I've been giving a lot of thought lately to how a person's current circumstances are determined by the privilege that person has or has not had in life. And that privilege is, more often than not, pure luck. Sure, personal choices and temperament have something to do with where one ends up. But some people, regardless of decisions made or personality traits possessed, will never have the opportunity to make particular choices.
For example, a child born into poverty and barely scraping through life is likely never to have the opportunity to choose to go to college. This child, as he grows, will be forced to make choices about how to acquire food, shelter, and other basic life needs. If he does make a stab at getting a secondary education, he's likely to be put off by the need to work more than he can study. Lack of education will be one more thing to keep him in poverty.
A child born into a middle- or upper-class family is likely to be expected to go to college. And when he does, the majority of his expenses will be covered by parents, loans, and maybe a part-time job. Nevertheless, once he's finished, he's much more likely to have acquired the skills he needs to break even. He'll not be 90% focused on meeting basic survival needs.
This is just one of many examples. (And there are outliers; I won't deny that. But this is not about outliers.)
The point was illustrated by two cases I came across at work recently. One is a 12-year-old girl who lives in a group home for troubled teens who've been kicked out of their homes and/or schools. A staff member from the group home called to make a post-run appointment for this girl. A post-run appointment is made after someone has returned from running away from the facility. During that appointment there are toxicology and STI screenings done to see if they have done any illegal drugs or contracted any infections from unprotected sex with who-knows-who. It's heavy stuff -- especially for a 12-year-old.
I have a 12-year-old.
Wanna know what he's into? Legos. Minecraft. Nerf anything. His iPhone. Making goofy faces. Fart jokes. Building and programming robots. The farthest thing from his mind is running away from any where. Unless the farthest thing from his mind is doing something that would get him kicked out of his home in the first place.
Because I cannot fathom ever kicking him out of our home, I cannot fathom what circumstances this young girl has come across that have put her where she is. But things in her life are vastly different from the things in my son's life. Most of the decisions these two children will need to make in life will be the result of where and to whom they were born. There is almost no changing that.
The other case that demonstrates the pure luck of the draw was even more personal. I met a young mother with a newborn. She also has 3 other children, all 3 and younger. She is living in a safe house because her newborn child's father punched her in the face, leaving her with broken bones. She is younger than I was when I had my first child.
When I stopped to count up all the strikes she has against her, I might as well have been counting up all the things I have had going for me. But for a few differences, I could be her. I'm lucky that my grandparents paid for nursing school. I'm lucky I didn't get pregnant a fourth time. I'm lucky my ex-husband didn't physically abuse me. I'm lucky that when I finally gathered the guts to leave him, I had a supportive family. I'm lucky that when all of that came crashing down on me, I had a few years more of life experience and emotional maturity than she does.
I'm unbelievably lucky and so are my children. And that, folks, is the essence of privilege.
Showing posts with label hard stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hard stuff. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Open Letter to the Jerkface Who Stole My Purse
Dear Jerkface Who Stole My Purse,
You have caused me an immense amount of stress and frustration in the last two days. My wallet, which was in my purse, contained most of the proof that I am who I say I am. It contained every reasonable way I have to access my money. The only way this could possibly have been more stressful is if you had also stolen my phone or if my Social Security card and birth certificate had been in my wallet. But you didn't, and they weren't, so at least there's that.
You invaded my space. You walked up to my desk where I sit every day. You went through that desk where I keep all my personal effects. You probably saw my photos -- the one of my children at Red Rocks and the one of my entire family on the steps of my parents' home. Do you know that we're all kind and generous people who would never, ever do what you did?
You had to have seen the magnet which reads, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Do you know that quote actually means something to me, that I really do live that way? I don't steal things or lie to people, I work hard and give as generously as I can. I do those things because that's the way I want the whole world to do things. That is my change for the world.
I'd have given you more money than you got by stealing my purse. I had $2 and change in my wallet, along with a few gift cards to Target, Starbucks, iTunes. That's all you got because I canceled my debit and credit cards immediately. My bank put 'stop payment' orders on the entire series of check numbers in my check book. I'm monitoring my account for electronic check withdrawals. I hope the cash and virtual money were worth it.
You made a security guard come to my office and take a report of the theft. I'm sure he had better things to do. You made my sister drive all over town getting my spare car key for me. You made my landlord come over and re-key my front door and get new copies of all of my other keys. They definitely had better things to do. You're making me spend time I don't have to get a new driver's license, insurance cards, library cards, debit and credit cards, student ID, transportation pass, and Costco card. If you're caught -- and I hope you are -- we've both lost. That's what happens when you take things that don't belong to you.
And if you took my purse for the thrill of stealing, well then I desperately hope you find something else to give you that thrill. You're a cheap jerk and I don't have the time or energy to waste on you if that's all you're after.
Have a nice day.
You have caused me an immense amount of stress and frustration in the last two days. My wallet, which was in my purse, contained most of the proof that I am who I say I am. It contained every reasonable way I have to access my money. The only way this could possibly have been more stressful is if you had also stolen my phone or if my Social Security card and birth certificate had been in my wallet. But you didn't, and they weren't, so at least there's that.
You invaded my space. You walked up to my desk where I sit every day. You went through that desk where I keep all my personal effects. You probably saw my photos -- the one of my children at Red Rocks and the one of my entire family on the steps of my parents' home. Do you know that we're all kind and generous people who would never, ever do what you did?
You had to have seen the magnet which reads, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Do you know that quote actually means something to me, that I really do live that way? I don't steal things or lie to people, I work hard and give as generously as I can. I do those things because that's the way I want the whole world to do things. That is my change for the world.
If you stole my purse because you needed money, guess what? I'd have given you money.
I'd have given you more money than you got by stealing my purse. I had $2 and change in my wallet, along with a few gift cards to Target, Starbucks, iTunes. That's all you got because I canceled my debit and credit cards immediately. My bank put 'stop payment' orders on the entire series of check numbers in my check book. I'm monitoring my account for electronic check withdrawals. I hope the cash and virtual money were worth it.
