that more than half of all autistic kids bolt from safe places. No wonder my son wants to play in the street ALL THE DAMN TIME.

Well, the first day of school rolls around, and everyone in the house was excited. Big Steve and I had agreed that we would both take him his first day, so Big Steve came from Maryland and stayed here for the weekend. Don't even begin to think that things are not tense with that situation, even though Big Steve and I are getting along a lot better.

I found out the Friday before school starts that my son is not on the bus route. Transportation says there's nothing they can (will) do, and that it'll take a week to straighten out. So Steven got a ride from Grandma for the first week. The first day Steve and I took him, but for the rest of the week he was chauffeured.

Onto the actual first day...

Steven's preschool is actually a special-needs preschool. The school has an actual preschool autism class, but since Steven has not yet gotten his full diagnosis, and seems to be fairly high-functioning, he was put in the basic special needs class. Steven's biggest hurdle right now is communication. He will not sign and he does not talk. But he does have his ways of letting you know what he needs. Like sitting on you when he poops (or squatting in a corner), or pulling his high chair into the kitchen when he's hungry. He yells a lot to get his point across as well. We're still getting used to that.

My mother and I took Steven with us to the preschool open house that was a week before school opened, and Steven seemed to like his classroom. It is a beautiful, bright airy space full of things for little kids to do. He's one of the youngest in his class. He will probably have to repeat this class next year, or an equivalent to it, based on the school district wherever we move to.

Little Man was definitely excited about his first day. I got him up, dressed, got myself dressed, and Steve was already downstairs looking sad. I felt bad for him. He didn't get to see his daughters go to school for the first time because he was deployed. So I think the day was harder for him than it was for me.

We ended up getting to the school a half our early, because the principal sent out an email saying school starts at nine. She didn't make a distinction between K-6 and the preschoolers. The preschoolers start twenty minutes later. I found out why the hard way.

The noise of all the bigger kids terrified Steven. So we had a half hour of him fussing and trying to escape before it was time for him to go back in his classroom. Personally, I intend to be a responsible and involved parent, but I don't want to be a helicopter mom, either. So Steve and I probably did the wrong thing the first day, and left him a bit too early. The teacher said Steven settled down and was fine after an hour, but I think it really scared him to be left in the lobby of the school the first day. He even punched a teacher's aide. I didn't find that out until the end of the week, one of the moms whose kids went to Steven's daycare told me. The aide was holding him, and my son is strong. I think the aide underestimated just how strong.

Subsequent days were easier, with the exception of one Monday. He did throw up on his teacher, and she called to ask me if that was normal, I told her yes. At Steven's preschool, the kids are not required to be potty-trained, so we have to include diapers and a change of clothes in his backpack. I count it a good day when he comes home with the same clothes on that I put him in that morning.

These days he stamps in anticipation of the bus, jumps off the bus in the afternoons when I get him off, and his teacher sends home daily reports of what he does. It's so cute to think of my little guy as the weather helper, or the line helper.

Steven will mimic you from time to time, and he does have some clever antics notched under his belt. I'll write about those another time. But when it comes to school....

So far so good.

More to come....

2011-09-20T17:54:00.000-07:00

Steven has started preschool...

Follow me on my adventures with taking my autistic kid into loud, busy public places...

Some relationships have died out, while others have resurrected....

I LOVE EPILEPSY!!! (NOT)

Time to return to school.

A move in the future (out of state)?

Babymamadrama...and I'm not causing it. LOL

Tune in...once I get to a computer. I'm posting from my nook.

Yeah, I wait to long to post.

Rejected by Humans, but Chosen By God

2011-07-26T17:31:00.001-07:00

1 Peter 2:4-5

New International Version (NIV)

The Living Stone and a Chosen People

4 As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him— 5 you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house[a] to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

As time has passed, I've come to hold the belief that God sees everything, and there are certain people who are going to be disgusted with me no matter what I do, so I prefer to be transparent. I'm gonna be me, and if you don't like that, then there's one less person for me to worry about. I can multitask, but not with humans.

I'm seizing so bad right now, that I can't even remember where I found this scripture (my seizures affect my short-term memory...which sucked at my last job, because I kept having to ask for directions over and over again, had no idea what was going on then). But I'm grateful for it. Rejected by humans, but chosen by God. No, I don't have a cape with a special emblem on it, but my life has purpose. I just have to remember that.

Let that buoy me up when certain people feel they cannot even look my way. Partially becaused I asked them to stop abusing people who couldn't defend themselves (love you, grandma), and partially because gossip must be like nectar to them. Lately I'm a homewrecker, I was saved from a horrible situation, only to come in and split up a marriage by walking around scantily clothed through the house. Um...I don't even know what to say to that.

It hurt when I reached out to help yet again today, and was treated like I had leprosy. I haven't done anything to these people other than speak the truth and stand up for someone else, goodness, I haven't even stood up for myself. I'm tired of people who share a bloodline with me treating me like I am the most reprehensible person alive. I'm not guilty of the crimes they think I am. Now I know why they despise me so much, as things bubble to the surface, it just amazes and dismays me even more. What's worse, one of them seems to think my son's condition is a divine judgment. *biting my tongue* No, he's a blessing. A fatiguing blessing, but a blessing, dangit.

But no matter what, no matter what is said, no matter who rejects me, there is One that will never stop loving me. And for that I am grateful. I'm also grateful for ALL of the people He has brought into my life, who may not share a bloodline with me, but who love me like I'm family. To me there is a difference between family and relatives. Family...thank you for doing what some of my relatives don't seem to want to. Your love means a great deal to me. Especially now.

Three Mile Island

2011-07-25T16:27:00.000-07:00

I wonder how long it will take for me to completely melt down.

I love my son to distraction, I'd die without him, but honestly doing this by myself, and knowing as little as I do about autism is hard. Some of my family think it's something you "grow out of". My mom is morbidly amused by my struggles. I have a kid in his terrible twos, who cannot communicate to me AT ALL what it is that he needs and wants. Not to mention, I'm like crack to him, if he doesn't have a good dose of his mama every hour, he practically becomes catatonic. I'm the type of person who needs an hour of peace every night. And sleep doesn't count.

My friend Lisa has offered to come and spend time with him a couple of times a week. Though it's terribly difficult for me to accept help from others (those who were supposed to help me just made me feel worthless for having needs), I know that if I don't take her up on her offer, I may do something I regret. My son is like a cheese grater to my nerves right now. And it's not his fault, he is doing what his little soul and brain compel him to do, I have to keep that in mind. But when I'm trying to take care of normal bodily functions in peace, or even take a bath, and I can't do that by myself because my mom feels that watching him for five minutes is raising him, and again, I am my son's addiction....it gets hard.

I'm trying not to be bitter. I feel like coming back to my mom's house brought me full circle, only the circle was standing on its end, and I only went up to come back down. I told myself when I left here, I'd go into a shelter before I came back here. Well, Steven and I are family number 80. We were family number 93 last week. So at least there's progress there. Still, what is this house, but a gilded cage? Yes, there's money here, but money is as valuable to me as paper currency during the Second Coming. It's the support that's gold to me. I've learned to make do and be satisfied with very little materially...it's the things you can't buy that I hoard, because they come so few and far between.

My spirit is raw. I cannot concentrate on anything but my child when he's with me. If I don't keep constant vigil, he will be into something that is likely to kill him. There is no time to do anything other than read casually, and even that is sporadic. I used to be able to read a 600-page book in a day. School was a piece of cake. I need to go back to school. I only have two more years, and if I'm to be doing this by myself, I'm going to need a degree. Perhaps I'll double major. I want to keep my Christian Studies major, but now Early Childhood Education with an emphasis on Special Education is pulling me in that direction. Perhaps my child won't baffle me so much if I continue my studies through studying him.

Still, it's hard. Every time I smell that he's done #2, I pray that there's no poo on his fingers or elsewhere. I feel myself trying not to cry. I have to somehow overcome personality traits imbedded in me for years (I do not like to be touched when asleep...Steven needs to touch me at night for reassurance), so that my son doesn't feel any more lost than he probably already does.

I'm trying not to resent his father, but at least once a day I hate that man. Did I deserve to be lied to, to have every holiday ruined because someone else mistreated him? Did I deserve the ire of his mother, who seems to think I poured the alcohol down his throat? Did I deserve to have my life threatened? Do I deserve the daily contact, the inappropriate comments, the denial on his part? In his eyes, it's like none of that ever happened. There are no holes in the doors and walls of our old apartment. My son has never been witness to any fights. The reason why we split in his eyes is because we didn't have enough money to stay on our apartment. Perhaps had I not been as stressed, I would have been able to work. There were times when my health allowed me, but more often than not the stress overwhelmed me, and I remained bedridden. That's not an option now.

Still, had I stuck to what I knew was right, I wouldn't be in this situation....but neither would I have my son, and that child is honestly what's kept me alive the past 3.5 years. God took my mess and fashioned a miracle out of it. I would not be here if it were not for him. My family walked out on me for good when I got sick. With each new development in the saga that is our family dysfunction, I see more and more why they hate me. My son gave me love. He gave me a whole lot of need at first, but when I met that need, he looked at me one day and gave me love. You can't replace that. Every time I go into the hospital I worry about him. I keep avoiding the MRI I know I need to get, because there probably is a lesion on my brain....obviously not cancerous, but 2 weeks in the hospital....who would take care of him? No one knows him like I do, no one has tried. They can't feed him, they don't know his cues, and they definitely won't put up with being up half the night changing and soothing him. Perhaps Lisa would, but that day is going to have to be a long way off for now. I'll stick with the silent seizures. But if a Grand Mal one hits, I have no choice. It just sucks that the only hospital that can help me is 20 miles from my child.

The past two weeks have been especially hard, and I sadly admit I have not been the best Mom I could be. My patience has holes in it, and my son keeps sticking his fingers in them. I wrote a blog weeks ago that compared my situation to that in Matthew 25, and my son was "the least of these". I'm ashamed to say I have not been very kind to my Savior as of late. I just feel so lonely, so isolated. My family is not there, the two women I know who have raised kids on the Autism Spectrum live a ways away. My brother is the only relative I speak to candidly, and even he doesn't understand. Steven's father looks at him like he's a trophy. Many people think my kid is a toy, because he's so cute. He does this Puss In Boots thing with his eyes, they get big and change color when he's whining to get his way. I've noticed that of late. It's kryptonite to me.

Lord, take the scales off my eyes before I turn into my mother. I got beaten like a slave for things I could not help. My son can't help how he sees the world, and that will always be, no matter how tired or sick I may be. Not all of his antics are intentional. And he does see some value in me, even though I feel like the Abominable Snow Woman right about now. He just came in and gave me a kiss. Progress in and of itself from a child who used to not notice the presence of other people.

Somehow, I've got to find a way to gain peace in this storm. For his sake more than mine.

Now it's time to put him to bed. He just found another rubber tip to the door stoppers in the house, and was eating it. I think he's trying to tell me he's sleepy. :-) Heaven help me.

Disappointment/A Ship in the Fog

2011-06-26T12:52:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been three weeks that I've been at my Mother's house. It hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be, I've achieved early on a lot of the things that I needed to do in order to get the necessary assistance to keep Steven's therapy going, us fed, and the other things in order that we will need. Eventually we will probably need to go into a shelter, but that is further down the line, and I will know more of what the Lord expects of me at that time. I try not to let the fear of the future eat me alive; I pray when I get anxious.

Perhaps it's not the best quality to have, perhaps it will end up causing me a lot of grief, but I honestly try to be a fair woman. Despite my differences with Steve, and even my fear of the man, I sense somewhere deep inside me that he does love his son, and have let him keep him the past two weekends with the condition that he would not drink. As of this moment, after looking at what was our bank account (I still have access), I'm not sure if he kept his promise. I have to admit that I'm very disappointed at that, but at the same time resigned. If this man has indeed lied to me, and if all that he has been telling me about wanting to heal has simply been words to lure me, then he is indeed as sick and demented as I have feared, and I must let him go. I trust that God will provide me with the strength to raise my son alone, He has already provided me with many resources to help Steven with his developmental delays, and for these things and people I am grateful. They are a huge help. This week I have felt an increase in my strength, and perhaps that is due to the lessening of stress in my life. Perhaps I won't have to go on disability, perhaps I will be able to work. Who knows? We shall see. Whatever the situation, I know it will work out.

Steve is vacating our old apartment and moving home to his parents. They now hate me, as does his wife (he's STILL not divorced, the date that he was to have his final decree was the date I had a seizure and had to go to the hospital...and he hasn't bothered to schedule another...or even save for the fee), and probably his daughters do too. Outside of the abuse that I've had to endure due to his frustration over his life and issues, the fact that these people show me such animosity over things that I just got caught up in but did not cause is a huge reason why I cannot continue a relationship with Steve. It doesn't matter how much we could be in love, I'd still have to deal with all of them. And their poison would spill over into our home life. I cannot do that to my son.

