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Thursday, March 31, 2011

Smelling the Roses

"The optimist sees the rose and not its thorns; the pessimist stares at the thorns, oblivious to the rose."

Sometimes even the most pessimistic person really needs to just stop and smell the roses. Being the "glass is half empty" person I tend to be, I need to remind myself of this. Tonight is one of those nights.

I can sit here and focus on Tom being laid off, yet again. I can focus on the bills and the rent, and our way too small apartment on a run down street. I can focus on all the money I need to come up with to get my wisdom teeth pulled, which all have four cavities. And if you know me, or have been following my blog over the past couple of years, you know I can ramble about pretty much anything.

Instead of rambling and going on and on about the bad, I'm going to take a moment to reflect on the good.

Despite not being to the dentist in 5+ years and having 6 cavities, my teeth aren't bad. I do not need to have any teeth pulled, besides the ones most people need to have done. Despite my glasses breaking, at my own hands, I have a nifty new pair that I was able to buy, and pay for in full, that I absolutely love.

We may not have the largest home, in a decent neighborhood or even a home that we own, but we have a home. We have a roof on our heads. We have a door that locks. We have electricity, heat, and hot water. We have food in the fridge and in the pantry. We have clean clothes, that fit, on our backs and shoes on our feet. We have luxuries like  cable television, internet, house and cell phones. Luxuries like video game consoles, toys, books, and movies. Luxuries like gym memberships, a van that fits our family and runs, and more. We are living comfortably.

Most importantly of all, we have love. We have each other. I have a husband and three children who love and cherish me. As I love and cherish them. I have smiles in the morning, and I love you's at night.

My children are so kind and so smart. Yes, all three have their moments, moments I tend to dwell on more often than I should. But they are really good kids.

Thomas is reading and doing basic math! He just learned to tie his shoes as well! Despite being in school now, he still get's jealous if I don't kiss him after kissing his brother and sister. He still asks for kisses and hugs. He tells me he loves me constantly. His new favorite way to do this is to pop out of no where and shout, "Peek a boo; I love you!" Followed by running into my arms for a hug and kiss. He understands what it means to be a big brother, and even though his sister and brother get on his nerves at times, he does all he can to help them, to play with them, to just be there for them. When either of them are upset, hurt, or just plain not getting their way, Thomas is right there. Either by hugging them saying in his sweet baby voice, "don't cry, Thomas got you" or helping them get what they want or need.

Collin's speech has come so far in the past 11.5 months. A boy who had a vocab of grunts and moans, with the occasional "mommy" and "daddy" does not stop talking! And heaven forbid if you do not listen! "'S'cuse me" or "look at my face" he will shout until you do listen. Even if he just wants to say, "We watched that last day". (Last Day-Collin speak for yesterday) Though he does not know what they are, he is writing all 26 upper and lower case letters. He is singing his ABC's finally, and counting to ten. He finally has his colors and shapes down as well. Some people will think, big deal he's three, he should know this stuff; but it is a big deal! He has come so far, and I cannot help but be proud. The boy colors just as well, if not better than his big brother, and loves to do "homework" right next to Thomas as well. He will sit for hours just working in his "Kindergarten basics" book, and figures most things out on his own. He is loving the computer these days, as well as his Leapster 2 and his (bother's) DS. The boy is obsessed with Barney and if he hears any children song he may have heard on Barney, he will shout, "That a Barney song" over and over again until you put it on. We went through a rough few weeks with him refusing to eat meals. We learned he was just upset that Thomas took over most of the conversation at dinner time and he wanted some attention as well. It may mean us feeding him currently, but it's no big deal. He eats and enjoys dinner again, and Mommy truly does not mind. Hell, I enjoy it just as much. His current favorite way to play is by running in and out of the room to kiss Daddy and I in silly places, from our ears to our hands to our feet. He think's it the funniest thing in the world. Personally I just think it's the sweetest.

