In the late spring about six years ago, the six of us lived in a tiny little town twenty miles west of McCook, Nebraska. John worked out of town Monday through Friday. That left me, and four kids. I don't remember exactly what was happening in our lives at the time, but I know that I had a toddler at home with me all day. I know that a lot of the times if I didn't get my shower taken during her late morning nap, I had to wait until the older kids got home from school so there was some sort of supervision. And I use that word as broadly as possible. Because when you ask children to watch other children.....it usually leads to the cereal cabinet being emptied onto the kitchen floor or the breaking of all the things.
On one particular day, I missed my designated shower time, and when the kids got off the bus, I asked them to please keep an eye on Zoe so I could shower. At some point, someone decided to give her lessons in how to play Dodge ball in the kitchen. You know, the way they do. I'm sure at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable to a bunch of children. It must have been the straw that broke the Momma's heart, because I remember sitting down on the shower floor and crying, and saying over and over, "Please God, send me some help. Please. I don't think I can handle this."
Two days later, help arrived.
Zoe and I woke up to the sounds of things being pounded on. Loud, construction-like noises were coming from the backyard. So, I opened the shades and we looked out to find that on the other side of the alley behind our house, someone was building something. Zoe was fascinated. She refused to leave the window. She sat and had breakfast there. She cried when I tried to shut the blinds. She asked me seventeen million questions about what they were doing and why. I must have said something about the guys who were working over there.
The next morning, she woke up in her usual, 'hit the ground running' fashion and asked if we could see her guys. It took me a minute. I opened the window and she sat there, watching. I gave her some chocolate milk, made sure the doors were locked, and took my first uninterrupted shower in a long time.
She talked constantly about 'my guys', and what they were doing, and how their day was going. She told people in the grocery store. She talked about it to her grandparents. She told her Daddy over the phone, "My guys are comin', Daddy. My guys are comin' over today." And I am sure that since he was out of town and had no clue what any of it meant, it was pretty fun to hear. Over and over again.
For a couple of weeks, in the late spring warmth, help arrived in my life via a sweaty construction crew. This is how I know that God has a sense of humor. I showered alone everyday they were building that metal building. I thanked God for them. While they were there, I took full advantage of them and by the time they left, I had a handle on things again.
About a week after they were gone, Zoe woke up crying in the night. She asked to look out the window, to see her guys. It was dark, and they were gone, and she grieved for a minute and then moved on to whatever the next thing was. (It was collecting, 'pig money', just in case you were wondering. Another story, another day.)
All of this is on my mind today because I am feeling like maybe I need some help here this week. It's nothing major. Just life stuff. I was just asking for a little guidance and some patience and maybe a construction crew to distract my kids for a little while.
Zoe's "guys" never knew she was there. They never knew how much they helped an overwhelmed Mom get the reins back. So, I don't know where it will come from, but I know that the help will come.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
Nine
At precisely 7:10pm, nine year ago today, the world was made a better place. By me. Oh....John too, but mostly me. Nine years ago tonight, on a night not that different from tonight, we made the trek across Omaha, from roughly 132nd and Maple to Clarkson Hospital. I had been in labor all day. I waited until I couldn't wait anymore. We arrived at the hospital at 6:30pm, and forty minutes later, Zoe LeeAnne Abramo arrived. She weighed in at 6 pounds, 2 ounces and was 19 inches long. She was born with a full head of black hair. She was healthy, and happy unless she was cold, hungry or wet. She seemed to gaze at me with a healthy amount of skepticism as to whether or not I was equipped for the job at hand.
The following is an interview I conducted with the Birthday Girl. The answers are all her own. I didn't paraphrase in anyway. I asked the questions and she answered them while I typed her answers and she marveled at my ability to type without looking at the keyboard.
Me: What makes you happy?
Zoe: My family. School. Reading. Presents.
Me: What makes you sad?
Zoe: If my parents died.
Me: What scares you the most?
Zoe: If we were in a dark place and I lost you.
Me: What do you think about this first nine years?
Zoe: They've been pretty good. I can't wait to see what the rest of the year will be like.
Me: What is your favorite memory from your first nine years?
Zoe: First time I read a book on my own.
Me: Where do you think you'll be nine years from now?
Zoe: Since I'll be 18, I'll probably be in college or still in high school.
Me: What do you think it means to be beautiful?
Zoe: I don't think you need beauty. I think you need to be smart. Some girls need to think less about being popular and more about being smart. I care about school, not beauty.