I know that when Steve moves home to his parents, his sense of worthlessness and victimization will increase, and his mother (who is his enabler) will help to exacerbate that, but she doesn't want to admit that she is the main reason why her son started drinking at 15. Rather, she will continue to blame the black women that her son is attracted to (the opposite of her). I told him to remember that the main reason why we moved in together in such haste (despite my misgivings) was because she was going to "drive him to the shelter" 3-and-a-half years ago. I told him to keep that in mind when she was trashing me over dinner. And to remember that my son would never set foot in that house again. I wouldn't put kidnapping past that old biddy.

I don't know what the future holds for him, I don't know what the future holds for me. But what I do know, is that while the seas may get rough for me and Little Man, I have my faith to steer my ship. Steve has no such thing and no willingness to develop such a thing. He has no desire to change his thought patterns, no desire to examine his life. I fear that in a year's time, he will either be in jail because he failed to complete the terms of his probation (and that will be my fault...after all I should never have called the cops after the first death threat, how dare I?), or he will be barely hanging on, drinking himself numb at night. Either way, I cannot expose my son to that. I will not.

I know his illustrious mother will not understand this, but if she pushes me, I will make her understand that her son is the monster that she made, and that my son will grow up to be no such thing.

It's Over/New Beginnings

2011-06-20T10:37:00.001-07:00

I would say that I'm a single mother, but I think that I've been one for quite a long time now...at least since my son was two months old, and his father thought it was time for him to start sleeping through the night again.

Well, the fight that occurred over two weeks ago was the last one for me, and Fairfax County Police have failed to do their job for the last time, so Steven and I are refugees. I'm at my Mom's house, which is not where I want to be, but it's a necessary evil for now. Big Steve and I are on speaking terms, but that's just because I despise his wife and refuse to be like her, and am determined to be the bigger person, the Christian Woman that I've been suppressing through all of this, and a thorn in his mother's side (cow...excuse me, Lord...but she is a cow).

I warned Steve when he was pursuing me that I didn't think it wise to date because of my health, and he assured me that he would care for me. I was so lonely and scared that I fell for it. My family has not been there for me throughout any of this in any way, and I find my health faltering more and more as the years pass. Now I find out that I have a seizure disorder, just hauling my butt up and down the steps is hard, and I have to file for disability. I pray every day that it goes through this time. Please pray with me...if you pray. If not, just send some good vibes my way. I've been to the ER upwards of 100 times over the past four years, and it turns out every one of those visits minus about five were due to seizures. I've been hospitalized twice in the past two months alone because of it, this past month having blacked out for 3.5 hours straight. I can't keep going through this with a toddler.

I think all the lights went out in the proverbial house when Steve told me I was incapable. Hell no, I'm not. I'm stronger than people think I am. I showed my vulnerability because I thought it was okay to do so, but I've spent my entire life holding back tears, because I was raised around a person who beat weakness. She still feels that her problems are supreme, and though I don't take any more mess from her, I don't let her see my pain. I take my issues to God, and it's much more effective anyway. But he plucked my pride that day, standing there drunk telling me that the reason why he was throwing at tantrum was because he was so worried about me. Yeah. Whatever.

But honestly...I pity him. I may not have my life together the way I want it to, but at least I have the faith that I can get it there. I know things are going to work out. Steve does not have faith in anything. He speaks negativity into his life constantly, and doesn't understand why things suck so much for him. Not to mention his mom, she has contributed so much to his downfall. Yes, his wife cheated on him, stole his identity and brainwashed his kids, but join the single dad's club, dude! Men across America are going through the same thing, and they don't just lay down and take it. I'll never forget the night that Steve "told" me about his situation when we were first dating. We were in Outback Steakhouse. He said to me that he had daughters and asked me if I could handle that. It was 1.5 years into this mess before just about everything spilled out, and with each new revelation, more and more of his anger revealed itself too.

In all of my relationships with men, there has been some element of neglect, and recently abuse. I can't stand for that anymore. My dad didn't feel that it was necessary to be accountable to me, to show up when he said he would, to be honest with me, and ultimately to be there for me. I thought in my youth that I had to use my body to make a man love me. I had one man tell me that he couldn't be with me because I wasn't where he thought I should be in my career (ah, the look on his face when he saw me pregnant with my son...that was hilarious). And to be told by Steve that all I wanted to do was control him, and that to treat me decently would be to unman him. Well keep your manhood, dude.

I have a very long and difficult road ahead of me. I didn't want to come to my mother's house. But apparently in Fairfax County, the shelters have hours of operation, not to mention the cops are effing inept. And I told them that to their faces as they ejected me from MY HOUSE. "We can't make him leave because he's on the lease, but we would advise you to go, ma'am. For your safety." As I left, I told the cops that they were damn good at giving tickets, but absolutely useless at protecting women and children. And every time I see one of those blue cop cars with one of their arrogant occupants, I throw up in my mouth a little bit. I honestly do. From here, I will have to go into a shelter in order to get housing, because I will most likely be on disability before the end of the year. I simply cannot work right now. I am in constant pain, and have no energy whatsoever. My neurologist is tweaking my anti-seizure medication, and I have to get another MRI to determine whether or not I have a lesion on my brain. I shudder to think about the possibility of surgery.

Steven's life is a whole other story. He starts school in September to help him with his development. He won't even have turned three yet. He's talking a little bit more, but he's hesitant with it. He told me he loved me the other day, it had me on cloud nine all day. He has speech therapy now, and I have the county all in my business at this point with all the help I'm going to need to get on my own and keep services going for him. But for him I'd do anything.

Like I said earlier, his father and I are on speaking terms. I think deep inside Steve realizes that he and I are not compatible. He also realizes that he has problems. He also realizes that his life is messed up and needs fixing. I am hesitant, but I let him see his son. Partially because I need a break from time to time, but partially because I know that child is a lifeline for him. But I've made it clear that if he drinks around him I'll paint the walls of that apartment with his blood. I think he believes me. Steve accepts that I will call several times a day and that I demand pictures and updates by text until my trust is established, and it does help that the baby is five minutes away. Still, this past weekend was the first weekend Steve kept him, and I cried and prayed the whole time. But baby came home happy and none the worse for wear. When I dropped him off, he ran into the house, the place he's known as home since birth and didn't even notice me leave. When Steve dropped him off he squealed at delight over seeing me. I feel like Little Man's parents need to love him more than they may dislike each other, and distance definitely deflates animosity. Actually, I pity Steve when I don't have to live with him. Living with him breeds hatred. Probably on both sides.

Living with Steve I had expectations, and Steve probably felt like he could never meet them. Not to mention, we had nothing in common, and I'm sure Steve felt intimidated by my intellect. Most people do, and I refuse to "dumb down" to make someone feel comfortable. I'm not arrogant, but forgive me if I like Tudor history, it's what I like. Leave me to my Renaissance fair, and you stick to TruTV. You like what you like, and I like what I like. Whatever.

It was honestly getting to the point where I was thinking that the only thing we had going for ourselves was that we could settle our debt, have a small wedding, and buy a house so he could be on one level, I could be on another, and our son could float between. What type of life is that? And every time we argued, Steven would start stimming so badly. He doesn't do that so much anymore, he's so happy. The joy of my son is the greatest reward of the past few weeks, no matter how afraid I may feel.

One immediate benefit of all of this is that I gain my spiritual life back. I don't intend to jump back into dating any time soon, but I've learned a lot in the past three years. I see now why you seek out people who share your beliefs and outlook on life. I found myself making so many concessions over the years until I suddenly didn't know who I was, I was angry and had lost track of all my interests and dreams. Strangely enough, I had written a song (first time since my father had died) that turned out to be prophetic in nature. Just a few days before my split with Steve. I thought it had nothing to do with us, but the lyrics rang true. It's called "Why Are You Hanging Around?" I was so thrilled that my muse had returned, not knowing what else was coming.

I look forward to the future. Of course I'm scared, but I want to return to who I was before all this happened. I want to be the mother my son deserves, and I want to be true to myself as well. I know that everything will work out, and though sometimes the feelings of fear and loneliness may overwhelm, I know they are temporary. I just pray on it and move on. Because nothing is worse than being stuck in that situation. I thought I was supposed to stay for my son, I went back for my son, after climbing out of the bedroom window at midnight with him in my arms. I think part of Steve thinks that this whole situation is just a repetition of last year, but he is wrong. I am done. I hope it sinks in gently for him, because one slip up and he will never see his son again. I don't want to be harsh, but I must protect my boy. HE is the most important thing now. I have to preserve my life and health for him, but it is his future that matters.

Back to Square One

2011-05-09T06:27:00.000-07:00

I can't say I'm mad though...

I guess this is the way my life is supposed to be, and I kind of want it to be that way. I want to be able to help support my family financially, but given my health problems and the outlook it's given me I'm dead set against working myself into an early grave to get rich. All I want is a house big enough for us to be comfortable in, a car that runs decently, and no debt. I do not want the current American Dream of flashy things that keep you up at night worrying about how you're going to pay for them. I don't want to leave my son that legacy. Especially if his autism is such that he will be considered disabled.

Here's the short story. I've lost two jobs in 3 months due to being sick. What ticks me off the most is that the health problems come from a stroke I had on the job. I won't get into all the shady stuff this job did outside of harassing me in the hospital (they even called to see if the hospital had a notary, demanding I somehow get out of my bed and to that notary so I could get a notarized document in order for my mom to pick up my check...I'm calling the Dept. of Labor on them this week...not to mention all their paychecks are post-dated), and refusing to give me my check once I did get there (I ended up getting discharged last friday).

I'm tired of being treated like a machine. If I were in ideal health, it wouldn't be a problem. Our Nation is used to running 50+ hours a week on "E". But after the 12 hours of running around for someone else, I have no time for my child or my home, and my child needs me. And eventually my relationship with Steve will be beyond repair if we don't find time for one another. And what about my spiritual life? What good does it do me if I'm too tired to crack open my scriptures at the end of the day? What good is a hastily uttered prayer before I fall asleep? What type of walk is that?

My health is deteriorating. My migraines have changed; I've gotten used to being in constant pain and always tired. It's been this way for four years. Social Security told me "you just have headaches", and me not knowing how the system works, I didn't know to appeal. Not to mention I didn't have regular insurance so no doctor could track me. Now I do, and I've had plenty of tests, not to mention this recent hospitalization. But lately my body has just rebelled on me. I've been to the ER eight times since mid-March. The pain meds I take for my migraines are several times stronger than morphine, and that's on top of the blood-pressure pills, the migraine pills...I should be on blood thinners. I've had so many IVs it's insane. The people at INOVA think I'm an addict until they read my history.

I want to be able to do more than just function for someone else. I want to be able to keep my house clean, read to my son. I used to play the piano, study other languages. There was so much more for me out there. Even today I'm still tired, and I have a buttload of doctors appointments to schedule and attend. I can't do this while working. I missed two days of work and then got hospitalized, and my boss sent me an email from the "HR" account saying that I was never at work, I was disorganized, and that I wasn't asking for help. I told her in a nice way to take a hike. She is holding my final check (she wants me to come pick it up so that she and her husband can yell at me, her husband is a tool, he yelled at someone every single day), or else she wants to take $12 out of my check to send it certified mail. That's not going to happen. They're going to end up getting sued. It's illegal for you to do anything other than send me my money, check. I love this country, people get a little bit of power and they think they're kings. Well, unfortunately those checks and balances can weigh kinda heavily...it's going to be funny seeing how this pans out.

My condition is such that a rise in blood pressure could cause another stroke. I just can't deal with corporate politics. I would love to have a daycare, but I don't even have the energy anymore. Steven starts school in September, I want to be able to dedicate myself to him and his progress. And I've noticed over the past year that my short-term memory is leaving me. I don't know what this means for my college education. All I know is that I have to accept this change. At least Steve finally has. This issue has been a running one in our house for years.

So I submit myself to whatever is coming. Whatever that is...let it be, let it come. I don't want to be rich, I just want for there to be enough. And God has always supplied enough. We may not have a car right now, but we will in future. We aren't hungry, we can pay our rent. We have clothes we have more than most. So we'll see what happens next.

