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'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.
All children grow up. All people grow. It's just harder when it's your children and you weren't the best behaved teen on the block.And neither was your spouse.
So many people think of 11, 12, 13, 14 year olds as very young. Hell, even I think it's young. But is it really so young that it's shocking that kids at these ages think about sex? That kids these ages, think about drinking and getting high? That kids these ages, are actually doing things that would give their parents heart attacks?
I look at my children, especially my daughter and recount my pre-teen and early teen years. I think about how I will kill them or lock them away somewhere far away from the outside world if they even mentioned thinking about the things their father and I were doing at those ages.. But, is that the smart way to think about it? And if talking to my children is the right way to go about this, when is the right time to start? When they are too young to even understand? Or when the thought are already in their heads, and they're already acting on them?
Between 12-14 years old, I had started by giving head to high school boys, running away from home to be with high school boys and 18-25 year old men, shoplifting, drinking, smoking pot, popping pills, having sex, getting pregnant, being locked up in juvenile detention, skipping class, skipping school, getting kicked out of my parents house, and dating a man 7.5 years older than me. The hubs, was still drinking, smoking pot, and went on to snort coke, smoke crack, shooting up heroin, selling firearms to big shit drug dealers, moving from institution to institution.
How do I prevent my children from doing the shit I did? While, yes, my parents are what exposed me to drugs and alcohol, but they didn't introduce me to sex. In fact, when I did ask my mother at 6 years old, "how does a mommy get a baby in her belly?" I was told to go to my room. When I did ask my mother what sex was, I was grounded for a week. Maybe that's what did it to me? Maybe their fear of teaching me about sex, and honoring my body, and acting like it was a sin, was why I became so interested? Maybe, my parents addiction is why I started drinking and smoking weed so young? But how does that explain the hubs? His parents never did any drugs, yet he ended up strung out on dope by 14? How does that happen?
How do I get right and wrong through these kids' heads? How do I make it clear to them, that they can talk to me about anything? How do I get it through to them, that I will not judge or belittle them? That I won't make them feel stupid, or disgusting for asking? And then, how do I teach them to make the right decisions? Especially when both the hubs and I have made such awful ones?
Everyone always has the same answer, just keep talking to them. But how young is too young? When do I start? When I was Thomas' age I was hanging out with boys kissing behind houses. How do I talk to him, when he is still so little?
About a month ago, Thomas came into my room in the middle of the night wanting a drink or something. As like most nights, I was curled up with the hubs, with my head on his chest and my body wrapped around him. When my 5 year old came in, he asked if we were "doing sex". So is now the right time to talk to him about this? The parent in me says it's way too young to even think about starting to talk about these things. Then the still a child part of me, tells me to start talking, while I have my chance.
Back when I was pregnant with Bailey and Thomas asked how she got in my tummy, I explained to him that a man plants a seed inside a women. And that seed grows into a baby. Not a lie, exactly, but still not disturbing details. It was a good enough answer for him. But now the sex thing? When he asked, it was around 2 in the morning. I brought him into the living room, and asked him if he remembered how a baby got into a mommy's belly, which he did. So, I told him that sex was the way a man got the seed into the women, and that married couples have sex for two reasons, to make a baby and to share their love with each other. I don't know if it was the right answer. I don't know if it was too "mature" for him, or too "childish" for him. He seemed pleased with the answer, grabbed some water and went back to bed.
Now, I realize that his asking was just the tip of the iceberg. I have three children who are going to grow. And it is my responsibility to make sure they grow into good, honest, smart, self-confident people. It is my responsibility to teach them right from wrong. It is my responsibility to be the one to answer the embarrassing questions, not to shove them away to learn on their own.
This has been one hell of a snowy Winter in the North East, with record totals for the month of January. I am beyond sick of it. Especially since I've yet to get my photo of the snow coming down. Just can't seem to capture it. Really ticks me off...