You made a security guard come to my office and take a report of the theft. I'm sure he had better things to do. You made my sister drive all over town getting my spare car key for me. You made my landlord come over and re-key my front door and get new copies of all of my other keys. They definitely had better things to do. You're making me spend time I don't have to get a new driver's license, insurance cards, library cards, debit and credit cards, student ID, transportation pass, and Costco card. If you're caught -- and I hope you are -- we've both lost. That's what happens when you take things that don't belong to you.
And if you took my purse for the thrill of stealing, well then I desperately hope you find something else to give you that thrill. You're a cheap jerk and I don't have the time or energy to waste on you if that's all you're after.
Have a nice day.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Gratitude for So Much Luck
I have just spent the last 90 minutes prepping food for my work day lunches and reorganizing my refrigerator and pantry. I am tired and it's past my bedtime, but I am so grateful that I can do this. To have all this food and this space in which to prepare it -- it's so much more than so many have. I am so grateful.
We have just experienced torrential rains for the last 5 days. Thousands of people within a 50 mile radius have lost their homes to flood waters. They may be sleeping on cots or a damp floor in a shelter with a stale sandwich to eat for breakfast tomorrow. And that's nothing compared with the desperate, interminable poverty experienced by millions around the globe.
Yet here I stand in my comfortable kitchen, typing away on a $400 phone. My biggest problem is that I need to get upstairs to my bed. I need to go to bed so I can get up for my job and then go to school tomorrow evening. I have a job and I have a secondary education at my fingertips.
This is so much luck.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Heavy
That's how I feel. So much pain and fear and senselessness in the world. It's piling up. So, so heavy.
Death in my family. Sudden, accidental death of a friend of a friend before that. A mad gunman murdering movie goers. A child at work diagnosed with a brain tumor. Another brought to us, seizing, not breathing, whisked away in an ambulance after we do what we can. A 10-year-old girl abducted, her non-intact body found in an open field 5 days later. A close friend's son hit by a truck and dragged down the street.
Life is so fleeting. It can be destroyed without reason, without warning, without regard for anything or anyone.
I am terrified to let the kids loose in the neighborhood. A quick glance the wrong way at the wrong time and they're flattened by a car. A creep follows them to the playground. Or follows them home. They disappear into any one of a million cars never to be seen or heard from again.
I do so much to protect them, to do the best for them. In a hundred ways, every minute of every day, I think about what would be best for them and how to do it. How to keep them safe, give them the best that I can. And it may not be enough. What if it's not enough?
Even if none of those accidents happen, even if none of those premeditated horrors befall them, even if none of that happens, what if? What if there's a silent, genetic predisposition lurking some where in their bodies? What if I take them to the doctor for a headache that isn't just a headache? What if ...
I try valiantly not to let them see this. I encourage them to go out and play. I call them when they get off the bus to hear them get home. I hug them tightly, so tightly, every morning and every night and every chance I have in between. I smile at them and laugh with them and tickle them. I caution them about creeps and about anyone who gives them a funny feeling. I teach them the rule of the road -- that everything is bigger than you and everything else wins, no matter what the crosswalk or the sidewalk say.
I do all this and I hope against hope that it's enough. I do all this because the "what ifs?" lurking in the recesses of my mind, or plaguing the forefront of my mind, can't take over. Life goes on because it must. Being petrified on account of the heaviness is not an option.
Death in my family. Sudden, accidental death of a friend of a friend before that. A mad gunman murdering movie goers. A child at work diagnosed with a brain tumor. Another brought to us, seizing, not breathing, whisked away in an ambulance after we do what we can. A 10-year-old girl abducted, her non-intact body found in an open field 5 days later. A close friend's son hit by a truck and dragged down the street.
Life is so fleeting. It can be destroyed without reason, without warning, without regard for anything or anyone.
I am terrified to let the kids loose in the neighborhood. A quick glance the wrong way at the wrong time and they're flattened by a car. A creep follows them to the playground. Or follows them home. They disappear into any one of a million cars never to be seen or heard from again.
I do so much to protect them, to do the best for them. In a hundred ways, every minute of every day, I think about what would be best for them and how to do it. How to keep them safe, give them the best that I can. And it may not be enough. What if it's not enough?
Even if none of those accidents happen, even if none of those premeditated horrors befall them, even if none of that happens, what if? What if there's a silent, genetic predisposition lurking some where in their bodies? What if I take them to the doctor for a headache that isn't just a headache? What if ...
I try valiantly not to let them see this. I encourage them to go out and play. I call them when they get off the bus to hear them get home. I hug them tightly, so tightly, every morning and every night and every chance I have in between. I smile at them and laugh with them and tickle them. I caution them about creeps and about anyone who gives them a funny feeling. I teach them the rule of the road -- that everything is bigger than you and everything else wins, no matter what the crosswalk or the sidewalk say.
I do all this and I hope against hope that it's enough. I do all this because the "what ifs?" lurking in the recesses of my mind, or plaguing the forefront of my mind, can't take over. Life goes on because it must. Being petrified on account of the heaviness is not an option.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Two Fitting Quotations
"People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them." George Bernard Shaw
"Again and again, the impossible problem is solved when we see that the problem is only a tough decision waiting to be made." Robert H. Schuller
I came across the first quote months and months ago. I love it. It explains my philosophy on life thoroughly, yet succinctly. I just found the second one this morning on a note Miriam brought home from her jump rope coach. At any other time it probably wouldn't have meant much to me but since I've been struggling with my career plans recently, it hit home.
Time and again the problems in my life have been solved by accepting that sometimes life sucks and sometimes I have no choice but to rearrange my perspective, make the difficult decisions and blaze a new trail. Getting divorced, moving half way across the country, changing jobs, enrolling in school, losing 25 pounds, parenting -- all of it is challenging. Curling up into myself and sobbing about it only works for so long. At some point I have to blow my nose and wipe my eyes, take a deep breath and figure out how to fix it. There is always a solution. It might not be the one I want and it might not be easy or fun but there is always a solution. Always.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Disturbing Thoughts
When Solomon was a tiny infant I was plagued by ugly thoughts. I don't know if it was post-partum depression or simply the result of realizing just how helpless a newborn infant is or what. I just remember sitting on the edge of my bed and staring into his completely helpless face for hours and thinking to myself, "There are people who would harm a tiny child just like this." It was a terribly depressing and devastating thought. It kept me awake, and for a mother who's just given birth, is feeding a baby every 45 minutes and isn't sleeping much, that's saying a lot.