Steven

2011-01-27T08:04:00.000-08:00

Well Steven is two now. This picture was taken Christmas day, as he opened his presents. Well, we kind of opened them for him and had him look at them. He plays with pieces of them, he's into blocks and cars now; his grandparents got him a red tricycle now, and he loves that. He also likes to torture the new cat we have. Our cat is named Toby, and he's part-feral. Toby is a little bastard, he likes to poop on the floor right in front of his litter box if you don't give him a good rub-down the moment you come home. It irritates the heck out of Big Steve (not that I'm upset about that). And yes, I have somewhat reconciled with him, but that is another story for another time, and that could change any day now. That story is like one of those books that you have to choose the outcome of on every page. The endiing is different for everyone, and the ending is truly up to him, if he wants this that badly, then he needs to get in line with the Father's wishes and get his stuff in order. NOW.

But onto my son...my wonderful son.

Steven just turned two. His father and I got along long enough to give him a wonderful birthday party, we had it at Chuck-e-Cheese's. I will never go there again. Well, yes I will, but that was the longest 2.5 hours of my life. But my son was so overjoyed, so it was all good. He went home and fell out, and so did Mama.

We found out recently that my suspicions were well-founded, and that Steven does indeed show signs of Autism and Sensory Processing Disorder. Steven has had issues with food since birth. That kid threw up on me daily. Right now, he still has a limited diet that he will eat...well except for when he's at daycare; he's in love with his daycare provider, and you know what? That's okay. Due to his issues, I'm determined that he will have a group of people around him who not only love him but understand him, and she is one of those people. I am deeply grateful for her. She has become family.

Honestly, I have not had a chance to wish that Steven were a different child, he has always been who he is. I just want to make sure that we are prepared as parents to offer him the life he deserves. Occasionally I come across a child who is his age who is developing "on schedule", and it hurts a little bit, but I look at it this way: Steven was put in my life to give me purpose, a reason to live. I would not be here if it were not for him, as hard as it was to get him here, as much of a risk towards my life as it was to have him. He brings joy to every person who knows him. And ALL special needs children teach those who care for them to take nothing for granted. So I thank God for my child. Even when he's refusing to sleep at night, touching me with a slobber-drenched sock, or jumping on my head (his most favorite pastime). Steven does not know how to show excitement appropriately, so he just spazzes out. And no one makes him more excited than Mommy, I guess. So I must learn to endure it. :-)

Steve tells me that when he brings him home in the evenings, Steven takes a bottle, climbs on the bed, and surrounds himself in my pillows (because they smell like me). He also told me that he was in the car with him one day and a song called "A Song for Mama" came on, and Steven started singing along. That brought tears to my eyes, and when I hear it now, it brings tears to my eyes. He can't say much more than "Mama", but the fact that he recognizes that in a song and will sing along means so much to me.

Steven is only about 60% along to where he should be at his age, but we see progress every day. It's usually in the form of defiance, but it's still progress. Now that we know what the problem is, it's so much easier to approach him. Steven is a very bright, inquisitive, fast-paced little boy. He's just frustrated with the fact that his world does not seem to fit him right. I remember when his good pediatrician out at Kaiser (Steve's good gub'ment insurance) recommended that I have him screened for autism, I thought to myself, "how will other children treat him, will they pick on him?" I still have memories of how I was tormented as a child, and I will not tolerate that happening to my child. Goodness, some of the people I grew up with still had a healthy dose of disdain for me when they saw me at our ten year reunion. But they're buttwads anyways, and that's all they'll ever be. I asked a mommies group I'm part of what they thought, and one mother chimed in and said Steven would most likely be oblivious. And he is. For the most part, other kids don't exist to him until he's ready for them to. He will just ignore the crap out of you, and if you annoy him enough, he'll sock you one. So I think he'll be okay.

As far as his development goes, his speech is very limited, it dropped off at about the 18-month mark. Cognitively, I think he knows far more than we are aware, but since he does not talk, we cannot tell. He's very stubborn, so we have yet to learn just what he can do. But is participating more and more at daycare, so that is a positive sign. His therapy starts tomorrow, his therapist sounds like a really nice lady, and both Mommy and Daddy are excited. We will have to split the therapy sessions, because I'm working now. I got a temp-to-hire job out in Chantilly, and it pays really well. Today is a quiet day due to the weather, and so I decided to blog a little bit because it was long overdue.

Here's a picture Steven and I took at his birthday party. It was wonderful to see him so happy, and to see his eyes so clear. One of the things that I've noticed as his disorders have progressed is that a sort of film has dropped over his eyes, he's often off in his own world, and it makes me so sad. But occasionally you reach him, occasionally, he reaches out, and it's truly wonderful. I am so blessed in my little baby boy.

Refugees

2010-10-25T16:27:00.001-07:00

It's 7:30 in the evening, Steven and I are in our temporary home after a long day of police reports, baggage claims and car breakdowns on 495. I am frazzled and my son is confused, this is not his home and Mommy is not herself. He's been climbing on chairs all evening, and I was beginning to lose my patience and cave under the pressure when he made me laugh by eating a pizza roll. He's never eaten such a thing. When it comes to finger foods, he's always been a chicken nugget kinda guy. He's smearing the remains on the floor and he's due for a bath soon. So is the kitchen floor...tomorrow. Meanwhile a paper towel will have to do.

I never thought I'd be the victim of domestic violence. I never thought I'd be one to hit back. I was a timid child growing up, but the past three years have changed me dramatically. To be abandoned by family when my life was on the line, to be reduced to poverty with no end in sight and to be essentially lied to for the duration of my relationship with my son's father has made me someone that I do not want to be.

Steve is in what was once our home. I miss it somewhat, but I do not miss him. I am scared, where will we lay our head long-term? Steve was served with a protective order today, and he must have resisted arrest or tried to hide, because they booked him, took him to the jail and set him up for court. He wants me to plead on his behalf. I shall ask the judge to make him go to Alcoholics Anonymous and therapy. He's a broken man with a broken past, he put his hands on me and I fought back. I fled out of the bedroom window in the middle of the night, my sleeping son in my arms because the county police had failed me when they ordered me to let the man back in the house. There is no turning back now.

Steve loves his son, there is no doubt. And I do pity him. But he cannot be around my son in the mental state that he's in. Especially when he repeatedly threatened the life of his son's mother. No sir, you may not snap my neck. You may not get near enough to me to do so. Steve wants to see his son over the holidays, sure with supervision. I'm not trying to use my son as a chess pawn, this isn't about money. I want my son to lose that look of fear that's in his eyes every time my voice is raised. There was once a time when he paid me no attention at all. But now his gray/green eyes widen with fear, even though I'm just trying to peel him off the wall as usual. Ever since Saturday, Mommy's raised voice means danger. My son cannot talk but he knows how to hide.

I have no idea how to undo the damage except to keep him close to me. He sleeps by my side at night, and I try to keep his routine as familiar as possible; Mickey Mouse episodes all day, baths each night and books before bed. He sleeps curled up at my side and for the past few nights has not had any night terrors. It's a blessing, given the circumstances.

"Every Family Has It's Dysfunction..."

2010-09-20T05:06:00.001-07:00

Yeah, but the mentality of my mom's family is back in the turn-of-the last century. Seriously.

I don't live life relying on horoscopes, but one in particular (which always seems to have an antecdote to think about) said that with regards to my family, something may have to be torn down in order to be re-built properly. That's basic spiritual thought; most of us have constructed our lives based on false assumptions, and sometimes outright lies. It may not be totally our fault, but if you find that life is not working out the way you would like, and you yearn for better, you might actually have to tear down some constructs in order to create better ones.

That is happening in my family right now.

My generation has known for years that my mom's generation has some issues. The women all despise my grandmother for some reason, I thought for a moment that they were going to actually examine this, but in light of recent events, I see that is not going to happen. It has gotten so bad that they are abusing my elderly grandmother. They do really well with getting her to her doctor's appointments, but when it comes to the emotional quality of her life, they suck.

They refuse to let her go to church, or even to Wal-mart. My aunt, whom my grandmother lives with refuses to put a chair lift in so my grandmother can get up and down the stairs, because she doesn't want to "ruin her decor". So my grandmother crawls backwards down about 30 steps each day to get to the main level. There are no full baths on the main level, so she would either have to sleep in the basement or on the top floor, but all in all that 8,000 square foot house is not handicap accessible. And that's going to have to change, because it was this particular aunt who swore that my grandmother (and her baby sister who has her own set of insecurities and issues) belonged with her. Well, fast forward 6 years or so, and everyone is burned out and my grandmother is a "problem". They don't even have a legitimate home health aide in there who can assist my grandmother properly, it's my rich aunt's personal assistant. I tell you, all of this is going to change.

The real problem is that no one is listening to my grandmother. They're all so angry about their childhoods...which took place 50 years ago! They talk to Grandma like she's a child...or worse, they call her outside her name. They tell her to her face that they don't care what she wants or wishes, and accuse each other of taking Grandma's money while they do it themselves. All the while insisting that the nieces and nephews respect and revere them...and ignore the pasts of child abuse, deliberate lack of education (and insistence on lack of education for their kids), and drug use. It's time for the madness to stop, I say!

Well it's all definitly coming to a stop, because I called the authorities on them. My cousin and I have each filed separate complaints with the county Adult Protective Services division. And we'll be going to get my grandmother on Thursday so she can spend the week away from that gilded prison (and go to church, the one thing that brings her joy)...and unfortunately we'll have to go with police escort. My wealthy and snobbish aunt complains that no one comes to see her mother, but she doesn't realize that we're all tired of being treated like puppies on a white carpet. Don't touch this, don't chip that. I tell her every chance I can that her material things do not impress me.

I wrote a plea to my mother and the two aunts who can actually turn on a computer and asked them to seek counseling or mediation as sisters, so they could address the emotional issues they have with my grandmother, and ultimately treat her better than they have been. Typical behavior continues, blaming everyone but onesself, refusing to seek help. My wealthy aunt and the youngest aunt decided to insult my intelligence by telling me that I'm lying about things people have born witness to. So I let them both have it. The family is shocked, once again I'm crazy (sometimes I wish I had never said I was in therapy, if they hadn't have heard that, they probably wouldn't be calling me that). But I'm not the one abusing my elderly mother.

When I was a child, before I could even read, I asked my mother for my birth certificate. I swore up and down I was adopted. I still feel that way, honestly. These people do not act the way I feel a family should act. And I'm ultimately tired of it. I'm tired of being seen as wrong because I want to do what's right. I'm tired of the fickle behavior, you agree with me to my face and then you go back and agree with someone else to their face.

This is going to get ugly, but I hope that out of all of this, some healing can come. My grandmother may have made some mistakes, but she's an old woman now. None of the women in my mom's family who have kids want their children to abandon or abuse them, so they need to think about that when they do things that hurt and dismay their mother.

Prison Break...Or Not

2010-09-13T13:45:00.000-07:00

Life is a daily lesson. I feel like each day that I get out of bed, I'm learning one hard lesson or another. For a minute, life kind of calmed down. New lesson learned: it can't always be that way.

Steven is growing like a weed. He climbs things like he's a little primate. Every door he closes, he reaches for the little lock on the knob. I've sat in rooms where he's reached up for the door handle and let himself out, only to run down the hall and away from me. Note to self: do not take him to the OB/GYN (he usually goes with me to my doctor's visits). It would be very hard to get off that table to get my son. Ha!

I cut his hair on Saturday. His fro has been getting out of control. It used to look like this:

Now it looks like this:

It's a lot easier to comb now, but I do miss his Kramer fro. It was unique...even if it couldn't be styled. Oh well, when his hair grows out, it'll grow out evenly this time. That is, if he doesn't try to mop the floor with his forehead again.

Labor Day weekend we went down to Ladysmith to my parents' "summer house". Man, it's peaceful down there. And we needed the vacation. Hopefully one day we'll actually be able to go out of state on vacation. I have a feeling we will. Steve and I have plans, it's just implementing them that can be hard sometimes.

We enjoyed a nice, quiet, long weekend just outside of Richmond. Traffic going south on 95 wasn't that bad, and we got to chill out and have fun. Little Man ran through the whole house, Steve got to relax, and I got to read and scrapbook. We even took Little Man swimming down at the lake. They have a nice beach there, and he liked it so much we took him twice. It felt so good, watching him run up and down the beach, screaming with joy. He even stopped to "talk" to people. Well, he would just pick out a cute woman and go sit in her lap. Folks were totally enamored of him.

Daddy and Little Man waiting for Mommy and Grandparents to get back from the store in Ladysmith.

My little Beach Baby!

We all had so much fun...

We came back Monday afternoon, and it wasn't too much longer before reality set in. By Wednesday my landlord was trying to evict us over $53 dollars, an amount we didn't dispute, but an amount that should have been paid back in July. All I wanted to know was, firstly what the fee was, and when they finally told me, why it wasn't charged back in July. Their bookkeeper made a mistake, and rather than admit that, she and her managers chose to be degrading.

