Little boy/big boy

Now I take pictures of LittleDude almost every night when he nurses to sleep.  One of these times it will be the last time that he snuggles to sleep and looks for my cuddles overnight. Soon one day, my milk will not be the thing that he needs to soothe his owies or mend his broken heart.

There of course are frustrations, when I want him to just go to bed.... to stop following me around, but he is my last little baby, so I am really trying to to focus on snuggling and enjoying every moment I can, because one time- it will be memories.

I love my little ones, and this is different, because I usually had delivered another baby by this time and had my time divided between a new baby and a three year old toddler.

Its hard not to have another baby, it is hard to know that this is my last snuggle bug, and I don't like it.  Being a mother has been such a huge part of my life- leaving this stage is a struggle for me.  What will it look like?  Will I still be needed? Loved? How will we navigate this?

A huge part of me hopes that this is not my last baby, I don't feel done. My heart aches for more nursing time, for more baby-wearing time, for more singing, and feeling a baby move in my womb

Horrible Nightmare

Last week I had to go to the doctor for my hip.  While I was there, something horrific happened.

B was badly injured training at a live fire drill.

One minute we were texting each other about my hip, he said that he had to go drill, next thing I know my phone was going crazy as he had fallen trying to force open door as part of their training. When he fell he broke his leg.

Seeing the text that he was hurt but not knowing what was happening was terrifying. Not being able to help was frustrating.

As a mother, my job is to fix things. Make things better.  There is nothing that I can do to help him. Nothing I can do to make it better.  All I could do was go there and be there.

The break was bad enough and in a place that required surgery, I have had a lot of surgery, but waiting for someone to have surgery is something I have less experience with.  Sitting there, watching the screen with his case--- waiting for screen to advance to "surgery complete".

B's job has always scared me- I love and respect what he does, but it scares me.  Because he could so quickly be injured. Nothing is a guarantee.  Every time we talk we end it with "I love you, be safe".  I will not let him off the phone until he replies "I always am".

It has been hard for the kids- he is like superman.  He comes and fixes things and saves the day. His job is actually to save people.  He is not here a lot but when he is he is fantastic with them.  No one gets a better welcome than when daddy gets here.

Truth be told, I am a little jealous about how the kids are so interested in helping him. When I get hurt or have surgery nothing changes, the requests keep coming: "mama what's for dinner??" "where is my shirt?" B gets hurt--- totally different story- they are all over him helping.  Which, honestly is good.  He is dad- and a pretty darn awesome one.

Seeing the message that B was hurt was the most horrifying thing. My stomach dropped a million miles, I started sweating, I was sick to my stomach.  He annoys the crap out of me and irritates me beyond belief, but I love him.

When the doctor told me that he did need surgery, I got light headed--- and its not my leg! A doctor can tell me I need surgery and that is fine, I can deal, but not someone I care about, that makes it scary!

I do have new respect for what B had to endure in the waiting room for me- my surgeries were much longer and I have no idea how he managed.  Being the one unconscious is much much easier.

When he is better, I will have to find something new to say other than "I love you, be safe" because much like the kids-- he clearly doesn't listen.

I am thankful that he will heal.  I am thankful for my sister who saved the day. I am thankful.

Utah anniversary

The night before, Thursday, I came home from Mock Trial team and spread my work out on the floor in the formal living, no one went in there so I could set to work on the mountains of projects I had to complete. My boyfriend called.  He was older than me, my parents didn’t like that. We argued. I knew something was up.  I didn’t know what.

I was sick. I was scared. I was hiding. I was running to try and find something- someone safe.  He was angry- he knew I was not telling him things. I couldn’t tell him. I was terrified.  Everything was so terrifying. Feelings were/are scary. They can’t be reasoned with they can’t be controlled.

My brother came home from work- he was staying with us while he was separated from his wife. We sat down for ‘dinner’.  Which was tense. Always tense. Eggshells. One wrong word, glance, putting a fork down too hard and it would erupt into screaming and crying- saying awful things- just to hurt the other person- hurt them as much as I was hurting. I felt so empty so scared so alone. I felt everything and nothing at once.

Back to homework. I had a final paper to revise, AP physics to prepare for. Exams were next week.