In the last year I've had similar thoughts when tucking my children into bed at night. For the most part, my children are not wanting for anything. They have food, shelter, clothes that fit, support, respect, affection, a mother and father and extended family that love them more than anything, more toys than they can count. They are fortunate children, whether they know it or not. They have a good life. Sure, there are things they want that they cannot have. But they are not lacking in anything they need to become successful human beings.
There are times when I tuck them into bed at night -- clean, fed, warm, safe -- that I am overcome with sadness for the children that aren't. The children that go to bed with a pitifully empty stomach or fearing for their own safety enter my mind and I am so saddened and disturbed that I cannot stand it.
Miriam has always been a fan of bedtime. As a 6-month-old baby she put herself on a sleep schedule that allowed her two naps per day, an early bedtime and a consistent wake-up time. She loves bed time. She's the only one of my three children who will willingly say to me, "Mommy, I want to go to sleep." She adheres to bedtime as if it's written in stone. She loves the routine of putting on pajamas, brushing her teeth, brushing her hair and being tucked in. When I tell her good night and kiss her cheeks, she's the happiest she's been all day. Her innocence and sweetness are heartbreaking in contrast to the children who do not get the same.
Every child deserves to go to bed with a full stomach, knowing that a good night's sleep is ahead and that security is on the other side of that night. But they don't. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
In the last year I've had similar thoughts when tucking my children into bed at night. For the most part, my children are not wanting for anything. They have food, shelter, clothes that fit, support, respect, affection, a mother and father and extended family that love them more than anything, more toys than they can count. They are fortunate children, whether they know it or not. They have a good life. Sure, there are things they want that they cannot have. But they are not lacking in anything they need to become successful human beings.
There are times when I tuck them into bed at night -- clean, fed, warm, safe -- that I am overcome with sadness for the children that aren't. The children that go to bed with a pitifully empty stomach or fearing for their own safety enter my mind and I am so saddened and disturbed that I cannot stand it.
Miriam has always been a fan of bedtime. As a 6-month-old baby she put herself on a sleep schedule that allowed her two naps per day, an early bedtime and a consistent wake-up time. She loves bed time. She's the only one of my three children who will willingly say to me, "Mommy, I want to go to sleep." She adheres to bedtime as if it's written in stone. She loves the routine of putting on pajamas, brushing her teeth, brushing her hair and being tucked in. When I tell her good night and kiss her cheeks, she's the happiest she's been all day. Her innocence and sweetness are heartbreaking in contrast to the children who do not get the same.
Every child deserves to go to bed with a full stomach, knowing that a good night's sleep is ahead and that security is on the other side of that night. But they don't. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
The Good, The Bad and The Really Bad (Not Necessarily in That Order)
This week started off really crappily. I was in a foul mood all day Saturday, for no good reason really. I have a sneaking suspicion it was :ahem: hormone-related. Whatever it was I just could not snap out of it. I was grumpy and feeling bad and being short-tempered with the kids. And that made me feel even worse. Ugh.
Sunday morning I forced myself to have a better attitude. I took Solomon and Miriam to Jennifer's house and left them there so I could spend some time with Samuel alone. I've been aiming to do this for quite some time but it's hard to make time for stuff like that.
Samuel wanted to go to Downtown Aquarium so we went and spent a couple of hours looking at all sorts of sea creatures. It's as pretty fantastic place. We got to see a worker feed a tank of piranha. We watched "mermaids" put on a show about cleaning up the oceans. Then we ate lunch aquarium-side in the restaurant there. We had a great time and it was a good way to start the week.
Monday and Tuesday were pretty crappy days mood-wise again. I did get to meet with Miriam's teacher on Tuesday morning and have a conference with both of them. It was nice to hear Miriam talk through her self-assessment in a grown up voice that I've only recently begun to hear from her. She's developing a confidence and a voice that I was unsure she ever would. She's such an amazing kid.
Wednesday morning Solomon and I missed his bus. As a result, I missed the conference with Samuel's teacher and drove Solomon to school instead. At lunch time things started looking up. I finally got the snow tires put on my car after a couple of weeks of wrangling with the people at the tire place. That's a whole other story. Anyway, one of the guys there gave me a great deal on certificates for the tires and I got a discount just because of the company where I work.
I re-scheduled the conference with Samuel's teacher for that evening. We talked about his struggles with focusing on work and with speech. She showed me his work samples and how well he's doing when he can actually complete the work. Fortunately in third grade they grade what's been completed so his report card looks great. I still worry about later years when everything is graded regardless of completeness. But we still have a couple of years before that. For now I'm grateful that he's smart and that he tries so hard. And I am eternally grateful that he was matched with this teacher. She is a gift. She works with Samuel so much and is so flexible and so understanding and truly appreciates the good in him.
Also on Wednesday I got a digital antenna for our TV. I had been using Paul's rabbit ears to pick up local stations since the conversion to digital TV but they weren't getting ABC. The kids and I watch Once Upon a Time on Sunday evening on ABC but we're missing more than we're seeing because the reception is so bad. Anyway, Paul helped me get my antenna and set it up.
Thursday was a good day because the kids didn't have school on Friday which meant Thursday night we didn't have to do any homework. Any night there is no homework is a fabulous night for that reason only.
Yesterday was a phenomenal day. A co-worker agreed to give up two of her holiday days so I could have them. I had put in a request for December 29 and 30 in hopes of going to Utah with Paul for New Year's Eve. I knew it would be denied because I'm the lowest on the totem pole and everyone else put in their holiday requests months ago. It was denied. But then a friend gave up her two New Year's Eve days for me and now I get to be off work! Woot! She really did not have to do that but I am so grateful that she did.
Also yesterday, I got a call from the art teacher at the elementary school. She told me that she's awarding Samuel a High Flyer Award for his work and his behavior in her class. This is the highest award the kids can get at their school. Solomon got one in third grade and Miriam got one in second grade. I had been hoping Samuel would get one. And now he is!