And Bailey... oh my Bailey. That girl is at my favorite age. Trying so hard to be a big girl, not quite a baby any more, yet still my baby. Though I am sad our nursing relationship is coming to an end, I am beyond proud of her and I for making it 18 months. (Well Saturday will be 18 months.) I still offer at nap and bedtime. And she only nurses for less than a minute or two, but it's hard to move on. We will keep doing this until she flat out refuses. Which is happening more often than I like these days. When she's done with her boo she climbs down and kisses Daddy "ny ny" and waves. As soon as she gets to the door leading out of the living room she blows kisses, then runs for our room. When I lay her in her crib, which she is sleeping in all night long instead of partially cosleeping with me, she tells me ny ny and blows me a kiss. She is stacking blocks and cups and everything else she can. She can now stack all ten of her stacking cups. She is saying between 15-20 words on a regular basis and is showing interest in the potty! She loves to sit on the big ceramic thrown and talk to me. She is a little Diva-in-training these days and is quick to make her preferences known. From picking her own clothes (and her brothers!) to picking which shoes and jacket she leaves the house in. She likes to pick what cup she drinks from and when she has a bath. She will let you know when she wants to play with you, and when she prefers to play alone. She loves music and will dance for as long as she can hear it. She is just like her brothers, and even me as a kid, and loves Barney. I think it's because of all the songs. She also is a huge Yo Gaba Gaba fan, and will throw the hugest fit if someone changes the channel when it is on. Whenever Daddy or I walk in the door she runs to us screaming "Dada" or "Daddy." Just this week she finally started calling me "Mama". This is a huge deal as neither of my boys called me mama. Always just Mommy. I love it! I love her. And her brother. So, so very much.

As much as a bitch and moan about the little things, I truly have an amazing husband. A husband who will do all he can to keep me home with our kids. He often goes without to make sure the kids and I don't have to. He cooks us dinner every night, he washes laundry so I don't have to lug the massive amounts to the laundromat on my own. He deals with the bigger, non everyday messes that I hate to acknowledge. He wrestles with our kids, and gives them so many kisses and hugs. He is completely wrapped around our baby girl's little finger, and can often be found with her in his arms when he is trying to do something, as she hates to be away from him when he is home. He gives baths and showers. He is the "good guy" and let's the kids stay up late and gives them snacks I won't before bed. He's the one the let's them play video games with him that I'd rather they not bother with. He's the one that takes them out to different stores all the time. He's the one who cannot wait to hit the park when it is warm enough out. He may get frustrated easily when it comes to Thomas' homework and reading, but he's the one that can get Thomas to do it for me. He kisses me every morning when he first wakes up. Kisses me whenever he leaves or enters the house. Kisses me before he goes to sleep at night. He tells me he loves me and that I am beautiful every single day. Though he prefers to sleep on his belly, he sleeps half the night on his back so I can curl up with him each and every night. He get's me books he thinks I would like, though he doesn't understand why I read the "crap" I do. Most importantly of all. He believes in me. He believes I will one day "grow up" and do something I love, career wise. He tells me I am perfect as I am, but supports me in my weight loss goals. I can pick on all the little things he does that drive me up the wall, like leaving dirty socks in the strangest places and opening each and every cabinet door in the kitchen and leaving them open, but isn't that what a husband is supposed to do? Drive their wives a little nutty? I am so very grateful for such an unselfish, caring, considerate, loving man to call my husband.

All in all I have it made. I may not have every material item I want, but I have what I need and more. And even if I had less, I am one hell of a rich woman. I have a home filled with unconditional love and support. I have a family of my own that is...just....well....amazing.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Kisses for Daddy.

It was one hour ago, I put the boys to bed.
It was twenty minutes ago I had posted on Facebook about all three children being asleep.
Apparently one was faking.

Of course, after his 2 hour nap today, bedtime was not going to be that easy.
But, it's okay. He's being cute.

He came slowly tiptoeing out of his bedroom, and over to the couch where my husband lay, and kissed his arm.
Then his shoulder. Then his cheek and forehead.

