Bittersweet Gestalt

Busy Making Other Plans

2012-02-11T01:19:00.000-05:00

You'll have to go here my facebook page to read the latest entry. It's public.

It's not bad news. Blogger is just being a douche.

Deconstructing Tara: Aftermath Pt. 1

2012-02-02T21:10:00.000-05:00

Deconstructing Tara: Aftermath

“Having MultiplePersonalities is like hosting a kegger in your brain only you’re passed outcold while everyone else is just trashing the joint.”

Reese was always too concerned with “being in the way” toleave a mess. Stephanie would scour the house when she was pissed. For me itwas less hosting a kegger than an endless sleepover for a bunch of elementaryschool girls. We had Stacy and herBarbies (which she learned quickly not to leave out because my daughters wouldplay with them and lose stuff), Amelia and her crayons and paints and any ofthe other littles with their precious things... Over the years, they each weregiven a few belongings of their own. From the Braille tablet and stylus forLaura to the mind-numbing amount of stuffed animals the youngest of the youngadored. Oh yeah, I could tell who had been out by what had been moved around orleft out in the open.

It was never quite as bad as Tara deals with. I think partof the reason for that is my Crew was expected to behave as part of an alreadylarge family with 5 young kids. There was an almost built in sense ofprotecting their belongings from “sisters” or “brothers” that would get theirhands on them and leave them in less than good condition. I vaguely remember acouple of tantrums from Amelia and Stacy about “those other kids” borrowingtheir things without permission.

No, it wasn’t so much a kegger for me as it was the Duggerfamily, without the sense of order and discipline.

Family Meetings-

Oh sure. We tried. When the kids were younger it was easier.They loved talking about and to anyone in the Crew who happened to be around.They had grown up with it, had their own favorites and knew Mom needed thedetails afterward. They also got a kick out of sharing stories about theothers. We’ve always been a story-telling family and filling me on the actionsof the Crew was an opportunity to tell a story.

As they grew older, the meetings became more difficult.Trying to keep everyone’s attention (including the Crew’s) for more than 10minutes was an exercise in frustration. We also fell into the habit of onlyreally holding family meetings when the kids were in enough trouble they allneeded to hear the same thing at the same time. It’s no wonder resentment builttowards such gatherings in my house.

I homed in on the detail that T smokes menthol. In the firstepisode we see Buck smokes reds. It was kind of a head shaker for me becausefor the first year or so after diagnosis, I caved and let Stephanie and Reesehave their own cigarettes. I was buying full flavor, lights and ultra lights. Ieventually begged both girls to please just deal with one flavor. I didn’t careif they cut or took off the filters… it just made no sense to keep buyingsomething different for each of us.

“It’s that’s reallygood we can discuss this as a family. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

“It’s weird.”

Kate pisses me off SO much. If I’m honest about it, I thinkKate hits all the guilt buttons. Looking at her I see al the anger andresentment my own kids, especially my oldest, never felt they could express.All those “I’m fucking up my family” feelings rise up and try to choke me whenI see Tara and Kate together.

“Look, we knew whenyou went off the meds the whole gang would resurface.”

“Yeah, MultiplePersonality Reunion Tour.”

… “Anyway, I can’t… wecan’t begin to understand why you need them unless we let them show themselves”

Meds and DID- It bothers me how often DID is treated withanti-psychotics. The doctor treating me when I was diagnosed had no experiencewith DID. His immediate answer was Risperdol, a medication then used to treatSchozophrenia. If I hadn’t had such severe side-effects, there’s no telling howlong I’d have taken it. The side-effects were a blessing in disguise because I’dalready locked the Crew behind a wall for 7 years. It would have been damnedcruel to medicate them into silence just as we were coming to know them.

Some medications can help in treating DID. Anti-depressants,anti-anxiety and even some of the older anti-psychs… but it’s a crapshoot andnot an answer. Meds should aid in treatment, not be the treatment. The idea ofdoping up a patient to make them easier to deal with sets my teeth on edge. Butthen, before the Wall fell, I’d already had plenty of experience in beingmedication into oblivion for the sake of making me easier to deal with ratherthan better… so my perception here may be skewed.

When it comes down to it, DID might exist in tandem withdepression and a whole host of other problems but the DID itself is a traumaresponse and not a biological illness. You can use a medication the way we useAdvil, to ease pain… but if you aren’t dealing with the source of the pain,what’s the fucking point? You can’t deal with the source using a drug as themain tool. Not with trauma disorders.

“Last thing you needis to worry about my stupid school stuff.”

It sounds like Marshall is being helpful in trying not toadd stress to Mom’s life... Let’s not even go into the issue of kids feelingthe need to protect their own parents or be the parents… but when I first sawthis episode, my immediate sense was Marshall either didn’t trust his mom tofollow through in a helpful way or didn’t trust she could do it withoutswitching.

Tara trying to talk to Kate about sex- Ugh… More guilt.Seeing it from the outside, I realize my efforts to be cool mom probably mademe look even more an idiot to my kids. I know much of that is normalparent/teenager stuff but like Tara, I have a hard time truly believing it’snot me failing in some way.

“Evil fucking BratzDoll.”

I can’t think of a better way to describe an angry, teenagedaughter. I’m still worried things are too screwed up for the “adult daughter”with children friendship thing… but there’s hope.

“And tomorrow, I’mgonna talk to Marshy’s teacher and we’re gonna get that straightened out aswell.”

Oops. Cat’s out of the bag. Marshall doesn’t want Momtalking to his teacher. What a horrible, horrible feeling… and all toofamiliar. It’s that stupid guilt thing again.

“It’s like they don’teven want me around when I’m me.”

“Please, it’s allyou.”

Forgetting for a moment Charmaine’s comment… It’s been howmany integrated years now and I still feel that way. Like I’m not good enoughas I am… or I’ve screwed things up so badly there is no healing or forgiveness.There’s also the fear they simply liked the others enough that I’m… I don’tknow… boring and 2 dimensional in comparison.

Thing is, it’s STILL not the kid’s job to reassure me there.At some point, I have to get over myself and move on. Most of my kids areadults now. It’s time to let them think and feel what they choose and to letthem accept the consequences for their choices without looking at it through myuseless guilt filter.

And again, less than halfway through an episode and I’mpretty sure this entry is as long as it needs to be. Perhaps it would ease someworry to accept that, for now, there’s enough to comment on in each episodethat it’ll take more than one entry to cover it all. Ease off on theself-imposed pressure and deadlines and give myself a break…

Yeah, I crack myself up.

In That Order

2012-02-02T19:19:00.001-05:00

Really Blogger? I type in a perfectly good, snark entry and you EAT it again?
It's time for you to go on a diet.

Just Sayin

2012-02-01T18:45:00.004-05:00

I will not allow typos in previous entries to stop me continuing to write. Typos can be fixed LATER at my LEISURE. I will not allow the lack of punctuation and capitalization in the Crew entries to stop me posting them. Just do it.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

Deconstructing Tara: Pilot Pt. 3

2012-01-31T22:07:00.000-05:00

"Why can't she just stop?"
That line, uttered by Charmaine, was enough to nearly send me over the edge. I already knew the character was going to be my least favorite but... seriously?

I guess it makes sense to include someone who makes such asinine statements. Anyone who has battled an addiction or unhealthy behavior pattern has probably heard that question. The same could be said of anyone dealing with mental illness of any kind. I've even heard "Snap out of it." in regards to depression. It wouldn't be remotely believable as a story without someone questioning the validity of the protagonist's struggle.
Didn't stop me wanting to reach into the tv and throttle Charmaine.

One of the biggest battles multiples face outside their own mind is dealing with the overwhelming degree of ignorance there is related to DID. Even now, jokes that confuse Schizophrenia and DID simply piss me off. I still fight the urge to get in the offender's face and set them straight. I guess ranting about that topic is what subtweets are for...

After Charmaine's conversation with Max, the show jumps to later in the evening with T trying to seduce Max. I can't intelligently address that particular hazard (in relationship with a multiple) because I was blessed to avoid it. The Crew was, for all intents and purposes, asexual. There were a few times when others came onto Charlie but most of the time it was about shocking him or pushing him away.

There was one... A teen who was never named, who assumed sexual favors in exchange for kindness was the expectation. To Charlie's credit, he was never tempted. Some how he managed to put all the Crew but me into the emotional category of being foster children. He only ever wanted me, Marisa, no matter how seductive the behavior of another.

All that said, the scene between T and Max came off as plausible and well handled... especially the direct jealousy expressed with regard to the amount of "airtime" others were allowed. We not only went through that often over the years but as a former deejay, airtime was a commonly used term for us too.

I love the idea of a shed or other such place for an alter to go cool off. Despite my issues with seclusion rooms, it would have been nice to have a place to send an unruly alter. It's the equivalent of sending her to her room. The closest thing to that for the Crew was going behind the back fence at our old house.

Kate reminds me so much of Krys in her anger, sarcasm and defiance... Also in her seeming preference for asshole guys. (Mikey, Krys' ex, will come up later) I hope when my kids talked about my others (which they weren't supposed to do but did anyway) their friends were more supportive than Kate's douche bag.

Max's "Welcome back" when Tara joins him in the shower is so familiar. It still amazes me how much truth and reality was put into this show. For those living with DID in their lives, it could be hard to separate the entertainment factor from the reality factor... as I frequently saw on message boards and forums dedicated to USoT. Multiples and loved ones would enter debate about realism while those who had no direct experience would shout that it was just a tv show and who cares about reality!

I can't think of any other program where reality and entertainment were so artfully intertwined.

"I want to thank you for being such a strong, supportive kid."
"We're lucky, Mom. Because of you, we get to be interesting."
I had countless such conversations with all of my kids over the years. The most memorable with Krys when she compared our intact and loving family with all the broken, addicted or violent families of her friends. Like earlier in the episode when Kate points out the implants her boyfriend's mom has. Every family has its shit and my kids were quick to point out their preference of our particular brand of insanity over that of other families.

I'll try not to spoil that assurance by mentioning either Marshall's possible undercurrent of sarcasm or my own fear my kids were suffering a form of Stockholm Syndrome.

"Am I high?"
For all the seriousness of DID, there is a reason this show was billed a comedy. At this point, in part because writing about out is helped by playing it at the same time, I've heard this line more than a dozen times and it still makes me giggle. In my situation it was more often realizing I was drunk put hung over... but I can relate all too well... and let's face it... it's better to laugh about it than to cry.

Speaking of waking up...

Yes, I'm skipping Tara and Max's moment from the night before. It will come up in future entries... No pun intended. Also, do you really want to read my every single thought about 36 episodes? It could go on forever. I'll spare you for now.

The quiet exasperation on Tara's face as she wakes to see her freshly painted black toe nails is brilliantly done. The wide range of emotions displayed in that wordless few seconds is brilliant.

When Tara is delivering the costume for Kate's recital and sees the boyfriend treating her roughly, her reaction, to me seems like that of any mother in the face of a jerk treating her daughter in a rough manner. Between the anger Tara must feel and the reaction of an embarrassed Kate, it's no wonder Buck appeared.

He didn't jump right in and take over... first he got away from the situation and made an effort to decompress by planning to go to the gun range. In typical Protector form, it never occurred to Buck to tell Max what happened at the school, nor why it was Tara wouldn't be around for the recital. Protectors don't ask for help... they can take care of things on their own, thank you very much.

Despite the apparent selfishness Buck displays here and his asshole demeanor, he was really only looking to let off some steam for Tara's sake.

Having said that... I HATE the way Buck talks to the kids. Much was said about my kids to others, usually Charlie and people in the treatment team, but my others didn't make the kids of disparaging comments Buck makes to Marshall. I have no idea how typical this is in a family with a multiple... but I'd have gone batshit if I found out Stephanie treated any of my kids the way Buck does Marshall here.

If I try to be objective, I can acknowledge Buck's attitude as being an expression of what makes him him. The badass, vietnam vet (Stephanie had her own history too) who believes in me being men, blah, blah. Still, it annoyed me.

I do love the idea of the gun range being "guy stuff". In different ways, we had things like that for the Crew. Midnight runs to Wal-mart with Krys were a time for Reese and Stephanie to hang out with someone their age. Saturday mornings were Cartoon time with Daddy (Charlie) for the littles, etc... It's good to have that for a system. It gives the personalities a sense of belonging that can be valuable in learning to cooperate.

"I did watch him. I watched him leave."
All I'll say here is Bravo to Marshall. While it happened often enough for us, I always hated the idea of having the kids basically "babysit" my alters. It's an unfair responsibility to put on kids. The need parents, not to be parents.

There's plenty of time later to go into stories about when Stephanie stood up for my kids, so will just say I adore Buck for taking on the boyfriend. It is why he had no intention of stepping back and allowing someone else to go to the recital. He was going to take care of things. Marshall sticking up for his sister reminds me very much of my kids.

The Crew all had an unspoken pact to, as far as was possible, not give themselves away in public. They only identified themselves to people the knew (or believed) the could trust. So a very public situation like the one with Buck never happened for us. According to the girls, they were never publicly embarrassed by the Crew. Seeing Buck at the recital makes me VERY thankful for this.

Later, at the bowling alley, you get a glimpse of Buck's ability to be responsible. He doesn't allow Kate a beer. He tries to give her advice, in his backwoods goofy way. He also makes an effort to bond with Marshall, in his unique, Buck way.

The beautiful irony of the last scene shouldn't be expanded upon. I'll just leave it as it is...

"It's weird how Buck's a lefty and none of the others are."
"Yeah, that's one weird thing."

Deconstructing Tara: Pilot Pt. 2

2012-01-30T09:27:00.000-05:00

Picking up with Tara's alter "T" and her daughter Kate.

"T! This is why I love you the best out of all the alters!"
Ugh. I'm not sure I even want to tackle all the ways DID gave the kids an opportunity to get away with things I would never have allowed. I was certainly grateful the kids had a good relationship with those they knew but thank GOD we haven't used credit cards since we became parents. I can't even begin to imagine the level of debt we'd have acquired if Stephanie or one of my kids could get their hands on charge cards. Then again... Stephanie never really liked hanging with the kids. Not until the girls got into their teens. Yeah, the Crew, my kids and credit cards would have been a disaster.

And shame on Kate for being so quick to take advantage. As I write this, I hear "Kids. Can't live with them and can't hug their necks until the snap." Pretty much sums up having teenagers, right there. With or without DID in the picture.

Rules:
When Max gets home and spoils the potential shopping trip, we hear the first indication that he and Tara have tried to set rules and boundaries within the system. Max to Marshall: "Hey, don't coddle her. She's gonna eat with us, she's gotta cooperate. We talked about this."

We also set up rules for the Crew. Stephanie wasn't allowed to drink around the kids. She wasn't allowed to drive drunk... a rule she broke frequently and often in the first 2 years of treatment. She was also the only one allowed to drive and ended up having the keys hidden from her when she insisted on driving after alcohol.

She finally had an ah-ha moment when Charlie lost it on her. Yes, we share the body. Yes, you kill someone driving drunk, we all suffer. You wreck, we're all hurt. Worst of all, anything bad happens, Charlie and the kids end up paying too. Stephanie may not have acknowledged liking the family at that point but she recognized that a Protector protects the best interests of the system... that meant protecting my family too. That was the point when she began to grow up.

Every rule we set over the years was intended to provide safety, foster cooperation with the system and the family and to attempt to keep the level of chaos below a category 3 storm.

Charmaine, Tara's sister:
I love* how Charmaine sees T and immediately assumes there is a family crisis. (*sarcasm) Marshall's defense is sweet.

"It's really hard for me to see my sister like that." Yeah, because it's all about YOU. Bitch. I don't doubt it is hard to see but from the outset, they show how self-centered Charmaine is. For those who have an understanding of family dynamics, it's no surprise to see that if one sister is sick, the other probably has issues too. She's portrayed, right off, as clueless, jealous and focused only on herself.

"Why can't she just stop? I mean it's not even a real disease."
Like Max says, she grew up with it. She should know better than anyone.

Unlike Tara's family, mine is spread across the country and no one lives local to us. That's probably a good thing. I know I told members of my family about the diagnosis. I tried to explain it to Mum, Rick (Oldest brother) and to my younger sister Nora. Rick was cool about it and accepted it as a reasonable reaction to my childhood. He was awesome in how he tried to see the good and the humor in it all. He was a real support.

In retrospect, I wish I had trusted my family more with their ability to understand DID. It wasn't until Rick's death in '07 that I really discussed it with anyone else in the family. Across the board, they all agree with looking back on what they remember of me as a child, it made sense.

I'd like to say that part of the reason I didn't share was to protect them. I was loud and angry in my teens and early adult years about being raised in an "abusive" home. I didn't want them to think or feel I was blaming them for the DID or my current struggles. I'd like to say that's the only reason... but it wasn't. I was embarrassed and ashamed to still be the screwed up one in the family and hated feeling the weight of that self-imposed stigma when I spent time with my family.

I let them all deal with the worst parts of my struggle... the hospitalizations and other things... but never allowed them a part in the journey to recovery. I don't know if it would have made a difference or if I'd have let allowing myself to be closer to them be a stumbling block. Sometimes, it would be really nice to know what it would have been like had I made different choices.

I promise not to spread every episode over 3 entries but last time I worked on a partial from my phone, I accidentally deleted half of it. I'll stop here and pick up the rest later at work.

To Be Continued... again.

Yay, Pepper Spray!

2012-01-28T11:26:00.001-05:00

Given the drastic rise in crime here the last couple of years, I'm almost surprised it took more than 8 months for someone to attempt to rob me. Funnily enough, it happened the same week I decided to stop worrying and running potential scenarios in my head.

10 year old boss's daughter took the order. I think I was subconsciously suspicious from the call. They placed a $47 cash order from an apartment we'd not delivered to before, in a crime ridden area, giving a number that didn't match our caller ID. Had anyone else taken the order, they'd have confirmed the phone number before handing it off to the cooks.

Like I said, subconscious, so I didn't speak up then.

I left the restaurant with the order and a much smaller, credit card, order from a regular in the same complex.

When I deliver to houses, I often leave the engine running and the car unlocked. For apartments, even the nicer, safer ones, I turn off the engine and lock up. Either way, I usually leave the phone in the car.

Last night, something said to keep the phone on me.