I was very worried that I wouldn't get to be at the award assembly for that because it's next Tuesday morning when I'm supposed to be at work. I told my boss what a big deal it is and she said it that we'd work out something for me to be there. Another co-worker agreed to trade shifts with me so that I'm the late person that day and my boss approved the use of 2 hours of flex time so I can come in late after the award assembly. Best of all, Samuel has no idea that he's getting this award yet or that I'm going to be there. I am so excited!
In addition to both of those wonderful things, I had to leave Solomon here all day while I was work and Samuel and Miriam went to day care. He's done it before but I always worry. Yesterday I laid out some plans for him like I always do -- a couple of chores to do, make up homework, food that he could eat, etc. He made me so proud. He planned out all of his homework and completed it! And he not only did the chores I asked, but he did extra! And he practiced his trombone for an hour. He's such a fantastic kid.
Last night I had Jennifer, Caleb, Lance and Paul over for games and food. We haven't done that in a long time because of new jobs and new schools and so much life craziness getting in the way. We had a great time and I was reminded of just how fortunate I am.
Sunday morning I forced myself to have a better attitude. I took Solomon and Miriam to Jennifer's house and left them there so I could spend some time with Samuel alone. I've been aiming to do this for quite some time but it's hard to make time for stuff like that.
Samuel wanted to go to Downtown Aquarium so we went and spent a couple of hours looking at all sorts of sea creatures. It's as pretty fantastic place. We got to see a worker feed a tank of piranha. We watched "mermaids" put on a show about cleaning up the oceans. Then we ate lunch aquarium-side in the restaurant there. We had a great time and it was a good way to start the week.
Monday and Tuesday were pretty crappy days mood-wise again. I did get to meet with Miriam's teacher on Tuesday morning and have a conference with both of them. It was nice to hear Miriam talk through her self-assessment in a grown up voice that I've only recently begun to hear from her. She's developing a confidence and a voice that I was unsure she ever would. She's such an amazing kid.
Wednesday morning Solomon and I missed his bus. As a result, I missed the conference with Samuel's teacher and drove Solomon to school instead. At lunch time things started looking up. I finally got the snow tires put on my car after a couple of weeks of wrangling with the people at the tire place. That's a whole other story. Anyway, one of the guys there gave me a great deal on certificates for the tires and I got a discount just because of the company where I work.
I re-scheduled the conference with Samuel's teacher for that evening. We talked about his struggles with focusing on work and with speech. She showed me his work samples and how well he's doing when he can actually complete the work. Fortunately in third grade they grade what's been completed so his report card looks great. I still worry about later years when everything is graded regardless of completeness. But we still have a couple of years before that. For now I'm grateful that he's smart and that he tries so hard. And I am eternally grateful that he was matched with this teacher. She is a gift. She works with Samuel so much and is so flexible and so understanding and truly appreciates the good in him.
Also on Wednesday I got a digital antenna for our TV. I had been using Paul's rabbit ears to pick up local stations since the conversion to digital TV but they weren't getting ABC. The kids and I watch Once Upon a Time on Sunday evening on ABC but we're missing more than we're seeing because the reception is so bad. Anyway, Paul helped me get my antenna and set it up.
Thursday was a good day because the kids didn't have school on Friday which meant Thursday night we didn't have to do any homework. Any night there is no homework is a fabulous night for that reason only.
Yesterday was a phenomenal day. A co-worker agreed to give up two of her holiday days so I could have them. I had put in a request for December 29 and 30 in hopes of going to Utah with Paul for New Year's Eve. I knew it would be denied because I'm the lowest on the totem pole and everyone else put in their holiday requests months ago. It was denied. But then a friend gave up her two New Year's Eve days for me and now I get to be off work! Woot! She really did not have to do that but I am so grateful that she did.
Also yesterday, I got a call from the art teacher at the elementary school. She told me that she's awarding Samuel a High Flyer Award for his work and his behavior in her class. This is the highest award the kids can get at their school. Solomon got one in third grade and Miriam got one in second grade. I had been hoping Samuel would get one. And now he is!
I was very worried that I wouldn't get to be at the award assembly for that because it's next Tuesday morning when I'm supposed to be at work. I told my boss what a big deal it is and she said it that we'd work out something for me to be there. Another co-worker agreed to trade shifts with me so that I'm the late person that day and my boss approved the use of 2 hours of flex time so I can come in late after the award assembly. Best of all, Samuel has no idea that he's getting this award yet or that I'm going to be there. I am so excited!
In addition to both of those wonderful things, I had to leave Solomon here all day while I was work and Samuel and Miriam went to day care. He's done it before but I always worry. Yesterday I laid out some plans for him like I always do -- a couple of chores to do, make up homework, food that he could eat, etc. He made me so proud. He planned out all of his homework and completed it! And he not only did the chores I asked, but he did extra! And he practiced his trombone for an hour. He's such a fantastic kid.
Last night I had Jennifer, Caleb, Lance and Paul over for games and food. We haven't done that in a long time because of new jobs and new schools and so much life craziness getting in the way. We had a great time and I was reminded of just how fortunate I am.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Ten Years
It's surreal. I can't seem to grasp that I lived at a time when something so horrible happened, that I saw it with my own eyes. Even though it was on television the horror was so tangible.
Solomon had the assignment to talk to me about 9/11 for one of his classes. I told him the grim facts just like I have a few times before. But then I told him how terrifying it was. How saddening to think about that much hate causing that many lost lives. I told him what I saw and how it has affected me. I told him that I still can't understand why or how. I think he's old enough now to hear more than just the bare bones story.
I watched a documentary on CBS called 9/11: Ten Years Later. It was very well done and I think it's because the two brothers who filmed it didn't even know what they were filming. They started out to tell the story of a young firefighter working his way through the ranks in FDNY and ended up getting a front row seat to the carnage that was and is 9/11. They told the story with such grace and sensitivity that I got chills several times.
I want to go to Ground Zero some day. I don't know anyone who was lost there but I feel like it's important to go anyway. It's part of life as an American now.
Solomon had the assignment to talk to me about 9/11 for one of his classes. I told him the grim facts just like I have a few times before. But then I told him how terrifying it was. How saddening to think about that much hate causing that many lost lives. I told him what I saw and how it has affected me. I told him that I still can't understand why or how. I think he's old enough now to hear more than just the bare bones story.