At this point Daddy was smiling and my two boys were both giggling away. Of course when you laugh at Collin, or any of the kids really, he continues.

After a good 3-5 minutes of Collin kissing Daddy all over, the hubs told him with a huge grin, "That's enough Collin. It's time for bed."

Of course after the attention he was receiving he did not want to go back to bed. Then the kisses for Mommy began.

Of course I tried to kiss him back, and laid a gentle kiss upon his forehead, to which he replied, "No kiss my threehead!"

This kid is just pure awesomeness.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Snapshot Saturday & Weight loss crap


While looking at this photograph, my daughter announced, "There Daddy! Hi!" What a way to boost a 
self-conscious mom's self esteem. It shouldn't have bugged me, considering she calls both Tom and I daddy now..

I am at 25 lbs lost. Before I get the "way to go"s and "your doing great", wait a minute. That means I've only lost 5 lbs since December 6th. I need to step up to the plate. Thursday night I ran a 5k on the treadmill making another personal best.

37 minutes 20 seconds
Average speed: 4.9  mph
Average mile: 12 minutes 14 seconds
2 minute cool down at the end, making it 39 minutes, 20 seconds
Burned 750 calories

I started out struggling to do 50 crunches. I am not averaging around 375 each time I do them, I try for 500
My only problem is over the past 2-3 months my servings sizes crept back to where they used to be. And I've gone from hitting the gym 5-6 days a week to 1-3. Not good. Not good at all.

But when I look at a photo like that one up there, I can actually see some progress. Now, I know I really need to work harder on my legs, upper arms, and tummy.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

One screw up, and so much lost.

March 17th will be 30, yes 30 months clean. 30 months on this damn methadone program. 30 months struggling month after month to lower my dose. 30 months struggling just to get to the program to get medicated. Struggling to get to the program and home for the hubs to get to work on time. Struggling to find babysitters to get my monthly group in. Struggling and fighting so hard just to make contact with my counselor, who've I had since April 2010 and have yet to even meet, or even speak to.

January, I fucked up. I did. I can blame the snow. I can blame the ice. I can blame the program being closed the only day I was able to attend group. I can blame my mother in law for bailing out on us 3 different afternoons that month. But it was my fault I didn't make it to group in the month of January. February 1st when I realized the month was over, I called. Right away, "Hi My name is...Who do I speak to about....? What are the consequences going to be if my counselor doesn't return my calls or meet with me? I left voice mails for my counselor. I spoke to her higher up. I came in to see her where told she'd be with me in a few minutes, and after an hour of waiting and then finally asking what was taken so long, being told she walked right past me to leave for the day. Which wasn't the first, or last time she has totally blown me off.

Needless to say, they took away 7 of my bottles. Now I have to go back to weekly pick ups. So many people think, "Whats the big deal, you came daily in the beginning?" Or, "You did weekly pick-ups for months before the bi-weekly's." It's not that I have to come in every week. It's that I've only fucked up once. Never a dirty urine. Never raised my voice and cop't an attitude like the rest of the junkies who don't get their way. Never missed a treatment plan, a group session before this. Nothing. And they rip my bottles away. Yet, I have the person right behind me in line bragging about how they still only come twice a month and have never been to a group since moving program locations, 18 months ago. Go ahead and tell me life isn't fair, hell my 5 year old just told me the other day, but god damn it, this is just not fair. 

And to add insult to injury, my much awaited dose decrease had been denied. That makes no sense at all to me as well. Then the nurse is going to tell me to talk to so-and-so right then and there to clear it up? Um, I wish I could. I really wish I could. But I have a husband who cannot leave for work until I get home. I have three kids who are going to be waking up very shortly. I just cannot drop everything to meet with someone right then and there. Maybe if they would meet with me right then and there, I could have, but considering they usually make me wait 1-2 hours sitting in a waiting room, and then, only after all that time waiting, tell my my counselor either just left for the day, went to a meeting, took someone else who just walked in, or my favorite, went to lunch.