The older gentleman who answered the door said they had not made an order. I showed him the receipt and confirmed it was the right address. I thanked him and apologized for the interruption then headed back. To the car.

I unlocked the door, set the bags in the driver seat, leaned back against the open door and started dialing the number on the receipt. I heard leaves crunching in the wooded area behind me as the gentleman from the apartment came out of the building. I assured him I would get the mix up taken care of as the phone played the "not a valid number" recording. The gentleman went back inside.

I turned to move the food to the passenger seat while simultaneously calling the restaurant. That's when four kids between 16-19 came out of the woods and headed towards the building. They split up and surrounded the car as I was stepping in. I hit the lock then shut the door as my co-worker answered the phone.

As I was explaining the situation, two of the kids came to the passenger side, blocking me from backing out. One of them knocked on the window while trying the door. "Hey, you got food?"

I turned to him and shouted "No!" then told my co-worker someone was trying to get in the car. They saw the glow of my phone in my hand and took off running. I hung up, backed out and saw the two who didn't approach the car leaning against the building, just around the corner.

I rolled down the passenger window and asked if they had placed an order. I got an emphatic "No ma'am!" in response.

All this happened in the space of maybe 2 minutes. It wasn't until Charlie informed me he wanted to ride shotgun for the rest of the shift that it hit me how serious it could have been.

Boss said next time call the police right away. We've made some policy changes in hopes of preventing a similar situation. Charlie wants to join me after 9 on the weekends. We picked up pepper spray this morning and he's chosen a 1.2M volt Tazer (not a stun gun) to purchase next Saturday.

Given that nothing ever happens when I'm worried about it, I have to admit I'm praying that learning to use these safety devices and being prepared means I'll never have need of them.

Either way... at least I'm a bit more prepared.

Deconstructing Tara: Pilot

2012-01-27T16:31:00.000-05:00

I like the way they open the episode with Tara doing a video journal entry. It gives the viewer a chance to meet the title character and journaling of any kind is helpful for someone living with DID. It helps fill in the holes and gives a place to deal with tough emotions, like the discovery of your 15 year old daughter's sexual activity.

Oy... Krys was the same age as Kate when I found out about the sweaty, skanky, teenage sex occurring... under our own roof, no less. I was mortified, angry and a little hurt that Krys hadn't trusted me enough to discuss it. We only found out when I hacked her myspace after admitting her the hospital for self-injury, depression and drug use.

We all got through that time, more or less better off and a fraction wiser... but like Tara, my initial reaction was to want to "SEW HER UP!"Seeing Tara's reaction validated for me that however crazy things were in our family, some things were "normal", like a mother's natural reaction to a child becoming *gasp* sexually active.

Tara's first switch (in the show, they call it transitioning)... First off, it is not always that obvious. Alters don't always rush off to change clothes either. For the sake of viewers, most of whom were probably getting their first look at realistic DID, those visual clues were important for following the changes. It also brings up some questions...

When I was first coming to terms with the diagnosis, I had no clue what I looked like when I switched. The idea terrified me. For a good year or so, if I felt my emotions getting beyond what I could bear or if I had a sense a switch was coming, I would try to get alone so no one could see.Over time and with lots of encouragement from those who had seen it, I learned to relax. I didn't always see a switch coming and it was a little, um, controlling on my part to attempt to control the when and where.

Unlike Tara, the Crew didn't all have their own wardrobe. We did buy things specifically for them at times... but what ended up happening was I gradually changed my wardrobe to consist almost entirely of denim and knit tees and polos. It was less expensive to only own what most everyone was comfortable in. It also put an end to my tendency to stand, dazed, in my closet for half an hour or more a day.

Man, less than 10 minutes into Ep. 1 and this is threatening to become a novel.Most of my writing these days is done on my phone which is limiting and slow. For the sake of publishing regular entries, I'll stop this one here and allow time to work on the rest of the entry. To be continued...

F-F-F-Frustrating

2012-01-26T00:00:00.000-05:00

(Written 5/3/11- Only now getting published... fits with what I'm trying to do right now)

I can't remember.

And it pisses me off.

You know when you wake from a dream and it's so clear when you first wake... but the more time passes the more completely it fades until you're left with just an echo of emotion and maybe, just maybe a shadow of what the hell seemed so intense only hours before?

That's January 1999-2005. The only reason I remember anything from those years is because I started blogging in 2002. I can read through the entries and get some pictures of what I wrote... sometimes even pictures of what the others wrote... but overall, it's a fog.

I have no basis for what's normal. I'm certain no one remembers every detail of every day. I'm sure much of life is reduced to highlight reels as the years go by... but SO much happened in those years and most of it is contained in someone else's notes. Crane and Lyn have more of a written record of my life than I have... and I'm not sure I really have the guts to ask.

I sit down to write in The Crew diary only to end up playing video games or randomly surfing the net. I can remember endless amounts of useless bits of trivia... recall them in an instant. I can walk through a room with a television on and if I've seen it or even heard it, I can identify what's on screen often without even looking.

That questionable 'talent' makes Charlie nuts. I can remember names and dates and even story lines of things I saw on screen as a toddler but I can't remember exactly why I ended up in emergency rooms and psych units as recently as 8 years ago. I can vividly recall the emotions at seeing my young kids and wondering who they were and where they'd come from when I was pretty sure I was still a teenager and where the hell did the years go? I remember episodes of "I Love Lucy" better than I do my own life.

And I'm frustrated.

I want to be able to pick a month and remember with some degree of clarity SOMETHING that happened but it's like chasing a mirage.

I hate the idea of asking others to tell me about my own freaking life.

I want to remember and I no longer care if I have to sob and snot and hyperventilate my way through writing them out... I want to be able to look back at a period of life and know it was more than a dream that has slipped away.

Life is not meant to be lived in a fog.

*sighs*

Deconstructing Tara: Title Sequence

2012-01-25T12:00:00.000-05:00

(Learn To Love) The Ride

Open up the sky this mess is getting high
It’s windy and our family needs a ride
I know we’ll be just fine when we learn to love the ride
I know we’ll be fine when we learn to love the ride
I know we’ll be just fine when we learn to love the ride

Love the pop-up, picture book look and the way they use it to introduce you to the alters who are part of Tara's system. Especially the end where it's just her and she opens her eyes. Years ago, Reese drew a sort of self-portrait that included all the known alters in The Crew pictured within a silhouette of me. The title animation reminds me of that drawing. So much so, I can often imagine seeing a silhouette of Tara's others in her eyes.

The song, written and performed by Tim DeLaughter just for the show, goes no further than these few lyrics... but oh the lyrics. So few words yet they say so much.

The first time I heard the song (Second episode but still a worthy topic for starting this series) I burst into tears. Charlie and I used to talk all the time about the concept of loving the ride... long before this series... heck, long before diagnosis even. We knew that life can sometimes drag you through the muck and mire but there's still a lot to hold onto. We learned early on how important it is to find the fun or even the dark humor in things as a way to stay strong when life is hard. Had we not been able to laugh together, and at each other, I'm not sure how we'd have come through it all intact.

Back to the lyrics... There is something so poignant and real in such a few words... even now, they grab my heart with the depth to which I can relate.

Even after the "Big I", life can still be messy. It is for everyone. As long as we hold on tight to each other, we can get through it and maybe even learn to love the ride.

Deconstructing Tara

2012-01-24T20:54:00.000-05:00

After rewatching the series "United States of Tara" last week, I thought it might be fun to watch the series episode by episode and sort of break it down from my own personal perspective and experience.

For the uninitiated, Tara was a series on the Showtime Network. It was about a woman with a marriage, family, career and DID. It only lasted 3 seasons. A shame as it had some of the best characters, actors and writing on TV. Another Kardashian casualty... but the craptastic nature of popular television is a rant for another day.

Anyway, if you are interested in seeing the series, all 3 seasons are now available on Netflix and a good half dozen other viewing sites online. I'd recommend it, in part because it's excellent tv and Toni Collette is phenomenal, and in part because these entries will be chock full of massive spoilers. Besides, I doubt my writing will do it justice.

For me, watching the series the first time was hard. I was months into integration when it first aired and it could be incredibly triggering. I spent quite a lot of time in tears and asking my family if it hit home for them as much as it did me. To be honest, watching it the first time was a heck of a lot like poking at a rotted tooth to see if it still makes you want to rip your own head off.

The second time I watched through it (Thanks Alanna for telling me the series is now available), I found myself remembering some pretty cool things. Things like family and therapy moments from the black hole between diagnosis in 1999 and beginning my first blog in 2002. That period of 3 years or so has been a blank up to now. Not all the memories are exactly "cool" but they're mine and that means something. If writing about Tara and watching the series again can unlock some of that time, I'm all for it. Maybe writing will be useful for someone who comes across this but I'm certain it'll do me some good. Kind of a win/win.

This is your notice: Watch it, experience it through my eyes or both. Your choice.

Resolutions

2012-01-12T18:31:00.000-05:00

I hate resolutions. Never do them... but this year I'm making a resolution of sorts. It's coincidental timing that my little moment of clarity the other day happened around the beginning of a new year.

I need to lay off myself.

It's funny how much time goes into telling others to give themselves a break... telling them to stop expecting absolute perfection from themselves... and yet I live day to day in an anxiety induced paralysis because I can't do everything exactly as I believe I should.

Such an old running theme... but since that moment of clarity I have been going out of my way to be more aware of my thoughts. Doing that and then choosing to speak aloud to contradict the "can't do anything right" thoughts has made a difference. I've been more relaxed and gotten more accomplished this last week than since I started working full-time back in May.

The really good part of this is I haven't gone totally crazy in trying to do everything at once. If I get one big job around the house done each day, then it's enough. If my body doesn't cooperate and it's near bedtime before I can move enough to do it, then so be it. I have no set goal on when I'll achieve any specific goal. Only to take it one day at a time and do what I am able to do and accept it is good enough.

I don't know what tomorrow brings but today, I'm enough as I am.

Oh, and I totally cheated yesterday-ish by posting a draft from April of last year... but at least a post was made... so there.

Processing Schmocessing

2012-01-10T23:31:00.000-05:00

can't sleep...how awesome is it that my youngest child has only good memories of #TheCrew? To him, it was Mommy's gift. I'm awestruck. #DID
From Twitter a few nights ago.

John was reading an entry from The Crew over my shoulder. The entry was about talking with Charlie about the possibility of DID/MPD. He got to:
This isn't something we can tell to go away. It's in me and I hate them. They've ruined my life. Why is everyone so freaking happy and relieved about this? and asked me why I hated them.

"I love The Crew. They're the best friends I ever had."

I love that kid so much.

Title Goes Here

2012-01-08T21:25:00.001-05:00

There was a post here earlier but it was deemed entirely too whiny and was 86ed... But at least there was writing where lately there has been none.

Never Enough

2012-01-07T11:54:00.001-05:00

This entry was almost a whiny post about feeling like I can never do enough right... A long running and tired ass theme of my life.
Driving around on my last delivery, it hit me... Like many a struggling television show, I've finally jumped the shark and tried carrying the same old story line long past reasonable believability. Even I'm tired of tuning in for this predictable dreck.
"I see you having grace for everyone but yourself." Those long ago words of Papa Crane have risen from my buried box of "important truths about myself" to offer the same head slap as when they were first spoken.
Really, Marisa?
Again?
You learn by doing. A fact you've been going on about in your work frustrations, but how many times do you need to repeat this lesson before it's rote and ready so you can avoid systematic withdrawal and pathos as the conditioned response?
Hmmm?
I'm not usually one for resolutions but maybe I should be making an effort to get off my own back.
Self-flagellation is pretty all consuming. It's no wonder I stay so tired.

The Plan

2011-09-01T22:40:00.000-04:00

Yes, there is a plan.
Stop laughing.

I've scheduled 5 days of entries to post twice a day. As for this blog, I'm keeping a paper journal but have not yet had the energy to transcribe things from there to here.

Here's the basics... I'm working at least 45 hours over 4 days each week at the restaurant. The other 3 days, I have babies and housework to catch up on. I've been in a walking fog most of the last 4 months... but I'm adjusting.

Found out my thyroid is a sluggish and lazy little bit of flesh which seems to be making it a point to sabotage my every attempt to get healthy. I've grown out of all my clothes, can't ever get enough sleep, my hair is falling out and, among other things... I'VE BEEN DEPRESSED. Nice to know one little malfunctioning gland can hit me in every one of my more sensitive areas all at freaking once. *sighs*

But knowing is half the battle. Until we're in a situation where we can afford the rather expensive medication, I'm trying some herbal things and trying to be patient while they have a chance to work.

So, not much of a great excuse for months of not writing but there it is... and at least it's not simply because I was hiding. That's just been a side effect.

There's Always a Price

2011-05-29T20:56:00.000-04:00

In my recent online silence, I've been struggling to poke around inside and break down some self-imposed walls. I'm getting there but find it leaves me a little too raw for comfort... Not that I expected comfort... but jeez.

The sarcasm Machine is firing on all cylinders and I've had to bite my lip to keep from saying wildly inappropriate things so often, it's practically a food group by now.

From Twitter: IAmTheCrew Marisa Feathers
DS1 called me J Bieber. DS1gf said I'm prettier than Bieber. I said I also have a bigger dick. -why I usually have an internal censor.

*sighs* I'm usually much better about keeping such things in my head then giggling after I walk away. It doesn't help that Daniel's girlfriend responded to my comment by asking if she could live with us. *facepalm* It's not exactly how I want to go about keeping my "Cool Mom" status.

My head is noisier than it's been in a long time. The weird part is, it's not the voices that make me think "oh, that's Stephanie" or "That's Reese."... it's the words that make the distinction. It all pretty much sounds like me. I'm not sure I like that. I miss the chatter of the girls but when it's just me I kinda wish I could tell myself to shut the hell up.

Oy, that made no sense.

I'm confused. Where my energy the last couple of years has been (unintentionally) directed at keeping my emotions under wraps and maintaining an even keel... these days it seems I'm too busy feeling to do anything else. I want balance. I need balance.

The only way to find it is to stop shutting myself down, accept the emotions, express them and keep on keeping on. I won't find balance if all I do is teeter from one extreme to the other.

Writing is especially difficult lately. Too much of what goes through my head is judged (by my own weird standards) as too whiny, too angsty, too angry or simply too scattered and confused. I like making sense. I like opening with a hook, saying something somewhat relevant and ending with something that wraps it all nicely into a bow... and that's not happening. It probably won't happen until I let go and let things flow.

For now, I just have to keep trying... however messy it seems.

The Comfort of Same

2011-04-20T00:12:00.001-04:00

I laugh each time I walk into Crane's office. It never changes. It's like walking into a place trapped in time.

I don't remember what it looked like when I first started seeing him in 2000. I vaguely remember grilling him from a hospital bed during one of several transfusions needed around that time... but the office in the building he shared with a few others is a blank... well, outside of the waiting room and another therapist's dog who hung out there. I was disappointed when the dog didn't join him in the move later that year. I think Stephanie was downright pissed. Somehow, the idea that he had a dog in his office made him slightly more worthy of talking to sober.

In the eleven years since Crane moved his practice, nothing has changed. Occasionally a new stuffie appears on the chair by the door. It's piled high after all these years and the Eeyore we gave him is buried under the top layer. Beyond that and the height of the gravity-defying stack of charts on his desk, it remains the same.

I could close my eyes now and describe the entire office in detail, right down to the placement of the books.

I laugh at the sameness but recognize now the comfort in things that remain constant.

I used to laugh in surprise whenever Lyn would tell me weeks in advance of any change to her office or decor. It seemed silly to me to feel anxiety over something so trivial as the placement of a couch.

Then I walked into the local church-run free clinic.

The community need is so great and the program so new, each time I enter the building it's a whole new ballgame. The procedure hasn't been the same twice. If I went to the clinic on a more regular basis, perhaps it wouldn't be so jarring... but I sat there last night, scribbling this post in my notebook, waiting for the dentist and fighting anxiety because I'd been separated from family. I had to sit in the front row, with Charlie and Becka in the back because they weren't seeing the dentist. Seating people according to their need was a new one and one I hope doesn't last.

My constant wasn't by my side and so the continued change of the program was disorienting and disconcerting. I was so serious about getting out ASAP that if the little old lady who kept trying to pity her way ahead of me kept it up, I was just about ready to lose my Christian Witness.

It was enough to be in such pain and not know if they would be able to help that night... the newness of the procedure was wearing... as was feeling like I had to fight grown-ups over basic concepts like waiting in line and taking turns.

We got there at 4:45. The oral surgeon didn't arrive until almost 7:30. I was the last of the four people they saw last night and it was nearly 9:30 before they could see me. The pain got so bad I ended up leaving Charlie (who gave up his need for mine) in the waiting room while I went to hide in the car. Actual crying is rare enough for me. Doing it in public wasn't an option I was willing to consider, so to the car I ran.

Now it's all over, I can think about how hard it was to get through last night... and next time we go back I'll try to remember that despite the long wait and how different it was, I've never been turned away or treated poorly there.

And I'll take a deep breath and get through it.

But I won't laugh at the concept of sameness again.

All I Got

2011-04-17T14:00:00.000-04:00

Trying to post every day... with limited success.

I've found it takes less energy to feel and process my pain than to suppress it and run away from it. - @brianmclaren, Naked Spirituality

This was posted to Twitter a few minutes ago. How perfect for this situation. I find myself hiding out on the computer playing hashtag games when I should be writing.

Petra refused to believe she was a girl. Her need to hide and be unseen was so strong, she never spoke above a whisper and it took Pat and Charlie ages to convince her she was more than a floating dust mote.

Can't quite figure out what is so difficult in writing about when Reese introduced herself to me.

I could take a drink but I tried that the other night and all it did was put me to sleep.

I refuse to surrender to medicating myself just to write.

But breathing while writing is still pretty high on the list of priorities.

I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. *sighs*

Safe Place

2011-04-17T06:00:00.025-04:00

When I was a kid, Mum and Dad's room was an OFF-LIMITS place. I can remember maybe two times I was allowed to lie in their bed. Granted, one of those times I raided the hidden stash of Halloween candy... but that's beside the point.

While I understood the idea of keeping the parent's room strictly for the parents, that was something Charlie and I could never put into practice as parents.