Me: What does it mean to be a good friend?
Zoe: I think being a good friend means being nice. I care more about my friends than me.
Me: If someone asked you to do something that you know is wrong, or would hurt someone, what would you do?
Zoe: I wouldn't do it. I would say, "You shouldn't do that. It could hurt someone. You should treat others like you want them to treat you. Do you want someone to do this to you?"
Me: Who do you want to be like when you grow up?
Zoe: I kind of want to grow up to be like you, since I care about you. I also want to be like Daddy because he served in the Army, and girls can serve in the Army.
Me: Is there anything else you want to tell me?
Zoe: Some people think that their parents don't care about them, but deep down they really do. It's like me and Austin. Sometimes I think he doesn't love me, but he really does.
Me: Do you ever feel like I don't love you?
Zoe: No. You tell me every day. Like, a lot. So...no.
Me: What was the last thing that made you cry?
Zoe: My friends called me 'mean', and one of my other friends said to those friends that they should say they were sorry, but when they said it, they were smiling and started laughing. That really set me off.
Me: What was the last thing that made you laugh?
Zoe: The dog was laying with us and he put his paw on my face and you said, "I now baptize you in the name of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Dog Biscuit."
Me: If you could have anything you wanted, what would you pick?
Zoe: A school, so that I could teach a bunch of kids, like my school does for me.
Me: What are you getting me for Christmas?
Zoe: Mooooommmmmyyy! I'm not telling you!
Me: Can I have the last piece of your birthday cake?
Zoe: I'll split it with you.
In case anyone is curious, I didn't even cry once, all day, until I got to the one about beauty.
And now I am going to shut this down and go split the last piece of Triple Chocolate Cake with her, because she looks like her Daddy, but she eats chocolate like her Mommy.
Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet, Zo. I love you to the moon, to the moon.
The following is an interview I conducted with the Birthday Girl. The answers are all her own. I didn't paraphrase in anyway. I asked the questions and she answered them while I typed her answers and she marveled at my ability to type without looking at the keyboard.
Me: What makes you happy?
Zoe: My family. School. Reading. Presents.
Me: What makes you sad?
Zoe: If my parents died.
Me: What scares you the most?
Zoe: If we were in a dark place and I lost you.
Me: What do you think about this first nine years?
Zoe: They've been pretty good. I can't wait to see what the rest of the year will be like.
Me: What is your favorite memory from your first nine years?
Zoe: First time I read a book on my own.
Me: Where do you think you'll be nine years from now?
Zoe: Since I'll be 18, I'll probably be in college or still in high school.
Me: What do you think it means to be beautiful?
Zoe: I don't think you need beauty. I think you need to be smart. Some girls need to think less about being popular and more about being smart. I care about school, not beauty.
Me: What does it mean to be a good friend?
Zoe: I think being a good friend means being nice. I care more about my friends than me.
Me: If someone asked you to do something that you know is wrong, or would hurt someone, what would you do?
Zoe: I wouldn't do it. I would say, "You shouldn't do that. It could hurt someone. You should treat others like you want them to treat you. Do you want someone to do this to you?"
Me: Who do you want to be like when you grow up?
Zoe: I kind of want to grow up to be like you, since I care about you. I also want to be like Daddy because he served in the Army, and girls can serve in the Army.
Me: Is there anything else you want to tell me?
Zoe: Some people think that their parents don't care about them, but deep down they really do. It's like me and Austin. Sometimes I think he doesn't love me, but he really does.
Me: Do you ever feel like I don't love you?
Zoe: No. You tell me every day. Like, a lot. So...no.
Me: What was the last thing that made you cry?
Zoe: My friends called me 'mean', and one of my other friends said to those friends that they should say they were sorry, but when they said it, they were smiling and started laughing. That really set me off.
Me: What was the last thing that made you laugh?
Zoe: The dog was laying with us and he put his paw on my face and you said, "I now baptize you in the name of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Dog Biscuit."
Me: If you could have anything you wanted, what would you pick?
Zoe: A school, so that I could teach a bunch of kids, like my school does for me.
Me: What are you getting me for Christmas?
Zoe: Mooooommmmmyyy! I'm not telling you!
Me: Can I have the last piece of your birthday cake?
Zoe: I'll split it with you.
In case anyone is curious, I didn't even cry once, all day, until I got to the one about beauty.
And now I am going to shut this down and go split the last piece of Triple Chocolate Cake with her, because she looks like her Daddy, but she eats chocolate like her Mommy.
Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet, Zo. I love you to the moon, to the moon.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Jello, The Army, and Other Assorted Nonsense
I want to write. I want to pour it all out and get it all out of my head.....but because I do not want to write about what I want to write about tonight, let me share with you the following things:
Thing Number One:
A Conversation With Zoe
Me: How was your day at school?
Zoe: Great! Right up until lunch.
Me: What happened at lunch?
Zoe: They had green jello. With PINEAPPLE in it. *makes gaggy face*
Me: That's disgusting! Did you eat it?
Zoe: Are you kidding me!?
Me: Yeah. I knew you wouldn't eat that.
Zoe: The worst part is, they ran out of green jello and the people who eat lunch after my class got to have orange jello, with nothing in it! That is SO, TOTALLY not fair.
Me: That's disgusting!
Zoe: I like orange jello. And I would like green jello but who puts PINEAPPLE in jello?
Me: Some people like jello with cottage cheese in it.
Zoe: (Almost faints from horror) Say it ain't so, Mommy!
Me: Truth. Swear on a stack of Bibles, I have, with my own eyes, seen people eat it.
Zoe: I think I'm gonna be sick!
Me: Preaching to the choir, Kid. I think jello, in any form is horrifying unless you are in the hospital and can't eat anything else.
Zoe: Did you have to eat jello when you were in the hospital after I was born?
Me: No.
Zoe: What did you eat?
Me: Two ham sandwiches.
Zoe: You had a HAM sandwich to celebrate my being born?!
Me: I had TWO ham sandwiches. With NO mayo. Because I love you THAT much.
Zoe: And also because you were starving?
Me: That too.
Zoe: I still think the orange jello thing isn't fair.
Me: You want me to make some calls?
Zoe: Mommy, it's jello.
Me: I know, but it seems really important to you because we've been talking about it for a long time now.
Zoe: *Giggles* My day was good. How was yours?
Me: Now you ask?!! How can I possibly compete with the Green Jello Pineapple Disaster of 2013!?
Zoe: Stop being so dramatic!
Thing Number Two
I very rarely answer my phone if I don't know the number on the caller id. This evening a strange number called and I waited to see if they would leave a voicemail message. They did not. But when the same number called back five minutes later, I thought I'd better find out who it was. The following is the conversation that took place. I have paraphrased a little.
"Hello, Mrs. Abrams. (<---------Red flag!) This is Somebody Something Some Such. I'm calling from the United States Army. Do you have a High School Senior attending Wahoo High School?" At this point there is a slightly awkward pause as I asked myself the following questions: A) Why is the Army calling me? What the HELL did I do now!? B) DO *I* have a high school senior???? C) How the HELL do I have a high school senior!!??
"Yes. That would be my daughter."
"Is she available to talk with me regarding her future plans?"
"Nope."
Awkward silence.
"Is there a better time to reach her?"
"You can call her on her phone."
"Oh, okay...and that number is?"
"402-443-...........I don't know her phone number. Hold on, it's saved in my contacts. *search contacts* 443-####. That's her number."
"Thank you, ma'am. Have a great night."
I hung up my phone and realized I gave him the wrong number.
If the Army comes looking for me I am screwed, but I will probably blame it on him reminding me that my child is a senior in high school AND calling me 'ma'am' in the same conversation. That's too much for this girl, Army.
Assorted Nonsense
My dog believes that if he chews up all the shoes in this house, all of the humans will be forced to stay in and cuddle him all day.
My dog believes that if he pees on, or chews up, all of the beds, pillows and blankets we offer for him to sleep on while in his 'kennel' (the pantry), we will have no choice but to let him sleep in our bed.
My dog believes that wet grass is for punk bitches.
Thing Number One:
A Conversation With Zoe
Me: How was your day at school?
Zoe: Great! Right up until lunch.
Me: What happened at lunch?
Zoe: They had green jello. With PINEAPPLE in it. *makes gaggy face*
Me: That's disgusting! Did you eat it?
Zoe: Are you kidding me!?
Me: Yeah. I knew you wouldn't eat that.
Zoe: The worst part is, they ran out of green jello and the people who eat lunch after my class got to have orange jello, with nothing in it! That is SO, TOTALLY not fair.
Me: That's disgusting!
Zoe: I like orange jello. And I would like green jello but who puts PINEAPPLE in jello?
Me: Some people like jello with cottage cheese in it.
Zoe: (Almost faints from horror) Say it ain't so, Mommy!