They've been a bit upset with me, because I keep pointing out that they use "the increasing cost of goods and services" as their excuse to raise the rent, but if you are an old tenant, your apartment just gets shabbier and shabbier. Because the problems are not ones that endanger health and saftey (by their standards...my son can get into the hall closet, climb the shelves, and get to the medicine if he doesn't fall first because the door is broken!), they do not get addressed. It is at the point now where it would be cheaper to pay a mortgage and the bills that come with it than to pay rent. I've actually found houses that are twice as large as our apartment for half the price. Now if only we could get a home loan. It'll happen. God is preparing the perfect house for us. I feel that within myself.

This past week has been extremely stressful for me. I'm beginning to understand just what type of caste system really exists in this country. Many of those who have money choose to look down on those who don't. The poor are "lazy", "ignorant", or just looking for a handout. We're all uneducated, we all choose not to better ourselves. I fully understand that poverty in the United States is nothing like poverty in other countries. For that I am truly grateful. But that doesn't mean that it's not hard.

Obviously I can get in contact with others via the internet. We pay our bills, we used part of our school refund check to get a better computer, as both Steve and I study online (and I've finally narrowed down the concentration within my major, more on that later). We pay the rent. We manage to feed ourselves and clothe little man. Clothing for the big people only comes when something has completely worn out, or the money fairy pays us a visit (perhaps once a year). Wal-mart is my best friend. I'm so psyched that they're building a Super Wal-Mart down the street, I LOOOOVE their grocery store. I doubt I'll shop anywhere else. I'm all about saving what pennies we have. :-)

Still...it hits home at least once a day what we can't do, especially for Little Man because we are considered "under the poverty level". We do our best to be resourceful, I give thanks for our blessings, but it is still hard. I sometimes feel like we just can't stretch our resources any further, and wonder just what we did wrong in this situation. Maybe we did nothing wrong.

But I see more clearly how the poor are viewed, now that we are considered that. At the same time, I realize the blessing of being considered "poor" in America. That's rich somewhere else. I remind myself of that when my friends are travelling the globe and wearing nice things. My son is happy. He has no idea what his parents are going through. He has his needs met. Heck, he dresses better than we do, and I see nothing wrong with that. Those $4 tops and bottoms at Target are cute! We find ways to go and do things as a family that don't break the bank. We eat well, even if it's the same thing every month. At least we can afford to get fat. The boy never runs out of his whole milk, and there are plenty of diapers for him to pee through (and boy does he). Whenever we can get away and the Green Goblin (our car) can get us going South, there's always Mom's place. Scrapbooking isn't that expensive. We've learned to want less.

Still, we look forward to the day when we can own our own home. Steve qualifies for a VA home loan. We're looking but we can't buy yet. Still....one day, my son will have a backyard to play in, and any sisters or brothers he might have coming after him will have a room of their own. If something breaks, we'll be able to fix it.

I'm dreaming of that white picket (or chain link) fence.

A Day At The Zoo...and the Day After, Too

2010-08-10T12:24:00.000-07:00

I took Little Man to the Zoo yesterday. I doubt he looked at a single animal, but I felt like a good Mommy taking him, anyway. Off to the Soft Playroom later this week. I've been taking some new vitamins, and they actually work. I haven't had this much energy in years. Not on consecutive days and without energy drinks, that's for sure.

Little Man and I went with a friend and two other children to the National Zoo. I will never ever EVER do that again in the summer. That zoo is best seen on a fall day, so the Mount Everest-like climb to the top isn't so bad. Me and my friend almost died before we got there, and what would have happened to the kids?

A few pictures...

Candace

Steven and Big Girl Vera

My son, actually being sociable!!!

A few more pictures...

The Panda, once he finally got his butt out of his dinner bowl...

I think he saw a Panda....I dunno. :-)

LOL, haven't you eaten enough?

Do I look tired? *laughs*

HE was tired...

And so was he! Ah, to be an animal...at least one that far up the food chain.

From there we went to lunch. I walk into the strangest McDonalds I have ever seen, somewhere out in Arlington. I almost thought there were no bathrooms, but I finally found them after we ate...somewhat.

People keep telling me that it's just a toddler phase, but my son has never liked food. We have puke issues in my house. I'm through being frustrated, I just try to make sure he doesn't jump on our bed after he has his nighttime bottle, and that he drinks while he's eating. Still, he's stubborn.

Yesterday was one of those days when Little Man felt he had to challenge the one person who he goes to first and last every day. He rolls over me in the morning when he wakes up and lies on me to sleep at night...or as close to me as he can get. He knows I'm his caretaker, servant, chauffer...but that doesn't mean he has to listen to me, haha.

Well, we're chomping on chicken nuggets, and I think to myself that Little Man is doing pretty good. Until he starts gagging. Little Man is getting over some congestion (which all came out today, by the way....), and it's hard for him to eat or drink sometimes. The room was filled with the sound of his retching, and I was trying hard to catch it, and he was pushing my hands away; we had quite a power struggle there for a minute. I got the most of it, but he was still gagging, so I took him outside (thank God for the door nearby!). I stood outside with him while he regained control of his gag reflex (his is strong, like mine....morning sickness was a nightmare), then we went back inside. I got him changed, and we continued home.

I think I might be growing as a person, because this didn't irritate me as much as it would have six months ago. I felt for the people eating who had to hear that noise, not to mention the echo in that room, but there was little I could do. I can't make him eat, and I can't make him drink if he doesn't want to. All I can do is watch closely for any clue of an impending explosion.

Today I had a physical. Little Man was in tow, and very well-behaved. I think the world outside our house is so interesting, he doesn't have time to flip out. I hope his view stays like that. I then went to therapy, and wanted to make one more stop before coming home. Steve has a cold, and I promised chicken noodle soup. Well, that didn't happen. Poor Little Man decided he'd had enough of all that phlegm in his throat, and proceeded to throw up all over the backseat of the car. Nothing else to do but drive home...but I did have to take him AND his carseat out of the car, to minimize the spread of stomach debris. Little Man found that funny, and laughed (and played with his puke) while I hauled him and the seat in the house.

Mama rewarded herself with a pizza. Steve doesn't know yet. Too bad, his beef noodle soup is simmering right now, and he will be grateful.

Well, as it stands, the day is winding down. I actually had to stop in the middle of the blog to feed Little Man, who surprised me by demanding food. I'm learning more and more each day to listen to my son's cues. I guess eating a towel, getting upset and toppling his high chair were cues enough. :-)

I'm trying to get some of this laundry out of my living room. This weekend I washed four quilts, all the linens in the house, and three weeks worth of laundry. It cost $60 bucks, and took about 3.5 hours. But I have yet to put any of it away...except for some towels. On to the whites. By the end of the week I should have them all put away, and a whole new pile waiting for me.

Little Steve is making a game out of hiding more and more. It's quite fun. I'm trying to learn to slow down, stress less, and have fun with my child. Today he wrestled with me; because I was on the floor, I was game, so he came and jumped on me. As we laughed and played, I reminded myself that today will never come again, and to savor it, regardless of what happened to put a monkey wrench in my plans. Still...

I can't wait until bedtime. Mine.

Playdates and Xanax

2010-08-04T09:42:00.001-07:00

Oh how glad I am I refilled my Xanax prescription. I do not want to be the type of person who relies on drugs to cope with day-to-day life, but my anxiety level has been off the charts for weeks. Every time I run out, I think to myself that I can just do without it. After all, I haven't been on an anti-depressant long term at any period in my life since my diagnosis at 14 (I'm 29 now). But the anxiety is another matter. When people can see that you're anxious, to me that signifies a problem. Few people have been able to identify my depression, but I am determined to be a hard-nosed tough as nails survivor. I have to go on, especially now. It's never been easy, and I don't ever expect it to be. It's just my lot.

But I can't cope with the crying jags in the tub because my day started off at 65mph, and rose to a speed of 90mph and stayed that way until I hid in the bathroom. I guess it's hard to understand when it's not you, not to mention my family has innoculated themselves against my "mood swings". Reminder: get myself evaluated for Borderline Personality Disorder. My mom was one, I could be one. I doubt it, it probably would have been diagnosed by now, but anything to shut them up.

On another note, I think I've found the toddler Oz. There's a rec center near my house that has a soft play room. Oh my gosh, I love that place. And for $4 bucks a day, open 7 days a week, who wouldn't want to take advantage?

I think my biggest guilt trip has been not being able to do more for my son. I want him to get out and have fun, to play with other kids. I do not want my limitations to affect his life. I need rest and some time to myself, but I can go without it long enough for him to have a good time and get his needs met. Somehow I'll have to deal with the burnout I'm experiencing, but for now I'll just have to accept that I have never had the type of family support system that I need and that everyone deserves. It is what it is. I'm not going to let it get in the way of my dreams. Like I told Steve, I've buried too many aspirations due to the will and wants of others. I'm not doing that anymore.

I asipre to have a son who has a normal, happy childhood. My mind was never that of a child's and I don't want him growing up that way. He's just as bright as his mother, but I don't want that intelligence to be used to recognize discord where there should be none. I just want him to be happy.

How happy I am that I've found one more tool to make that a reality. God bless the creator of the Soft Playroom. :-)

Just what does a SAHM do all day?

2010-08-04T09:35:00.000-07:00

Where to begin?

WHERE to begin?

I guess I could say that first of all, I'm tired. I'm not even sure if I can pull this off, because two and a half years of drama has sucked me clean of my creativity, and at the moment I'm just a zombie. I wake up, I go through the motions of trying to keep my son clean, happy and healthy, I wear myself down further...and I go to bed.

I'm trying to find out a way to deal with this burnout, because no one around me takes what I'm trying to tell them seriously. Honestly, there are a lot of things that I wish now I didn't say.

I grew up in an abusive home. Only a victim of child abuse can understand the fears I have as a mother. I fear my personality is borderline...but it could just be stress. I'm a veteran of over 24 years of depression, and it has been a long, hard fight for sanity. I didn't ask to be born, I didn't ask to be born into the f*cked up family that I have...

So I have to remember that my son is in the same situation. He's just a happy little baby, he doesn't know that there's a storm raging around him. So somehow, I have to step back from all of the problems that were here before him, and regroup so I can properly parent him.

Because I love my little boy. He's honestly the only reason I'm alive right now. That may annoy some, but I don't care. He hasn't hurt me.

I wish I could get those who were never mothers (men, women who have never concieved) to understand what it means to be a mom.

1. You never get enough sleep...and your fatigue is not on the level of an exec, a college student, a marathon runner even...it's WAAAAAAAAY past that, and you don't really get rest until those kids are grown. My son isn't two yet, and I know that.

2. Unless you have a maid, the house is perpetually a mess. I can vacuum every day, and there will still be goldfish crumbs on my floor.

3. The laundry piles up...I swear there's a full load one day after I finish washing. IT NEVER ENDS.

4. Husbands truly have little clue what stay-at-home moms do. They think we're June Cleavers, or better yet the Rice Crispy Treat lady; either we make it look effortless to the point that the men believe it, or we really don't do any work but we try to make it look like we do.

5. Mom's have an intense love for their kids; I'll kill you if you touch my son, but there are days when I want to strangle him myself. Especially at 2 am. Or when he's climbing on the dining room chairs to get all the stuff on the dining room table that we've pushed to the back to keep away from him. Or when he's somehow broken the child-safety locks on the kitchen cabinet doors, or when he's pulling open the drawers in our bedroom and pulling things out. Or when he's managed to eat something off the floor that my vacuum missed...and he's about to throw up because it's lodged in his throat...and let's not talk about the number of times he's vomited, exorcist-like all over me and every piece of bed linen we have. I could go on...

6. Something as simple as going the store can turn into a marathon. You have to make sure you have a bottle, diapers, don't forget your money or cell phone...then you have to wrestle a wriggling kid into the car, endure being yelled at each time you stop at a red light (honey I'd love to run them but I owe my county enough in tickets). Then you get to your destination, and if you've forgotten your stroller (if it's not a store), you're up the creek. I personally do not have the strength to carry my son long-term. If you are in a store, make sure the cart is far enough from the shelves, or you will either be re-stocking or paying for broken merchandise.

7. I have learned that the library (my favorite place) is off limits for us at the moment.

8. There are countless moments when you find yourself really glad to be a mom. Like the first time baby says "mama". That was my son's first word...and it's his favorite. Other times are when you watch them sleep (they're angels when they sleep). Some of my most favorite times are when we're grooving to music; music was once my life, but circumstances contrived to take that life away from me. If my son wants to make music, I'll move mountains so he can do so.

9. Mom's need help. Far too many of us try to do it alone. Far too many of us have to do it alone. If you know a mom, help her. You would want help if it were you.

