Teachable Moments

     Yesterday morning, Zoe woke up with a Kinda Gross left eye. I live in the state of Denial, and I love it here....it's pretty and there's a lot of flowers.....so I assumed that the 'Maybe It's a A Spring Cold, Possibly Allergies' that she's had since last Thursday had irritated her eyes and I watched. It got progressively worse as the day went on. Kinda Gross turned in to Really Gross, and then she woke up this morning and skipped straight to Nasty Left Eye, Kinda Gross Right Eye. So, I packed up my bags and moved from Denial into Admittance. My kid has pink eye. In both eyes. (Overachiever!) We spent much of yesterday with me telling her to WASH YOUR HANDS! 

     I called the doctor's office at 8am today, made an appointment for both Zoe, and Austin, who doesn't have Nasty Eye problems, and off we went. For a Monday, the doctor's office was surprisingly on time and efficient. We were out and on our way to the pharmacy in a little over a half an hour. 

     The pharmacy is where the wheels fell off the cart a little. 

     The pharmacy is where Unhappy Lady was working. 

     Unhappy Lady, who told me that the prescription for Zoe's eye drops was going to be $84 and some change. She looked me up and down, and in a VERY condescending tone, asked if I would like for them to call the doctor to see if they could substitute something cheaper. I, very politely, said, "That would be great, if you could." She came back with a humpf, and told me it would be about fifteen minutes. I am a reasonably intelligent, adult woman. I know when someone is being snotty to me. I know when I am being judged, and I know that when her eyes looked at my left hand, she wasn't admiring my wedding band set. She was checking to see if I had one. So, I'm standing there, feeling judged, with two of my kids, and I thanked her and walked away. 

     The kids and I went to pick up a few other items while we waited, returning in fifteen minutes, and I approached Unhappy Lady, once again, to ask if the prescription was ready. She was so short with me, and so incredibly rude about telling me that the eye drops, were not, in fact, ready, that I wanted to take her snark, add some sarcasm, (it's my second language, after all) and shove it all back down her throat. 

     Then I glanced down and saw the (slightly disgusting) eyes of my daughter, and I looked back up and said thanks and took a seat on the bench. 

     About five minutes later, another pharmacy employee called Zoe's name and we went to the counter, paid $4 for the eye drops, and walked out the door. 

     Later, on the way home, Zoe and I had the following conversation.

        "Mommy?"

        "Hmm?"

        "Why was that lady so mean?"

        "I have no idea."

        "Why were you so nice to her, after she was mean?"

        "I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt."

        "What does that mean?"

        "It means.... maybe she was having a really bad day, and I didn't want to make it worse."

        "But didn't she make your day worse by being mean?"

        "I guess, but my mom always said, 'two wrongs don't make a right'. That means that even if she was nasty to me, it doesn't make it any better for anyone if I'm nasty back to her." 

        "Was she mad because you didn't want to pay $84 for the eye drops?"

        "I don't know, maybe, I guess."

        "Do you always be nice to people who act like that?"

        "Not always."

        "Why?"

        "Because I'm human. Because I have bad days, too." 

        "Maybe it helped her day that you smiled at her."

        "Maybe. But for sure, it didn't hurt anything, and it didn't cost me anything, either." 

        "I love you."

        "I love you, too." 

        "I'm glad you're my mom."

        "I'm super lucky to be your mom, and I'm glad you're my kid."

     So, Unhappy Lady, thank you for giving me the opportunity to teach my kid something. Believe me, this story could have gone in a completely different direction. I'm glad you were on our path today, I'm happy to have had the chance to smile at you, and I'm really grateful that you helped my family save $80, because my children have been raised to enjoy the finer things in life, like....food and lights. I hope your day got better. Mine absolutely did. I dropped the boy off at school, brought my Icky-Eyed girl home, gave her the discounted eye drops and watched Frozen. (Again.) I don't know what prompted your judgement, and truthfully, I don't care that much. I just, truthfully, and from the very bottom of my heart, hope you have a nice day. 