Me: Truth. Swear on a stack of Bibles, I have, with my own eyes, seen people eat it.
Zoe: I think I'm gonna be sick!
Me: Preaching to the choir, Kid. I think jello, in any form is horrifying unless you are in the hospital and can't eat anything else.
Zoe: Did you have to eat jello when you were in the hospital after I was born?
Me: No.
Zoe: What did you eat?
Me: Two ham sandwiches.
Zoe: You had a HAM sandwich to celebrate my being born?!
Me: I had TWO ham sandwiches. With NO mayo. Because I love you THAT much.
Zoe: And also because you were starving?
Me: That too.
Zoe: I still think the orange jello thing isn't fair.
Me: You want me to make some calls?
Zoe: Mommy, it's jello.
Me: I know, but it seems really important to you because we've been talking about it for a long time now.
Zoe: *Giggles* My day was good. How was yours?
Me: Now you ask?!! How can I possibly compete with the Green Jello Pineapple Disaster of 2013!?
Zoe: Stop being so dramatic!
Thing Number Two
I very rarely answer my phone if I don't know the number on the caller id. This evening a strange number called and I waited to see if they would leave a voicemail message. They did not. But when the same number called back five minutes later, I thought I'd better find out who it was. The following is the conversation that took place. I have paraphrased a little.
"Hello, Mrs. Abrams. (<---------Red flag!) This is Somebody Something Some Such. I'm calling from the United States Army. Do you have a High School Senior attending Wahoo High School?" At this point there is a slightly awkward pause as I asked myself the following questions: A) Why is the Army calling me? What the HELL did I do now!? B) DO *I* have a high school senior???? C) How the HELL do I have a high school senior!!??
"Yes. That would be my daughter."
"Is she available to talk with me regarding her future plans?"
"Nope."
Awkward silence.
"Is there a better time to reach her?"
"You can call her on her phone."
"Oh, okay...and that number is?"
"402-443-...........I don't know her phone number. Hold on, it's saved in my contacts. *search contacts* 443-####. That's her number."
"Thank you, ma'am. Have a great night."
I hung up my phone and realized I gave him the wrong number.
If the Army comes looking for me I am screwed, but I will probably blame it on him reminding me that my child is a senior in high school AND calling me 'ma'am' in the same conversation. That's too much for this girl, Army.
Assorted Nonsense
My dog believes that if he chews up all the shoes in this house, all of the humans will be forced to stay in and cuddle him all day.
My dog believes that if he pees on, or chews up, all of the beds, pillows and blankets we offer for him to sleep on while in his 'kennel' (the pantry), we will have no choice but to let him sleep in our bed.
My dog believes that wet grass is for punk bitches.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Things, Stuff and Situations
*Peeks around corner*
So....you know how you really want to write something and you have an idea of how you want it to sound but then the words come out and you temporarily lose your ability to see past your feelings and you stop for half a second at the end and consider everyone else's feelings regarding the subject and you hit "Publish" anyway, because, "EFF OFF FEELINGS!" No?? Just me then? Well....okay. Did anyone get a description of that masked Rant-er back there?? I maybe need a pop-up button that comes after I push "Publish" that says, "Are You Sure?" and then perhaps another, "Are You REALLY Sure?".
That last post came out a little more....angry (?) than I wanted. A little more 'poor me' than I intended, maybe?
Yes, a lot of years ago some stuff happened. A lot of stuff, actually. It started with a Thing, and then it turned into Stuff and it escalated to a Situation. And I guess what I am saying is, the Stuff was, yes, a long ride to Suckville on a CrapTrain, and removing myself from the Situation was very, very, painful but I made it out and I'm a better person for having lived through all of it. Though I do have to say that I was doubtful for awhile there that I would actually make it out in one piece. But I did. And today is sort of an anniversary of the beginning of all the Stuff, which was preceded by the anniversary of the Thing by four days. And I maybe have some lingering anger issues and possibly need a lot of therapy but that's not really news to anyone who knows me.
Here's the thing, though, I was there, too. I have responsibility in all of the Stuff, and the Thing was all mine to live with, and so, I walked into the Situation with my 20ish year old eyes wide open. I don't like the idea that I'm putting something out into the world which places me in the role of 'victim' and erases any responsibility I had in the Situation. I was in my very early 20's, I was immature, over-dramatic, insecure and naive, but I made choices just like every other person involved in the Situation. When I got hurt, I acted in the way a young and inexperienced person reacts, I hurt back. Maybe the scars aren't the same......but I left scars. I didn't do the right things. I am not proud of who I was in those weeks and months. I've had to ask for a lot of forgiveness.