I watched a documentary on CBS called 9/11: Ten Years Later. It was very well done and I think it's because the two brothers who filmed it didn't even know what they were filming. They started out to tell the story of a young firefighter working his way through the ranks in FDNY and ended up getting a front row seat to the carnage that was and is 9/11. They told the story with such grace and sensitivity that I got chills several times.
I want to go to Ground Zero some day. I don't know anyone who was lost there but I feel like it's important to go anyway. It's part of life as an American now.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
New Me vs. Old Me
I was Old Me 5 years ago. Old Me was weak and powerless and pitiful and sad and humiliated. Old Me let other people call all the shots, from the little things to the big things. Old Me rarely had opinions and if she did she never, ever spoke them. Old Me lived to make other people happy, even at her own expense. Old Me would have raised children just like herself. And she didn't have the energy to care. Old Me died when I filed for divorce and I have danced on her grave many times since then.
In her place is New Me. New Me says what she thinks even if it makes her want to puke on the spot. (And it often does.) New Me does things like shave off all her hair and grin at the world afterward. New Me rides on the back of a motorcycle (and wants to get one for herself) and drinks wine until she's dizzy. New Me cooks Indian food and eats sushi. New Me loves music from Johnny Cash to Amos Lee to Steely Dan to Depeche Mode to Muse to Maná and back again. New Me isn't afraid to talk to her children about why she divorced their dad, about sex, about the good and the bad things in the world, about standing up for themselves, about telling the truth and about what's right and wrong. New Me goes back to school (for the third time) and has dreams of becoming a lactation consultant or a nurse practitioner or a coroner or a nursing clinical instructor.
I'm embarrassed by Old Me. I don't like to think about her. But New Me wouldn't be here and wouldn't appreciate life as much without having been Old Me to begin with. In that regard, I'm appreciative.
In one significant way I've remained Old Me for the last 5 years. That's when I have to deal with the ex-husband. Every once in a while something comes up and I revert to the old habits -- being overly meek and not being listened to. Every time that happens I get angry with myself for letting it happen. Letting things happen is passive and powerless and it means that I'm not making things happen. It's a weak, pathetic attitude and I hate it. There have been times when I've put the kids at risk by letting things happen. Shame on me.
No More. This week I learned that the ex-husband crammed all 5 of his children into the backseat of a tiny car last weekend because the bigger car with appropriate seating wasn't working. He and I have had this argument for the better part of 10 years. He thinks it's okay to occasionally drive around with improperly restrained children if "It's only around the block," or "It's too much trouble to put in a car seat," or "We're going to be late for church if we make two trips." This week I decided that I have had enough. When I found this out I told him that if he does not have appropriately safe transportation for these children they will not see him for spring break in two weeks. He made excuses. He played the poor-me-you-think-I'm-a-bad-person card. He tried to make me feel bad. But I refuse to take the bait. That's what not letting means. It means I keep control of myself and my emotions and I stand my ground. It means that I have power. And it's part of New Me.
In her place is New Me. New Me says what she thinks even if it makes her want to puke on the spot. (And it often does.) New Me does things like shave off all her hair and grin at the world afterward. New Me rides on the back of a motorcycle (and wants to get one for herself) and drinks wine until she's dizzy. New Me cooks Indian food and eats sushi. New Me loves music from Johnny Cash to Amos Lee to Steely Dan to Depeche Mode to Muse to Maná and back again. New Me isn't afraid to talk to her children about why she divorced their dad, about sex, about the good and the bad things in the world, about standing up for themselves, about telling the truth and about what's right and wrong. New Me goes back to school (for the third time) and has dreams of becoming a lactation consultant or a nurse practitioner or a coroner or a nursing clinical instructor.
I'm embarrassed by Old Me. I don't like to think about her. But New Me wouldn't be here and wouldn't appreciate life as much without having been Old Me to begin with. In that regard, I'm appreciative.
In one significant way I've remained Old Me for the last 5 years. That's when I have to deal with the ex-husband. Every once in a while something comes up and I revert to the old habits -- being overly meek and not being listened to. Every time that happens I get angry with myself for letting it happen. Letting things happen is passive and powerless and it means that I'm not making things happen. It's a weak, pathetic attitude and I hate it. There have been times when I've put the kids at risk by letting things happen. Shame on me.
No More. This week I learned that the ex-husband crammed all 5 of his children into the backseat of a tiny car last weekend because the bigger car with appropriate seating wasn't working. He and I have had this argument for the better part of 10 years. He thinks it's okay to occasionally drive around with improperly restrained children if "It's only around the block," or "It's too much trouble to put in a car seat," or "We're going to be late for church if we make two trips." This week I decided that I have had enough. When I found this out I told him that if he does not have appropriately safe transportation for these children they will not see him for spring break in two weeks. He made excuses. He played the poor-me-you-think-I'm-a-bad-person card. He tried to make me feel bad. But I refuse to take the bait. That's what not letting means. It means I keep control of myself and my emotions and I stand my ground. It means that I have power. And it's part of New Me.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Surgery
Well I have a follicular neoplasm in my throat. That means my thyroid contains atypical cells and no one is sure if they're malignant or not and they can't tell unless they take them out. So I'm going to have the left side of my thyroid removed. It's all scheduled, pre-authorized with the insurance company and I'm pre-registered with the hospital. All I have to do now is fill out the living will and advance directive. I'm not looking forward to that.
I know exactly what I want to be done with my body if the big "What If ..." happens but I don't like thinking about it. Paul and I talked about it a lot when he had surgery last year. I've talked about it with Jenn and Caleb and Lance, too. I've talked about it a little with Mom and Dad. I'm confident that everyone who matters will make sure that my wishes are honored if and when that time comes. But putting it into writing is just different. It's so final. I guess that makes sense -- they're final wishes. I know I can change it if I change my mind, but as of September 15 at 1:30 pm it's Final until I wake up. I think that's the thing that has me on edge -- that this could be Final. It's not likely to be, but it could be.
Wow, I'm morbid this morning.
I'll be glad to have this over with. It's not like my thyroid has been a huge source of worry and pre-occupation for me but it will be nice not to have to think about it at all any more. No more biopsies, no more ultrasounds, no more anything. Just get it cut out and be done with it.
