Thrive

I have decided on my Word of the Year. I had written a list of words that I was contemplating, hoping that something would start to stick out and it did. Not long after I wrote the previous blog, the word Thrive began jumping out at me and I seemed to see it everywhere. And it became clear to me that the suffocating stuck feeling I was getting from Stay was related to a desire to grow. So, Thrive seems like a good choice. For 2017 I hope to see my family, personal and work life thrive, to prosper and flourish, to advance, to grow vigorously. I don’t want to be stagnant, staying in one place, I want to move forward, be fortunate and successful, sloughing off all the bad juju from the past and accepting only positive momentum. For 2017 I want to THRIVE.  

A Sad Good-bye

The man who pulled all my baby teeth because I didn’t trust anyone else to do it, not even my dad. The man who taught me to ride a bike, calling, “Peddle, peddle, peddle!” as he jogged alongside me in his front yard. The man who drove the tractor carefully through the yellowed fields for my birthday hayride parties. The man who came over and built my basement door after heavy snows nearly collapsed the rotting wood. The man who took us into the meadow to see the baby calves and taught us how to hold the sweet clover for the cows to take from our hands. The man who helped us wrangle our 4-H sheep and pigs to get them loaded for the fairs. The man who let us sit in the wagon while he picked the field corn. He taught me the meaning of hard work and honesty. I was blessed and honored to call him my PopPop. His passing yesterday leaves and aching hole in my heart. He has been sick for so long and he has fought so hard to regain his strength. It was the stroke he suffered at the beginning of this year that ultimately ended in him giving up the fight. He was tired, his body was broken and no longer his own. His sense of independence was tortuously gone, having to rely on my Nana for every nuance of self-care. He was a good man and a wonderful grandfather. I was so fortunate to have spent so many happy times with him as a child. It seems unfathomable that I won’t ever hear his voice again with his thick Dutchy accent. Or be able to give him a hug. Or have him joke with us, which was his way of saying, “I love you.” As per his wishes, he will be cremated and my grandmother will hold keep his ashes until she can join him. They want to buried with their beloved dog Duchess, behind the pump house in their front yard. After 62 years of marriage my grandmother is having a hard time coping with the idea of being alone. She sobbed as the funeral home wheeled him out of the house early yesterday evening. She had hugged him and kissed his cheek telling him one last time she loved him and thanked him for “one heck of ride.” We sat with her for a few more hours, reminiscing about the good times, sharing our favorite stories from the past. My grandparents are simple, humble people. There will be no fanfare, no fancy funeral. The out-of-town relatives who weren’t there last night will trickle in to visit with her as 2016 comes to an end. The man who I had written about as my hero in third grade will never be forgotten, his memory will live on in each one of us. May he now rest in peace. Good-bye PopPop.

AAA and Enchiladas

We are having car trouble again. Seriously. I ran to the grocery store last night to grab a few things to prepare for tonight’s dinner with friends and when I got back out to the van it wouldn’t start. I called AAA (thankfully my parents gifted me a membership last Christmas and just renewed my membership again this Christmas) and asked to have my battery jumped because I thought that was the problem. When the AAA battery guy came the van still wouldn’t start. He said it was my starter. Fortunately, after about a half dozen clicks he got it started and I was able to drive home in time to put Love Bug to bed. Then I had dishes to wash and enchiladas to make because tonight my friend who lives on the other side of the state is coming to visit with her husband. I only see them once a year between Christmas and New Year’s. Today my dad came by the house in the morning and the same multi-clicks on the ignition got the van started so I could trundle us all off to daycare and work and my dad could drive the van home to repair the starter, which is only a year old, I might add. Unfortunately, when he brought the van back to me he locked the keys inside and I exhausted my 4 roadside assistance get out of jail free cards with AAA. Did you know it cost $50 to get your keys from inside your locked car? Sigh.