The point is, I own what I did. Nobody forced my hand. I wasn't a great person and the reasons why I was behaving the way I did do not matter. The point is, I grew up. I learned. And I can not honestly say the same for other's that were involved in the Situation, but I know the very few things I have heard over the years have indicated to me that the same can not be said for all involved.
I don't feel particularly sad about it. I don't feel.....anything about it, really. I feel like the best thing I can do is live a life I can be proud of, and have faith that God knows why he sent me into the Thing/Stuff/Situation and all will be revealed in His time. While I am waiting for those answers to be revealed to me, I don't want to play the victim. It was bad, then I (with MUCH MUCH HELP) fixed. it. And now here I am.
So there. *WHEW* It's really, really tempting to press the delete button on both of these posts and crawl into bed and start all over tomorrow, but I think I won't. I am not sorry about the Thing. Not ever. Not even a little bit. I have many regrets about Stuff, and I never want to live through another Situation like that one again, but I am grateful for all of it, somehow, too.
So....you know how you really want to write something and you have an idea of how you want it to sound but then the words come out and you temporarily lose your ability to see past your feelings and you stop for half a second at the end and consider everyone else's feelings regarding the subject and you hit "Publish" anyway, because, "EFF OFF FEELINGS!" No?? Just me then? Well....okay. Did anyone get a description of that masked Rant-er back there?? I maybe need a pop-up button that comes after I push "Publish" that says, "Are You Sure?" and then perhaps another, "Are You REALLY Sure?".
That last post came out a little more....angry (?) than I wanted. A little more 'poor me' than I intended, maybe?
Yes, a lot of years ago some stuff happened. A lot of stuff, actually. It started with a Thing, and then it turned into Stuff and it escalated to a Situation. And I guess what I am saying is, the Stuff was, yes, a long ride to Suckville on a CrapTrain, and removing myself from the Situation was very, very, painful but I made it out and I'm a better person for having lived through all of it. Though I do have to say that I was doubtful for awhile there that I would actually make it out in one piece. But I did. And today is sort of an anniversary of the beginning of all the Stuff, which was preceded by the anniversary of the Thing by four days. And I maybe have some lingering anger issues and possibly need a lot of therapy but that's not really news to anyone who knows me.
Here's the thing, though, I was there, too. I have responsibility in all of the Stuff, and the Thing was all mine to live with, and so, I walked into the Situation with my 20ish year old eyes wide open. I don't like the idea that I'm putting something out into the world which places me in the role of 'victim' and erases any responsibility I had in the Situation. I was in my very early 20's, I was immature, over-dramatic, insecure and naive, but I made choices just like every other person involved in the Situation. When I got hurt, I acted in the way a young and inexperienced person reacts, I hurt back. Maybe the scars aren't the same......but I left scars. I didn't do the right things. I am not proud of who I was in those weeks and months. I've had to ask for a lot of forgiveness.
The point is, I own what I did. Nobody forced my hand. I wasn't a great person and the reasons why I was behaving the way I did do not matter. The point is, I grew up. I learned. And I can not honestly say the same for other's that were involved in the Situation, but I know the very few things I have heard over the years have indicated to me that the same can not be said for all involved.
I don't feel particularly sad about it. I don't feel.....anything about it, really. I feel like the best thing I can do is live a life I can be proud of, and have faith that God knows why he sent me into the Thing/Stuff/Situation and all will be revealed in His time. While I am waiting for those answers to be revealed to me, I don't want to play the victim. It was bad, then I (with MUCH MUCH HELP) fixed. it. And now here I am.
So there. *WHEW* It's really, really tempting to press the delete button on both of these posts and crawl into bed and start all over tomorrow, but I think I won't. I am not sorry about the Thing. Not ever. Not even a little bit. I have many regrets about Stuff, and I never want to live through another Situation like that one again, but I am grateful for all of it, somehow, too.
You
Last Thursday night I was shopping. I leaned down to get something off the bottom shelf and I heard your voice snark in my ear, "Your ass looks huge when you lean down like that." And I stopped what I was doing and fixed the way I was crouched before I even realized what I had done. It's Monday morning, and it's still bothering me.
For better or worse, in my head, there lives a community of voices. A collection of memories of things that people have said to me, good and bad. Truthfully....they're mostly bad. And yours is the loudest voice in there. The lead dissident. You.