The surgeon is of the opinion that I can probably avoid thyroid replacement hormones. I like that. I don't want to mess with them, with mood swings or hair loss or temperature intolerance or weight gain. The surgeon and the endo both think that since my left side is not normal at all the right side is compensating for it and can probably continue to do so. Neither of them think we need to do anything with the right side -- it's perfectly thyroid-ish and not at all nodule-ish. Yay for that, huh?
So there it is. After 31 years of no surgeries, almost no scars and being hospitalized only for childbirths, I'm going to have A Thing. A Surgery. A Story.
I know exactly what I want to be done with my body if the big "What If ..." happens but I don't like thinking about it. Paul and I talked about it a lot when he had surgery last year. I've talked about it with Jenn and Caleb and Lance, too. I've talked about it a little with Mom and Dad. I'm confident that everyone who matters will make sure that my wishes are honored if and when that time comes. But putting it into writing is just different. It's so final. I guess that makes sense -- they're final wishes. I know I can change it if I change my mind, but as of September 15 at 1:30 pm it's Final until I wake up. I think that's the thing that has me on edge -- that this could be Final. It's not likely to be, but it could be.
Wow, I'm morbid this morning.
I'll be glad to have this over with. It's not like my thyroid has been a huge source of worry and pre-occupation for me but it will be nice not to have to think about it at all any more. No more biopsies, no more ultrasounds, no more anything. Just get it cut out and be done with it.
The surgeon is of the opinion that I can probably avoid thyroid replacement hormones. I like that. I don't want to mess with them, with mood swings or hair loss or temperature intolerance or weight gain. The surgeon and the endo both think that since my left side is not normal at all the right side is compensating for it and can probably continue to do so. Neither of them think we need to do anything with the right side -- it's perfectly thyroid-ish and not at all nodule-ish. Yay for that, huh?
So there it is. After 31 years of no surgeries, almost no scars and being hospitalized only for childbirths, I'm going to have A Thing. A Surgery. A Story.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Again
Remember this? Well, we're waiting again. I saw on Facebook last night that the ex-husband's new wife was going into the hospital for an induction today. I have lots of opinions about early inductions but I really don't feel like getting into them right now. She went in at 5:00 this morning and as of 6:00 this evening she wasn't yet dilated to 4 cm. (That right there? One of the reasons I don't want to get into my anti-induction opinions. It's frustrating and not really worth it, but whatever.) Anyway, we're waiting. Again, with the kids' excitement -- big time excitement because it's a girl and Miriam has been desperate for a sister for a looong time -- and again with my ambivalence. Ugh.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Business of Half Siblings
This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I never wanted to care this much about anything the ex-husband did, so long as he didn't mistreat our children or expect me to make nice to the mistress. When the mistress went away, half of my worries went away. But then he started dating the new wife and he married her and I had a whole bunch of new worries.
It was weird to find out that they were expecting. It was weirder when she started to show. The most surreal moment was when I saw a picture from her 3D ultrasound and the baby's nose looked exactly like Solomon's. Until then, I could push it to the back of my mind because the baby was still a formless, genderless being hidden away in her belly.
I was texting with my ex-sister-in-law (whom I still like) two nights ago about Solomon's birthday. The next morning I got another text message from her that said the ex-husband and the new wife had gone to the hospital because her water broke. All day I kept waiting for the text message that said the baby had been born and was, therefore 'real' in my mind. 'Real' in the sense that it now had a name and an identity, like my own children. The last I knew when I went to bed was that she was getting an epidural and not progressing past 3 cm.
When I woke up today I had a message that read "It's a boy, born at 12:30 am. He weighs 8 lbs, 2 oz and he's 20.5 inches long." It doesn't get much more real than that. Or so I thought. And then I heard the name. He has the same first name as my boys. And his middle name, which is undoubtedly the name they will call him, follows the same pattern that my children's middle names do.
My 3 children, for whom I live and breathe, are included in a naming pattern with this child. Their child. My 3 children are his siblings. They share DNA with him.
I've been trying to figure out why this bothers me and I think I have it: I don't want to care what the ex-husband does but he's made it so that I have to. He's had a child that will directly impact my children's lives.
The easier bit to figure out is equality. What I mean is that the new wife professed to love my children like they were her own. And I can believe she did. But that changed in the moment that she had her biological child because now she does have her own. Call me a cynic, but I find it impossible to believe that she'll love and treat all 4 of these children equally. I just do.
It's easier to believe that the ex-husband will love his 4 children equally. I can put myself into an imaginary situation in which I have an imaginary child with an imaginary partner and I can imagine that I love that child just as I love the 3 I already have. I can imagine that. The problem on the ex-husband's side is that my 3 children will see things differently. After all, this child has both of his parents together all the time. This child won't be traveling 400 miles to see his father during school breaks.
My children, at this point, are happy about the new baby. They are excited to go spend the summer there and play with him. Because they are happy, I am happy for them. Babies are cute and sweet and exciting. No matter my feelings on the subject, he is their half-brother and I don't expect them to ignore that relationship. But I dread the day they realize this may not be all it's cracked up to be.
Finally, I am grateful that this child missed being born on my brother's birthday, even if it was only by 30 minutes. I am more grateful still that this child wasn't born on my child's birthday, which is tomorrow. But that doesn't keep me from wishing he was born in another month, or even a different season.
It was weird to find out that they were expecting. It was weirder when she started to show. The most surreal moment was when I saw a picture from her 3D ultrasound and the baby's nose looked exactly like Solomon's. Until then, I could push it to the back of my mind because the baby was still a formless, genderless being hidden away in her belly.
I was texting with my ex-sister-in-law (whom I still like) two nights ago about Solomon's birthday. The next morning I got another text message from her that said the ex-husband and the new wife had gone to the hospital because her water broke. All day I kept waiting for the text message that said the baby had been born and was, therefore 'real' in my mind. 'Real' in the sense that it now had a name and an identity, like my own children. The last I knew when I went to bed was that she was getting an epidural and not progressing past 3 cm.
When I woke up today I had a message that read "It's a boy, born at 12:30 am. He weighs 8 lbs, 2 oz and he's 20.5 inches long." It doesn't get much more real than that. Or so I thought. And then I heard the name. He has the same first name as my boys. And his middle name, which is undoubtedly the name they will call him, follows the same pattern that my children's middle names do.