        

Of Ostrich Eggs and Killer Scarves

      In this blog entry I will attempt to explain to you the events of the last 20 hours of my life. I need for you to understand that I couldn't sit down and make this stuff up if I tried. I need for you to understand that in the grand scheme of things, this was actually a fairly typical day for me. I need for you to understand that if you see me at Sun Mart buying several boxes of wine....well.....please just try to understand.
     Six months ago, when we added Leo to our family, I had but one hope. (That's totally untrue. I had lots of hopes.) I wanted a dog who could not tear me apart limb from limb, but who would warn me of possible intruders in the night, and also, maybe keep my feet warm once in awhile. We brought this Chi Weenie home, and my hand to God, he didn't bark at all for the first month he was here. When he finally found his bark, I worried he would be one of those dogs that irritates everyone around him by never shutting up. I didn't need to worry. He isn't a barker. One time, a few weeks ago, he went absolutely bat-shit crazy at four in the morning, hair standing on end, teeth baring, CRAZY with a capital K.One time, in six months. Understanding this, when he started growling and barking at exactly 1:24am today, I took notice. A lot of notice.
     Initially, I thought one of the kids may have been awake in the kitchen. But I didn't actually hear anything. So I grabbed him under my arm, and got up to see if he had a bathroom related emergency that he needed to handle. Only, he squirmed and fought me trying to NOT leave my bedroom. At this point, it also occurred to me that if it were a member of my family, he wouldn't be panicking. He would be as happy to see one of them at 1:24am, as he is any other time of day. And then I heard a noise. A soft thud.
     Here is the part where I tell you that I have a really big stick in my bedroom designed for just this type of emergency.
     Around the corner I went, seven and a half pounds of terrified dog in one arm, a giant stick in the other. Looking back, I realize that if what I found had actually been an intruder, my only hope of doing any damage with the stick would have been to throw the dog at them first.
     I crossed into the dining room, the dog jumped out of my arms and took off running in the dark. I continued to the kitchen, stealthy and quiet and only stubbing two toes on my way to turn on the light. I took a good look around. The only thing I could see was that there were two lunch boxes on the ground in the pantry that had previously been on a shelf. I did a perimeter check of the house, and returned to the pantry to set things straight. What I saw there, I can never UNsee.
   
     Last summer, Zoe and her cousin spent two weeks with their grandparents. On one outing, they were taken to a farm that had ostriches. Each was sent home with a Styrofoam cooler full of an ostrich egg. Zoe's Styrofoam cooler ended up on the pantry shelf.
     Do you see what's coming?
     I guess I assumed that the ostrich egg had been emptied of it's contents. I was, sadly, mistaken. For whatever reason, the Gods of Decomposing deemed 1:24am this morning the point of no return for the contents of the egg. And it exploded. It blew off the top of the cooler, on which sat two lunch boxes.
     If there is a silver lining in this story, it is that 99% of the mess that is contained within a really, really, really old ostrich egg was still inside the cooler. There was only a large percentage of shell to gather. There was a smell that makes me think that my nose will never forgive me, but once the lid was carefully placed back, the smell was pretty much contained as well.

     After an unplanned, very early morning disinfecting of the pantry occurred, I wandered around looking for the dog. You know how when you're a little kid, you think that as long as you have your head covered, no one can see you? (Or was that just me?!)


   That is King Leonidas "IL Martello" Abramo, in 'Duck and Cover' mode. This is my brave and loyal warrior. And let me tell you, it took some work getting him out from under there.

     About a month ago, John bought me a very soft, woolly, purple scarf and mitten set. The only real issue that I seem to have is that the scarf is exceptionally long. Twice today I stepped on one end of the scarf and essentially 'clothes lined' myself. In public. Where there were people. TWICE. It really was a banner day for my dignity.

     At the end of the day, my dog has PTSD, my pantry hasn't been this clean in a really long time, I will probably never eat eggs of any kind again, and I think it's possible that there are two different surveillance videos of me, gracefully and elegantly attempting to garrote myself.
     That's a wrap, Thursday! See ya next week!

Zoe's Guys

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.

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.
   

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.
     
   

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.

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.