In all the years and all the life that has happened, it's still your voice that snarls in my ear when I'm feeling low. It's still you that tells me I'm not good enough, not pretty enough, not anything enough. Or conversely, you often tell me I am too much. When my heart is broken, as it was all that time ago, it's you who tells me that I deserve it. It's your words that haunt me when I'm feeling insecure.
My heart was in pieces....in my head I think of a puzzle with missing pieces, you might be able to get away with a missing corner or some edge pieces, but my missing fragments were right out of the middle. I know that you took what I offered and I know that you gave me back loneliness and hurt and fear and shame.
I wish that the me of today could sit the me of those days down and have a talk with her. She was so naive. I somehow managed to convince myself that if I helped heal the hurt in your heart, you would help fill in the gaps in mine. Instead, I think you made the holes wider and deeper. But I survived. I learned to be grateful for the things you taught me about myself. The truth about me. I learned to ignore the memory of the sound of your voice. I learned that fear is what drove you to lie and cheat. I learned that the things you said to me were more about you than me. I Spackled up the holes, some temporarily, some not, and I moved on.
But once in awhile, you still whisper in my ear, as you did last Thursday. Once in a while, I forget that you never really knew me, and you never really liked me. You.
So, on this anniversary of what should have never been, what is never going to be, let me tell you some things about me. Get to know me a little before you decide to tell me all about the things that are repugnant about me, because you were so wrong about me.
I'm a great mom. You lied about that.
I'm a great wife. You lied about that, too.
I'm not a waste of any one's time. You were wrong about that.
I'm funnier than you ever thought. You were wrong about that, too.
I'm smart about a lot of things. Just not what you thought I should be smart about.
I'm kind because I want people to count on me. Because I have needed someone to count on in my life, and you were not it.
I WAS so grateful for the help I received. You had me convinced that I didn't deserve any one's kindness so I may not have expressed how grateful I was....but I still thank God everyday that he answered the prayers that he did, and sent the people he did, and blessed me the many, many ways that he did. So, you were very wrong about all of that, as well.
I am worthy of kindness and love. You were mistaken.
So....here it is. Your eviction notice.
Maybe you had your reasons, maybe there's some excuse but I don't have time for any of that. I have a whole life that you wouldn't recognize me in, and I'm sure if you could you would pick it apart and analyze and make sure I know what areas I am failing miserably in, but I'm much too busy LIVING it to listen to any of that kind of talk.
So, thank you for the lessons. They were valuable and hard-learned. They are all being passed on in a gentler, kinder way to my children. Perhaps I will save them the pain of learning some of those things the hard way. Perhaps that is, itself, the reason I had to learn them.
You.
For better or worse, in my head, there lives a community of voices. A collection of memories of things that people have said to me, good and bad. Truthfully....they're mostly bad. And yours is the loudest voice in there. The lead dissident. You.
In all the years and all the life that has happened, it's still your voice that snarls in my ear when I'm feeling low. It's still you that tells me I'm not good enough, not pretty enough, not anything enough. Or conversely, you often tell me I am too much. When my heart is broken, as it was all that time ago, it's you who tells me that I deserve it. It's your words that haunt me when I'm feeling insecure.
My heart was in pieces....in my head I think of a puzzle with missing pieces, you might be able to get away with a missing corner or some edge pieces, but my missing fragments were right out of the middle. I know that you took what I offered and I know that you gave me back loneliness and hurt and fear and shame.
I wish that the me of today could sit the me of those days down and have a talk with her. She was so naive. I somehow managed to convince myself that if I helped heal the hurt in your heart, you would help fill in the gaps in mine. Instead, I think you made the holes wider and deeper. But I survived. I learned to be grateful for the things you taught me about myself. The truth about me. I learned to ignore the memory of the sound of your voice. I learned that fear is what drove you to lie and cheat. I learned that the things you said to me were more about you than me. I Spackled up the holes, some temporarily, some not, and I moved on.
But once in awhile, you still whisper in my ear, as you did last Thursday. Once in a while, I forget that you never really knew me, and you never really liked me. You.
So, on this anniversary of what should have never been, what is never going to be, let me tell you some things about me. Get to know me a little before you decide to tell me all about the things that are repugnant about me, because you were so wrong about me.
I'm a great mom. You lied about that.
I'm a great wife. You lied about that, too.
I'm not a waste of any one's time. You were wrong about that.
I'm funnier than you ever thought. You were wrong about that, too.
I'm smart about a lot of things. Just not what you thought I should be smart about.