My 3 children, for whom I live and breathe, are included in a naming pattern with this child. Their child. My 3 children are his siblings. They share DNA with him.
I've been trying to figure out why this bothers me and I think I have it: I don't want to care what the ex-husband does but he's made it so that I have to. He's had a child that will directly impact my children's lives.
The easier bit to figure out is equality. What I mean is that the new wife professed to love my children like they were her own. And I can believe she did. But that changed in the moment that she had her biological child because now she does have her own. Call me a cynic, but I find it impossible to believe that she'll love and treat all 4 of these children equally. I just do.
It's easier to believe that the ex-husband will love his 4 children equally. I can put myself into an imaginary situation in which I have an imaginary child with an imaginary partner and I can imagine that I love that child just as I love the 3 I already have. I can imagine that. The problem on the ex-husband's side is that my 3 children will see things differently. After all, this child has both of his parents together all the time. This child won't be traveling 400 miles to see his father during school breaks.
My children, at this point, are happy about the new baby. They are excited to go spend the summer there and play with him. Because they are happy, I am happy for them. Babies are cute and sweet and exciting. No matter my feelings on the subject, he is their half-brother and I don't expect them to ignore that relationship. But I dread the day they realize this may not be all it's cracked up to be.
Finally, I am grateful that this child missed being born on my brother's birthday, even if it was only by 30 minutes. I am more grateful still that this child wasn't born on my child's birthday, which is tomorrow. But that doesn't keep me from wishing he was born in another month, or even a different season.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A Moral Dilemma
Solomon and I had a brief conversation about war, soldiers and death the other day. I don't remember all the details of it. We have a lot of conversations like this; it's the way my boys are.
But Solomon asked something that he's never asked before, something I've never heard a child his age ask. He said, "What makes us the good guys? If American soldiers go into another country and kill people, aren't they bad guys then?"
But Solomon asked something that he's never asked before, something I've never heard a child his age ask. He said, "What makes us the good guys? If American soldiers go into another country and kill people, aren't they bad guys then?"
Monday, May 11, 2009
It's Not a Stomach Virus
It's pure, unadulterated evil, that's what it is. Unfortunately, no one makes pills to cure that yet.
We went to the doctor last week because Solomon's puking still wouldn't stop. They did a strep test and urinalysis that were both negative. We sent off stool samples and tested for several things. All negative. He has a lot of symptoms of a lot of things, but they don't all add up to one thing or another. This is so frustrating.
We cut out dairy for the last week and he went to the school nurse with a stomachache today. He proceeded to vomit, a lot. I picked him and we spent the afternoon watching cartoons. He's fine now.
We're using Zofran to control the nausea and vomiting but that's not a feasible long-term solution. I don't know what we'll do now.
We went to the doctor last week because Solomon's puking still wouldn't stop. They did a strep test and urinalysis that were both negative. We sent off stool samples and tested for several things. All negative. He has a lot of symptoms of a lot of things, but they don't all add up to one thing or another. This is so frustrating.
We cut out dairy for the last week and he went to the school nurse with a stomachache today. He proceeded to vomit, a lot. I picked him and we spent the afternoon watching cartoons. He's fine now.
We're using Zofran to control the nausea and vomiting but that's not a feasible long-term solution. I don't know what we'll do now.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The Pukes, Pt. 2
One thing I forgot to discuss in the previous post -- stomach viruses this bad and this exhausting will also cause a person to re-evaluate the worst time periods of her life. Up to now, the worst weeks of my life consisted of the week I filed for The Divorce and the week we all had the flu. And I can say, without a doubt that the last month, especially the last 10 days, have trumped both of those.
Here's why: The Divorce sucked. For obvious reasons. But I could see how it would accomplish things in the long run. I knew I was becoming a stronger person and I knew I would be alright in the end. But this -- this serves no purpose. No one is benefiting from this. And maybe I just can't see it because I'm in the thick of it, but my peace of mind is shattered for a very long time. I will dread another stomach virus for as long as I can imagine right now.
This is worse than the flu, too. And here's why: with the flu, I could see signs of steady improvement after a point. Our fevers eventually went down, we stopped coughing every time we talked, our energy levels slowly increased and we stopped requiring Advil and Tylenol around the clock. But with this -- everything will seem fine for 12 hours, even 48 hours and then BAM! More puking. Also, with the flu, as long as we lay still with pillows and cool compresses and cough drops, we could enjoy talking, playing imagination games and watching tv. But with this, everything is a great big ball of awful horrendousness with no breaks and no end in sight.
So this is, officially, the worst week of my life.
Here's why: The Divorce sucked. For obvious reasons. But I could see how it would accomplish things in the long run. I knew I was becoming a stronger person and I knew I would be alright in the end. But this -- this serves no purpose. No one is benefiting from this. And maybe I just can't see it because I'm in the thick of it, but my peace of mind is shattered for a very long time. I will dread another stomach virus for as long as I can imagine right now.
This is worse than the flu, too. And here's why: with the flu, I could see signs of steady improvement after a point. Our fevers eventually went down, we stopped coughing every time we talked, our energy levels slowly increased and we stopped requiring Advil and Tylenol around the clock. But with this -- everything will seem fine for 12 hours, even 48 hours and then BAM! More puking. Also, with the flu, as long as we lay still with pillows and cool compresses and cough drops, we could enjoy talking, playing imagination games and watching tv. But with this, everything is a great big ball of awful horrendousness with no breaks and no end in sight.
So this is, officially, the worst week of my life.
The Pukes
You know what the pukes will do to a mother? One or two episodes will make her nervous, make her fear for the other children in the family and maybe a bit for herself. But she can generally deal with this, assuming it is short-lived and limited to one child.
But do you know what a month of on-and-off puking in three children will do to a mother? It will make her lose all hope of ever having a wholly healthy family again. That's what it will do, without a doubt.
It will cause her never to sleep peacefully. It will cause her to question every sideways look from her children, every too-quiet moment, every wince of discomfort and every slightly suspicious cough. She will be reduced to pestering said children with constant inquiries as to the state of their digestive tracts. She will launch into lengthy diatribes about the nominal differences among nausea, stomach rumbling, stabbing pains, dull aches, the need for a bowel movement and simple hunger pangs.