The drastic personality I tend to have is telling me to just quit cold turkey. I can do it, really.
Yea, sure. Then I think, "Um, Nicole....You start feeling withdrawals if you don't take your dose until the afternoon, are you really able to handle 3-5 days of that, slowly getting worse, and then finally getting better? Is losing a few bottles worth risking the fight and urge so intense to ease the pain? A fight you don't know if you can win?"

I want off, but I want off the right way.

Then I start thinking, "Well you've been told time and time again, to get anywhere in this program you need to be loud, obnoxious, and just plain rude. You were just told this, this morning! Yell. Get loud. Make threats. You're good at that with your husband and father, why not these people? You can be just as big of an asshole as most of the people there, as well as half the staff." Yet, while I do tend to get a little loud and mean when arguing with my husband and father, I am not going to do that with a group of people simply doing there job. But then again, if my counselor will actually answer the phone when I call in 2 minutes, maybe I will do just that.

All I want is just to free this hold Heroin has left on my life. I am suck of it controlling every aspect of my life. Is that really too much to ask?

Friday, February 25, 2011

Evil Kitty

When my son chose the only all black kitten out of a litter of all perfectly mixed black and white cats, that looked like cows I did not stop to think about stigma behind black cats. It's just a cat. Right?

Then when he named our new little boy kitten, "Darth Vader" (Vader for short), again I didn't think we were setting up anything negative.

Then we moved. And the cat moved with us. This cat has to be the most evil creature I've ever met.
If you walk by him and his bowl is empty in the kitchen, he strikes. I'm talking, standing on hind legs, swatting and biting anyone who walks by. And I do mean anyone. 
He loves attention, and would prefer if someone were to spend the whole day petting him. Yet, even that has to be on his terms. If you pet too hard, too fast, too slow, stop for a brief moment, he bites. 
For a pet that was supposed to be for my son, the kids all hate him. And he hates the kids. Most of the time. 
Very rarely, he'll play nice with them. Very rarely. 

Anyways...this afternoon while taking some pictures of Bailey, I noticed him sitting still looking out the window. I snapped a few of him, thinking maybe they'd look decent in black and white for a photo contest I was planning on entering.

What I ended up with was not what I began with, but with the nature of Vader, 
I love the way it turned out. 



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Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Distraction.

I've been struggling so hard the past month and a half. Trying to distract myself with every little thing. Working out, reading, putting on my happy face online and with everyone I speak to. As the weeks have passed, it's becoming harder and harder to distract myself. Just sitting and watching television isn't enough if I have to sit through commercials. Sitting online isn't enough when I take a moment here or there to think. Reading and working out, provides a steady stream of distraction. But I'm flying through books too fast to keep it up. With this depression I have no desire, whatsoever, to leave the house, so exercise isn't quite doing it's job. And the pure laziness I feel when I get like this is keeping me from doing anything much at home.

I have no desire whatsoever to do anything besides the bare minimum. I don't want to leave my bed at all. Yet staying in it is even worse. So I make myself get up before the hubs and go sleep on the couch. It's the only way I've been able to get up and take care of the kids in the morning. The mornings, I stay in bed until they wake I fight the most intense battle. My mind tells me to stay there. Don't worry about anything, just grieve and cry and sleep. My heart reminds me I have three precious children I need to take care of. My heart tells me she wouldn't want me wasting time reliving the past, feeling guilty, feeling angry, feeling that low.

I know things would be easier if I just made myself do things. If I just made myself do the mundane household tasks, play with the children, work with the children, leave the house, things would be easier..

Lovely. Just lovely. As I sit here typing what is so hard for me to get out, so hard to explain, while I fight to get the words out, the song comes on. Her song. Stopped my trying, dead in it's track, mid-word. "Every little thing's gonna be alright."