I'm kind because I want people to count on me. Because I have needed someone to count on in my life, and you were not it.
I WAS so grateful for the help I received. You had me convinced that I didn't deserve any one's kindness so I may not have expressed how grateful I was....but I still thank God everyday that he answered the prayers that he did, and sent the people he did, and blessed me the many, many ways that he did. So, you were very wrong about all of that, as well.
I am worthy of kindness and love. You were mistaken.
So....here it is. Your eviction notice.
Maybe you had your reasons, maybe there's some excuse but I don't have time for any of that. I have a whole life that you wouldn't recognize me in, and I'm sure if you could you would pick it apart and analyze and make sure I know what areas I am failing miserably in, but I'm much too busy LIVING it to listen to any of that kind of talk.
So, thank you for the lessons. They were valuable and hard-learned. They are all being passed on in a gentler, kinder way to my children. Perhaps I will save them the pain of learning some of those things the hard way. Perhaps that is, itself, the reason I had to learn them.
You.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Holes
***This was an unpublished post from several weeks ago that I just reread tonight and decided to post
There was a guy.
There was a guy.
There was a girl.
They loved one another to distraction, and they had kids and got married and moved to a house in the country and were adopted by a cat and the girl found the MOST AWESOME purple and silver comforter on sale at Target and the guy said he didn't care that much that the comforter wasn't at all manly and life was good.
The guy often had to work out of town.
This made the girl very sad. The girl was not very good at actually SAYING she was sad, so she acted angry at the guy sometimes. A lot. Mostly on Sundays because the guy had to leave very early on Monday morning, and she began to really get nervous about the upcoming week and stress about being In Charge of the health, safety, transportation, and general well-being of all of the kids and the cat.
The guy was a very, very, patient guy. He took it in stride and spent a lot of Sundays walking around on eggshells and, I imagine, trying to figure out what in Heaven's Holy name he ever saw in this crazy chic that made him want to have kids and a cat and a super duper UNmanly comforter.
One time, the boy did not leave for his out of town work until Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday's happened to be the girl's day off from her job, so she drove him to his shop. During the drive to the shop, the guy made the girl laugh, because he is very good at making her laugh. After leaving him at the shop, she was driving home, alone. It was very quiet in the truck, and the girl realized that she maybe, once in awhile, needs to tell the guy that she appreciates him.
Comfort Objects
My Dearest Nankie With The Holes In It;
Let me say, first, that we tried desperately to get our Zoe to shorten your name. We tried "Blankie" but she wasn't great with 'b's yet. You were "Nanket" for awhile, but I guess she felt the need to be specific after that one time that she got tricked into putting you into what became the longest wash cycle in the history of washing machines. And so, you became "Nankie With The Holes In It", long since she has learned to pronounce the word 'blanket,' but she still calls you Nankie. So do the rest of us.
You were presented to me as a loving, handmade gift from Zoe's aunt, whose own sweet daughter was born just two months after Miss Zoe. Truth be told, I didn't ever plan for you to become a daily, must-have object. I wanted you well taken care of, I wanted you cherished and safe on a shelf somewhere. As has always been the case, Zoe had other plans.
If I am honest, I can not remember a time when she wasn't thoroughly attached to your presence. You've seen her through some difficult times. You kept her safe that first night in her brand new toddler bed. You've taken countless naps with her. You went to an awful lot of time-outs with her. You went to daycare with her, stuffed into the smallest pink backpack. You kept her warm during several moves to different houses. We all (and I do mean EVERYONE), spent a sleepless night without you when you were accidentally left behind at a hotel. You've kept her grounded and reminded of home during sleepovers with family. You rode in the car with us on her way to her first day of preschool. She wanted desperately to take you to her first day of Kindergarten. You hid in her backpack during a particularly difficult stretch of separation anxiety during first grade. I cut one of your errant strings and tied it to her shoelace so she always had you with her once. You made a couple of VERY bad days of second grade so much better by just being in the same place she left you when she got home.
I am grateful.
I am also fearful.
Everyday, I know that she is inching further away from you, from us both.
How do I know? She was willing to leave you behind on her recent 9 day trip to her grandparent's house. Leave you for me, in case *I* needed you. Don't get me wrong, Nankie, old friend, she asked if I wanted her to leave you, but she was visibly grateful that I declined the offer.
Tonight she asked me if I thought she was 'too old' for you. Her question was prompted by someone else, someone who told her that she was, but I could see the fear in her eyes about having to give you up. And I could feel the heaviness in my own heart at the thought of her no longer needing you.