More than anything, I want understanding.

Reality Check

2010-04-27T10:17:00.000-07:00

I was locking the front door this morning when I looked down and saw not a baby standing there, but a toddler who will be 2 (and talking back to me) before I know it.

Where did the time go?

I can't believe my son has grown so much. His personality is so much fun, he's usually always happy (unless he gets into something he should not and Mommy gets into him), very stubborn, and very attached to those he loves. He has a little girlfriend at daycare who he manhandles when he's not terrorizing his provider. I have seen this, he grabs her by the bib or hair, and I have to separate them...which is hard because she's usually on one knee and he's on the other. I want a girl now. :-)

Work is going well and has gone full-time. My boss pulled a number on me. He calls me into his office and says, "Sam, I regret to say your part-time job has ended...and is being replaced with a full-time job." The man is lucky I like him so much! I almost died!

The Krzewski family can definitely use the extra money. I find myself feeling a lot more peaceful as of late, as I realize that we are in a much better situation than we were last year. That and I also realize that I can't take the migraines that come from stressing over that which we can't immediately change. We are able to do more on our own to maintain our household, and with Steve in school and graduating in a year-and-a-half, we'll be able to do even more. The most exciting thing for me is the example we're setting for Little Steve: both of his parents college graduates.

Of course Big Steve understands that once I am ordained he has to go to church. That's another five years down the road, so "Reverend Backslide" can have ample time to prepare. I understand his misgivings, though. I had to point out in my last class, ironically called worldviews, that people may not be rejecting Christianity because they reject Christ, but rather because of the abhorrent behavior of many of his followers. Of course one should never use the Bible to prove your point, because then you're "not Christian". Whatever, bite me. It's there, you can read, either come up to speed or continue to wonder why no one around you is interested in your faith. I'm glad that class is over. Now on to History (a much more neutral subject, ha!) and a 1001 page book. Reminds me of my Old Testament class, a book just as huge with the entire OT to read as well.

Can you say no novels for a while?

Today is payday (why do I get so excited when I'm not going to see any of it). I'm waiting to get my check. Have to go get Steve from work because Metro has gone beserk and their fare hikes kind of hit us in the middle of our budget. Note to self: check their site today.

Well, that's all that's going on over on this end. I'm including a few pictures of the boy, he's growing so fast! I'm going to blink and he'll be going to prom. :-(

This is often how we find him on the weekends when we leave him to his Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and a warm bottle.

Last weekend.

Steven's girlfriend, Audrina AKA "Gooey"

My feeble attempts to keep him from rolling off the bed after bath time while I get all of his supplies.

That was part of a rake, but he broke it and then proceeded to alternate between eating it and chasing me.

Somebody's tired...

Mommy loves her baby.

I like to swing!!!

Little Man loves baths. He runs whenever we open the bathroom door. Sadly he fell and bumped his head Sunday evening because I had just gotten out of there and the tile floor was wet. I can't stand to see him in pain, but he's fine now. I know I'll be kissing plenty more "owwies" in the future.

Life as a Working Mommy

2010-03-10T09:51:00.001-08:00

I'm kind of getting used to this routine. Wake up by 6:40 at the latest (and that's REALLY late, because I'm supposed to be dropping Little Man off by 7), get the baby ready, get myself ready, get out the door, drop him off, go to work. I enjoy my job…most days. I really like my job, but if I'm low on sleep like I was last night due to Steve's snoring, then the day is long. I am SO grateful for the increase in hours, the chance to be useful, and the extra money coming into the house. Still, I have to remind myself that all temporal blessings still come from God, and to not be dismayed by what I don't have. We're talking about that in class right now, the naturalist POV versus the Christian POV. Christians know that this is not all there is, so we live life with an expectation of experiencing something outside of what we can physically feel. We're having a discussion about how Christians and Naturalists approach the subjects of career and money, and I'm learning some valuable things. I finally feel like I'm in my element, it's helpful to discuss things with people who at least share the same class that I do, so the topics we speak on are common ones. Sometimes I feel kind of lonely; there are not many people around me who share my interests. I think my family just tolerates my "creative genius", LOL.

My first class went by successfully, I got a perfect grade. I'm aiming for that with this class, as well. I have a dream of being at the head of my class, and if there is such a thing as a valedictorian in our online community, I'd love to aim for that, too. What a blessing that would be, especially for me, as I was raised to believe I was stupid.

Little Steve is growing more and more every day. He's also growing more and more hard-headed. We're taking him to the circus next weekend, and the day after to the Little Gym. My son is so nimble, you can go into our room at any time to find him standing up on a toy trying to reach the flat screen TV, or something that he wants that he shouldn't have. Next weekend we're going to start purchasing items for his room, as well. A complete Mickey Mouse theme. Since we cannot paint, I'm going to get black foam board and cut out Mickey Mouse shapes and attach them to the walls. A border that we will attach with double-sided tape, Mickey Mouse curtains, Mickey Mouse pillows, and Mickey Mouse bedding. I have waited so long to be able to do this, and it's going to be so much fun!

I'm hoping that life evens out a bit for us. I've been working here for a month, and I intend to continue to make myself an asset. In the late spring early summer, Steve and I want to move to Maryland. Steve's parents are getting up in age, and they depend on us to help them around the house from time to time. Plus, they've been such a huge help to us. It's nice to know that there are still some people out there who, if they struggled, did not forget that time in their lives once prosperity hit. I am so grateful to my in-laws for all their help. Their son gets on my nerves sometimes, but we're a tight-knit little dysfunctional family. Little Steve was destroying things at their house the other day. All boy, my little man. I went to get him from daycare the other day, and it was so cute to see him running around outside, enjoying the weather. I'm glad spring is here, so we can enjoy the weather. I look forward to all of the things that we will do as a family.

The Perfect Storm/Changes

2010-02-17T14:00:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm almost through my first week as a working mother. It hasn't been as difficult as I thought it would be. Little Man starts twitching at 5 am anyways, so what am I losing by getting up at 6? He's transitioning back into daycare, even though yesterday he went on a hunger strike because he was upset at being left there. I can't believe that almost 14 months have passed so quickly with him in my life. I wish I had relished his infancy more than I did, but I was filled with doubts and worries as to how we were going to make ends meet. Legitimately so, but I should have done more praying than worrying. Still, I learned a lot of lessons. More on that later.

My son does not hesitate to frighten me. When he's in the other room and he coughs, I go running, because he has a tendency to find things and put them in his mouth that I was sure he would not be able to get into. And he LOVES to eat things that just are not palatable. Like shoes. We now cal him "Bam Bam" (Flintstones), because he's so destructive. He has completely de-baby-proofed this house. What was the point? It took me two weeks to put on those door latches, and now he just snaps them open. And if he eats another one of my earplugs, I don't know what I'm gonna do... Needless to say, this picture shows him doing my favorite thing. :-)

School is going alright, though my perfect grade was ruined by an unknown change in the syllabus. I'm hoping that my grade will be restored by the weekend. I had expected that any changes in the syllabus would have been followed by an email or post in the classroom, but I was wrong. So my place at the head of the class was taken by another. Grrr...still, I think the teacher might be willing to work with me. Steve keeps laughing and calling me a nerd. It'll be him next, I think he's going to start school in March.

Valentine's Day came and went, Steve upgraded my ring. Prior to Steve, the only precious gem I had on my finger was a birthstone that I bought once. It's kind of nice to wear something other than CZ, even if it's not a big one. Not that I'd want a big ring. I tend to leave them in the shower, and I don't want to end up losing the equivalent of a house payment. I'd lose my mind.

My boss is a pretty nice guy. If I'm not careful, I'm going to get even fatter than I am now because I work for the owner of a restaurant! I'm his personal assistant. Not a bad job at all. When I work holidays, he treats me to free lunch, and man is the food good. When Steve and I finally go to the JotP, we may go there to eat. They have a lovely upstairs dining room, and I'm sure he'd let me reserve it and decorate for the occasion. Nothing too large, I cannot see the logic in feeding and entertaining people who cannot even keep in contact with me (i.e. relatives). Yeah, onto that.

A wise man once said that there are three different types of storms in life: storms of direction, storms of correction, and storms of perfection. I spent the past year trying to find out what type of storm we were in, but I've come to realize that we were in our own little Perfect Storm, a combination of all three. A storm that came through and wiped our lives bare of all the things we took for granted. A storm that revealed to me who my true allies are in life. A storm that pushed us through a dark valley into a better place where we have more knowledge; about each other, about our faith, and about our desires for our future as a family. Nevertheless, storms suck. You end up wet, cold, or in the worse case scenario, homeless. We came too close.

The wise man is my pastor. Amusingly enough, there are some who would say that he's not my pastor because I'm not in church every Sunday. Well, it's 20 miles away, and if we don't have the gas or it snows, I'm staying in VA. That's what he has online video feeds to his services for. Still, it's funny how many people in the world can come to a conclusion as to the content of your character based on where you are on any given day. Nobody asks "why" anymore, we live in a fast-paced world with all the answers, and apparently there are folks out there with "answers" about me. Go figure. People have labeled me as lazy for not working, others have labeled me lost because I'm not attending the church THEY go to. Others have labeled me crazy because I was honest about my struggle with mental illness.

And still others have just written me off altogether, because I'm not able to go party with them. And there are those "Christians" who won't touch me with a ten-foot pole because Steve and I aren't married. Ah, if they knew the truth of this distasteful situation (WHY we're not married), they'd be even more shocked. Still, I have the right to ask my future husband get his house in order before I take his name. And I feel it to be wrong to bring unnecessary confusion and pain to my son by separating from his father. We are the only people he feels completely comfortable with. He may not be able to talk, but I know it would bother him if his father were not there. I went on vacation without Steve once, and had to go home early, because Little Man is used to sleeping between us. He kept reaching out for his father in the night. Imagine a more permanent situation. He will walk through the house looking for us and calling for us if we're not there. I'm not going to cause him pain for the sake of anyone's scruples. I anxiously await the day when I can legally call myself Steve's wife. Believe me, I don't like this situation any more than anyone else. Hopefully by spring it'll be rectified.

It makes me wonder about my own judgment though, how in blazes I surrounded myself with such people. Well they aren't here anymore and the crickets are chirping a little too loudly for me, but it is what it is. I'm trying not to be bitter and go back to my antisocial ways. I've spent most of my life without friends. I guess my early 20s were a time when I learned to be more sociable. Turning inward would go completely against any sort of preparation for ministry. Instead, I'm choosing to use this time of solitude as a lesson. I fight the loneliness every day. I have to remind myself that most people are alone inside their own heads. I reach out to those who I know are like me, and ironically most of these folks are online pen pals, people I've never met, but people who seem to take more of an interest in my life than people right down the street. I've stopped sending emails to a "friend" who lives less than a mile away. I get the point. I just wish it hadn't come to that. If my company was so distasteful, wouldn't the right thing to do have been to tell me?

Ever since I was a little kid, and I learned that lying to inflate myself only made me look rediculous, I've been adamant about telling the truth. I'm far too serious for most, including poor Steve. I believe in the value of one's words, so I don't joke. That often creates a disconnect between me and my significant other, because he likes to tease. But I feel that if my word is to have any worth, I can't be light with it. So if it were me, and I felt that someone's company wasn't in my best interest, I'd tell them so. Gently, but honestly. I wish that had been done to me. This isolation hurts, and it's not easy for me to admit that.

My therapist has challenged me to get out and be sociable again. I'm not quite ready yet. I've come to the conclusion that for now, it's best to be quiet and stay at home. As I rebuild my life, perhaps I'll come in contact with people I share interests with (LOL, that'll be the day...another 28-year-old with a passion for Tudor England). It's going to take a few years for me and Steve to get to where we want to be in our lives. The light is growing brighter at the end of the tunnel.

I just have to keep walking.

2 Years

2010-02-01T14:54:00.000-08:00

I cannot believe it. The 13th will mark two years that Steve and I have been together. It's been a rough road, but I can honestly say that I would not have wanted to go through what we've been through with anyone else. I do treasure my sweetheart.

Little Steve is growing in both stature and attitude. We push things farther and farther back on the dining room table, as well as the little coffee tables, but he still manages to reach what he wants. He's still eating paper. It's so cute to see, when you move something away from him, the look on his face says, "but I want it, I WANT IT!" If he throws one more bottle at me, I'm gonna suplex him. I swear.

Because of the temperature problems in this apartment, Little Man is still sleeping with us. A few nights back, I had put him down to sleep in his crib and gone to wash some conditioner out of my hair. I come out of the bathroom about 10 minutes later, and Steve is in the bedroom. Little Man is in the middle of the bed fast asleep. I ask Steve, "did you put him there?" He tells me, "no, he was there when I got there!" Little Man let us know where he planned to sleep.