 

So, my friend who is coming to visit is a fellow PCOS sufferer. Her and I used to commiserate on our lack of ability in procreating but then I became single and a mom so we don’t chat as much as we used to. I think it was three years ago, just before Primero moved in, that I invited them over for an enchilada dinner. At the time I wasn’t in a very festive mood (I had been selected to take in a 3 week old baby only to find out a few days later he was going to an aunt – I call him the Christmas Miracle baby and you can read about him here and here. Since then it has become our tradition, which was fine when it was just me but has become more cumbersome with the children. I don’t want to throw my mom status in her face, but as a stay-at-home housewife, my friend has no idea how much coordination and hard work goes into preparing a meal, especially after working all day. I know inviting us over isn’t an option, since they stay with her parents, but maybe offering to bring food rather than adding more stress to my already burgeoning plate. I begrudgingly made the enchiladas last night and then washed the dishes and was able to sit down for 20 minutes before bedtime. In addition to the car troubles, we don’t have a working dryer and the sinus cold I thought I beat is back with a vengeance. I feel like poo and would much rather soak in a hot bubble bath than entertain guests. At least all I have to do is pop the enchiladas into the oven and whisk up some cilantro lime rice and dinner is good to go. Of course then there’s clean up….. Sigh.   

A Merry little Christmas

Christmas is finally over. I feel like I can breathe again, the pressure is off of me. Who knew playing Santa was so stressful? I’m not sure why, but I was fairly apathetic about the holidays this year. I was mostly going through the motions, not in a sad way, just in a sort of numb way. I procrastinated on getting gifts and ended up at the mall on Saturday to finish. I also intended to get pictures of the little ones with Santa but the line was too long and Love Bug was too grumpy from not getting his nap at the appropriate time. I felt bad about that, Chica Marie was looking forward to seeing Santa. Perfect Pinterest mom I am not. I mean, they did see Santa at the CHOR Christmas party and there are pictures from that! Sigh.

 

Christmas Eve we went to Primero’s uncles place. I was feeling nervous and reserved about going, based on the catastrophe that happened over Thanksgiving, but we ended up having a nice night. Apparently having his aunt back home (from her trip to help her daughter with the new baby) made all the difference. Everyone was in good moods and having fun chatting, teasing, playing with the kids and exchanging gifts. I spent a lot of time talking to Hermano’s girlfriend (I’m not actually sure that they are together) and snuggling with the baby. She told me something Primero had mentioned a few months ago but I didn’t believe because it was on the heels of him telling me the baby was autistic (not possible to diagnosis in an infant!). The baby has Down’s Syndrome. Somehow it wasn’t caught during the plethora of ultrasounds and testing. When Primero told me about the diagnosis I didn’t believe him simply because I erroneously believed this would be known based on the prenatal tests and ultrasounds done throughout the pregnancy. But, even this day and age science and medicine can be wrong, something can be missed. I listened to the girlfriend talk about taking on two jobs and scrimping and saving to get her little guy something for Christmas. Hermano is currently not working and it didn’t sound like he was putting a lot of effort into finding a new job. Having a baby with special needs is not going to make things any easier on them. Thankfully there are many free early intervention services they can use to help their little guy develop and meet important milestones. I know they’ve been helpful for Love Bug and he is improving slowly but surely.

 

Around 10 pm I asked Primero if he was ready to leave. He ignored me. His uncle ordered pizza. Once we all had a slice or two, I begged Primero to leave. It was late (after 11) and I was exhausted and still had gifts to wrap to prepare for the next day. Primero took a shower when we got home, leaving me to finish wrapping all by myself. I straightened up a bit before tucking the gifts under the tree and feel into bed close to 1 am. I asked Primero to be upstairs by 9 am the next day so we could open presents at our place and then head to the farm for brunch.

 

Christmas morning I woke up before Love Bug. Chica Marie was awake and chomping at the bit to start opening gifts. I held her off by doing her hair until Love Bug woke up. Then I slowly let them open gifts. At 9:15 I called Primero to wake him up. He was grumpy and sullen. He remained this way until well after we returned home from the farm. He wanted to go to his other uncle’s house and was angry that I didn’t let him leave on Christmas. He went there last night to spend the night. I know he said he wasn’t into the holidays this year, although he didn’t say why, and I’m sure this was reason for his moodiness, but it made me feel really crappy. He hardly talked to anyone at my parents place, choosing to sit on his phone playing the quintessential role of brooding teenager. It upset me that he acted that way when I made an effort, no matter how I felt about things with his uncle, to be cheery and have a good time visiting with his family. I haven’t yet had a chance to talk to him about what was bothering him. I know in the past he has been upset when seeing his family getting along so well because it reminds him of the times they were more cohesive and he wasn’t separated from them by adoption. I guess I can understand that to a certain extent but I also can’t because he has access to his family on a very consistent basis yet it never seems like enough to him; his need to be with his family is never satiated, it only seems to grow with every interaction. I try to think what it must be like as a teenager, but I can’t seem to grasp that feeling.