Is she too old? I don't know. I only know that you've become a comfort to me, as much as to her. I know that there are several more holes in you now that there ever used to be. I know that you were given to her in a perfect rectangle shape, and eight years of love and washing have nearly split you in two. I know that you were a collage of pastels a long time ago, and now you seem mostly gray. I know that often times, she doesn't think of you at all until bedtime. I know that while she was gone at her grandparents, when she called to say goodnight, I pictured my round-faced, dark haired toddler, clutching you to her cheek. I know that I am not ready to let you go, either of you, even for a moment.
There will be a time that you will end up being a relic of her childhood. You will end up in a box, with her favorite pig stuffed animal and odds and ends. It will be the box I keep. The one I will sit and look through when I am missing my little girl. Perhaps I will tie one of your faded strings to her shoelace when she leaves for college. Maybe I will tuck a piece of you away into her flowers at her wedding. Maybe, when her own precious children are born, I will present you again to her.
Is she too old for you? Not tonight, Nankie. Tonight, you are safely wrapped in her arms while she sleeps away peacefully. You are not a relic, just yet. Tonight, she still needs us both.
Let me say, first, that we tried desperately to get our Zoe to shorten your name. We tried "Blankie" but she wasn't great with 'b's yet. You were "Nanket" for awhile, but I guess she felt the need to be specific after that one time that she got tricked into putting you into what became the longest wash cycle in the history of washing machines. And so, you became "Nankie With The Holes In It", long since she has learned to pronounce the word 'blanket,' but she still calls you Nankie. So do the rest of us.
You were presented to me as a loving, handmade gift from Zoe's aunt, whose own sweet daughter was born just two months after Miss Zoe. Truth be told, I didn't ever plan for you to become a daily, must-have object. I wanted you well taken care of, I wanted you cherished and safe on a shelf somewhere. As has always been the case, Zoe had other plans.
If I am honest, I can not remember a time when she wasn't thoroughly attached to your presence. You've seen her through some difficult times. You kept her safe that first night in her brand new toddler bed. You've taken countless naps with her. You went to an awful lot of time-outs with her. You went to daycare with her, stuffed into the smallest pink backpack. You kept her warm during several moves to different houses. We all (and I do mean EVERYONE), spent a sleepless night without you when you were accidentally left behind at a hotel. You've kept her grounded and reminded of home during sleepovers with family. You rode in the car with us on her way to her first day of preschool. She wanted desperately to take you to her first day of Kindergarten. You hid in her backpack during a particularly difficult stretch of separation anxiety during first grade. I cut one of your errant strings and tied it to her shoelace so she always had you with her once. You made a couple of VERY bad days of second grade so much better by just being in the same place she left you when she got home.
I am grateful.
I am also fearful.
Everyday, I know that she is inching further away from you, from us both.
How do I know? She was willing to leave you behind on her recent 9 day trip to her grandparent's house. Leave you for me, in case *I* needed you. Don't get me wrong, Nankie, old friend, she asked if I wanted her to leave you, but she was visibly grateful that I declined the offer.
Tonight she asked me if I thought she was 'too old' for you. Her question was prompted by someone else, someone who told her that she was, but I could see the fear in her eyes about having to give you up. And I could feel the heaviness in my own heart at the thought of her no longer needing you.
Is she too old? I don't know. I only know that you've become a comfort to me, as much as to her. I know that there are several more holes in you now that there ever used to be. I know that you were given to her in a perfect rectangle shape, and eight years of love and washing have nearly split you in two. I know that you were a collage of pastels a long time ago, and now you seem mostly gray. I know that often times, she doesn't think of you at all until bedtime. I know that while she was gone at her grandparents, when she called to say goodnight, I pictured my round-faced, dark haired toddler, clutching you to her cheek. I know that I am not ready to let you go, either of you, even for a moment.
There will be a time that you will end up being a relic of her childhood. You will end up in a box, with her favorite pig stuffed animal and odds and ends. It will be the box I keep. The one I will sit and look through when I am missing my little girl. Perhaps I will tie one of your faded strings to her shoelace when she leaves for college. Maybe I will tuck a piece of you away into her flowers at her wedding. Maybe, when her own precious children are born, I will present you again to her.
Is she too old for you? Not tonight, Nankie. Tonight, you are safely wrapped in her arms while she sleeps away peacefully. You are not a relic, just yet. Tonight, she still needs us both.
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