He kicks like the dickens, so I would love for him to sleep in his own bed. But it gets so cold at night, so I feel guilty about leaving him in that crib, when the warmest place is in between us. But we wake up at least 4-5 times per night with a foot in our mouths. By morning, Mommy is not a happy camper. But whatever makes the gremlin feel secure. We're setting up his room this spring, if finances allow. I want to put bunk beds in there, so he can sleep on the bottom bunk wiht a bedrail, and the girls will both have a bed when they come up to visit. Mickey Mouse theme! Wal-mart has an entire line of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse bedding and accessories. And Ikea has the right furniture.

School is going well, so far I've made perfect scores on all my assignments. That sure does feel good. I still remember thinking that I was so stupid when I was growing up. Side note: my son is very determined. He likes to pull paper out of the printer to eat. When I put it out of his reach, he stood up on one of his toys to get to it! Oh my gosh!

Life is kind of quiet in this house, but I wish it were quieter. I still find myself worrying about money all the time. I may just give up and go back to work ASAP. Right now it doesn't really matter if I hate my job, at least we won't struggle. We're alright at the moment between my tiny tax refund and school refunds, but I was hoping for a slightly larger nest egg to get us through the year. It's not to spend, it's just to look at. Oh well.

I'm planning big things for Valentine's Day/Our Anniversary. Pictures to come!

"College Girl"/1 Year Old!

2010-01-04T09:09:00.000-08:00

Well, 2009 closed on a good note. And believe me, I was glad to see it come to a close.

2009 was a difficult year, but I learned lots of lessons. I think one of the biggest ones was to take care of myself. So from now on I'm doing that more. I can't give or serve if I run myself out.

Little Steve turns 1 today. I have a toddler. I can't believe it. I still take comfort in those moments when he wants me to hold him (and his bottle!), as I do miss my little peanut.

I can't believe that it's been a year. The past year has truly gone by in a flash, can it have really happed so quickly? I'm thinking back on this day last year, the weather wasn't as cold, but it was a sunny day like today. At this time last year I was hollering (haha, I can laugh about it now) at the top of my lungs. I was NOT prepared for labor. But when I finally released him into this world, and I got to hold him, it was like the poles shifted. At least they did in my world.

My son is like my fuel, he's the reason I get up in the morning (even when I don't want to!!!!), he's the reason I don't (and can't) give up. He brings me immense joy (and at times, like when he's taking things out of the trash can or reaching into the toilet, immense frustration). He's so spirited and funny. I believe that he will talk soon. It's so cute, seeing him try to express what he wants or needs. He'll come to you grunting, and I swear I've seen him stamp his foot a time or two. The temper tantrums are amusing to a point. He's learning to like "people food". His current favorite is potato chips. However, he hasn't learned to completely chew them, so eventually Mommy ends up cleaning up the carpet. Ah, but I'm used to it now.

Little Steve was very sick the week before Christmas. It was a frightening time. He woke up on Sunday the 12th, feeling very irritable. Early Monday morning I took him to the ER because he was running a high fever, and I personally wasn't feeling that well, either. They didn't find anything wrong with him at that time, and they didn't find anything wrong with me. They figured it was just a cold. That irritated Mama, because a cold doesn't give a baby a fever of 103.7. Well, we took him home and kept giving him Tylenol.

When the Tylenol wore off, his fever came back. For a week straight. Two more ER visits, and we learned he had an ear infection. We got some antibiotics on the second visit, but two days later Little Man was very dehydrated. It's a scary thing when you see that your child is not himself. All day Sunday Little Man either slept or just lay in bed. This is a child who wakes up happy and doesn't stop running until he's about to drop. Then it's time to crawl onto Mommy and go to sleep. His fever kept coming back and I asked Steve to look up signs of dehydration. We took the baby back to the ER, and this time they tried to give him an IV. Didn't go over well. Besides the fact that he was dehydrated, you can't expect an 11-month-old to understand why his hand is suddenly on fire. 4 people could not pin him down, two of those people were his parents. After they gave up on the IV for a while, he started drinking and going to he bathroom again, so we were released, and we took him home. A few days later, he was back to his old self. Just in time to enjoy Christmas.

_____________________________________________________________

School starts for me today. I had to quit my job in light of Little Man getting sick, as there was no one to care for him. Steve has no leave, and when your child has a fever, daycare cannot keep them. I had trouble getting my boss to understand this. But I forgive her, she is young, rich, and as yet without children. Her bottom dollar is her bottom line. My son is my raison d'etre. Bottom line for me is that I'm a mother before I am ANYTHING else. I could not expect her to understand that, and as the week went on and he didn't get better, I realized that I had made the best choice for my family, even if it meant that we might suffer temporarily on the financial front. At the end of the day, God meets our needs. I have seen that time and time again. We may not drive a fancy car or live in a big house, but when it comes to love, my son is a Prince among princes. He is secure in the knowledge that his parents are united around him, and that is worth more to me than any worldly accolades.

I'm continuing my Christian studies degree. As I've sat over the past few weeks and thought about my work life, I've come to realize that my unhappiness in my place of work has stemmed from the fact that often I have operated from a different place of ethics than many I have worked with. I believe that the workplace is hard for any Believer. You are supposed to approach situations differently with the knowledge that you have of Christ. But I have come to learn that I'm too much of a caretaker to just make money for people. I have plans for what I'm to do with my degree, but that is several years down the line. I'm choosing to just pray on it and tuck those plans within myself or a while.

As I sit and think about it, I realize that I'm never going to be a "success" by worldly standards. At least it is not my goal to be. I'll probably never be rich, I'll never be a CEO. But I know now that God has given me all the tools I need to be happy in life, and also all the tools I need to give back and serve. I'm growing a bit weary of the materialism in this world; it's all fine and dandy to have nice things, but these days people place their sense of self on these things that they cannot take with them when they leave here. I want to build something that lasts...even after I'm gone from this world. In the mind of my son, as well as in the life to come. Perhaps elsewhere as well. If I'm to "make a name for myself", let it be doing something other than getting rich. I'm not knocking money, it's just that I've seen the emptiness that comes from just relying on that. Our media is flooded with people, youth especially who are placing too much stock in what they can accrue. It's not healthy.

Well, my son is too quiet. Time to go see what he's torn up now. :-)

Merry Christmas

2009-12-25T19:43:00.000-08:00

Here's a few highlights from today and tonight:

Little Man opening his first Christmas present.

Getting the hang of it!

Surrounded by a few of the mountain of toys this boy is to get...

Along with his big boy backpack (so he can leave our bags alone).

Cheese!!!

And last but not least, me singing as is tradition every year. Steve didn't know that my family makes me sing every year. All in good fun. :-)

Late Night Little Steve Blogging :-)

2009-12-07T17:56:00.000-08:00

First of all, it's freezing in this house. It's not that we don't have any heat, it's just that the furnace hasn't cut on yet. Can't wait until it does. Turns out there was something wrong with the duct layout of our furnace last year, and when maintenance came to fix it I guess it was realized that we were overcharged for freezing last year. Our bill was sky high. We finally covered up the main vent, left the furnace off and used space heaters. Can't do that this year with the little gremlin running around.

Now, on to my little gremlin... THAT BOY!!!

Little Steve is now 11 months old. I cannot believe how quickly this year has passed. I go back and look at pictures and videos of the last several months, and I can't believe that those days just flew by. My son is highly intelligent, VERY hardheaded and very expressive. He loves music. He will stop whatever he's doing to watch TV if the people are singing. We were watching the American Movie Awards a few weeks back (well Steve was, I don't really pay much attention to the TV anymore), and when Jay-Z and Alicia Keys sang their song An Empire State of Mind, my son froze in his tracks and gazed at the TV for the duration of that song. I swear he didn't move. He loves it when either myself or Steve sing to him. I enjoy calling Daddy at work to have him sing the Barney Song.

Little Steve has adapted to daycare. It took only a week-and-a-half. He's now not as people shy as he used to be. I guess he understands now that Mommy and Daddy can leave him in someone else's care, and he'll be okay. Still, it's kind of daunting that he listens to his daycare provider yet not to me. She can get him to eat and nap, but let Mommy do it, it doesn't work. Little Steve also loves to pull down our vertical blinds. He's broken two off, and the entire set no longer works properly. When he starts yanking and I ask him to leave it alone, he just ignores me. When I get up to get him, he runs away with his hands in the air....laughing. Ah, how amusing Mommy is.

With Christmas right around the corner, I find myself getting excited for him. He has no idea what's in store. When we turn on the Christmas lights, he just gazes in awe. We have no tree...because I know my son. Everything is a toy if it isn't edible. He'd probably flush whatever he couldn't eat down the toilet. Wait a minute, he doesn't know how to do that yet...he only knows how to reach IN the toilet. Which is a reminder for Mommy and Daddy to always flush. *eeew*

Life is definitely adventurous in this house, which takes our minds off of the difficult things. I'm trying to be like Reb Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof. I try to always be cheerful, but when I cannot I just talk frankly to God. It helps. I find myself getting anxious these days, and I don't want to be that way, but I just cannot understand God's purpose for me. I've always believed that my suffering was preparing me for something, I'm just ready for that something to hurry up and come already. It's very discouraging to think that I've never been able to really enjoy my life. I believe that it's time to. And I want to tap into that joy soon so that the little one who is watching me will live by that example, instead of an example of struggling. I believe I learned my mindset from my family. They always hammered it into my head that life would never be fair and would always be a struggle. But I haven't seen that be the case for everyone. I believe that unfairness and struggle are definitely a reality, but I also believe in love and integrity...and in fairness as well as service...truth. Why can't I live a life defined by these things, instead of bowing my head each time someone does me wrong and saying, "it'll always be this way"?

I don't want it to always be this way. I believe our children watch us closely. I want my son to see his parents as successful individuals so that he can see the possibility within himself. Growing up all I saw was frustration, anger and misery. For years I've lived that out.

It's time for it to stop.

November News

2009-11-25T18:24:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been almost a month since I started working. Little Steve started daycare this week, and it was definitely a poignant turning point for both Mommy and Daddy. Little Man is adjusting, but he's thrown up each day this week at daycare. He seems to like the other children, and is very attached to his caregiver. He's also a young boy who likes to do everything head first. He is also very HEADSTRONG. Gets that from his Daddy.

Work is going okay, the upside is that I am working again, I'm getting out of the house (which is good for my sanity), and I'm also seeing how far I can go physically. Hard things: constantly aching feet, small server tips and "office" politics.

I actually ended up walking off the job a couple of weeks ago. Not something I would normally do, but my focus now is on improving the circumstances of my family. That is why I went back to work, and I put on blinders when I go to work. I'm there to do a job, and because I believe that I can work my way up in this job, I'm ignoring some of the things that would normally disappoint me. But I will not tolerate others slacking off around me and getting paid more. Long story short, I was in a store with no manager and a bunch of kids playing around a few weeks ago, and I left. My manager called me and we talked; I explained to her my dismay over having my tables stolen two nights in a row, and also my frustration over the young folks around me who chose to complain and not work, when there are folks out there like me with a family and kids who would take that minimum wage job and make the best of it. She told me to come back, but the atmosphere is definitely different.

One thing I've noticed throughout my life is that I often have difficulty communicating with other people on even the most superficial of levels. Perhaps it's because I don't want to be superficial, and also because my vocabulary is "different". I rarely use slang, and if I do it's at least a decade old. I prefer to just speak clearly. The things that interest me don't interest my peers, and I come across as an old lady due to the limitations of my health. Most of the people I work with are younger than me or related to one another, so sometimes I feel left out. But I try to go in and just give everyone a smile, concentrate on my work and leave when the day is done. I have a goal I'm trying to reach, and that goal won't be reached any faster if I make friends at work. In fact, getting any closer to the intrigue there might be detrimental. Folks are constantly gossipping. But I do feel lonely at times. It would be nice to have people my age around who shared some of my interests. Perhaps that day will come at a later time.

Today was Steve's birthday. Little Steve and I each got him a card, and I got Steve a new dress shirt and tie. I wanted to do more, but our financial constraints won't let us do that. But I have faith that it won't always be this way. We had pizza for dinner and joked about how old we are. Personally, I can't wait to turn 30. I also got in touch with everyone on our Facebook pages and made them wish him Happy Birthday (on time!). I think he liked that. Steve's not used to positive attention.

Little Steve is running around the house now. He understands the word "no", but that doesn't mean he listens. We stay on him. He likes to rip down the vertical blinds. Mommy would love to bathe without his presence once in a while. Especially when it's early morning and we have to get ready to go. It's easier to get him dressed first, but not if I have to change him because he tried to jump in the shower.