I went to bed.

Set my alarm, made sure that my riding crop was under my pillow. I was terrified of my dad. I was scared- and my flimsy riding crop was all the protection I could muster. I passed out into a dreamless sleep.

The next bit gets a little fuzzy

I woke up. I think it was my parents at my bedroom door—with 2 strangers. I was told that I was going to Utah today—like now. At 4 am.

My mind raced- how could I stop this. How could this not happen. How could I stop it? I thought of saying I was pregnant- even though I hadn’t slept with anyone- but Illinois law said that a pregnant minor was emancipated from her parents. Then again, I wasn’t 100% sure of that and my brother was a lawyer- he would have planned for that reaction.  Also, I was so thin- there is no way anyone would believe I was pregnant. My body could barely support me not another person too.

I realized at some point- that if I left- I may not like it- but I would be away. My parents could not hurt me so much every day. I wouldn’t have to see them an know I was a giant fuck up just ruining their lives maybe this could be ok. I agreed to go. But I asked about my group presentation that I had to present tomorrow… and what about finals? It would all be worked out they said.

I had a few moments to change- supervised. Go to the bathroom- supervised. I would have killed myself then. I would have just to not be so terrified.

I got dressed. Jeans, size 0- too big. A pink camisole. A black wool cardigan with pink roses.  I could take very little: I took my violin, my stuffed bear Tasha (whom later in Utah I would hold and inhale the scent of home) and my favorite book- Pride and Prejudice.  I asked to say good bye to my dog- Fred. My brother had him out for a walk. So I said good bye to my cat- Miss Meow. My parents asked to say goodbye to me, I told them to fuck off.

It was very cold. There was three feet of snow on the ground. We took off for O’hare- me and two escorts. Later I learned how good I had it.  Other girls were drugged and taken. Others were handcuffed and taken. I went on my own.

On the airplane the escorts were nice to me- this was their profession. Taking girls to treatment so they may—just may survive whatever demons live in them.  They gave me a letter my mom wrote to me. At first I was too mad.  Too angry to read it- but as we passed over the Midwest curiosity got me. I read it. And lost what little composure I had. Everything everything came spilling out overflowing in a mess of tears. I was angry and so very hurt—and scared… but being hurt and scared but you on the defense- and that was an untenable position for me- anger was safer. But there comes a time when anger can’t hold everything back. My time for that was somewhere over Nebraska.  I still have the letter.

They offered breakfast. A Danish. Orange Juice. Fat. Calories. Hell no.

When we landed I was handed off to Danielle and Matt. At first Danielle intimidated me- but later I grew to love her- she was the only one who could help me with my calculus. 

What do you do, 4 days after your 17th birthday when you are sent across the country- with no notice- to a treatment center so maybe, maybe I could survive this and come out the other side?

What do you do when for as long as you can remember you have been not good enough- convinced your parents hated you- then get sent away? Seems to confirm everything I had thought.

I felt more alone then than I had ever felt. But a sense of odd relief. I wouldn’t have to see my parents and know I was letting them down.  Hear the frustrated sighs, the disappointment.

The indignity got worse over the next few days and weeks—and I told myself that worst case scenario I would be there for 361 days- at which point I would become legally an adult.  Seriously, it got bad.

One of the worst parts was it confirmed my worst fears. That I was not good enough to be part of our family- so they simply got rid of me- remember 17 year olds – especially 17 year olds who are starving aren’t the best at critical thought.

Going to Utah sucked. It was awful. But it saved my life. I still have my old therapist’s (Alan) email and phone number in my phone- and yes- when things are really shitty- I call him and 16 years later? He still answers me. The man is a saint.

Now- I still don’t let people get close to me. I don’t do feelings well.  I prefer things that can me reasoned with and logiced  (new word, just made it up) out.  Feelings are too messy. Too much.

So today, I am a hot crying sobbing mess- and tomorrow it will be worse.

I am still friends with a lot of the girls who I got to know there- we had very different lives- but they were the first to help put me back together when I fell apart. 

 Now, so many years later- I lose it around my  'anniversary' both going and coming.  I try and keep terribly busy- to keep the tears away, to try and hold it together.  Inevitably, I fall to pieces a few time. A sobbing snotty mess. I can still smell the same smells feel the same feelings. Its like it is happening all over again.