You see, New Years Eve 2007, just 3 hours before 2008 would begin, I got a call. Nana had a heart attack. We were having a party at our apartment. Since I was just 18 days away from my due date with Collin, I had the only other sober person there come with me to the hospital. On the way there Bob Marley's Three Little Birds came on the radio. I thought nothing of it at the time. Nothing at all. Just a couple days later she had another heart attack. Again, the song came on. Again, it didn't phase me. I hadn't even noticed that I heard it the night of her first one. On January 19th, two days after my sweet Collin was born, I got a call while I was still in the hospital, "Nana's in surgery, her entire colon is being removed, C-dif, not sure if she can pull through with her heart still healing from the bypass." Just a few pieces I remember from the conversation... I called my doctor to rush the   discharge. I needed to get to the other hospital. When I climbed into the car, with my brand new baby boy and my husband, he was turning the radio dial and stopped on the same song. "This is my message to you-ou-ou, saying, don't worry, 'bout a thing"

I was too worried to think much about it still, but it did calm me down enough to stop crying. I never made it to the hospital that day. The song came on a couple more times during my visits to her. On her birthday, February 9th, we left our 3 week old son with a sitter, for the first time. With the c-dif and being in ICU, my boys weren't able to come. Tom and I parked pretty far from the hospital. Just as we were about to get out of the car, it came on. I immediately cried. We were being tossed around with the doctors words. Every other day it seemed we were being told she was strong. Was going to pull through. Every other opposite day we were told she was weaker, and wouldn't. After listening to the song, and crying my eyes out I had the most intense sense of calm. We walked the 8 blocks to the  hospital in silence. That night we were told she would be in the ICU for a couple weeks at most, then moved to a different floor, then moved to a rehabilitation facility, then could come home if she had help. Two days later my entire family made the decision to pull the plug. She was bleeding internally, the pneumonia caused her lungs to be 80% filled with fluid. Her kidneys were failing. All of the machines were living for her. She was in and out of it. While she was "there" she would shake her head no to every question, never opening her eyes. The 11th was such a long day. We had all, except my husband who stayed with my boys, been there with her. The hospital staff didn't dare speak against us for breaking the two visitors at a time rule. Finally a little after two pm it was time. The plug was pulled. We all crowded around her bed. Crying and watching. Struggling to catch her breath.. Finally a very, very close family friend, scratch that, a member of our family, went to her. "It's okay Betty-Girl. Go see Frenchie." She said a few more words, and we all cried more intensely. She looked around the room. Into the eyes of most, if not all of us. And that was it. None of us wanted to leave. I tried so hard that day to remain strong. So strong for my mother. I couldn't, absolutely could not let her see me upset. Finally, after hours I left. As soon as I started my car, it came on again. I laughed. What kind of cruel joke is this? Every thing is not going to be okay. It will never be okay.

The day of her funeral, I was in a daze. I couldn't cry. Nana wouldn't want us to cry over her. She'd much rather us gossip, and be nosy. To laugh at our memories of her. And I did. Well, when we weren't in the car anyway. When leaving the funeral home to head to the church, Bob Marley played on one of the radio stations. When leaving the church for the cemetery, again. When leaving the cemetery, again.

She was never told she had her own special song.

It's been almost three years since her death, and this year has been the worst since it actually happened. Maybe it's because my mind is clearer now than it was the last two years. I don't know. I just know I'm really struggling. This battle is continuing deep in my soul. Half wanting me to give up. To do anything to soothe the pain, even if it causes more in the long run. The other side keeping me from diving into the deep end again. Fighting to keep me strong. Fighting to keep me here for my family. For myself. Fighting to keep me safe from myself. Fortunately, I know that side will win. It's only lost one battle and has gotten strong over the past couple of years. But it doesn't make it any easier to know that I will get through this. It doesn't make it any easier to know things will get better once I start doing things again. Once I start seeing some sun.

All I have to do is remind myself one small thing: "Every little thing, is gonna be alright."


I guess this post turned into a completely different one from what I intended, 
all because this one little song started on the television behind me.
I saw this video for the very first time after arriving home from the funeral. 
This take on the song perfectly shows my view on the song. 


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