When Krys was 18 months old, she decided she was Too Big for a crib. We know this because she spent several nights screaming bloody murder, rocking her crib and generally having a huge meltdown at bedtime. On the third or fourth night, in an act of frustration, I took her out of her crib, tossed the crib mattress on the floor and said, "Fine!" Okay, I wasn't exactly mature at 20.

Krys looked at the mattress, climbed right on it and snuggled up. I tucked her in and all was well. Two nights later, Daddy had turned her standard crib into a convertible toddler daybed. Krys was content.

Within a week, we had a new routine. Charlie and I woke at 5:30 am. Just before he'd leave for work, I would braid his then very long hair. It was around this time that Krys would come toddling in the room, dragging Mr. Bear by an arm or leg to say goodbye to Daddy. For a couple of days, I tried to encourage my bright-eyed, bushy-tailed monkey back to her bed. Pbfft. Soon enough it became standard for her to climb in my bed and we'd snuggle and doze until 8, when I got up for the day.

In the years since, we have spent literally hundreds of nights sharing our bed with little ones. Nightmares, Night Terrors, fevers, stomach bugs and once in a while a case of full blown flu... If they didn't feel well, they came to sleep with Mommy and Daddy... an arrangement that almost always ended up with someone's little feet firmly planted in one parent's back.

It wasn't just kids coming to us for comfort either. After Daniel's drowning, I kept him in our bed for a full 6 months, while I was waking repeatedly each night to check he was still breathing. It was a hard thing to decide to put him back in his crib at night.

John had Pertussis when he was a newborn. Though he was fully recovered by 3 months old, I kept him in the bassinet at the foot of the bed for another 3 months. I couldn't bear putting him in another room. I had to be able to check that he was breathing.

Our kids have always known where to go when they need comfort or reassurance. Even my now adult kids, when ill, will gravitate to our bed for a nap.

I find such joy in this. It's a wonderful feeling to know that when all is not right in their worlds, the kids still know they can come to us for comfort and a sense of security. Our bed has been crowded at times... and these days, I often have to kick out one of the kids to get my nap... but I don't mind.

I just wish they made something bigger than a California King.

Flashback

2011-04-16T09:37:00.003-04:00

QUIET ROOM QUIET ROOM QUIET ROOM

shit.

We were waiting for John's assessment for STAR; a day treatment program run by the MUSC Child Psychiatry Department. I needed to use the restroom and change Elena.

I was shown to the restroom with a changing table and got Elena squared away. She HATES changing tables and I couldn't leave her there so I took her back to the waiting room and walked back down the hall. At the end of the short hall from the waiting area, I stopped dead.

The open room in front of me was painted an odd pastel blue. It was a small room, totally bare save the half-ball mirror on the ceiling in the back of the room. The floor was linoleum. The door to this room had no knob... just a handle on the outside and a key only deadbolt. The narrow window in the door was made of meshed safety glass.

Images of all the rooms of this kind I've been in over the years flooded my thoughts. I broke out in a cold sweat.

I can't send my son to this place.

I forced myself to walk to the bathroom but found the door now locked. So I walked back to the Quiet Room and looked again.

I can't count the number of nights I spent locked in rooms like this one, nor the number days spent sitting in the unlocked rooms to "cool off" and stop "acting out".

These rooms were used as punishment. They were used to put you in your place and occasionally to humiliate.

I'm sending my son here. I can't do that.

The program nurse appeared and asked if I was waiting for the restroom. She knocked on the door then unlocked it for me. When I was finished, I averted my eyes on the way back to the waiting room... but when I met Charlie's eyes, I mouthed "They have QUIET ROOMS here". He instantly understood whatever striken look I had on my face.

I busied myself with the babies until we were called back for the assessment... for what I now realized was really the intake interview.

I'd managed to put on the calm, open exterior for this meeting but my head was spinning. At one point, we were left in the room and I dig in my purse for my emergency klonopin (after rachel's adventure, I only keep one in that bottle at a time) and prayed I could settle down.

Up to that point, I was on edge, feeling defiant and challenged. I can look at it now and acknowledge those emotions as stemming from the shock of seeing the room... not from any present situation requiring me to be on the defensive. I think I knew that on some level yesterday too but, again, the rational and the emotional were at war with each other.

We finished the intake and by the end of the inteview and tour of the facility, John was much more positive about attending the program. His reaction to the "Seclusion Rooms", as they are called in this program, was upbeat. To him, having a distraction free place to go with a door he can shut to give him some silence, such a room is his perfect answer to a meltdown.

I can see his point.

I was relieved to find the program has several "time out" steps, allowing a quiet place to collect oneself, before the rooms. I was further reassured by the knowledge they haven't had to use the lock at all this year. (I believe, I believe... it's silly but I believe)

John is not me. John has not lived the life I did. This is a day treatment program and it is voluntary. Charlie reminded John (and me, though he may not have realized) that he still has the veto power. If at any point he feels it's not helping John, we'll pull him out.

Knowing that each day, we will get a written report on how he did, with behavioral homework, was reassuring too. When I was in the hospital, my parents only heard what was up with me when they came to visit.

The teachers are nice, young and upbeat... not the old burned out hippies from my years. The place is bright and cheerful (save those rooms) and the general atmosphere very positive. The students I saw, who range in age from 6-14, were also positive. I was surprised to see genuine smiles. (John said anyplace that gives you candy at the end of the day can't be all bad)

It's not inpatient.
It's not a a locked ward.
He's getting the services and counseling he needs... he's not being shuffled off to a warehouse.
He's not me.

This will be good for him.

If, after a week, he can find nothing positive in the experience, we'll take him out again... but I know John. Even if something pisses him off and his day is a disaster, it only takes a little questioning for him to find what positive he can.

He knows this is therapy. And he knows from Mom that therapy means hard work. But he'll have the staff at STAR and his family.

He'll be okay... and maybe, by seeing an experience so different from my own, I will be too.

I, Me, Us, We

2011-04-15T19:59:00.001-04:00

When we got home from the assessment (entry on that coming up), I threw myself into yard work. 45 minutes later, the front yard was mowed and tidy and I was tired enough to take a nap. The urge to plow into a bottle of vodka has abated, somewhat.

It's funny. Yesterday, as Crane was setting my next appointment, he flipped through my chart to the last map of The Crew I did... back in '03 or so. He looked at the map, glanced at me and then nodding toward the chart, he asked "So, how's this?"

I shrugged, never really sure how to answer that question. "Fine. It's all me you know." (even as I said it, it sounded stupid)

"How are they?"

Again, thrown. "Um... It's quiet." From across the room Charlie snorted. I meant to say "No comments from the peanut gallery"... What came out was, "Bite me."

We set the next appointment for early June. The plan is to see him every two months for now.

The session itself was fun. It was more like catching up with an old friend than therapy. Last time I saw him Krys was a newlywed and I had no idea I was soon to hear I was going to be a grandma. Back then we had talked about closing my other diary, taking it offline and my frustration over an utter lack of interest in writing again. We also talked about the Cameron fiasco, from which I and the rest of the family were still healing. I unloaded on him the intense anger I felt for myself for allowing all of the bullshit to go as far as it did.

We also talked about integration... about how for the last year Cameron was with us, what had started as "I'm not her play toy and just because she's your friend doesn't mean any of us have to want to be around her." turned to no longer switching except for extreme situations (which were forced and created by must-be-center-of-attention-drama-whore Cameron and then pointed to as a way to try to manipulate by switching)

When I saw Crane last, I was still pretty full of resentment that instead of gradually and peacefully coming together... that instead of being able to take the time to truly decide if we even wanted total 'oneness', we had to rally the troops and become one just to keep from going insane when she finally took off the gloves and waged open war.

I was still bitter as hell that my family, the ones whose lives had been most touched by The Crew, were denied the opportunity to prepare for and have any kind of reasonable goodbye.

I told him about the night, while washing dishes, when I sought out Stephanie to ask why, for months, there had been no switching... why for those months, the only conversations occurred inside. Her words, which were the last I really heard, stick with me. "You can handle this shit on your own now. You don't need us."

I didn't tell her then, though I wish I had, that I didn't care if I didn't need them. I loved them all and they made me feel complete. I may not have needed them to step in when things got hairy, but I sure as hell liked knowing they were around.

Then standing in Crane's office yesterday... something as simple as saying "Bite me." when the pre-integration I would have said something more diplomatic, was enough to reassure me. Hell yes, they're still there. It's the seperateness... the need for me to 'go inside' while someone else was out... the struggle to maintain co-consciousness... those things are gone. But The Crew... they live on. Seperate enough to see them in my face, my words or my actions... but not enough that we can't all experience life, as it is, together.

Maybe next time I see him, I'll ask him what he means when he asks how they are. Or maybe, when he asks, I'll be able to just tell him.

Frustration

2011-04-08T17:07:00.002-04:00

Was intending to do a companion post all about Levia (The Wall) but can't get focused.

Some of the handwriting from the last few days has disappeared. It was for a post about the first time Reese intentionally talked to the church group and the last post covering Feburary of 1999.

I hate when this kind of stuff happens. There was a time when Reese truly believed that if it was important to her, it would be the one thing to fall apart or be ignored. Seems everytime she screwed up the courage to talk to Lyn or Crane, something would come up and she'd miss her chance.

I can't tell if losing the papers I HAD MY HANDS ON 4 HOURS AGO is part of some self-fulfilling shoot-myself-in-the-foot thing or if it's an irritating coincidence.

On a random note, IE doesn't run the spell check in blogger posts and I'm now consumed with paranoia about the lack of squiggly red lines I need to check back on later.

I asked Pat once if she could help me fill in the blanks. She gracefully and kindly declined... an event that sent me spinning off into the shame spiral until I nearly made myself sick. Being reminded how much my illness affected others... knowing Pat was not at peace with it tore my heart out. I've asked another friend very much involved at the time and am trying to patiently wait for the answer.

It would probably be better to stop flipping out over some lost writing... but it took such effort to wring it from my memory and onto paper the first time. I really don't have the energy to try again tonight.

I could move on... but not really looking forward to the next year of time to cover. By this time in 2000 I was pretty much not talking to anyone from church and The Crew had gone into hiding.

Maybe it's time to screw up my courage and go back through the original blog hard copy. Some of what was written then may shed some light on what's so obscure now.

or I'll have that margarita Charlie keeps offering.

Q and A pt 3 for Frank

2011-04-08T10:06:00.004-04:00

Some questions from Frank et al and a few others...

How did you come about figuring out separating the members of The Crew; or figuring out how many there were?

The simple answer there is mapping. That's the term for it anyway. Early, early on, when I was still in the "Oh hell no" stage of acceptance, it was suggested we try to figure out who was there and why. I basically sat at the computer and tried to remember all the different times and places where i just knew I wasn't me. If that makes sense. From there I tried to figure out what triggered it and what was the purpose.

I continued using mapping for several years. As my knowledge of The Crew grew, the map changed. The more they shared about themselves, the better able we were to understand their function within the system.

While I did have help with the mapping, I mostly did it on my own. For all my confusion, I know my mind better than anyone outside it. The Crew helped in this.. but I did have the support of a doctor and therapist.

Do you think it's beneficial if we try this (providing it doesn't involve a white coat...)

The thing about the mapping worked for us because in getting to know them and what their purpose was, we had a better understanding of how to work together. Don't get me wrong, just knowing someone was there didn't suddenly make her part of the team. It took years to convince most of them that working together to heal was the best option. Some refused to acknowledge they weren't the only one. Others quite literally only existed in a moment of time, as if frozen in place... for them, the rest of us (inside and out) worked to free them from that place and bring them to the present. A lot of it was convincing everyone that life was no longer what it was then and it was safe to be in freedom.

I guess it depends on your goals. You are clearly able to function and go about day to day life (most multiples do... the idea of the non-functioning cluster-fuck is incorrect for the majority of us) When you begin exploring inside, stuff gets stirred up. If you don't have some solid support in your life, functioning through it all may get harder... much harder.

How did you come up with ages?

Initially it was gut feeling. So and so was in such and such an age range. As they began to communicate, they gave their ages themselves. Over the years, some of them aged along with me. Others, Like Reese and Stephanie, found an age they liked and stayed there. Stephanie never could see the point of aging past 18 if it meant the world would insist on adult attitudes and behavior. She liked being a teen, thank you very fucking much.

With a couple of the younger ones, we let them "choose" their age. Amelia was 5 when we first came to know her. She later jumped to 8 because that was "big girl" age and where she wanted to be.

For the ones we call "Inside Helpers", they were more or less ageless. They didn't need a number to define their function or abilities. In my mind's eye, Levia always reminded me a bit of a younger, less severe version of the matron in "The Secret Garden"... long, black dress... no nonsense... had a job to do and that was that. But I could never quite look close enough to guess an age... because it wasn't needed.

There are NO rules to DID beyond the criteria you find in the DSM-IV. Certain things have to fit to be considered DID but beyond that, every system is different. The beauty of DID is that you have created within yourself a way to function and survive things that would make others go batshit. It can be whatever you need it to be to get through.

What is the most significant thing you gained from separating/categorizing your personalities?

Less confusion. Plain and simple. It cut back on the chaos. It also made it possible to develop relationships with each other. We were no longer contentious neighbors, existing side by side with different goals and agendas that clashed and made life hell. It added to the stability and made working together a possibility.

***

Okay, now the stuff scribbled in my notebook last night...

Still on the subject of separating them... I really was fortunate to have both a doctor and a therapist who had lots of experience with DID. Even if it did take blackmail and near force to get me to see them. *sighs*

Some of the girls just were. They'd been around long enough to have developed into completely distinct beings with their own abilites, memories, likes, dislikes, etc... Others emerged as specific emotions or memories came up in treatment.

On the subject of existing together...

There were, at times, groups who were aware of things at the same time. They call this co-consciousness. Having that shared consciousness is a good thing. If we had complete amnesia every time there was a switch, I'd be missing more than 3/4 of my life... at least. Sure, there were times when I lost awareness but it was less and less as we got to know each other.

In my teens, Reese, Stephanie and I existed side by side, though I was not aware of it then. All I really understood was that I was sometimes a spectator in my own body. It wasn't until I accepted them as needed parts of me rather than enemies (and the same for them with me) that we would intentionally work together.

We ended up building sort of a sorority house inside. Everyone had their own rooms and the common room, or where we'd be when we were "out" was the kitchen. If you were in the kitchen, you could see and interact with the world outside my head.

On support systems...

Mine has been pretty erratic over the years. Charlie, being my only constant. These days, I have my immediate family but haven't seen the doctor in 18 months or more and the therapist since 2007 or so. My childhood family are all aware of the DID but I only ever really talked about it with my oldest brother (he passed away in 2007). I took the chance to talk to the rest of the family and while they accept and agree DID is the only thing that really makes sense, they remain guarded against things they would all prefer to leave firmly in the past.

The support in my life now comes from the incredible family of people I have come to know online. Some of these people have been with me since the month I first started blogging in '02. They walked with me through the whole journey.

When my husband was rushed to the hospital last month, my church family prayed and provided meals for the family... but it was through facebook that I had the support that kept me from crumbling in my what ifs and fear. Of my best and most trusted friends, the nearest one still lives some 500 miles away.

Something I wanted to clear up about The Crew's blog...

Only the entries that have italicized notes at the top were written before I restarted this process a couple of weeks ago. The period from 1998- June 2002 has been largely a blank to me. Going back to those early years and acknowledging them is, for me, part of laying the past to rest and completing this journey in recovery.

In your We Freak Out post, you wondered why I had so many and you so few and if you were normal.

DID isn't that simple. There really are no rules. It's your mind and it functions as you need it to. Having more or less personalities/alters/states of conciousness/blah blah doesn't make you or them more or less real. You are.

I've known people who continued to split well into adulthood. Chris Seizmore (of Three Faces of Eve) never had more than 3 at a time... but every few years, the three would "die" and three others would take their place. She's in her 70's or 80's now and still living as a trio.

I didn't want to live like that. I didn't want to be defined by my brokeness. I refused (once I knew I had the power to do so) to create someone new with every new overwhelming crisis. I could have. It would have been easy enough to excape myself that way... but I wanted to heal.

You are no more or less normal than anyone with DID. You are unique in who you are and in how you have dealt with the shit in life. That's okay. The few people I've met (and you'd be surprised how many) who fit some cookie cutter mold of DID were usually Munchausen by Internet. Their mental illness wasn't DID... it was their compulsive need to be interestingly
and attention grabbingly sick.

In other words, screw normal. You are the person and people you are because that's how you kept from going hopelessly insane when you were a kid. You utilized the most intelligent and creative coping mechanism there is. Yeah, it ain't exactly healthy or easy... but you've gotten this far because you were born with a special set of gifts that enabled you to grow up and not become a sociopath.

We are highly intelligent, creatively gifted and imaginative people. That's not normal, with or without the DID. So again, I say screw normal. I don't want it.

Hope this helps.

Q and A pt 2.

2011-04-07T00:30:00.001-04:00

I'm going to assume that the alters that Tara had are kind of generic alters that most multiples have. Did you have an equivalent of Buck, Shoshana, etc? I'm assuming that "Chicken" is like Amelia/Roo.

That was one of the things that initially irritated me about the show. The alters are all extreme examples of 'categories' and the wardrobe change for each switch annoyed me to no end. But then I remembered that early on, I changed my entire wardrobe to consist of jeans/khakis and t-shirts/polos to prevent everyone having their own set of clothes.

Stephanie is a protector. On the show, that's Buck. Someone to manage and feel the anger, hatred and don't you dare fuck with me stuff.

No Shoshana, though I can't quite figure out a 'role' for her. The only ones primarily functioning in logic almost never stepped outside of me to share it.

and yes, Chicken is a little.

I still need to add basic 'categories' to the glossary on The Crew. Add that to the to-do list.

Max reminded me a lot of Charlie. I hope that is a fair comparison. I immediately loved Max.
Minus Max's infidelity (or Tara's for that matter) I love Max. He is Tara's Charlie. When you get to the last scene of season 2, you'll cry. It's almost an exact recreation of a conversation Charlie and I had early on.