I want to throw things, cry, have someone hold me and tell me its over, never will happen again-- and maybe pry my shoulders out of my ears- someone to be there to help stem the anxiety and fear.

You don't have to like everyone, but you have to be nice.

Or do you?

There seem to be a few different schools of thought on this.  On person in particular comes to mind.  Given the fact that s/he is in his/her mid to late twenties and will be stuck interacting for the foreseeable future- I would expect politeness.  To be honest, I am not this persons biggest fan either but I refuse to be anything less than nice.

To be honest, this person has hurt me a lot.  I am not saying I am blameless.  It has been more than 10 years since I acted like an idiot though- and I have apologized and totally changed my behavior. I don't even feel like I can tell anyone who this person is without causing more drama than may be worth it. I just wish someone would see how this person acts and address it- without me having to be involved (yes-  I know this is totally ridiculous.)

So what do you do when some people just refuse to be have like adults? Short of sinking to their level What is the best option? I could 'get even' but I don't want to.  Whats the point? Then we have 2 people acting like idiots.

As it stands I am very hesitant to allow my children or myself around this individual, but short of directly saying "your acting like a nutcase I don't want to be around you, and I don't want you around my kids?" what is there too do?





There needs to be a flow chart for this.

Go back to the pole- back to the basics

I had a really bad experience at pole a while ago- it drastically turned me off.  It was not an injury or anything, I just was taken by surprise and my feelings really hurt.  It hurt me so deeply for a while I stopped going to pole for a few weeks.  I felt like the joy had been ripped away from me.

This is not nearly as flat as I want it to be-- but I need to get back into shape.

Thankfully- a great gym offered me a job teaching classes there and allowed me to come and practice there.

I got back on the pole and at first was really grumpy.  I had been away for a bit, had a major surgery, and then a minor surgery.   I hadn't fully come back from the first surgery and with all the time away I was not as strong as usual and certain tricks (some of my favorites) were not working for me.  That is maddening. Absolutely maddening.

But a great person, a great woman, a great poler- talked to me and in the end I had a great time again.  My tricks aren't back yet but soon.  

Hi, there, excuse me--- did you call DCFS on us? and other conversation starters

It has been well documented that my kidney and I do not get on well- like at all. 

This past weekend I was back in the hospital because it was blocked up and infected.  Husband was of course working, where else would he be? (Seriously it seems like every time I have a crisis he is at work and just can't get away--- of course it doesn't help that he works an average of 100 hours a week)

I asked around and my sister was able to drive out from Chicago with her kids to watch mine- you know what would have happened if I couldn't find someone to watch them? I would have stayed home or brought them with me because leaving 5 kids home alone is a shitty idea.

When my sister and her kids got here- I had made dinner and written out some basics for her to deal with the kids.

The next day when husband got home she left.  Brian was at home with the kids doing support calls (working) in the basement. He had told the kids that they may not go out and play and they could not open the door etc because he was working.

A neighbor kid came over and talked to one of my kids through the window- my child said they could open the door or answer go out because mommy was in the hospital and daddy was working. 

Shortly after this a police officer showed up at the door and asked to see my husband- who was working downstairs.  He came up and said that they had received a call from DCFS reporting a tip that our children were home alone (WTF)!!! My husband called me fuming.

When I was discharged from the hospital I received a call on my cell from a DCFS case worker to arrange a visit.

The DCFS lady came the next day and talked with my kids and cleared everything up.  I am so unbelievably mad.  I know who did this.  But I am struggling on confronting her- how do I start that conversation?

I understand why she was concerned but to not to verify what actually happened or was happening?? That is a shitty thing to do. 

The entire thing makes me so terribly mad. My kids were horrified and scared- Peas cried nearly all night blaming herself. My anxiety went from bad to unbearable.

I have signed out of the hospital against medical advice to be home when we did not have a sitter, my husband had used ALL of his sick time to care for the kids when I was sick.

Instead of being kind and helpful she was mean and spiteful, if she was that concerned about the safety of the kids why did she not verify it? Why did she not offer to help? What she did helps no one, and makes things much more stressful.