With each day that passes, Steve and I marvel that almost a year has passed so quickly. We can't wait to see how Little Man reacts to Thanksgiving, Christmas and his first Birthday. I hope that our finances are such that we can throw a little party. I plan to make cupcakes for Little Steve's daycare friends. Little Steve loves Mickey Mouse, and we've been looking for as many Mickey Mouse themed items as we can. I need to get him a stuffed Mickey Mouse to sleep with once we get his toddler bed set up. I was gonna use the crib as one, as it converts, but Daddy forgot that we had to take the bedroom door off to get it in the room, and broke it. I'm still kind of peeved about that. We can't afford a new bed right now, and both Steves wrestle in their sleep. Doesn't bother me as I sleep like the dead, but Daddy complains in the morning. Well, that's what he gets as he should not have broken the bed. Should've left me alone to do what I was doing (take it apart in one room, reassemble in another). *sigh* Stubborn men.

Well, it's off to bed now. I wish I knew of a way to stop the constant foot aching. :-) But painful progress is still progress, is it not?

Hard Day's Work

2009-11-09T20:41:00.000-08:00

I've been working one week today. It's 20 before midnight and I should be in bed, but I know that the thoughts in my head will disappear while I'm trying to make my son go back to sleep in 7 hours. He's a morning person, just like his Daddy. :-)

Well, it looks like I have somewhat of a career path here. My RGM (Restaraunt General Manager) wants to train me and one other co-worker to be shift managers. So I guess, by the end of the year, I will be in management. Wow.

I've sat behind a desk for 14 years and could have probably done the job of many of my bosses. But it took a job at Pizza Hut to prove that I can indeed lead people. Like I said, wow.

I like the people I work with. The work is physically hard, but I think that's just something to get used to. My feet already feel less achy as the days go by. I like the fact that I'm not just sitting there trying to look busy. Today I think a cousin tried to call and prank me at work...but I was too much of a professional to call him out. Oh, if only we had Caller ID. I could have told him we don't deliver to Woodbridge. I'll chew him out tomorrow.

As I was washing dishes tonight, I was thinking that I'd rather work myself to death and be recognized for what I do, than continue to sit year after year behind a desk doing someone else's work and not being appreciated because I don't have a special title or degree. Poor Steve is dealing with that himself; he can do so much, but because he's just a contractor, some of his co-workers feel that they can mistreat him. I long for the day when he's working somewhere better. He deserves better. One of the vows I plan to make when we marry, my goal is to see that he experiences "better". He's had so much disappointment in his life.

Apparently in order to be a manager, I'll have to become a Certified Restaurant Manager. So, I'm finally going down a defined career path. I think I'm going to stay on this path until I finish my Master's degree. I've been too through with Corporate America for a long time. If I manage my own restaraunt, I can really give back. Manage and supervise in the way I was not. Help young people, give folks a second chance. There are many good people out there being passed up for good jobs due to poor choices or even bad luck. I know, I've been there.

Well, off to bed. 4 more night shifts...and early mornings with baby.

Finally....

2009-10-30T14:03:00.000-07:00

It has been 462 days since I was last employed. 1 year, 3 months and 5 days. It's been like a prison sentence to me. I often dispaired of ever being free. I did my best to remind myself that this situation was but temporary. I'm happy to say that I succeeded. But I've learned a lot during this difficult time. Tuesday I start a new job (hopefully). I say hopefully, because I'm still in shock, I'm still holding my breath. I don't think that it will become real to me until I start Tuesday night. And I'll probably have a panic attack Tuesday night. What I've been hired to do is not difficult at all, but this past year and a half has been very damaging to my sense of self. I often tell my therapist that it's going to take a lot to reverse the damage done to my soul by this time. I have to learn to believe in myself again, I have to learn to do things for myself simply for the sake of doing so again. I have to learn to enjoy myself again. Still, with all the damage done I can honestly say that I have come through this a wiser person.

Oh, I've learned so many things.

I feel like my life is taking on a new face, like I'm at a new beginning. And that is what I intend to make it. I fully understand the difficulty that I am going to face as me and my family transition into something new. But I'm prepared for that. I'd rather be dead tired than poor and willingly ignorant. And they do sell Red Bull in bulk at Costco. I'll have to work that in the budget. This job could not have come any sooner. My unemployment benefits are set to run out in 10 days, and they never let you know if you're eligible for an extension. Even if I were, it'd only get us through February. I like the idea of my income being based on my performance rather than the government's budget.

But like I said above, I've learned so many things.

My stroke taught me what could happen when I let fear take over my life, and I failed to take care of myself. I will never again let another human being make me fear for my future. Above all things, I have choices. I'm always thinking ahead now, plans A, B and C...and D if necessary. And if those doin't work? Well, I'll just stick the pencil back over my ear and go right back to the drawing board.

The health problems after the stroke taught me the extent of my endurance. I always saw myself as sickly prior to the stroke. Now I know just how much pain I can take before I drop. And that's a good thing, because with fatigue comes pain in my world. I know my body better now, I'm prepared now.

Going on bedrest taught me how to accept help. Given my family situation, I have had to learn to either do it myself or do without. I'm now learning to let people do things for me because they want to, and I'm learning to my delight that those people actually exist.

The isolation of my health problems taught me who my friends and family truly are. There are only a few people who I can excuse from being around, my big sister H and my best friend Z. One is a busy mom herself, not to mention busy at work. I've always known that she loves me unconditionally. She is one of the few. My best friend Z lives far away...but if he were here, he'd be at my side. It hurt at first, realizing that a lot of the people who once sang my praises only did so because my presence served them on some level, but I am glad to have them out of my life now. Simple is good.

Being a mother taught me that I am not my mother. I can do what the women in my family were unable to do for their children. I can and have broken the cycle. My family is still dysfunctional (Mom's side), but I can love them from a distance and still hold onto my dignity. And unfortunately for them, they're coming to realize that Samantha will take you out at the knees for disrespect these days. Allow me my basic human dignity and I will allow you yours...and then some. That's my nature.

Living in poverty has taught both me and Steve that we wasted what we had before. We now live more responsibly, and will continue to do so despite the change in our circumstances. My job is just minimum wage, but it's not welfare. That's what matters to me. So when people ask me where I'm working, I'll proudly say Pizza Hut. It's better than standing in line for the Dole. Now, when my family needs something, we can get it, instead of trying to juggle other financial concerns to make sure we have underwear with no holes in it. I can actually buy my son Christmas presents this year. It would have been very hard for me if I were not able to do that. All that my son has is due to the charity of close friends, my brother and sister-in-law, and his grandparents. Steve and I could not have done this alone, and that has broken my heart. But now I can look at the FAO Schwarz catalogue and dream. They're not as expensive as they used to be when I was a kid.

One thing I forgot to add...the most important thing: my helplessness taught me to look to God. Throughout all of this, my soul has been crying out. I know that if I were to ever lose my faith, I would lose my sanity as well. I am happy to say that I have learned much better how to trust my Father. I'm still a work in progress, but I can see His hand in all of this. I know that there are some looking at my life and thinking it is utterly depraved, but they don't see everything. He does, and with every setback, sin and difficulty He is teaching me and my husband-to-be how to be better people. Getting Steve to understand that we could do more than just survive, we could actually LIVE and THRIVE has been two full-time jobs. But I think he gets it now. He deserves to be happy, and if it takes me a decade to undo the damage that was done to him by those who did not value him, then so be it. If I came into his life for one reason only, I believe that reason was to make him happy and give him at least one of his heart's desires (Little Man). Steve came into my life to show me that there was someone around who cared and who could stick by through all the illness and pain. This time has worn us both out and almost ripped us apart, but we were determined if only for the sake of our son, we would remain a family and work things out. We're like the Bundy's these days (I can cook better than Peg), but it's all good. There's plenty of time for heart-stopping romance. At least we are friends. That is the foundation on which to build a marriage. If you don't like the person you are trying to love, it ain't gonna work.

I'm kind of glad that I didn't step right back into corporate America. All of a sudden I'm no longer qualified to do what I've been doing (and doing well) for the past 14 years. I understand that this is just the reaction to the state of the economy. Why pay me when they can get a person with a degree and pay them $12 an hour? Perhaps without the distraction of trying to make it in The Office, I can focus on other things....like what I'm really supposed to do with my life.

I start school in January. Definitely a switch in my major in the works. History, Forensics, Anthropology? I really like Anthropology. It'd be cool to be a professor, move to some college town and fill the brains of my students with things they've never encountered before. I always appreciated those teachers who stepped a little outside the textbook. I have to be careful not to wear myself out. But I think the joy of just being able to be productive again will give me ample energy. And if I get tired, I can always bark at Steve to cook dinner. :-)

The clouds are breaking...who knows what will come next? All I know is that I'm so ready...

Oh, and my son is walking now. ALL OVER THE HOUSE!!!!

Am I a Soccer Mom Yet?

2009-10-17T13:53:00.000-07:00

I sit at times and marvel at how much my life has changed; my priorities, my wants, my needs. I'm happy when I've gone shopping and gotten everything we need for the house. I'm happy when the rent is paid, and all the bills are paid. I'm happy shopping at Wal-mart and catching a good sale. Gone are the days of coveting specific material things, and the thoughts that somehow I'd be happier or more complete if I had them. I go outside and smell the air and I'm happy, because there's no drama, there's no serious want. We're still struggling, but we've made it through a year-and-a-half and God has met our needs.

Christmas is coming, and I can't think of a thing that I want. My therapist says that I need to learn to want for myself again, I need to learn to do things for myself. It is true, I have lost the ability to want anything just for myself. But I lost that back when I got sick; the idea of an exciting life just seemed to loom so far away, and I gave up on a lot of things. I'm learning to resurrect some dreams, but I have learned to let go of everyone else's timelines...and accept my own. There are times when I get caught up in the compare and contrast (with myself never on the positive end), and I just have to shake myself out of it. We are fortunate, I am a great mom, and my child is healthy, happy, and beautiful. He is admired everywhere we go. I'm so grateful for this little boy.

I'm just reflecting today on how much has changed. Little Steve will turn 1 at the New Year. I'm no longer concerned with keeping up with the Jonses. I only want enough for my family; a car that will fit us all (and all of our junk, too). A house just big enough. It's not worth it to me to break my back to have something that someone else will covet. I'm satisfied with my sweatpants and flushed face, with running back and forth to make sure my house is clean and that all my errands are run. Perhaps when things have died down, I'll start wanting "things for myself" again. Right now all of that is in the "someday" category.

And I'm ok with that. I'm a mama now...things have changed.

Haha, but am I a soccer mom yet? The boy is athletic, even if he's only 9 months...

Where has the time gone?

2009-10-07T13:19:00.000-07:00

I can't believe that he's nine months old. Little Steve is a very expressive child. I know he wishes he could talk, because when he wants to tell you something, he will just coo and coo (or holler).

He's teething again, and that's made for several nights of little rest. Daddy has escaped the bedroom on the verge of a breakdown this past weekend. Usually he gets up with Little Man so that I can rest, but I switched the script this weekend. I'm learning to get used to my son's sleep schedule, though I would love for him to sleep a little later. No matter what time he goes to bed (unless it's at like, 2am) he's not going to sleep past 7. When he sees the light peeking under the curtains, he's ready to get up. We "try" to tell him that while the street lights are still on, he should be sleeping, but Little Steve is not having that.

He's also standing up more and more. It's nothing to him now. See how he mocks us with his big boy-ness? :-)

Our days pretty much have a solid routine; we're up by 8 (unless I just can't take it and I make him go back to sleep, which has us up by 8:45 most days). Little Steve likes Playhouse Disney. I don't want to be one of those moms who lets the TV babysit her kid (especially since I'm home all day), but I do actually like those shows. There's a couple on Nickelodeon that are good, too. Imagine, I'm learning Spanish and Chinese. And at least they keep his attention. He loves Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (haha, so do I). I'm going to give him a Mickey-themed party for his first birthday. We probably won't be able to do very much, but he's at least going to have a cake and some balloons (not to mention a few more presents, and right after Christmas, too!).

I keep seeing those ads for the giant cupcake tin, and I plan to make him one with Mickey ears. The party favors are inexpensive, and I'm sure his grandmothers will spoil him. I'm really excited about the new toys Fisher Price are coming out with. Mom got him one from a yard sale the other day and it makes all sorts of music. I've become immune to the noise of kid's toys. I personally think they're better than hearing him cry any day. Little Steve's cry is my Kryptonite. I just curl up in the fetal position after about 20 straight minutes.