Did any of your alters get into fights/dislike any of your family members? Kate and T get into a physical altercation the one time. Buck consistently makes homophobic remarks towards Marshall. Did any of your alters act like that towards Charlie or any of the kids? Did any of your alters have the hots for your husband? (Like Alice/T/Shoshana did with Max?) Likewise, did any of your kids dislike any of your alters the way that Kate disliked Alice?
Reese and Krys had a few disagreements but nothing violent. Stephanie took no shit from my kids but never raised a hand to them. After we got past the whole "These rugrats are NOT my family" thing, Stephanie pretty much lived as protector to them as well. She once reamed a school psychologist for trying to stick Daniel in a box labeled learning disabled.... and she did it in front of 5 other people.

I had no one like T. No hyper sexual alters... okay, not strictly true... One part (not around long enough to have a name) did try to seduce Charlie... and Pastor R and Doctor C but never got anywhere. Eventually, she understood sex wasn't affection, it wasn't a tool and my husband is so completely faithful he wouldn't even TOUCH another part of me in a sexual way. To him, it would have been cheating.

The kids didn't all like everyone in The Crew but it was mostly Stephanie that pissed people off. She wouldn't take crap form the kids. Stuff they got away with when I was out never flew with her and she had no problem calling them on attempts to play with Mom's head.

How did you explain the whole having DID thing to your kids? I was struck by how immediately the kids/Max were able to recognize the alters and sort of not react. Is that accurate?
The first part of this question will have to wait. It was answered in the original blog.
Yes, the family got to know several of The Crew well enough to know just by the look on my face. It was only Reese, Stephanie, Amelia and Suzie who built relationships with any one on the family besides Charlie... but the kids knew them and knew them well. They did learn not to react to switching. It was what it was and they went with it.

What sorts of things trigger a transition? How often did they happen? Did you ever have family meetings like the Gregsons did to sort of catch up on what you did?
Family meetings, yes... for awhile until I began to share more awareness with them.
Triggers could be anything. Tara does it pretty accurately in that switches are usually triggered by an event or emotion that is too overwhelming to handle alone. Switching happened more times a day than I can count sometimes. There were times someone would be out for days and other times when I didn't switch at all. The only times I went for a long period without switching was because the girls were all hiding in reaction to thinking if they 'went away' my life would somehow be easier.

As we learned to work together, switching leveled off to a few times a day. We tried for a long time to make sure everyone had whatever time they needed.

I loved, "Then Buck came out and...I kicked some ass?" hahaha
In my case, with Stephanie, it was usually "Oh shit. What did she do now?"

Did you have co-consciousness? Was it as if you were out of body, watching one of the others do something? Are two alters ever able to talk to each other and be "out" at the same time?
Yes, yes and yes. Stay tuned for answers and examples to be posted in the other blog.

Is it possible for one alter to be "called" out? Like, if Reese was out and you got a phone call, would she come get you?
Yes. It took practice and at first I hated it. I felt like a freak in a sideshow. I hate, hate, HATED switching in front of anyone not family.

as an aside, when John was 5, we found out that whenever he didn't like my answer to something, he'd call out Amelia and the two would do whatever they wanted until I caught up.

If you had a meeting or something to go to, were the alters aware that the body belonged to you and that people expected you? Tara's alters refused to respond to the name Tara.
Yes, later on. Early on, heck no. There were a few people to whom Stephanie and Reese would refuse to answer to Marisa.

I found out a few years ago that my best childhood friend knew Reese and Stephanie both. That was incredibly freaky to find out long after the fact.

It took the first 2 years to convince everyone it was better to work together than not... but for most multiples, I'd wager that most alters go by the body's name when necessary. Part of the point of multiplicity is to keep the memories and the existence of others a well guarded secret. If they all run around identifying themselves, that can't happen.

I guess sort of piggy-backing on that, did your kids' friends know about your DID? If they were over, and one of them called you Mrs. Feathers while Reese or someone was out, would she pretend to be you or insist on being called Reese?
Some of the kid's friends knew. Most of them didn't. It was such a normal part of our family life that Daniel's kindergarten Mother's Day card to me included a mention of the littles.

We did try to get the kids to not make it public. These days, I don't mind who knows.

Were your alters noticeable to others? If a friend of Krys was over and Reese was out talking to Charlie, would they be able to realize it wasn't you?
It depended on how well the friend knew the family. Our next door neighbor when we first moved into the old house figured it out pretty quickly. I ended up having to explain it to her.

Hope that helps and no, I do not think you're being nosy. :P

Why Now?

2011-04-06T23:09:00.001-04:00

I've been tossing this question around since I made the rash decision to embark on reopening our old blog. So much so, I put in a call to Dr. C today to schedule a brain check. Haven't seen him in well over a year so it's time to have the neuroses changed and a general check up, just to make sure I've not COMPLETELY FREAKING LOST IT!

I'm really wrapped up in "what ifs" right now. What if this is too much? What if I turn into the zombie who spends every moment at the computer again? What if the kids end up living on PB&J because I'm too wrapped up in me to remember trivial things like food? What if this turns into a big blog? What if I run into some asshole like the Abnormal Psych Prof on "Tara"? What if all I can manage in the writing leading up to where the old blog began comes off looking like a caricature? What if I've identified as many for so long that I'm bored with just being plain old me (DON'T LAUGH)? What if someone reads the really triggery shit at the beginning and it totally and utterly screws them up? What if the only way to fill in the blanks of those first years requires actually ASKING Stephanie, Reese or Amelia? What if pushing to do this makes me crack all over again? What if all this shit matters to somebody and makes a difference?

I could go on. I'll spare you.

And maybe try to answer some of these for myself.

The big one is what if I have to ask them for help? It's been rolling around in my head for days and I sucked up my courage and posted a tweet about it earlier. What if I'm not whole enough?

Dancing around it I kept coming back to the quick and dirty definition of dissociation. It's self-hypnosis. All those days (weeks months) I spent sprawled across my bed fighting the noise, I was letting myself go, even if I didn't realize it at the time.

Stephanie, Reese and Amelia still have memories I don't. Stephanie has all of them. Had. Has.

I have a hard time, still, referring to them in the past tense. I know they are there, even if not separate because I see and feel them all the time. There is a reason Floppy still lives on the bed. There is a reason it took me weeks to convince myself that all the little's toys should be inherited by the grand children (okay, most of them). There is a reason certain things still intimidate me to try. Reese was the artist. She could draw. My stick figures look deformed. What if I didn't get it when she blended with me? I didn't get all the memories.

I know what Crane would say... "they are all you". and to that, Stephanie would say "fuck you."

I asked Charlie once what would happen if I split again... if life got too hard to do it on my own... if I needed to hide and let someone else deal with life for a little while?

He said, so be it. You're you no matter what.

I was not comforted.

I'm terrified of breaking again. Sometimes it's even an attractive idea. I miss Stephanie's cleaning sprees when she finally stopped pouring her anger into alcohol. She could clean AND get the kids to help without bloodshed. She could organize like no one I know and I don't seem to have inherited that ability.

Crane would say, it's all there. I just need to learn to access it.

So back to the self-hypnosis thing.

Quiet time in this house is at a premium. Quiet time when I'm awake enough to make good use of it is even harder to find. Today, I grabbed my notebook and hid in Rachel's room for a few hours. I threw myself across the bed, closed my eyes and practiced breathing until the what ifs started to drift away.

I asked myself, since Charlie was NO help at all today, what happened the night we told him? And I stayed there, totally absorbed in my mind, and waited for the answer. The best way I can describe it is that it's like looking into a pensieve. It's a mass of swirling, foggy memories. But if I can relax enough to take a look, it get clearer.

So maybe the dialogue isn't word for word... but it was there. The memory. There are others, that I wasn't precisely there for, that I can see clearly now.

Maybe asking them for help is as simple as letting myself relax enough to listen to my own brain.

And why would I want to do that?

It's time. For once and for real and for crying out loud it's about freaking time, it is time. As much as it's taking out of me, with every entry I come to peace with a little bit more of the past.

It never made sense to me that after all this, the part of my life which terrifies me most is those first couple of years getting to know The Crew. Seriously?

John made a comment about The Crew being the best friends he ever had. Mine too.

The Crew made it possible for me to survive long enough to meet Charlie. They kept me from stubbornly staying on those railroad tracks over night if I had to. They kept me alive when I was ready to quit. They made life interesting in a variety of ways. They opened up the doors to my past and shared with me the truth about something I was afraid to know. Were it not for The Crew, I may have lived my whole life believing my dad did something I know damn well he's not capable of doing.... thanks to 'professionals' assuming everything started with incest. Morons.

It's time to go back and look at that time because they've been my first and best friends my whole life... even when they weren't. It's time to go back because when we did become one, our family was still reeling from the fuckosity of C&K and no one really got their closure. My family deserved and deserves their goodbyes. It's time to go back because The Crew deserves to be thanked, remembered and recognized... never, ever forgotten.

Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

2011-04-04T20:36:00.001-04:00

"You need to know that you've been through this and come out on the other side. Yes, it hurts to write. It hurts as much as it did then. But can't harm you anymore."

Thank you Charlie.

You're right. It might hurt. It might feel like being right back there... but I'm not. I'm here. I'm safe. My family has come through with me and we've done better than survive it.

We are where we are because of where we've been. Yes, this will be exhausting. Yes, the old headaches... the ones I used to associate with trying not to switch, they will come back as I fight not to succumb to the emotions this creates... but I'll learn to cry again. Charlie is here to listen and there's no reason to keep it from him. He's a good Wooden Indian and able to sit quietly to listen, then hold me when I've worn myself out in the telling.

I am not doing this alone. Charlie, the kids (who are wonderfully supportive) and friends who have walked with me through the journey are all still here. God is with me and is my strength when I think I can't do it.

With that kind of support, I can't honestly see that I can fail. Even if I fall, there are loved ones to catch me or to help me get up again.

A friend wrote today about the simple value of remembering to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Keep writing.
Repeat.

And Not the Good Kind

2011-04-04T16:41:00.000-04:00

The hardest part of writing is the echo of emotion it brings with it.

Pushing through labor pains is easier than this.

It's fine when I'm composing in my head but the moment I sit at the keyboard, it's the shakes, the tight chest and the stomach knots that make my priority continuing to breathe... not writing.

Grrr.

Someone asked about the therapist I was seeing when the last split occurred. It's at least as important for me to acknowledge it as it is for anyone to read about it.

One day it won't hurt to write about my life. Today is not that day.

Second Guessing

2011-04-03T01:09:00.001-04:00

I've managed to ignore the existence of this third season of United States of Tara until an insomniac channel surfing attack tonight. Tossing crap around in my head I've done my best to ignore for 12 years... Wondering if I'm doing the right thing... Do I have the energy and support to really look at that first nightmare year?

Okay, support I know I have. Energy is iffy. Intestinal fortitude? Not so sure.

In the middle of all this, with Charlie blissfully sleeping by my side, I remote flipped right into a discussion between Tara and her husband about her going back to school. "I don't want to be known as the woman with DID." That was a gut punch. Then she made a comment about "finally being able to contribute to this family" and the response was physical. I literally curled into a ball, hit mute and tried to talk myself out of sneaking glances at the closed captioning.

Yeah, okay... self-control still not high on my list of strengths.

At some point here I need to...

You know what? Forget it. I'm not going to try to write what's going on in my head right now. I'm going to go wake Charlie and tell him.

Depth Peception

2011-03-31T18:43:00.000-04:00

I've long been known to have a tendency towards jumping in with both feet. I don't test the depth, even in murky waters. I like to take a running leap and cannonball right into it.

Needless to say, this occasionally gets me in over my head.

Hey, at least I've learned not to dive in. A person can only take so many concussions or total breaks with reality and keep swimming, you know?

Having finally pulled out all available writing in the subject of The Crew, including the rather scattered notes kept by Pastor R and Pat back in '98-'99... I'm reminded once again that it might be a good idea to occasionally stop and check the depth of the water.

Initial plans to post up to 4 entries a day will simply have to wait until I reach the actual online diary portion of writing. Everything else is so scattered. There are fragments of my own hand written journals from 1999, early attempts to identify the alters, scraps of notes from me or Charlie to The Crew. What I do have to paint a picture of the time when The Crew finally began to emerge and be recognized is some writing I did in an effort to look back. I think it worth posting those next, if for nothing more than continuity.

Having looked over the first 6 entries.... several times... I like that I can acknowledge I may be ready to do this but not organizationally prepared and find it funny, not a reason to lock myself in the bathroom or hurt myself. To be self-deprecating not self-flagellating is still new enough to be kind of awesome when I stop to think about it.

I hope I never, ever take it for granted.

One of these days, I'll learn to test the waters. Or not. Life would get boring if I always knew what I was getting into.

Q&A

2011-03-30T17:31:00.002-04:00

I see an influx of writing, the likes of which haven't been done on 4 years, on the horizon. Be warned. :P

Thought it would be a good idea to answer some questions raised in the previous entry's comments.

Black Rose said...
Marisa, am I correct that this was the doc that when you came back to yourself in the fetal position on his floor, he told you to (paraphrasing your paraphrasing here to the best of my memory) suck it up, or to quit playing games and "pretending" to be a little kid?

The doctor I was seeing in late 1994 was the first treatment I'd tried since moving to South Carolina in 1991. I saw Larry (an intern working with a psychiatrist) from 1990-1991. This doctor was between Larry (the one who told me no more) and the doctor who eventually led me to Crane and Lyn.

Jarred said...
Black Rose actually brought up something else I'm wondering. Right now we're reading entries from 1994. What was your relationship with The Crew at this point. Were you aware of them yet? Had you accepted their existence?

My relationship with The Crew at this time was non-existent. The event Rose brought up was the day The Wall (later known as Levia) came up to completely separate me from them. There were moment when there was some cross-over... but I'd taken Larry's words to heart and decided the whole "inner child" thing was nothing but more trouble... I think I'd even convinced myself it was probably more of a spiritual issue... and being one few accepted as real, that was all the more reason to ignore it entirely.
When the wall went up, I did my best to forget them for the next 7 years. These 6 posts were written at almost the middle point between the day I split again to create The Wall and the day she stepped aside and allowed the others the chance to speak.

Pause, Process, Proceed (Companion Post)

2011-03-30T08:30:00.002-04:00

Fall 1994 Entry 1
Fall 1994 Entry 2
Fall 1994 Entry 3

The first thing I notice in the journal entries from 1994 is the language. For me, it was extreme and probably the only way I could express both my anger at God (wasn't becoming a Christian supposed to solve all my problems?) and the depth of my feelings at the time.

It's also obvious the depth of self-hatred I had, which still makes me squirm all these years later.

What really gets me though is how completely I was living within emotion. I can look back now and acknowledge that while emotion may always be real, it's not always honest. I am not, nor was I ever, the complete waste of humanity I so deeply believed. Even when not in the throes of a Major Depressive Episode, this was a deeply held belief and it seemed certain that eventually everyone would figure this out and I'd end up alone. I can't pinpoint exactly when I finally accepted my own value as a human and a child of God... to be honest, it's still an occasional struggle. But it's been years since "You're a shit" has played ad nauseum in my head or since walking past a mirror brought with it the compulsion to curse my reflection.

There's hope in that. Granted, brain chemistry may never change and Depression may always be something lurking and ready to strike... but I can honestly say the tools to fight it are there and fight it, I do. It's nice to see the difference and know, not simply feel, it's a battle I'm equipped to fight.

One thing in these writings I'm proud of is the level of questioning there was for the theories of the "doctor" I was seeing at the time. It didn't take me long to realize he was a fraud and even more self-involved than I was at the time. I saw him for only a few weeks. By the time my pastor informed me the man was an unlicensed pariah, I was already at my limit with him (though I'd never admit that to the pastor). When I called Dr. M to tell him I would no longer be seeing him, he had the gall to tell me I couldn't make it without him. No kidding. If for no other reason than spite, I managed to pull myself out of that particular cycle of depression within a few weeks. I can at least thank the guy for giving me motivation to prove him wrong.

As uncomfortable as it is to type up and read these past writings, it is nice to be able to look at it without getting lost in it. The lyrics from a contemporary Christian song have been playing in my head as I write... "I don't have to carry the weight of who I was". What a very welcome change from the 'tapes' of the old days.

Full Stop

2011-03-29T20:42:00.000-04:00

The Crew

Reposting the blog from Bloop... along with all other diary/journal writing I have.

Prayers would be appreciated. This is a lot harder to follow through than it was to make the decision.

Farmer 'Risa

2011-03-28T21:40:00.001-04:00

Realized the other day, while driving home with ducklings in my lap, that I've officially made the transition from Goofball Garden Obsessed to Hobby Farmer. This is the first time in 16 years I've spent more time on edibles in the garden than creating a haven for birds and butterflies.

Not that I've given up that pursuit entirely. It's simply not the current priority. Eventually, the plan is to create an "official" Audubon Society approved Wildlife Habitat here but feeding the family comes before my Cinderella-esque fantasies of singing and dancing around the yard while the birds and squirrels and all of nature sings along with me. Go ahead. Laugh at the mental image. You know you want to.

Okay, so I'm well aware the likelihood of both ducklings being female (I chose the two smallest in hopes of increasing the odds) and therefore, egg layers is 50/50 at best. I may end up with a couple of drakes or one of each which will put a little bit of a dent in the plan to gather eggs for the family. This leg of my journey to reasonably sustainable suburban living might result in nothing more than another couple of pets and some fertilizer for the garden.

But I'm going to keep trying.

Growing vegetables has been a tough task the last couple of years. Depleted garden soil, lack of funds and zero shade in a near tropical climate cooks most plants. Especially if you don't have a well to provide unlimited quantities of free water to keep things well hydrated. I've kept plugging away at it while still mostly focusing on tougher perennial flowers so as not to feel like a complete garden failure.

The prospects are much better this year. The soil in the backyard is richer than I've played with in years, lots of trees nearby will prevent a desert climate come July, while still allowing enough sunlight for things to grow. Our new location also adds to better prospects. Most of the neighbors grow vegetables. There was curiosity about the hay bales in the front yard (best sun) but not a neighbor looked down their nose at what would have been considered an eyesore in our former neighborhood. This means I have more yard to work with, despite being on a smaller piece of land.

The seeds planted a couple of weeks ago are doing well. They've been kept outside which should prevent shock later and I planted more than I need to make sure there will be enough viable seedlings.

Now comes the tough part. The obsessive in me would love to start ordering more seeds and plants online or through catalogs. She would also like to forget the budget and stuff plants into every conceivable space NOW. Patience is not my strength here... but I'm putting on the brakes, looking at the priorities as well as my current abilities and hoping to find a balance between the urban homestead that will takes years to create and the reality of what we can reasonably do now.