 

I think part of my feelings of apathy for Christmas and the holiday season this year stems from fighting with Primero to get him involved in our holiday traditions I’m trying to create for our family. He refuses to participate in most things and while I get that it isn’t cool for a teenager to do certain things, other things I feel are important. He wouldn’t help make cookies, he sat on his phone. He barely helped decorate the tree and grumbled about it the whole time. He didn’t want to go along to pick out the tree but I had already bought the train tickets (we took a train ride to pick out our tree, something different than we’ve ever done before!). He was irritated the whole time. He refused to attend church, which is common. Instead of going with us to see Christmas lights, he sat in the car and called me periodically to see if we were done yet. He didn’t want to open gifts or let me take pictures of him opening gifts. He almost refused to take our traditional family picture in front of the Christmas tree, but I got him to comply. The constant fighting makes me want to give up, shout “bahumbug!” and be done with it all. But, it especially hurts when he so readily complies with the traditions his family follows. It’s such a slap in the face.  

 

Despite Primero’s glum, Scrooge attitude, we managed to have a nice Christmas. I’m glad it’s over. We were invited to his uncles (again!) for New Years. I’m glad we had a nice time on Christmas Eve but I don’t know if I really want to go over again for New Years. I’d like it to be a more quiet night. Primero simply won’t skip it, so we will have to decide what’s happening. In the past we have stayed home, played games, pigged out and drank sparkling cider until the ball dropped then we would watch fireworks at the Pagoda out the back window. Maybe I’ll be doing that alone this year.

Mom Fail

A fellow blogger wrote “It was ugly. I, was ugly. I admit that because I'm not perfect. I think its a helpful reminder to read about other's admissions of imperfection, especially during the holidays when everyone is wearing matching sweaters, building insanely cute gingerbread houses, and sharing pictures of holiday gatherings.”

 

And I can so relate to this as my experience on Saturday. I wasn’t PMS-ing but I did come down with a sinus cold and was feeling exceptionally grumpy and not mom-like this weekend, especially Saturday. At one point I growled to the two small children, “All I want is for you to go away and leave me alone.” Ouch! They were just being kids, bouncing around the house and playing. But, my head was pounding and I just wanted to sleep. Primero had spent the night at his uncle’s house and so he wasn’t home to run interference. If I had been parenting myself I would have sent me to my room for being so crabby and unkind. It actually wouldn’t have been a punishment because all I really wanted to do was nap. I did not get out of my pajamas all day on Saturday. I did manage to make us dinner but that was pretty much my only accomplishment of the day. There was an ice/slush storm that cancelled all of our plans for the day, so I felt no need to put on regular clothing. Or a bra. I did take a shower and change into fresh pajamas before going to bed.

 

So there you have it, my mom-fail confession. I was ugly. I was grumpy. I said mean things I didn’t mean. We all survived and Sunday was a better day.

New Levels of Frustration

It’s pointless to bemoan the absurdity of the system time and time again. It’s pointless to get justifiably angry when so many professionals seem to be yanking the chain of two small children, keeping their lives on pause. It’s pointless to sit and ponder why there isn’t someone, somewhere who can actually *DO* something about this atrocity.

 

TPR was supposed to occur for the little one’s last week. Today I got the courage to ask our CHOR case worker if she heard anything. She emailed me the response she got from the county case worker – " Unfortunately due to Mother’s attorney being in the hospital with heart issues as well as other personal issues the hearing was continued by Judge L until January 30, 2017.”

 

My response to her was:

 

There are no words. I have reached a whole new level of frustration.

A Fable

Chica Marie has been having trouble telling the truth. She makes up stories, things that have the potential to land someone in very hot water, and she insists they are true. Until, that is, all the players and by-standers are questioned and it turns out Chica Marie told a whopper. Some of the things she reports fall apart when she is questioned, some of them are refuted by her TSS worker or teacher, some we might never know the actual truth. I can only guess she does it for attention, but I am trying to teach her the serious ramifications of telling fibs. So, I told her a very animated version of Aesop’s fable about the boy who cried wolf. She liked the story and has asked me to tell it a few times. We always end the story by saying what it teaches us. Last night, on the drive home Chica Marie told me her version of the story. She included my glib line about the shepherd boy being bored since this was in the olden days and he didn’t have a phone or IPad to entertain him while he watched the flock. At the end of her lengthened rendition, she recounted what we learned. In her words, “We shouldn’t cry wolf when there is no wolf and also, we shouldn’t watch sheep when we’re bored.” Aesop could not have said it better himself…..

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