Fall is here, and I'm so excited about it. I can't wait for Halloween; Little Man has a bumblebee costume. We're gonna have to get him some other shoes (the Mary Janes with bows on them aren't gonna work), but he seems to like the costume. When I put it on him, he was just rolling around in it. Right now, he's trying to slide open the patio door...*pause* Okay he isn't gonna fall out on his head. So I can post a picture of how ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE HE LOOKS!!!

One character trait that is definitely emerging in my son is his stubborn nature. His father is a mule (and I tell him that, too), and I'm learning that my son will not do certain things without a struggle, and other things you just cannot get him to do without an all-out cage match in the bargain.

My mother bought me a battery-operated nasal aspirator. The thing is a dream...except when baby is so full of mucus that it clogs the machinery. It worked for two days then died...I thought sure we'd broken it. Eager person that I was (gotta keep him breathing), I took it apart and found it filled with icky gooey stuff. So I cleaned it, and it works fine. But Little Man definitely doesn't like anything in his nose. Except when Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is on.

I'm really enjoying watching him grow. I just can't believe how the time has flown.

Thoughts on Faith

2009-09-29T16:11:00.000-07:00

As I was driving back from DC a few weeks ago, taking Steve home before I went to an interview I asked myself, "why do I still pray?". I realized that the reason was because that for me not to believe in God would be to not exist at all. I realized that belief in God was a thread interwoven into my being, one that the entire fabric of my life would unravel without. My belief is like the load-bearing wall in a house, knock it down, and you knock me down.

I know where I would be, the day I stopped believing in God. The day I let all the issues, drama, disappointments, stress, questions, anger and sadness get to me. Institutionalized. And I'm not ready for that (I've come close).

I'm not what others would view as a "righteous woman", but I've taken that with the same grain of salt I apply to all the other labels I've been forced to wear in my life. Lately I've been shedding them all, eager to morph into the person that God intends for me to be, once this Perfect Storm ends. And when it does, I'll go outside again. I'll engage with others again. I'll try to fully live again. I'm recuperating right now. I'm busy trying to be a mother when I often feel half human. But my one comfort is that Someone sees what it often seems like so many others do not. It's hard to talk to Him sometimes, but I do appreciate His Witness.

9 months

2009-09-29T15:40:00.000-07:00

Little Man will be 9 months old on Sunday. I can't believe that the time has flown so quickly. He's been nursing his first cold this past week, and it's been a bit difficult, what with the nasal aspiration and medication....lots of fun (yeah, right).

I think that lately I've been able to stress less and enjoy him more. My pregnancy was filled with so much fear and stress, and I grieve a little that I didn't get to just thrill in the fact that he was growing under my heart.

These days I try to laugh more, kiss his little cheeks, hands and feet more, and be more patient. We've learned that we have a "high needs" child, and that definitely explains a lot of his behaviors, as well as gives me a feeling of relief. I'm not doing something wrong, and there's nothing wrong with him. He just has higher needs than the average baby. Understanding this has helped me to be more compassionate and sensitive to his needs.

Everywhere we go, I get compliments on him. I hope I never take it for granted, though I am quite used to it now. I just smile, say "thank you" and tell him to say hi. He looks around with his wide-eyed stare and continues to focus on whatever caught his attention before he was noticed.
He's good at occupying himself when he wants to. But when he wants his parents, he wants his parents, and there is NOTHING that will deter him. Which is okay, what else do we live for right now, but for him? I think he knows it, haha.

Little Steve is close to walking on his own, he's standing on his own and can "walk" very quickly if you hold his hands. He's fully capable of holding his own bottle, but refuses to. It's kind of amusing, trying to put his hands on the bottle, and watching him just go limp because I'm holding him. Well, he'll do it when he's ready.

Mama is tired. Bed early tonight. I've been sleeping like the dead lately, and he's been sleeping like a wild thing in between us. :-)

Some Fun Pics

2009-09-24T12:35:00.001-07:00

Here are some pictures of the past few weeks with my family:

Happy Grandma with her two Grandsons (Ethan on the left, Steven on the right).

Meeting for the first time...

The Harris Grandchildren

Ethan, Auntie Elissa, and Steven

Worn out :-)

Cousins

2009-09-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

My son has finally met his cousin Ethan.

We've been waiting for this day.

My brother is up here for a few weeks to take part in a wedding in my sister-in-law's family. They'll be here for about two weeks. It's wonderful to see my older brother, he's by far the sibling I'm the closest to. But I must accept that with his presence comes a great deal of teasing. I get that from Steve, and when Larry was here I got that from Larry. Both of them...I just grit my teeth and half-smile. It's funny...but it's not, LOLOL

Watching Little Steve interact with his cousin has been interesting, fun, and educational. Little Steve has learned that he's not the only baby in the world, and he's not the only baby in the family. He's also been very frightened by Ethan's exuberance. Ethan is just as wild and happy as his Daddy. Steve is a bit more reserved like me. It's kind of hard though, watching him sit there and cry because he's shocked. But it's a good experience for him, because soon enough I'll be working and I need for him to be okay with Mommy going away for a while.

I'll post pictures once I can get home to my own computer (and once I can get a break). I'm enjoying myself too much right now. It's nice to get out of the house, it's nice for Little Steve to have a playmate, and it's nice to joke around with my asenine brother. :-)

Dreams

2009-09-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

There is a graveyard in the back of my mind, which has a road leading to another one, a small one, tucked deep inside my heart.

They say a woman's mind is her own secret garden. Mine is so overgrown, I'm waiting for my own emotional Mary Lennox to come and find the key, go inside, and do some weeding and planting.

As much as I do not like the status of my life right now, I am trying hard not to give up. To give up would be to cease to live. So today, in the midst of my "to do" list, I'm going to go over the precious few dreams that I have not yet given up on.

-One day I'm gonna walk across that stage and accept my college degree. And I will graduate with honors, because I know I'm capable of doing so. Late doesn't have to turn into never.

-One day, when things calm down and I'm able to function better, I'm going to put my hands to a piano again. I'm gonna find my muse Lyricist again (Lyricist lives). I'm gonna start singing again.

-One day we'll be out of this crap a** apartment and into a real home. My little boy will grow up in a good neighborhood, and go to school with good kids. Preferably with his cousin Ethan. *New Dream* My son will have a life so different from my own, so "normal" that he will almost take it for granted. I say almost because I will raise him to appreciate what he has. But so help me, he will never taste the youth that I had to live through.

-One day soon, our proverbial hands will not be one centimeter from our mouths.

I'm trying to function. So I decided to do something that I haven't done in a while: dream.

Standing too close to the TV

2009-09-09T09:02:00.000-07:00

I'm grateful at times for the short attention span of an 8-month-old.

Especially when it comes to watching TV.

Steve and I are very careful about what we watch when Little Man is awake, because we were watching wrestling one night, and he was sitting up so attentive. We looked at each other and went, "uh-oh...:. Baby was just too happy.

Well, most mornings I'm like an old engine trying to start on a cold morning (sputter sputter), so I'm greatful for Dora the Explorer, Handy Manny, Mickey Mouse's Clubhouse, etc. They are a lifesaver. They give me just enough time to figure out where my limbs and brain are.

Problem is, when we're in the living room, little man likes to get right up on the screen. I have to research whether or not that's harmful or not. Most likely, those pretty silver eyes will be behind glasses in time, as both his parents are blind.

But I learned to stay back from the TV when I was little. :-)

Oh, and did I mention this child likes to "update his Facebook status"? When I'm on the computer, he loves to sit on my lap and type. So I let him tell the world how he's feeling from time to time. It shows up like this: "bo;lui;pgbewriug[-9769er4lb nhjv ljebdrjuvbkwer bk"....

Whatever that means. He tends to get a lot of good responses.

Off topic, I've crossed off most of the items on my checklist today. Still ticked about the fact that I have to break it down like that, but it is what it is. Now to go, because the child is trying to unplug something again. *sigh*

"Checklist"

2009-09-08T15:57:00.000-07:00

I've had to break it down like that.

My daily life is now such, that I have to write a list of the things I need to do each day in order to accomplish something.

I just wish it didn't have to be so hard for me.

I once told one of my old therapists that I felt like every single normal human thing took ten times the effort for me, and that I was tired of being a misfit. I still feel that way, perhaps more so now.

Good thing is, that I accomplished all but one of my goals on my checklist today. And that one was just because I called at the wrong time (doctor's appointment), and forgot to call back.

I've decided to start coming to the library each evening, for a few hours. It'll give Little Man time to adjust to someone other than me, and it'll give me time to think. The guilt I feel over my frustration and overwhelm is tremendous...and fodder for another blog. I don't know how to shake the guilt on top of all the other emotions I deal with daily.

But yes, it's gotten down to that. I am functioning on such a primitive level now, that I believe my mind no longer works right. It hurts too much to think. When I think, I think of all the ways in which I have failed. So I don't think. I just move, and try to do what I know I need to do in order to keep my house clean and take care of my son.

Still, there are things that linger on the horizon of my mind that I know I have to address.

Like this freakin bankruptcy. I give myself one month before I mail it off. I bought a calendar the other day, and I need to start putting deadlines on it. By October 9, the package has to be in the mail.

And what about school? I filled out my FAFSA last night, only to get an email today saying that the Social Security Administration has said that my information has changed. Um, how?

Why do I sometimes feel like the anti-Midas? Like everything I touch just falls apart or flies out of my reach? Dude!

I have to go hunting for my son's birth certificate. That should have been here. It's been longer than 17 weeks. Twice that amount of time, actually.

And of course, the ever looming cloud over my head: looking for a job. I also need to make a list of places that give preference to people getting public assistance, so I can find some sort of employment. Any employment short of swinging around a pole or standing on the corner will do. I can't take the sacrifices my family has to make due to my lack of work any longer.

Well...the checklist is helpful. But I do honestly feel like I'm 85 having to use it.

"Unemployed does not equal unproductive."

2009-09-07T16:35:00.000-07:00

I try to remind myself that I'm one of the 26% of Americans who are currently out of a job. I try not to let myself grieve over what I percieve to be the choices that put me in this situation. I have a great deal to be happy about. Still, I can't help but feel that as I am I am currently more of a hinderance to the situation than a help.

In the past six months I've sent out hundreds of resumes. I've gotten only a handful of interviews. I have to remind myself that there are those who aren't getting any at all. I volley back and forth between being grateful that I can be home with my son, to being ashamed that I'm sitting at home taking up resources but not being able to replenish them, to panicking that I've somehow ruined my career.

I think about school, I think about changing careers. I think about giving up and just going on welfare until things calm down, at least I'll have a preference in some jobs, because the system would rather me be working than collecting a check. I honestly don't know what to do, other than cry.

I just hope that this situation isn't long lasting. It may not be permanent, but I sometimes feel that by not being able to work through my pregnancy, I've done permanent damage to my ability to help pay for the food I eat and clothes I wear. Especially now that I have a child.

Son of Sam

2009-09-07T16:04:00.001-07:00

It seems appropriate that my opening post should be about my son. My older brother calls him the "Son of Sam". Of course, he's not David Berkowitz, but he is devious in his own special way.

I miss my peanut.

I miss those days when he was that small; when he practically fit in the palm of my hand, stayed where I put him, and cried only when he needed something.

Here's what life's like now:

(How the hell he managed to climb up in this thing and stand in it to SWING in it is beyond me. HE CAN'T WALK YET!!! But he sure can get up on stuff to get to things he's not supposed to be in to...)

Little Steve is so happy, extremely intelligent, HARDHEADED, stubborn, loving.....and very attached to his Mama.

I adore my son, but he honestly wears me out. I'm sure he'll be walking within the month. He learns things in clumps. You only have to hint at something for him to figure out how to do it. He's quick, one minute he's by your side, and the next he's all the way across the house. He stays under me, and my Mother's instinct keeps me from doing anything else (my "to do" list keeps growing), because I can't do anything other than focus on him when he wants me.

Changing him is a contact sport; Big Steve commented to me one day that I was breathing hard as I tried to wrestle a onesie on Little Man. Not since he was about 6 months old has he held still to have his diaper changed, or even be dressed. Lotion? Yeah, when he's asleep. Nail clipping? *laughing* I gave up on trying to brush his eight teeth. I kiss a lot of boo-boos, and at least once a day pull strands of my hair out of his hands.

But as much as he exasperates me, he also brings me joy. I watch him sleep, and I think to myself about the wonder of being a mother. The amount of love I have for this being who is both a part of me and apart from me. I can no longer imagine life without him. My days are filled with feedings, 15-minute naps (his, not mine), lots of exercise (pulling him off the walls), and worries about what he's gonna swallow next (and gratitude that so far he's puked rather than choked on the things he's managed to find). All the frustration goes away though, when he smiles at me.

Oh yeah, and when he calls me "Mama".