The flowers and shrubs currently sitting in pots will give me plenty to do in the months to come and I've taken the steps to, I pray, provide more than snackage from the garden this year.

I'm trying to be patient.

Which means... *sighs* the dwarf nigerian nanny goat will have to wait.

Instinct vs Training

2011-03-24T16:10:00.005-04:00

Luna challenged Sugar one time too many today. It happened so fast. I didn't hear a growl or anything... just the rustling of leaves. I had been letting Sugar out front because I knew Luna was too obnoxious for such an old lady. Sugar reminds me of Charlie's aunt "Sister"... the sweetest, funny old lady but she keeps a loaded .25 in her bra.

Sugar is a beautifully behaved, gentle dog... but she's 80 or so in dog years and... she really shouldn't have to put up with a young stud with species confusion interrupting her daily constitutional.

I know the laws of nature. I knew that eventually our animal harmony could tilt. I've seen the warning signs... but really thought they'd be okay if I was out there with them.

Sugar is well behaved enough to be trusted to stay in the front yard. She has no interest in wandering and now we're at the end of a cul-de-sac, there are no dog walkers passing by with temptation to 'check it out'. But today I insisted she come out back with me while I did yard work.

The only thing Sugar has ever harmed was a young rabbit when she was about 6 months old. I didn't even yell at her but she hung her head and kept her tail between her legs all day.

I'm rambling, I know. I really, really loved that obnoxious bird. Muscovys are notoriously bad tempered. I suppose we should count it a miracle it didn't happen sooner.

I've been checking ads for duckings this past week. I want females for eggs. We don't need a male for that... it's possible having birds for a food source (and enjoying as pets) simply needs to come before my grumpy, spoiled full-moon loony bird.

No point in trying to harden my heart and pretend I don't need a good cry. NOT up to the obvious jokes about dinner. Charlie and I were ridiculously attached to him.

I can't trust Sugar around birds again... but I can keep them separate.

Ugh... trying to take a farmer's attitude is warring with my desire to curl up in a ball and cry over my feathered baby.

I'm gonna miss you Luna.

Note to Self...

2011-03-21T21:04:00.001-04:00

If you insist on wearing black during the "pollen days", please don't sit on the car.

It reminds me of the Christmas when we made a hand print Christmas tree with acrylic paint on the storm door. I made the inane mistake of opening the door with my butt (my hands were full) before the paint had dried. We never did quite cover the butt print. Made for an interesting Christmas decoration.

At least pollen washes out.

Becka let Elena scoot around on the floor at her house. In her pristine, never a thing out of place, you could eat off the floors house. Elena immediately found a candy coated piece of intense mint gum. We now know Elena does NOT like mint.

The girl's calls to tell me when the babies do cute or new stuff reminds me of when I'd call Mum every time Krys did something new. Nice warm fuzzy.

Oh, and my strawberries are sprouting. *squee*

No way to boil this down to a quote

2011-03-07T21:25:00.002-05:00

I left to pick up Rachel from "Othello" dress rehearsal a little bit before Dora was supposed to get her next bottle. In a moment of ditz, I didn't make the bottle before I left.

I'd been waiting at the school for 15 minutes when I thought it was past time to call the house and check on Dora. She was at the house with Charlie (who still can't walk much without getting winded) and her uncles... neither of whom has much skill with babies.

No one answered the first call. John answered on the second ring of the second call. In the background I could hear Dora screaming. John was in overload due to the crying and his inability to find Dora's pacifier with the confusion of all the noise. I asked him to give the phone to Daniel.

I thought talking Daniel through making a bottle would be an easy thing. I'd forgotten how many very specific steps are involved... especially for someone who has never done it.

"Okay Daniel, the bottle should be in the drainer by the sink... *pause* find it?"
"You mean the one without a bottom?"
"Yes. Now go to the cabinet where we keep all the baby stuff."
"Which one is that?"
*facepalm* "The tall, skinny one above the microwave."
"Does she get the Enfamil AR?"
"Nope, the Good Start in the big can. But first you need an insert for the bottle."
"Where are those?"
"Second shelf. Brand new, shrink wrapped box. They're called Drop-ins" *30 second pause while I listened to him rustle*
"Okay."
"Did you put it in the bottle?"
"Oh, yeah."
"You also need the box of cereal. It's oatmeal. It has a picture of a baby on the box."
"Okay, 'cause I thought you meant like, cheerios or something.

Meanwhile, I can still hear Dora raising holy heck in the background.

"Now pour in 6 ounces of filtered water from the fr..."
"Hang on. Dad needs me."

5 minutes later, Dora is quiet. The pacifier has been located and she's snuggling with Grandpa.

"Okay, Mom. 6 ounces, right?"
"Yup, 6 ounces of filtered water from the fridge."
"OH. I was just going to pour in 6 ounces of the formula powder."

Rachel was in the car by this point and I literally face palmed in the school parking lot.

"How do you know what's 6 ounces? Oh wait. Never mind, I see it on the bottle."
"Didn't you know? The moment a woman spits a child from her uterus, she can accurately measure any liquid by sight."
"Ha, ha! Okay, now what?"
"Microwave for 30 seconds."

"What? Just the water?"
"You'll put in the formula after the water is warm."
"Now what?"
"3 level scoops of formula."
"You know, someone needs to come up with some kind of manual that tells you how to interpret what a baby wants."
"It's called Experience, Daniel."
"No. I mean, like, for men."

Rachel and I were on our street by now. I hate talking and driving but these were extenuating circumstances. Good thing we were nearly home. Had I been on a busy road, I might have laughed my way into a ditch.

"Did you put in the formula?"
"Yeah."
"Now, and please do this over the sink, pour in cereal until it comes almost to the top."

By this time, we were in the driveway. Rachel moved to get out of the car and I shook my head at her and whispered, "The boy is going to learn to do this and we're not rescuing him before the job is complete."

"Okay, I poured in the cereal."
"Get a cereal spoon and stir it a little."
"Cool, as soon as you stir it, it like, disappears."
"Um... that's because the liquid is absorbing the formula and cereal that was sitting on top of it."
"Oh, yeah."
"Now put the top on. Put your finger over the nipple and shake it about 50 times."
"Okay."
"Thanks."

I hung up and went inside. It was only 13 minutes from start to finish but my brain hurt. When I told Charlie about the 'manual' comment, he said "That's called a wife."

Go easy on him... he's still sick.

Must be Menopause

2011-02-23T11:43:00.002-05:00

I don't know what it is lately... I've always been almost nauseatingly in love with my family in that gushing, knock me out before I burst into song kinda way. But since becoming a grand mommy, I'm just about disgusting myself. I cannot think of my husband, my kids or those sweet little baby girls without feeling like my heart might very well explode in a storm of rainbows, flowers and peanut butter cups. I get a similar feeling when singing... whether alone or at church... only that's more choruses of angels, flocks of doves and Agape dripping like honey from everything.

I hope you're drawing a good mental picture here. Seriously, I'm usually the sort of person who wants to smack reality back into those hyper-cheerful sorts who can find rainbows in a shit storm... and then I look in the mirror and realize what I have become.

I realize that were it not for a finely honed self-control (and finely focused too as it doesn't appear in many other areas of my life), I'd be that woman at every social function who people try to avoid engaging in conversation lest she regale you with tale after endless tale about what her way-more-precious-and-smarter-kids-than-yours are doing.

When the thought hit me today that if only I could get a television crew to secretly tape my family for a week, I'd have a year worth of great video clippage to share, I suddenly understood... I've gone over the edge.

No less than 10 times in the past week, I have lamented the fact that the only time anyone in the family is willing to be videoed is when they're aren't being their natural, random selves. I want a wireless lapel camera/mic set up... if for no other reason than to show their kids what they were like.

But alas, they freeze on camera.

STOP FIGHTING ME, PEOPLE! I'M TRYING TO MAKE MEMORIES HERE!

*sighs*

Such Sweet Romance

2011-02-14T13:46:00.003-05:00

In honor of St. Valentine's Day, here's John's favorite family story.

Charlie and I were married in August 1986, just a few months into my 17th year. Our choice to marry, despite my young age (he was 26), was made in part because we knew we were meant for each other and in part because we were trying to be "Good Young Christian People" and could no longer keep our hands off each other.

Incidentally, this is back story and not part of what John likes to hear. This bit would have him dramatically dry heaving and claiming we're destroying his innocence. He just likes the hear the water bed part of the tale.

Due to my age and rather tarnished mental health history, my parents were understandably... less than enthusiastic about the idea of Charlie and I getting married. To their credit, they did show loving support, bought my dress and hosted our reception. They were wonderful about everything.

Well, almost everything.

Mum made her feelings very clear on the eve of the big day when she sat me down and reminded me she expected I would finish High School before even considering children. I told her we were planning to wait a couple of years and not to worry. She responded with "I don't think you should even practice."

Mum's futile hope was further driven home when I opened her wedding gift to me. It was a lovely, cream colored, floor length, satin nightgown... complete with longer than necessary sleeves and an almost Elizabethan ruffled lace collar. I'm pretty sure she hoped charlie wouldn't be able to find his way past it.

Now Charlie, in his bachelor years, had decided to celebrate his freedom from a twin bunk bed by purchasing a king-sized free-wave water bed. He outfitted this bed with the finest satin bedding set he could find. Despite occasionally having to chase down pillows like a bar of wet soap, he enjoyed the gently rocking slumber in his silky nest.

About a week into our marriage, I decided, out of respect for Mum's thoughtfulness, to wear the "Nun's Pajamas". I prepared for bed in the master bath while he used the bathroom down the hall. Still in the honeymoon haze of twitterpated fancy, I slid under the covers to await my loving husband.

Okay, this is where John starts to listen...

Charlie came into the room and stopped just past the doorway with an intense look in his eyes. I imagined he was looking at me with the same gaze of new love I felt each time we were in the same room together. I totally missed the twinkle in his eye as he took a great leap from the doorway and cannon balled onto the bed.

In a micro-second, an evening of fairytale romance became slapstick routine as the wave of water rushed at me and launched me up out of the bed and into the wall before my shocked limbs could even begin to flail.

I wasn't hurt, beyond the dashing of my girlish fantasies... and Charlie was appropriately abashed until he was certain I was uninjured... but the next 20 solid minutes were spent glaring at him while he laughed hysterically. The next several hours and even days were punctuated by his sudden giggles and exclamations about the look on my face.

Within days, we had a cotton bed set. If I was going to smother him in his sleep, I wanted a pillowcase I could hold onto.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Department of Redundancy Department

2011-02-13T21:53:00.000-05:00

I love my family.

Obviously, I also like stating the obvious.

It's a weird mood tonight. After weeks of stress and deadlines and worries and viral ick run amok, we've had probably the first truly relaxing day in a month... and I'm a little giddy.

Charlie just trimmed his beard and mustache and it reminded me of a snippet of dream from the other night... so I ran to tell Daniel (the subject of said dream) about it. He was, as usual, attached to a gaming remote with John working in clay beside him. Rachel came into the room as I launched into "Hey, Daniel. I had a dream about you. You'd grown a mustache and (really ratty) goatee thingy and I was trying to talk you into letting me help you trim the mustache."
"Why"
"Because half of it was hanging over your lip and the other half was too short. I think I said you needed to not close your eyes when grooming your facial hair."

This turned into one of those moments where everyone in the room is talking over everyone else and laughing loud enough to shake the windows. While Daniel took a little good natured teasing (refusing help from anyone is total Daniel MO) I realized how very Mrs. Weasleyish I sounded in my own dream which then reminded me of past conversations with friends in which I have been favorably compared to one of my favorite fictional moms ever.

But the laughing... that's my favorite part. It's one of the reasons the kids still, after all these years, love to reminisce about when they were little. It's why John's favorite family tale occurred only days into my marriage to Charlie. It's why, while we have more than our fair share of hugs and "I love you's", I can also walk through a room, randomly call someone 'weirdo' or 'freak', get 'old-fart' or an equivalent in return and we all know it means the same. We're all not only drawn to laughter but seek to create it daily in our lives.

Charlie and Daniel's voices sound more and more the same each day. All of us females have almost identical speaking voices... John laments the fact that, for now, he still sounds like his sisters... but that will change within a year and people will confuse him for his dad and brother on the phone the same way they confuse all us women. But each of us laugh differently. They all look so different from each other and their laughs are as distinct and individual as they are. Each one is a joy to hear... even if it is 2 hours past lights out and I'm dying to get some sleep.

I love the sound of their laughter. I can hear it over any other sound in a crowded room... though that may have more to do with the fact that we're a loud bunch than it does my being attuned to their voices.

I used to be self-conscious and apologetic about my rambunctious and noisy family. It's such a blessing to be over that. I refuse to apologize for my laughing family. I'll accept the occasional correction from older folks who believe we, as Christians, should be more serious about our lives and our faith but will not change. Laughter is a gift. Even Solomon, the wisest person to ever live, knew the healing power of laughter.

Rachel and I were talking earlier tonight... she mentioned that Dora will probably toddle around with her little stuffed giraffe clutched in one hand until she's almost ready for school... much like her mom carried Mr. Bear. Rachel brought up her 'fi-fi', a t-shirt of Charlie's she swiped from our bedroom floor when she was about 15 months old. I remembered when the collar of the t-shirt separated from the rest of the shirt and she started wearing it around her neck like a cape. She said fi-fi was anything she wanted him to be... and yes, fi-fi was a him. Like Ford Prefect's towel, it was her constant and required accessory.

Like most 'tomembry' conversations, this one wandered all over her toddler years until Charlie popped in with a reference to Daniel's toddlerhood speech quirks. He made a comment about how uptight I used to be and I laughed.

"Okay Dear. You weren't the one who had to deal with Krys telling anyone who would listen about how Mommy fed her Baby-Sister-Becca-Rae with her boob, just like a bottle. You didn't have to listen to Becca telling everyone in God's green earth about how Mommy ran over her finger with a shopping cart (middle finger, sans nail extended, "Mommy. chopping carp rum ober") You didn't have to listen to Rachel screaming in the middle of Wal-mart "Don't hit me Mommy!" after getting her hand popped for dragging everything in reach into the cart. You didn't have to navigate a Christmas crowded K-mart with 4 kids while your 2 year-old son threw a tantrum demanding a... truck. (Only he couldn't say 'truck') You didn't have to deal with the stares while he screamed "F*ck! F*ck! I wanna f*ck!"

Of course, both Rachel and Charlie laughed through this little rant... and I realized that particular day was the turning point for me. I stopped being embarrassed by my kids being kids and learned to laugh in the moment, rather than later when no one was staring at me.

One of Daniel's other finer speech moments was the night we went out to a seafood restaurant and ordered crab legs. Charlie said he was afraid the kids would freak that we were eating Sebastian from "The Little Mermaid". That never came up. What did happen was Daniel climbed his not quite 3 year-old body onto the table to announce to the entire establishment that "I like crap! I like to eat CRAP!"... That was also the night Rachel realized that a mid-pout head slam isn't guaranteed to hit padding (wooden booths) and spent a good portion of the meal with an ice-pack on her head. It was also the night I decided anyone giving me the evil eye for discreetly nursing my newborn son in public would get a wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare, from our entire family, right back. Krys and Becca joyfully discussed the deaths of Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber over their dinner salads.... which I think was the trigger for Rachel's head-banging... and only intensified Charlie's fears over the eventual crab-Little Mermaid connection. I had a sudden swell of respect and pride for my parents who made a point of taking all 9 of us out to eat nearly every month... and the night became one of our favorite adventures together.

13 years later and it still makes us laugh. We don't remember that Charlie and I experienced a level of exhaustion that night that rivals this past week's move. What we remember are the high points... and all the laughter that came with them.

I love my family.

I love telling stories about my family.

I love the laughter.

But you probably already knew that.

Bright, Shiny, New Day

2011-02-12T11:15:00.004-05:00

I didn't really want to get out of bed this morning... but once I was up it was wonderful that I'd chosen not to chase after a few more minutes sleep. Yes, I've spent a good chunk of time on FB but I have to do something while waiting for coffee to kick in, right?

My coffee pot died a pathetic death in the move but my mug top filter is a life saver. Not a drop of wasted coffee with this thing and it takes NO counter space.

Anyway, it's wonderful to get up and feel somewhat strong and back to myself again. Knees are recovered, back is almost there and, except for the numbness in my left fingers, my arms and hands are back. I can even take a deep breath again without choking! I wanted to run through the house yelling for everyone to get up and enjoy this beautiful sunny day... but they'd have revolted and I'd have ended up back in bed.

Each day, the changes in getting settled in are visible. Little things and big things. I have to admit, for "As Seen on TV" products, UGlue lives up to the claims. It's nice to be able to put up my decorations and know they won't leave holes in the walls later... plus it has the extra added bonus of being lots more fun than dealing with nails and screws. I have my key chain level and adhesive. I'm ready to DECORATE!

Know what I love about no carpet? There are no fibers to hide when the floor needs to be swept. Nothing to hide the dust, dirt, nasties that get tracked in over the course of an average day. I'm more confident when I can see what it is I'm dealing with, you know?

The house isn't perfect... there are a lot of cracks and crevices in the homemade cabinets that need sealing. The same for corners and doorways where the flooring was laid... but I don't mind doing that. I don't mind the cracked deck or the screen on the porch that needs replacing... and all these little things that don't bother me anymore make me realize I really was a bit of a snob at one time.

This house is in a neighborhood we scoffed at considering during our house hunting 11 years ago. It wasn't upscale enough. The houses were too small and not modern enough. Too much of what looked like possible gang activity... too many cluttered and trashy looking yards. Too much and not enough of I can't even remember anymore.

Now, I see through different eyes and I'm grateful for the difference. After 6 years or so of complaining about Stepford neighbors near our old house, I realize I'm not meant to be worried about status and appearance. My job is to create a loving and comfortable home for my family... a warm environment for company and a place that fits us. I'm not meant to be running around trying to keep up with anyone outside this home. I am not meant to compare myself to the neighbors or even compete with them.