The mother dealing with a month of on-and-off puking will stock up on baking soda and white vinegar, a pallet at a time, terrified that she may be stuck at home with vomiting children and no means of sanitizing or deodorizing her home. Her pantry will forever be packed with 7-Up, Jell-o, Gatorade, chicken bouillon and saltines. She'll also never be short on the components of the infamous BRAT diet, plus carrots.
This mother will develop a sophisticated means of doing laundry, involving pre-soaking, soaking with the aforementioned baking soda and white vinegar, long, hot washing with detergent and twice rinsing. She will cease folding towels and wash cloths, opting instead to leave them placed strategically around the home. This enables her to grab one at a moment's notice, thereby catching vomit before it hits the carpet.
She will begin hanging trash bags off the doorknobs so that plastic garbage cans can also be placed thoughtfully throughout the home. If there are not sufficient garbage cans to assuage her anxiety, she will pull out massive plastic bowls to fill in the other spots. All vomit receptacles will be sprinkled liberally with her baking soda. This serves two purposes: odor absorption and splatter prevention.
This overwrought mother will even begin to question her sanity. As much as she dearly loves these puking children, she will have fleeting glimpses of a road not taken: a road without children, a road without children who puke for a month. She will begin to dream about the coming summer -- heretofore dreaded because the fruit of her womb is expected to spend the entirety 350 miles away -- with an anticipation she has never known until now.
This poor mother will develop stress headaches that no amount of Advil and caffeine can banish. She will move about as if in a dream, wanting to cry and not crying because her children already feel awful enough. They shouldn't see their mother cry like this. Also, crying is not known to do anything helpful for headaches or vomiting.
That's what The Pukes will do to a mother. In case you were wondering.
But do you know what a month of on-and-off puking in three children will do to a mother? It will make her lose all hope of ever having a wholly healthy family again. That's what it will do, without a doubt.
It will cause her never to sleep peacefully. It will cause her to question every sideways look from her children, every too-quiet moment, every wince of discomfort and every slightly suspicious cough. She will be reduced to pestering said children with constant inquiries as to the state of their digestive tracts. She will launch into lengthy diatribes about the nominal differences among nausea, stomach rumbling, stabbing pains, dull aches, the need for a bowel movement and simple hunger pangs.
The mother dealing with a month of on-and-off puking will stock up on baking soda and white vinegar, a pallet at a time, terrified that she may be stuck at home with vomiting children and no means of sanitizing or deodorizing her home. Her pantry will forever be packed with 7-Up, Jell-o, Gatorade, chicken bouillon and saltines. She'll also never be short on the components of the infamous BRAT diet, plus carrots.
This mother will develop a sophisticated means of doing laundry, involving pre-soaking, soaking with the aforementioned baking soda and white vinegar, long, hot washing with detergent and twice rinsing. She will cease folding towels and wash cloths, opting instead to leave them placed strategically around the home. This enables her to grab one at a moment's notice, thereby catching vomit before it hits the carpet.
She will begin hanging trash bags off the doorknobs so that plastic garbage cans can also be placed thoughtfully throughout the home. If there are not sufficient garbage cans to assuage her anxiety, she will pull out massive plastic bowls to fill in the other spots. All vomit receptacles will be sprinkled liberally with her baking soda. This serves two purposes: odor absorption and splatter prevention.
This overwrought mother will even begin to question her sanity. As much as she dearly loves these puking children, she will have fleeting glimpses of a road not taken: a road without children, a road without children who puke for a month. She will begin to dream about the coming summer -- heretofore dreaded because the fruit of her womb is expected to spend the entirety 350 miles away -- with an anticipation she has never known until now.
This poor mother will develop stress headaches that no amount of Advil and caffeine can banish. She will move about as if in a dream, wanting to cry and not crying because her children already feel awful enough. They shouldn't see their mother cry like this. Also, crying is not known to do anything helpful for headaches or vomiting.
That's what The Pukes will do to a mother. In case you were wondering.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tough Times
We've had a run of tough days lately. I can see the proverbial light at the end of the proverbial tunnel but what I really want is for this last week to be proverbial instead of actual.
It started last weekend with a stomach virus that hit us for the second time in 3 weeks. And it just would not go away. I haven't slept well in over a week because I've expected to be woken by ominous coughing and gagging. It's hard to relax.
Miriam has a large cavity that has to be filled tomorrow. She's nervous. I'm nervous. I'm trying really hard not to show how nervous I am because I know that will only make it worse. I have to wake her tomorrow morning at 4:00 if she's going to eat any breakfast because she can't eat for 4 hours before the procedure. And then I'll be giving her some Valium before we head out the door. I really hate this.
Solomon has been extremely stressed. He's exhibiting some symptoms that worry me. I'm not sure of everything that's going on because he refuses to tell me. We went to the doctor to get some guidance and for now we're just watching him. I just want it to go away.
Summer can't come soon enough. We need a break from school and our whole routine really. Sigh.
It started last weekend with a stomach virus that hit us for the second time in 3 weeks. And it just would not go away. I haven't slept well in over a week because I've expected to be woken by ominous coughing and gagging. It's hard to relax.
Miriam has a large cavity that has to be filled tomorrow. She's nervous. I'm nervous. I'm trying really hard not to show how nervous I am because I know that will only make it worse. I have to wake her tomorrow morning at 4:00 if she's going to eat any breakfast because she can't eat for 4 hours before the procedure. And then I'll be giving her some Valium before we head out the door. I really hate this.
Solomon has been extremely stressed. He's exhibiting some symptoms that worry me. I'm not sure of everything that's going on because he refuses to tell me. We went to the doctor to get some guidance and for now we're just watching him. I just want it to go away.
Summer can't come soon enough. We need a break from school and our whole routine really. Sigh.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Loss of Innocence
Poor Solomon. A friend lied to him today. He said it's the first time anyone has ever lied to him and his feelings are really hurt.
I've been told that it only gets harder to be a parent as your children grow older. This is one of the reasons that is true.
I've been told that it only gets harder to be a parent as your children grow older. This is one of the reasons that is true.
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