Anyway, this last storm that hit (18 inches here, on top of the few feet of snow already on the ground....) had brought me entire street closer together. I do not have neighbors who talk to each other unless it's to complain about noise or parked cars. Or children. Yesterday, not a car or foot print had even touched the snow at 9:45 am. Shocking, right? Then when the plow did come he got stuck. 10 or so of my neighbors were outside digging out cars. Sidewalks. Even the street. Hell, even the plow! Then for the first time in my life, I saw a plow driver get out and shovel! The neighbors and the plow dude came together, moving the snow that has taken over the cul-de-sac this past couple of weeks, and moving the cars that prevented the plow from doing it's job to the fullest. Unfortunately they didn't pay such close attention to the rest of the street and now my dead end, narrow road is one lane only. With no where to pull over. I'm waiting for a disaster here..
Anyway, like I said neighbors pulled together. Talking, laughing, and of course, bitching about the snow. People helped each other move cars and snow. I swear, nothing brings people closer than a big storm. I took a walk, with camera slung around my neck to the corner. A normally 5 minute walk took an 30 minutes. Yep, it took me an hour to get to the corner and back! I talked to so many people. People assumed because I had my telephoto lens, that I knew what I was doing. People, who are usually rude and bitchy, actually moved out of my way so I could get the shots I was aiming for. Wow. Even more shocking!
The coolest part of the whole day has to be the mountains of snow, some as high as street signs, some even higher. And then the sun came out and we saw blue skies! And, even more exciting about the giant piles of snow, it was perfect for making slides out of it, and sliding down. All without a sled. Oh yes, my boys loved this! And, lastly, this was the first snow that Bailey actually enjoyed, at least now that she finally figured out walking in her snowsuit.
Fun. Worthwhile. Love-filled. Amazing. Giddy. A few hours I will cherish forever.
All ways I will remember tonight.
Many know I am very anal about bedtime. 8pm is time for the boys to go down, then Bailey and I to cuddle while she nurses, then she goes down. Many nights I stress and get upset as Collin flat out refuses to go to bed, even if he is dead tired. Tonight was one of those nights.
Not too often there is something I have to get done after bedtime, but tonight (last night, as it's after midnight now..) was one of those nights. With Collin's party being tomorrow (today?) and me doing most of the baking myself, I had a lot to accomplish tonight. Normally I'd get upset, beg my husband to get Collin to sleep, and I'd be so flustered I'd screw up everything I needed to do.
Tonight was strangely different. Very welcomed, but different. Instead of bothering my tired husband, who was sound asleep on the couch, I let Collin come help. It may have been the best decision I've made in a very long time. We had so much fun just doing simple tasks. He enjoyed egg cracking. I didn't mind digging eggshells out of bowls. He helped pour, mix, measure. I laughed at his spills. He was in a silly mood, and making silly faces. I was silly as well. He and I both laughed so hard our bellies hurt. With the fits of giggles, and the quality time spent, I don't even mind the huge disaster my kitchen currently is. Collin has been more affectionate than usual lately, and tonight even more so. It seemed like every 5 minutes he was reaching for hugs, randomly planting soft little kisses on my arms and face, and telling me, "I love you Mommy."
It's not too often Collin and I get fun alone time. Our usual alone time is during Bailey's nap while Thomas is in school. We don't usually have anywhere near this much fun. We usually do his speech "homework" or other educational activities he enjoys, like working on learning to read and write the alphabet. Don't get me wrong we have a great time doing those things together but..tonight was so different. It was like there wasn't a care in the world. It was just Collin and I. And with three kids between 1 and 5, those feelings are a bit too rare for my taste.
After tonight (last night..) some things I've known really rang true. Like how it's okay to break the routines and rules sometimes. It's okay to let these kids make a mess. It's okay to let them stay up late every so often for some good old fashioned one on one time. It's okay to let each child believe they're your favorite. It's okay to sometimes take off the parent cap, and enjoy being their friend.
I cannot begin to express how much just baking with my boy tonight has affected me. It's as if I got a whole new glimpse on life. And I cannot wait to start spending more time alone with each of my children.