I've also realized there is a big difference between the obnoxious behavior or my overly privileged former neighbor children and the obnoxiousness of the free-range kids on this street. Kids are going to be obnoxious at times... but I've yet to see a hint of "are you good enough for us?" from the kids I've had to ask not to invite themselves in the yard to visit Luna. When I told them to feel free to knock on the door when they want to see the duck, and to ALWAYS wear shoes to visit, they were full of 'yes ma'ams' and smiles rather than the hints of 'screw you' I've seen elsewhere.

I'm not ashamed to admit Charlie and I needed to be knocked down a peg or two. Both of us grew up in situations that left us a feeling of wanting more and more... as if that made things better. Even with that house falling down around us, we clung to it beyond what was reasonable. I can understand why so many people look down on those of lesser means... because in their heart of hearts, they equate what they have and how they live with their personal worth. I'm grateful to be where that's simply stupid and a waste. It's a blessing to be free(ish... I'm sure there is more to learn) of such useless concern and attitude.

It's a beautiful day. Elena is babbling away in her walker. Charlie is gearing up to finish putting the dryer back together. Rachel is at rehearsal. John is doing John things, like inventing stuff from staples (I kid you not) and Daniel thinks I don't know he's still trying to sleep. So it's time to get off the computer, grab another cup of coffee and get back to turning our box and clutter filled house into our brand new and perfect for us home it is meant to be.

He'd Kill Me If He Knew

2011-02-11T12:52:00.003-05:00

I can do this in a blog post... even link it from FaceBook because the person it involves doesn't read my blog unless I tell him it's about him... and I don't plan on it.

I was cleaning/sorting/wallowing in the unpacking process in the living room and found a folded piece of paper. Now in my defense, what was on this paper would usually mean it's folded in such an intricate way that I'd know on sight not to read... but since it was just your standard folded notebook paper, I felt free to investigate. Picture, if you will, clear middle-school girl script complete with bubbles and bowling balls where dots usually go. The following is the note I found:

Dear ***-*** (a pet name I'd never embarrass him by sharing)
Sorry about tomorrow. But my granny needs me. I need a note from you! Cause I need a little love on paper to take with me. Oh and I will have my world domination plan done Wednesday. (If I'm back by then) I need the note by 5th period cuz my mom's coming to get me.

Love you,
***<3***

Okay, 'a little love on paper' made me giggle. The world domination plan was enough to make me double up in laughter... I know I'm evil for sharing this but... COME ON! How could I NOT? And, yes, I am going to tell him I read the note and remind him about keeping them off the living room floor where they are fair game. He got off easy with me reading it.

When this kid told me "She just gets" him... he wasn't kidding. World domination? This should not surprise me.

Ah, middle school love. Is there anything that can compare?

Conclusion

2011-01-25T17:15:00.004-05:00

Yeah, so nothing has changed in the last year or so except that S***** is now parroting more and more of her husband's moronic conclusions.

Example... last year, I stated God is big enough that He doesn't need me to defend Him. (ie... be a bigot and bully on someone else's social networking page because a stranger to them states they do not believe in Him.) That's not the same as saying I don't have a responsibility to spread the Gospel. But MY call involves less scripture quoting and more way of life living. The way I see it, quoting scripture to someone who does not accept or believe its validity is like speaking old world French to a Mexican peasant. They might pick up on a few similar words, but over all, you're not going to get your message across. So don't speak. Show. Live. Do. Whenever possible, SHUT UP.

So yeah... here's the last part of the message exchange from last night.

Marisa, M*** did not contact you, I did with M***s blessing. The reason I did this was to make peace with you. The Bible tells us to be at peace with all men. So I simply was doing what God had lead me to do. I was not even making an attempt to restart our friendship, just peace. We both believe that season has passed. I simply want us to be cordial when we are in the same room with each other. God has each of us on this earth to worship Him and spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I'm sorry your views on God not needing our help is what separates us, but that's between you and God. We are praying for you. Love in Christ, S*****
P.S. I will not contact you again since we understand how you feel.

My Response:

Our views on God not needing our help are not what separates us. M*** is what separates us. Until he learns to be responsible for himself, false apologies are wasted. Keep your apologies between you and God. Neither of you have learned how to be honest. I'm glad you agree we have no need to be in each other's lives. But DO NOT expect me to be false and pretend for others to see.
Thank you for the offer to not contact us again. M*** burned the bridge, I swept up the ashes. Let the dead bury their own dead.

Yeah, I went ahead and blocked her. Childish or no, I will have the last word in their untimely, self-righteous, make themselves feel better game. They (figuratively) came, uninvited, to my door and tried to manipulate their way to an open door. I see no reason to even give them the chance to get a foot in the door.

I had come to accept and admit that I am still angry well before this latest load of crap showed up in my inbox today. I also realized my assumption last night was wrong. They're house sitting for Apostle B while he's out of state visiting another son. They want to go to ACF (instead of drive 30 min to their current church) without having to deal with their own crap. *snerk* or, as has historically been the case, he screwed up Apostle's computer and knows he can't just call Charlie to fix it.

Yes, I'm angry. Still. I know I have to deal with that... but also know that's between me and God. They aren't a part of it at all. I also know I did the right thing in *gasps* rejecting their request. He's a bully. I know now he has no problems continuing to be a bully and he's teaching his wife to follow along. The lingering questions about doing the right thing are gone.

God does tell us AS FAR AS IS POSSIBLE to live at peace with one another (a detail they conveniently left out). It is possible for me to do this by not acknowledging their existence. I know I don't have it in me to let them off the hook. I know I may never reach a place of grasping the minor details involved in loving unconditionally, forgiving as I've been forgiven and still holding my brothers and sisters in Christ accountable for their actions. I'm too honest to BS for their comfort. And like it or not, I will always more easily forgive people who don't share my beliefs because they shouldn't be held to a higher standard than people (who often) act as if salvation somehow makes them superior. We're not called to correct ANYONE else but our fellows in Jesus... and that's supposed to be done in love... not by consigning them to hell for not defending your childish behavior. M*** didn't blow up because I didn't defend God. M*** blew up because I betrayed him by not defending M***. He needs to learn the difference and swallow that massive OMG I'm the shiznit for God pride of his.

I've got a long way to go to find my own peace in this. It's bad enough I still habitually dissociate such things and stuff them in the darkest corner of my mental attic. I don't have the energy to offer them a peace I don't have. If I don't have it, I can't offer it.

And yes, I really do wish I could unleash Stephanie on them. It would make this oh so much easier... until I had to deal with the result. It's when I'm most deeply hurt or this incredibly angry that I miss The Crew the most. It would be an instant emotionally gratifying moment to consider What Would Stephanie Do rather than what my Savior would do.... and would probably inject a measure of humor I can't quite find just yet.

I'll get there. Soon, I hope. I think I'm on too many journeys at once.

If This is a Test, I'd Really Like to Pass

2011-01-24T23:25:00.007-05:00

Received a message tonight from a couple who, up until about a year ago, were close friends of the family. I'm not going into all the details about how it started or all that occurred... but truly was neither prepared for nor even wanting to hear from them. I know I'm trying to deal with this resentment stuff... and I know putting something out of your mind isn't the same thing as dealing with it... but while I'm not exactly angry anymore, I can't honestly say the depth of the hurt has healed. I don't know if I handled it well... but can at least say I handled it honestly. Only time will tell if we can come to an amicable peace. For now, I'm not interested in friendship.

The following is the message I received:

The last time M*** & I came to ACF I know we didn't speak and things were kind of awkward I believe on both sides. We really hated that. Anything we have said or done to hurt you we apologize for and am very sorry. As brothers and sisters in Christ we are instructed to love each other with the unconditional love of Christ. We still love you all and would love for us to be on friendly terms; if you can find it in your hearts to be so as well. We are all in this for one reason and that is to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ to those who are walking in darkness. We hope this finds you and your family doing well. We heard you got a house and are so happy for you - heating and air finally! Hope to hear from you soon. Love in Christ. M*** and S*****

My response:

I appreciate your message.
The last time you came to ACF, I am sorry if I gave the impression I was awkward or uncomfortable around you. I believe that to be friendly with someone who has made it clear you are neither worthy of them nor welcome in their lives is a form of hypocrisy and I was unwilling to behave in a hypocritical manner. For me, it was not awkward, just a sad reality.
Our love for you both has not changed. There are however things we believe differently. One of those things is that Charlie and I have been through enough in our years together to know we cannot be friends with someone capable of turning on a dime and willfully being cruel. It's understood that we are not to trust man above God, but relationship requires some degree of trust. Sadly, that's not something we are in a position to offer at this time.
For what it's worth, M*** hasn't been blocked to this or any family member's account since shortly after the last discussion. Given the fact that I was blocked then this account was used to continue to judge and speak curses to me and members of my family, I don't think it appropriate for M*** to use this account to contact me.
M*** is welcome to contact Charlie via message or phone call, but I am not comfortable continuing a conversation that should occur between the heads of households affected. If there is resolution to be found, that would be the right way to do it.
We do love and continue to pray for God's blessings in your life and hope all is well with you. Thank you for your concern and joy on our behalf.
Love in Christ to you both,
Marisa

All this is made more complicated by the fact that one of these people is the son of another close family friend. Until a couple of months ago, he knew nothing of what happened. One day, when Charlie was working on Apostle B's computer, the subject of his son came up and Charlie gave him an abbreviated explanation of events. I'm almost afraid he's been after his son to resolve it... though it would admittedly make Apostle's traditional Super Bowl party a less festive occasion if we were all to be there... his son is 50 and is more than old enough to deal with his own stuff without Dad stepping in.

Part of me hopes I'm wrong in that suspicion. It'd be nice if this came up because they honestly recognize what they did was wrong. But even if that's the case... it doesn't change my lack of interest in re-opening a door I've been content to leave closed.

Hunting License

2011-01-23T18:38:00.005-05:00

Over the years, I've written quite a lot of stories about the kids, about my childhood, about my side of the family... but not so much about Charlie's family.

There's a reason for this... most of the stories are of the variety that would make many people find them difficult, if not impossible to believe...

Like the time Daddy (Charlie Sr.) and his brother Jerry (One of the dozen or so Jerry Feathers in the family) went hunting.

Unlike most hunters I know, they didn't go to a hunt club or stake out a spot, put up a deer stand and make a big deal out of it. No... they simply drove to a liquor store, then a convenience store then into the Francis Marion National Forest, parked their car on the side of the road and waited for a deer to cross.

They were dragging their doe (a traditional no-no unless a specified "doe day") to the car when the Game Warden pulled up and got out of his truck to talk to them.
"What are y'all doin'?"
Daddy spoke without slowing his and Jerry's movement toward their car. "Trying to get this deer to the car."
"Y'all know you're supposed to have a hunting license dontcha?"
"Yessir."
"I don't suppose you guys have a hunting license?"
Still without breaking stride, Daddy said, "Yessir. Sure do."
"Would you mind if I see it?"
At this point they stopped dragging the deer, stood up and looked each other in the eye. Then Daddy turned, lifted his gun, pointed it at the Game Warden and said "It's right there in the end of this barrel. Can you see it?"
"Yeah, I see it just fine."
The Game Warden then turned, got back into his truck and left. Daddy and Jerry got the deer to the car and loaded her up.

That week, Charlie had venison jerky.

True Story.

At a Loss

2011-01-19T22:57:00.000-05:00

Received a message tonight from the mother of the family our favorite schizophrenic has attached to recently. She and I are planning to sit down over coffee and talk, I hope by the weekend.

What a year ago was a somewhat comical but frustrating young man has become a person in full hallucinations with an attitude toward women (all scripturally based, of course) that makes it clear he's violence waiting to happen.

I don't know what, if anything, can be done to intervene before someone gets hurt... especially my friend and her family.

Can't quite capture the feelings that come from understanding the depth to which he believes his delusions, his desperation and fear... while also understanding the damage he could do to himself or someone else if he keeps barreling down the road he's on.

He's not asking for help. He doesn't want anymore 'deceivers' in his life... but I don't know that I could live with myself if he blows and it could have been prevented.

Going to pray, go to bed and try to lay this down... Put my friends and Tim in God's hands and accept I'm powerless to change anything tonight by worrying. Maybe nothing can be done for him right now anyway... but I can be a friend to those his illness is affecting and, I hope, offer support and strength as they seek to do the right thing.

Pitter Patter

2011-01-19T17:03:00.001-05:00

The boy kittens have been gone less than 3 hours and I already miss the tiny stampede of thumps provided by 3 sets of paws tearing around the house. Okay, so they kept me up last night. I wasn't terribly appreciative in the wee hours of the morning... but there is no doubt that Charlie and I have a particular weakness for the running sounds of little feet... webbed, padded, furry or plump with 5 pink toes and a sagging diaper between the legs. *sighs*

Charlie refused to get out of the car when we transferred ownership of 'Tater and Plymouth (they'll keep their names. yay!) earlier today. "I've said all the goodbye I can handle." So, while their new owner and I snuggled the kittens and chatted, he sat in the front seat of the car determinedly working on his puzzles. He'll pout longer than their mother, no doubt.

Autumn, the little girl, grew tired of playing with her brothers about 3 am this morning and managed to claw her way up under the covers to curl at my feet. It's astounding the amount of heat a 1 pound ball of fur can generate. After about 15 minutes, I set her back on the floor and tried again to to go to sleep. She was curled behind my knees less than 3 minutes later. I once again set her on the floor, pleaded with her Mama to cut me a break and tried again to sleep. Soon I had a fluffy heating pad curled at my stomach... and gave in. I figured if I tried putting her on the floor one more time I'd find her wrapped around my face in short order.

I've been telling Daniel, her actual owner, to take her to his room at night for a week now. She Will Sleep With Him Tonight. Adorable though she may be, I do not need extra reasons to wake in a puddle of sweat all night.

Elena and Dora will be mobile soon enough. Within weeks Elena will be crawling and Dora (already the same size as her slightly older cousin) will be able to use the walker and it will get very interesting around the Feathers house.

Already, both babies recognize Grandpa's "I'm gonna get you" growl and begin squirming in anticipation of tickling when they hear it. Reminds me so much of the days when he was able to crawl around after our toddler daughters growling "Fee-fi-fo-fum! I'm gonna get Kristen (Becka or Rachel) some!" They'd take off at a run, squealing and giggling, only to stop in a corner and dance on their tiptoes waiting for Daddy to pounce.

By the time the boys were toddlers, crawling wasn't an option for Charlie anymore... but the game continued. When Krys called me one day to tell me she'd caught herself doing the 'fee-fi-fo-fum' with Dora, it brought a sweet moment of feeling we'd passed on a tradition of sorts.

Packing is getting done. Not at the pace I'd prefer... but Krys, Steve and Becka will be spending as much of their days off as they can helping out. Between us, we can knock out most of the house. Rachel is mostly helping with the babies right now but is also taking care of her room. The boys are handling packing the passive collection of books throughout the house and their own rooms. Whatever isn't done by next Friday, when we start moving things in, will get done with help from people at church over the weekend. Yes, I've asked for help. Now I just need to specify the days I need it and deal with the decision.

The last two days, despite last night's lack of sleep, have allowed me a chance to catch up on some rest. I'm a little more confident in my body's ability to tackle what remains of my room, the kitchen, garage, etc... with Charlie and the kid's help, of course. The big stuff, will get moved over the course of next weekend and we're gathering boxes enough to have everything in the big items packed up and out of the way.

The new house has tile in the kitchen and bathrooms and wood laminate flooring everywhere else. I'm so excited about not having to deal with carpeting anymore... beyond the berber on the screened porch. We're making plans for the unfinished room. John and Charlie want it to be their workshop area... once we get heat to the room, it will also house the bunnies and ratties... I'll admit, I'm hoping it will allow room enough for the large guinea pig cage... it would be nice to find a pair of babies to adopt in the spring.

Thank you GOD our landlady is animal tolerant! Her only concern was cat's claws on the new flooring. No problem. The only one who scratches is also the one who gets her claws clipped... and we'll do the same for her daughter if and when the need arises. I'm so excited we've not had to worry at all about sending any of the furry or, in Luna's case, feathered family members elsewhere.

Last night's news included a story about a family in Beaufort who got a visit from the Extreme Makeover team. It was nice to watch the story and not have a pang of wistfulness that they aren't coming here. Emotionally, we've let go of this house now and are enjoying the dreams and plans of a future (at least 5 years, until John graduates) in a new home that meets our needs... no demolition involved.

I should get back to the packing. It looks like I'll have to repack the books. Did I neglect to explain to the boys it is possible to fit books in a box as you would a bookcase? Good Gravy guys! It looks like they just tossed them in and popped the tops on. If I repack (or help them repack), it'll free up at lest 2 big produce type boxes for the shelves they need to tackle tonight.

Things are moving along... slowly perhaps... but they're moving. We'll get there.

It Works Both Ways

2011-01-16T15:32:00.004-05:00

I'm so very tired.

I also feel guilty complaining about being so tired... because seriously... so much in the last week has gone so RIGHT and with such beauty and grace, I shouldn't have any complaints at all.

Should... such a crappy, guilt-inducing word.

One of these days I'll remember that when I'm exhausted and my defenses are weak, THAT's when I need to go the extra step to offer grace to others... despite the unfairness of it never working like that in my favor. *rolls eyes*

Also trying to accept the reality that some people will always demand a level of respect and blind obedience they have not earned... some people will have double standards about apologies and accountability and no matter how emotionally gratifying it would be to never give an inch to such people, the reality is that it does me harm... it's that whole resentment thing all over again.

Seriously, if you expect me to sit quietly while you tell me how wrong I am, don't interrupt and turn it back on me when I explain how you added to the conflict. Don't tell me to be a grown-up when you refuse it yourself.

RAWR

This was not meant to be the direction of this post... but then bottling it up is what leads to episodes like this morning's... better out than in... even if I don't like the way it comes out. That's what blogging is for. I write so I don't kill people.

It's rather tempting to whine to God that it would be nice to get past this move before reminding me how much resentment still needs to go... but then, that would be like asking to remain in chains a little longer. Kinda stupid really.

But... but... *sighs* can I at least ask... wait, no... I know I can ask anything...

Can I please receive a break from military rigidity, subtle blame games and belittling assumptions until my body has had a chance to rest and recover? I will not disobey You, Father... but I might slip and suggest someone stick his head up his butt and jump.

And that would not be helpful at all.

Things To Do

2011-01-14T23:24:00.002-05:00

Saturday Jan. 15

Meet Landlady, tour the house, SIGN LEASE (Speaking in faith here)
Call Nora and Ben, get everyone else's numbers.
Post to facebook (yes, that pathetic)
Call Momma... that'll take a little time.
Allow time for random flailing and squealing and release of pent up energy.
Start sorting out kid's rooms. Categories: Trash, Sell, Storage, Must Have.
Buy extra trash bags, packing tape, a birthday card for Momma and print out photos of the babies to send her.
Breathe
Re-focus kids. Use threats if necessary.
Breathe
Collapse in total exhaustion.
Remember that I have to get back up and finish the line-up for Sunday Worship.

Sunday Jan. 16

Church
Resist the urge to gush... don't give Apostle B reason to gently confiscate the microphone.
Rest
Resist urge to tackle everything at once
Re-focus kids on their rooms
Load bags with anything the temperamental washer and dryer object to handling.
Gather necessities for laundromat
Have a group Wii fit session... laugh at each other and brag about high scores.
Threaten kids with marshmallows in a slingshot when their rooms aren't done
Collapse in exhaustion.

Monday Jan. 17

Leave Charlie in charge of the kids finishing their rooms
Pray for their safety and sanity
Mail Momma's package.
Pile the car (and maybe krys' jeep) with laundry, head to laudromat
Wash, knit, dry, read, sort, fold, rinse and repeat
Finish kid's rooms when I get home
Sort the now clean items into Storage and Must Haves.
Send everyone off to their various electronics or books and try to exercise without an audience.
Nap?
Place ad on Craigslist for Yard Sale on the 22nd.
Place ad for 'Tater and Plymouth *sniffles*sighs*
Hang with the grand babies.
Daydream about arranging a whole new home and GARDEN *glee*
Attempt to get mania under control and sleep

Tuesday Jan. 18

Gather more boxes
Hang with the babies
Putter around doing odd bits of sorting
Attempt to clear up the obstacle course that is the Master bedroom
NAP
Praise and Worship practice
Make To-Do list for the next few days
Don't try to think too far ahead and get freaked out.

Hopefully Wednesday will involve lots of resting and small amounts of random puttering and sorting.

That's the plan anyway...

Maybe I'll come back to the entry and strike out the completed items.

Maybe I'll delete the evidence of my grandiose plans.

Maybe I'll give myself room to do what is possible and trust the rest will still get accomplished without much violence or bloodshed or babbling in a corner huddled in the fetal position.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Season of Letting Go

2011-01-12T23:53:00.000-05:00

Our pastor has been teaching a lot in the last few weeks about expecting the unexpected. Earlier a friend posted in his status: "when you ask for God's Will to be done, expect that it won't be what you expected". So appropriate for right now in my family's life.

Oh, warning... rambling ahead.

For me, some of the unexpected is in realizing how much letting go of things there is to do. The house, my kids growing up and moving out on their own, the possibility of kids not just moving to other states for school (eventually) but knowing Rachel is planning a 2 year mission trip that could quite possibly take her to other countries. Daniel will be entering high school (at long last) in the fall... John is facing changes that will affect us all.

I'm still growing up. That's obvious.

I'm a bundle of nerves about tomorrow's walk-through and meeting our potential land lady. I'm an even bigger bundle of nerves about John's spelling Bee. You know, that silly kid didn't even tell us they were having one. He just came home crowing about taking first place for the school.

He's been having such a rough time lately. Over the winter break we had to sit him down and explain that if things didn't begin to improve, we would have to consider an inpatient treatment program. His outbursts were getting more and more violent.

Then this morning, after raising my voice at both boys for growling at me when I asked for the third time they acknowledge their alarm clocks and get out of bed... John came to me after getting dressed and apologized. "I set the alarm early because I want Daniel and I to have enough time to both take a shower and get dressed... but I stayed up too late last night and didn't want to get up this morning. That was my fault and I'm sorry. I'm going to try going to bed earlier tonight so that doesn't happen again. I'm sorry I was grouchy and rude."

Wow.

It's not the first time he's taken responsibility for his actions. Realizing he'd reached a place where Dad and I were beyond our ability and understanding seems to have made something click. He's recognizing more and more that his actions affect not just himself but others and his emotional state when upset isn't an excuse to be rude or hateful. But something about his handling of this morning left me in awe. I know adults incapable of explaining themselves and apologizing the way he did today. And he did so knowing that his behavior or admitting to his behavior didn't lessen his worth. He hugged me, I told him I was proud of him and he went off to what ended up being a really good day at school. A rarity on days when the morning starts out badly.

He's really growing up. I'd better get used to treating him like a young man rather than the baby of the family... especially considering Dad's taking him out to purchase a 1 year anniversary gift for his girlfriend. *face palm* I don't have the energy to go into that tonight.

Arugh... trying to get into the habit of writing with some regularity but having little success with coherent posts. I'm kind of a stickler for the beginning, middle and end style of writing...

There is so much going through this melon of mine... it's going to take time and practice to improve at putting it into words worth reading. There are plans and goals for this year I'd like to discuss... stories about the kid's younger years to share... manic ramblings about the process of moving to pour out... but pushing myself usually backfires... so I'll let go for now.

It's good practice.

Forest for the Trees

2011-01-11T14:29:00.000-05:00

Usually I'm pretty good at seeing both the details of a situation and the big picture. It's something I've taken pride in over the years. Perhaps a little too much pride as it seems I've been missing the big picture for awhile now.

The pride of owning a home has been somewhat blinding. In truth, letting go of this house and ownership of it has been coming for years. Deep down Charlie and I have known this but stuffed it away and tried to ignore the truth.

I'm a little jacked up on cold remedies and not sure I can make a lot of sense... but if i listed the pros and cons... there would simply be no contest. As much as I've loved the last 10 years here, this house has become a far bigger headache than it could ever be worth... especially in the last 4 years.

The idea of a ranch-style house, all on one level is very appealing right now. Charlie feels segregated from the family when he can't make the trip down then back up the stairs. It would give his knees a break. It would be easier also for our almost 12 year old rottie, Sugar who has suffered from joint problems her whole life, thanks to the mistreatment at the hands of her original owners.

More and more homes, especially older ones like those we're looking at, have hardwood or tile throughout the common areas and carpet only in bedrooms. This would ease a lot of our allergy issues and make keeping up with animal fur far more easy and energy efficient... Anything that can reduce a few bills would be welcome right now.

This house we're praying for right now has a screened in porch... meaning Daniel can stop hating on the poor duck. It's not Luna's fault he's a poop machine. With a screened in porch, Luna will have plenty of yard and not leave his droppings right outside the back door. Plus, poultry droppings are an excellent fertilizer and this way, they'll get deposited where they'll do some good rather than the cement deck we have now.

As far as my plants... the only thing I'll have to leave behind in the magnolia. *sighs*... that's okay. The other house has trees and even has winter blooming camellias, which I've wanted for years. Everything else, can be dug up, potted and transferred without a problem.

Granted, the house isn't in our hands yet. Waiting for a call back from someone who probably won't be free to call before evening has me on pins and needles... but even if that's not the house we end up with, there are still a lot like it available.

Packing is a daunting task. Krys and Steve have offered to help. That blew me away... I'm ill-accustomed to tackling such tasks with actual assistance. Not sure I'll know how to tell them to help!

This week, I'm focusing on gathering boxes and going through my own bedroom. Next week we'll sort out the rest of the house and garage into categories: Take, Storage, Yard Sale, Trash. We'll get a storage unit next week and begin moving things there.

I'm hoping weather will permit yard sales on the 22 and 29th of January. I'll post to Freecycle that anything left in the driveway after 4pm January 29 is free for the taking.

Krys and Steve have Jeeps and we can borrow Jerry's truck again if need be for moving things and trips to the dump.

I look around at the clutter of this house... at my haphazard "art wall" above the headboard, the doorway where we've measured 10 years worth of kid's growth, the permanent marker scribbles outside my bathroom door drawn by a 3 year-old John, the hundreds and hundreds of books (harder even than craft materials to let go), yarn and various incarnations of wool everywhere...

It's going to be a big job.

If I let it, it can be cathartic and cleansing.

I don't know where we're going yet... but I do know we'll get there.

If I can put together a plan and lists to go along with it, I can get through this with a minimum of twitching and confusion. Really... I can do it.

Resentment

2011-01-07T13:20:00.002-05:00

Rachel and I watched Carrie Fisher's one woman show the other night. Hers is an interesting story of growing up in show business with all the dysfunction that goes with it. Near the end of the show, Ms. Fisher said "Resentment is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to drop dead."

Man.

I've recently had occasion to remind a couple of people of the wisdom in that statement but as per usual, the fact that it's stuck in my head is because I need to remember it.

Yesterday, Becka had a comment exchange with a friend whose family has been helping out a certain vagrant schizophrenic. (For the less caustic version, go here)Turns out, a year later, nothing has changed apart from our family being the only one to allow him quarter for more than a day or two.

When I heard about yesterday's incident, my first reaction was schadenfreude. I can't seem to help getting a little bit of enjoyment out of hearing of his continued struggles to bring the rest of the world into his delusional world. Okay, that's not totally true... depending on the day, I get a lot of enjoyment from it. When Krys told me last week of running into him and asking if God was still watching, I didn't even try to disguise my laughter.

A year later, it still bothers me that he had such a negative influence on an impressionable John. It bothers me that he speaks of us, the ones who sheltered him for 3 weeks, as the worst family he knows. It doesn't bother me that he says we're crazy... we had 11 people in the house at that time, several of whom needed ministry. It was a madhouse. Besides, a little crazy is what keeps us together and loving one another. It does bother me that he complains that we were too loud for his delicate sensibilities. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

It bothers me that he felt the need to come to me and complain that my pregnant daughter didn't want to get with him and ask what I thought he should do to win her over. I'm bothered he didn't accept the advice to leave her alone. It bothers me that he's gone from church to church (starting with the one we attend) and pushed the leadership to the point that he's been arrested a couple of times. It bothers me that he's outright said such things glorify him to God because he's withstanding persecution in His name. It bothers me that he's a flaming example of why a lot of people hate Christians. It bothers me that he showed up for the dedication of the first working baptistry in our church's 23 year history and disrupted the event screaming at the pastor in the hallway moments before the service began. It flat out makes me angry that sleeping in the cold hasn't humbled him enough to stop manipulating people with "I came to you because you're the only one who's been nice to me."

These and several other things bother me to the point of distraction.

They shouldn't.

I'd rather feel compelled to pray for his restoration and healing when I hear stories of his continued adventures rather than a spiteful sense of glee that he's still wearing out welcome after welcome.

I'd rather think of him with grace and a genuine (meaning I feel it too) hope that he finds true help and becomes the man God really wants him to be. I'd rather see him as God does... as the person he could be, rather than the walking cluster he is now. I'd rather feel a sense of love rather than an aloof sense of choosing love out of obligation where he's concerned. I'd like to believe that if something truly bad were to happen I'd feel sorrow... and right now, I don't think I would.

That really bothers me.

It's not who I want to be.

1 Corinthians 13 is what is commonly called the "Love Chapter".

The Greatest Gift
1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. 2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.
4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; 5 does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; 6 does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; 7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
8 Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part. 10 But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.
11 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 12 For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.
13 And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

I truly believe those words. With every fiber of my being do I believe them... especially the highlighted verses. It's how Charlie and I have tried to live our lives... and the degree of "neener neener" that comes up when I think of Tim serves to remind me how easy it is to fall short of that standard.

Limits and boundaries, yes, of course those are needed... but lack of love should never be the issue.

I'm not going to make excuses about being human. Of course I am and of course it's natural for me to have ill feelings toward someone who has hurt or offended me... and when it comes down to it, my feelings (and pride... let's not forget that) were hurt when our gift of love and acceptance was spit upon and did not create the healing transformation for which we'd hoped. I felt a failure when we couldn't withstand his crap and had to take the measure of kicking him out. He broke our perfect streak! (freaking pride...)

Yes, I'm human... and honest enough to know I can be one nasty person when offended.

But I don't want to carry that crap around with me. If I can let go of stuff that's decades old, I should be able to set down the more recent stuff too. It hasn't been around long enough to build up a lot of extra crap to weigh it down and make it stickier. (nice mental image there, Marisa) It's hard to dance in a suit of garbage... and it has a tendency to fly off and stick to anyone close by.

Not that I'm saying Tim is crap. Under the illness is a sensitive kid who could be a wonderful man of God with a little maturity and healing.

But resentment is crap. There are far better emotions and actions on which to spend my energy.

I can't keep word of Tim's latest antics from finding their way to me... but I can consciously choose not to get wound up in it.

I'd rather dance through life without the crappy outer shell, thank you.

News

2011-01-05T17:22:00.000-05:00

I didn't want to post this openly to Facebook just yet...

We were served today with papers letting us know the house has been foreclosed on and we need to move.

We have 30 days to move (which won't be a problem, we have places to go) or find a way to stop the proceedings. We're going to fight.

This has been coming for 6 years. Ever since Charlie made the decision to trust a business partner rather than become a fulltime employee of Mearsk. We've been paying for the decision ever since.

I don't know what the next month will bring... but I know we'll be okay.

I just pray we get to be okay in this house... or at least in a home that won't involve moving the kids from their schools... not in Rachel's senior year and not when John has a support system in his current school.

If you pray, please do so... and keep us in your thoughts.

Feeling Powerless

2010-12-24T13:28:00.005-05:00

At Becka's first week check up, she had a slight temperature. That combined with something about her heart the doctor didn't like led her to tell us to go straight to Duke University Medical Center (We were in Durham, NC then). Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Don't even stop back by your house. Just GO.

Thus began the worst and most heartbreaking day Charlie and I had in our few young years as parents.

The sense of powerlessness, watching your tiny infant poked repeatedly with needles by med students who had never worked on a child so small... of watching them try to find and place a catheter... knowing they'd have to make her scream for a chest x-ray all tore us apart.

Nothing that came after... not the cardiologist visits, the diagnosis, the pediatric cardiologist visits compared with the gut-wrenching feeling of being unable to comfort or fix things for our child that came that day.

Last night, I sat with Becka in the Emergency Room while she watched the same torturous tests being done on her baby. Despite the doctor's assertion that there is a big difference between he anatomy of a 1 week old and that of a 5 month old, it was the same. Repeated attempts to find a vein. Repeated attempts to access her tiny urethra and the knowledge they'd have to make little Elena scream to get a good chest x-ray.

It was almost eerie. Not just seeing Elena and Becka going through it all but being in the same position of powerlessness when it came to comforting my baby. I could hold her while she cried, whisper words of reassurance, remind her Elena would quickly forget... that all these tests are standard these days and it's a good thing... but when it came right down to it... I couldn't fix my baby's hurt.

I whispered to Becka at one point that this was a part of motherhood. There will be times in Elena's future when she'll go through something or experience some pain Becka will not be able to take away.

Super Mom or no... some boo-boo's can't be kissed away.

It's a hard lesson to learn as a parent. I wish Becka didn't have to learn it so vividly or so soon... but I know it will make her a stronger mother and woman.

Still, it was a heartbreaking evening for all.

But then they finished with the torture and we could comfort Elena and giggle at her pathetic but adorable attempts to find a thumb on her taped up hands. She was fascinated by the gauze wrapping and small splint holding her hand still for the IV. When they took it off, I couldn't tell if her crying was because another nurse was messing with her or because she wanted to keep that interesting thing on her arm.

Elena will be fine. I know that.

Looking at the strength of her mother I know, she too... will be fine.

Different Thinkers

2010-12-22T17:19:00.002-05:00

Several months ago, I watched the HBO film Temple Grandin about a woman with Autism who has opened many doors for herself and for others with ASD. John included a photo of Ms. Grandin and Claire Danes, the actress who played her, in his report on ASD.

The movie is airing on HBO again this month. Charlie and I watched it together the other day and it sparked some interesting conversations. Now Rachel and Krys have seen it, the conversations have continued.

At the beginning of the movie, Ms. Grandin states she "thinks in pictures". Until discussing the movie with others, it never occurred to me, except in passing, that there are people who don't think in pictures. Holy cow, really?

I mean, I think in pictures. I make connections in pictures and concepts. It's why I have such a tendency to write or speak in analogies. It's how I think.

Apparently Charlie, Rachel and John also think in pictures.

When Krys said "I don't", Rachel and I were both taken aback.
"How do you think?"
"In words."
"Like how?"

It went on for a little bit, with Krys trying to explain her thought process to a confused Rachel and me, while we all sort of tried to imagine what it was like for others.

Krys mentioned how the difference in the way she and Steve think creates the occasional conflict. He's a picture thinker too.

Then Charlie and Daniel got home and we asked them the question, "How do you think? Do you see pictures, words, concepts, what?"

Charlie thinks in pictures, Daniel in words. We already know John thinks in pictures... We texted Becka to ask but didn't get an answer (yet) and so the conversation continued.

My brain hurts.

To be honest, it might not even be a good idea to try to tackle writing about it... but I haven't written in a few days and so I'm at the keyboard dribbling on about the first thing that comes to mind.

Did I mention my brain hurts?

On a side note... I just had to fix the can crusher. We have a solid steel can crusher mounted to a piece of 2x4. I made the mistake of tossing some Altoid Mini tins into the recycling bin and John got the brilliant idea to try crushing them. While he does think in pictures and, often, mathematically, the addition of Attention Deficit means he is too impulsive to think ahead... which means he and his siblings can break darn near anything under the guise of experimenting. *face palm* On the other hand, I'm Monster Mom and can fix darn near anything. So they're out of my hair for a few more minutes and maybe I'll finish a post without 75,000 interruptions.

So yeah, back to thinking in pictures...

Seriously? There's another way?

No matter how Krys and Daniel try to describe it, I can get it on an intellectual level but... thinking about is like trying to snow ski on a hill of gravel. (SEE? Pictures.)

At first, we discussed the idea that perhaps thinking in pictures is an Autistic Spectrum thing. But that doesn't work because of six people in the family on the Spectrum, at least two think in words.

But then... if they see the words in their heads, isn't that the same as thinking in pictures?

I know from the different skills and strengths of my kids that thinking in one way doesn't mean they'll have the same area of gifts. Some who think in pictures are brilliant at Maths... and then there's Krys who thinks in words but talks Calculus for fun.

Daniel thinks in words and he's a musician. I think in pictures and learn more toward being an artist.

Also, some of us are more intuitive and others more logical in their thinking... but it doesn't match up with the pictures/concepts/words thing.

Is there any kind of connection to be made between the way a person thinks and their areas of particular strength or talent?

*head desk* I need Ibuprofen.

So, before I think myself into a migraine, I'll ask... how do you think? Pictures, concepts or words? Or even something different? Can you describe it?

*EDIT*
Becka finally responded. Her answer? "Not generally in pictures. It goes in this order: words, concepts, pictures."

I figured she'd say words... but then, she's another artist... and so is Rachel.

This does not help me organize this puzzle into something I can assemble... dang it!

Q&A Episode 1

2010-12-20T21:28:00.002-05:00

In your report you mentioned that people with autism related problems often have specific talents - things they excel at. What would you say are your particular strengths?

Creating, imagining and anything in the inventing category. Sci-fi things (space ships, plasma based weapons etc.) clay (what ever you can make out of a ball of clay) building blocks, especially LEGO®.


These were all built on ROBLOX

Paper planes: The Planez Republic® is my pure creation. I create new planes by simply adding brake flaps, ailerons (for maneuvers), elevons (for pitch), rudders (yaw). Lastly is real life building (non-LEGO®). For this I need some supplies. But I have the hovering disc, titan ( a gigantic ship using the hovering disc technology to fly, and is an air staging and cargo aircraft).

This is your friendly autistic human shaped awesomeness.

To-membries

2010-12-18T12:52:00.001-05:00

John was always a wonderful source of interestingly pronounced words. "To-member" is still one of my favorites and one we still use around the house. It's funny how different words the kids used have become part of the family vernacular...

The more time I spend with Elena and Dora, the more little things like that I remember. Krys and I were talking yesterday about one of my Mum's favorite memories of her.

When Mum came to stay for Becka's birth, Krys found an eager and appreciative audience for her antics. To this day, Mum still talks about Krys standing on the coffee table, announcing her next trick with "Fuh-paducing, Disten Fedders!". This was usually followed by a song or even something as simple as showing how far she could jump. Whatever Krys did, she was rewarded with clapping and "Brava".

Playing with Elena this morning, I noticed her fascination with the remote control. She's not allowed TV and seems to know it as she's constantly trying to crane her neck to see the screen if it's on. I don't know if she's made the connection between the interesting box and the remote, but she certainly wanted it today.

Rather than let her slobber all over a working unit, I found an old one, removed the batteries and gave it to her. She didn't want it. She wanted the one Grandma had and it made me laugh because it reminded me of her Auntie Krys and Uncle Daniel when they were little ones.

Krys loved Sesame Street... You know, the cool one, before it got all PC and stupid. At about 14 months, she was interacting with the program... usually Elmo. On one occasion, I was transported to motherly ecstasy at the vision of my brilliant first child trying to reach through the screen to find Elmo hidden under a blanket.

Without going into regrets about letting my little ones watch the boob tube, I have to admit there were funny moments... especially with that lovely and tempting remote control. Even at 15 months, Krys knew she wasn't allowed to touch the gray toy Daddy and Mommy used. It was one of the no-nos... along with pulling all the tissues out of every kleenex box and endlessly playing with the magical lamps that turned on and off with the slighted touch on the base.

One night, Charlie and I were snuggled watching a movie while Krys played on the couch next to us. When the channel started changing, Charlie and I looked at each other then at Krys. The little turkey took one look at us, glanced at the forbidden remote in her hands, threw it behind her and sat on it. She then gave us the innocent smile we eventually learned to associate with trouble. We still tease her about her very first fib and instinct to hide the evidence.

With Daniel, it was a whole other story. Like the rest of the family, he was a strong willed child... but he had a determination to do things according to his rules that rivaled (rivals) all his siblings combined.

When Daniel was 3, the master bedroom had 2 remotes. One for the VCR and a universal remote that controlled all the electronics. The universal remote was, of course, much cooler looking than the other one. It was bigger, had more buttons and was almost exclusively kept on Daddy's side of the bed. Like all the kids before him, Daniel knew the "mote-troll" was off-limits. (mote-troll is another word/phrase still used by Charlie and me) Off-limits or no, it didn't stop him one day from stalking over to me and snatching the cool remote right from my hands. Before I could say a word, he put the remote on the night stand, his hands on his hips and his face in as stern an expression as he could manage and informed me "NO! Daddy's MOTE!".

It was one of those moments when the desire to correct one of my kids for ill-behavior was totally over-ridden by the futile attempt to keep a straight face. All I could think was, Yup, he's all male. When I later told Charlie, his response was the usual, "That's my boy!"

Ugh

I'm excited to see the adventures Krys and Becka have with their own strong-willed little ones. In so many ways, their little girls remind me of their Mamas and I can only imagine the stories they'll inspire.

Just out of curiosity, back to the first paragraph... Do you have words exclusive to your family? What is the origin? Do you ever accidentally use them around non-family members and get strange looks? Share, please.

Insensitive? shrugs Valid? Definitely

2010-12-17T20:04:00.001-05:00

Hmm, why are you such a magnet to demented asocial whelps?

I know, insensitive question - but visceral never the same. A sanctuary should have its rules, and those who seek its shelter are duty bound to obey them with humility and gratitude.... Remember, they are refugees not guests.

Perhaps you should try and arrange for a howling raging mob of villagers baying for the blood of the sanctuary seekers waiting to lynch them the minute they step out of the sacred precincts. That should keep them in line and well behaved?

First, let me say this comment/question is one of the reasons I'm daily grateful for this person's friendship. He has a way of being brutally honest in a way I don't find offensive, but which usually makes me giggle... even if the truth of it can be uncomfortable.

Demented, asocial whelps.

Sadly, when it come to the age group in question (18-28), that's pretty much the majority. No joke. I know there are a lot of wonderfully raised, responsible, mature young people out there... but in America, they are a distinct minority.

I could go on a long-winded Dennis Milleresque rant about the ills of American society (because culture would be a misnomer) but I don't think that was the intent of the question. The rant would be worth doing one day but I'll save it for when the emotions are there to fuel something spectacular.

I know, insensitive question - but visceral never the same. A sanctuary should have its rules, and those who seek its shelter are duty bound to obey them with humility and gratitude.... Remember, they are refugees not guests.

This is very true, and a lesson Charlie and I have learned by degrees, sometimes quite painfully. We have, for years, labored under the delusion that by living the example, people would either choose to follow the example or, I don't know... learn by osmosis? I think I really believed, especially with Cameron, that living an example of personal responsibility would encourage her to learn the same.

We totally missed the truth that humans as a species don't really like change... especially change that involves work on their part.

So, combine a pair of bleeding heart, New Testament Christians (ie... people who believe in following Jesus command to give not only your tunic, if asked, but your cloak also) with wounded young people who never had a decent example and you have a recipe for disaster.

Charlie and I have always had difficulty with the word "No". It's one of the reasons we could blow through a six figure income each year and not understand why we were still living month to month. If the kids broke something, we replaced it. If they asked for something, they got it. If we had a whim (what Charlie used to call Command Decisions) we'd buy something stupidly expensive that we didn't need. And if someone came to us with a need, we did everything we could to meet it. I'm grateful to say that when the bottom dropped out, the character we had tried to teach our kids shone through. They handled the change in financial circumstances better than Charlie and I.

We didn't get burned by a someone staying with us until Cameron came along. By that time, the six figure income was gone, the partners in the business venture Charlie had financed had cut him out of the business and we were living on the grace and generosity of extended family.

I was nearing integration and feeling oh so much stronger than ever before and Charlie and I genuinely thought we could handle a refugee of Cameron's caliber. We were so wrong.

I had my fill in under a year. It took Charlie nearly two... it took him until she started trying to get between him and me... but rather than tell her "it's time to go", he did all he could to keep the peace until she figured that out on her own. When she realized she could no longer manipulate anyone in the house to do her bidding and that everyone avoided her, she got the clue. I regret we all played the passive-aggressive game... but it happened and we've accepted the consequences.

Fast forward two years... (we were slowly getting back on our feet financially, without the reliance on extended family) and the quartet of young men who stayed with us for various lengths of time from August '09- July '10. Of the four, only one was a flaming lunatic. We did create a lease of sorts. We drew up a written set of absolute house rules. That set of rules is why "God is Watching Man" was out in only three weeks. He had one week to give us an idea of what we were dealing with... a week of game playing where he tried to manipulate the rules and a final week only because Charlie was kind enough to give him seven days notice. On the seventh day, it took informing him the police would be called before he finally packed his stuff and left.

Since the last of the young men (Chris) moved out this summer, we haven't had any other lodgers. For the time being, we do not intend to. Grand-babies are the priority right now and they get the majority of my energy. There simply isn't any left for babes in their teens and twenties.

For all the stress and strain, I don't regret the people we've had stay with us. Each has taught us important lessons. Each of them has brought their blessings... okay, except maybe for Tim.... but even there, you could call a new set of family jokes a blessing of sorts. All you have to do is remind someone God is watching and any tense mood is eased.

For the future, it's still and probably always will be, our dream to have an open home for those in need. We're taking lessons from our own experiences and from a local shelter for abused women on the kinds of rules necessary when dealing with wounded people. I don't plan to ever allow another profoundly mentally ill person into our home. We simply aren't equipped... and we've found that those who have come through our doors are not in a place where they can admit to the need for help beyond our skills.

From here out, it's written contracts and specific consequences. Follow the rules or out the door.

Society isn't going to get any better. That's simply the reality. There will always be people in need. If we can, when we can, we'll do what we can to help. But the days of being doormats are over.

So even there, we can thank Tim. He was the lesson that finally taught us that 'keeping the peace' is an illusion and when you need to speak up, you'd better take ownership of your home and speak. Even if you have to do it at the top of your lungs with the rest of the family cheering you on.

I'd love to think that any guest we have in our home would be well behaved and grateful... and there have been many who have been just that. They make up the majority. We're not deluded enough to think we'll never have another whack job under our roof... but I'm willing to take the chance for the nine (or twelve) others who find what they need here.

Hope that answered your question.

Open for Questions

2010-12-16T16:52:00.000-05:00

As per Jarred's query, yes, John is taking questions.

He said to feel free to ask questions about what it's like for him to be Autistic (or as a friend said "AWEtistic").

Post here or on the link to this post on FaceBook.

ASD According to John

2010-12-15T17:53:00.003-05:00

The topic of my report is Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD). It is estimated that as many as 1 in 80 people are affected by ASD. I have Autism and believe more people need to understand the difference between ASD and other genetic disorders like Mental Retardation or Cerebral Palsy. Most people with ASD, especially High Functioning Autism, like I have, are very intelligent and gifted in a wide variety of areas, such as art, science, mathematics and music.

A genetic disorder is caused by abnormalities in genes or chromosomes. There are, sometimes, abnormalities in the chromosomes of an Autistic person. These are deletion, duplication, and inversion. Deletion is when some genes exist in one chromosome, but not the other. Duplication is when some genes have two matches on the second chromosome. Inversion is when some genes are just flipped upside down. Some scientists believe that Autism has specific genes for the different parts of the spectrum. Sometimes ASD can result in co-existing disorders, like epilepsy, mental illness, gastrointestinal issues, and sleep disorders. If a child is born with Autism, children afterwards are more likely to have ASD as well.

Above: deletion (1) duplication (2) and inversion (3).

There are strong genetic links to ASD but it is believed environment can also play a part in its development. Autism spectrum disorders are not illnesses. It is not a disease to be cured. Autism is about how the brain develops. Because Autism affects how a person thinks, feels and behaves, it affects every part of their life. Learning to live with ASD takes strength and dedication for the person and their family

Autism was discovered in 1943 by Leo Kanner. He believed Autism was caused by cold, unloving parents. This is a stigma that still exists. Scientists have since proven that of all the possible causes of ASD, poor parenting is not one of them. The National Alliance for Autism Research (NAAR) seeks to raise awareness and understanding of what is now the most common of all developmental disorders.

Children with ASD tend to write slowly or have poor handwriting. They are often focused on things with such intensity, they can’t break free to pay attention to what’s going on around them. When told to describe a person’s face, they have difficulty completing the task. They usually have disabilities such as social and communication difficulty, because it is often hard for them to read or understand another’s intent or emotions. People with ASD have advantages as well. They have a greater ability to find small objects in a cluttered field. An example of this would be: noticing an object someone else can’t find. They are often gifted in many areas.

There are five forms of ASD: Autism, Asperger’s syndrome, Pervasive Development Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS), Rett’s syndrome, and Childhood Disintegrative Disorder. While the other forms of ASD affect mostly males, Rett’s syndrome affects female almost exclusively. Asperger’s syndrome has no significant language development delay, if any, and yet every other part of the Autistic spectrum shows this delay.

While some believe Autism is a disease to be cured, most High Functioning Autistics and people with Asperger’s Syndrome believe it is how we are wired. The focus for us is not on a cure but on learning to adapt the way we think and feel to a world that is very different to us. There are many support groups for people with ASD and their families. There are group therapies that help people with ASD understand the world around them and their part in it. There are treatments to help us manage the overwhelming amount of information we absorb at all times. It’s the reason many people with ASD retreat into repetitive or unhealthy behaviors, to get a break from the world.

For me, Autism is less of a disability, more of a puzzle missing just one single piece, and managing it for me is like saying “So what? One piece isn’t there. Just one. No reason to throw away 999 pieces just because the 1000^th isn’t there.”

*NOTE FROM MOM*
John not only received 100% on his project, the teacher asked to keep it to share with other teachers. His project was the only one in book form. It goes without saying, he was the only person who served as his own visual aid. ;-) All other projects were done using PowerPoint or poster board... so John was extra proud of finding a unique way the do his report and that his teacher was impressed enough to want to share it. HOW AWESOME!

Remembering to Breathe

2010-12-14T18:36:00.002-05:00

Today has been spent in varying degrees of massive anxiety/panic. I'm irritated with myself for getting lost in it... but in some ways, I think it was needed. Needed in that I don't let myself express my concern, worries, fears, hopes, dreams, disappointments where John's Autism are concerned. It's all about keeping a level head and a supportive face. Staying as consistent as possible without going insane and loving him when he has his distinctly unlovable moments.

It hit hard today. Today, I have been a quivering, hyperventilating, twitchy mess. I finally sat down with Krys while she and Dora were visiting the kittens and allowed myself to put my head on her shoulder and cry. Just a little bit... but still. I'm sure after everyone has gone to bed and it's quiet in the house, I'll disturb Charlie's sleep and ramble on about every rational and irrational thought and feeling that's come up today.

I feel like so much is riding on John's report. This is his chance to stand up and say he is different but not "wrong". He has disabilities and differences but is not mentally retarded or mentally deficient in any way. He's different and for every area where he struggles to fit in and be understood, there's an area where he excels and shines.

He's wearing a T-shirt I made today that he considers to be one of the required visual aids. It's his way of saying "I AM WHO I AM. DEAL WITH IT"

I'm so proud of him... but so scared at the same time. Part of me wants to ask the assistant principal who has been such a support to him to be there, if possible. I want to support him standing up for himself in an intelligent, articulate way... but I'm Mama... and I want someone to have his back.

I wish the house would get quiet. I wish they'd all hurry and go to bed. I want to curl up with Floppy (who moved back into the bed a couple of months ago) and wait until I have Charlie to myself.

John's got his crap together. He's good to go. I'm a slobbering mess. Lord, help me. I need some peace and strength so I won't be too worn out from worrying to rejoice with John tomorrow when he tells me he kicked butt and took an "A".

Four Feet, Ten Inches of Brave

2010-12-08T19:04:00.002-05:00

Last night, John brought us information on a Science project he has due next week. He asked if we could help him research and put it together.

Looking over the information and the rubric, I was struck speechless. The students were given a choice of two projects... The first is to do a Cell Analogy using 10 of the 11 organelles. The___ is like the ___ because... Then each analogy needs to be illustrated.

The second choice is to do a report (which will be read to class) and a visual aid on a genetic disorder. How and when the disorder was discovered, how it affects a person and how it is treated. It should also include pictures of characteristics of the disorder or any pictures that go along with it.

John chose the latter. His choice of subject? Autism Spectrum Disorders.

Wanting to research ASD doesn't surprise me. Using the context of a school assignment to justify it also doesn't surprise me. Choosing to stand up in a class which includes kids who have been calling him 'retard', who have egged him on when he has outbursts and then tease him and who have (as kids in groups tend to do) shown little to no compassion or understanding... and seek to teach them something about himself is quite simply the gutsiest thing I can imagine for him to do. I'm in awe.

And a little scared. I'm the queen of 'what ifs'. What if it backfires? What if the pressure is too much and he melts down before or during the report? What if one of the little jerks in class decides to spout off in the hallway between class?

But what if he gets through it? What if he speaks with confidence, giving examples of other pretty awesome people with ASD? What if one or two of his classmates learn something and grow a little tolerance and understanding? What if the sheer ballsiness of a decision to stand up for himself in this way earns the respect of those teachers who still look at him as a whiny, spoiled child? What if he learns some wonderful things about himself and can stand a little taller, with a little more pride?

`
I'm cheering him on.

And I hope to stand up to a few things in my own life.

Kiddo, to call you an inspiration is an understatement. Keep being you. "Teh Awesome"

Yeah, Sometimes it's Like That

2010-12-07T12:26:00.002-05:00

Charlie: GET DRESSED!
Me: *jumps about 3 feet* Why?
Charlie: *still yelling in a frightening enthusiastic way* WE'RE GOING OUT!
Me: Why?
Charlie: Because I am NOT going to sit in this house all day and I'm in too much pain to go out alone so you're coming too!

*sighs* He's right... there is living to do and if we're going to go do it we have to change out of our shorts and sports bra (me, not him... duh) and wear real clothes and go do it.

But some days... well, lately it's most days... that involves more complicated steps than I have energy to complete. The mere fact that I'm making coffee again rather than living on Stōk Shots is a pretty big step up. The total and utter pathos of my life recently is embarrassing to acknowledge. My almost total uselessness serves not to allow for rest but the echoes of past voices (and not the cool ones) I fought hard to silence saying all the condemning things I fought hard to disprove.

While it's true that my body has betrayed me (I'm not going to list all the ways) there is still no reason to give in to pain and wallow. Besides, doing that doesn't relieve the pain, it only makes it more painful when I do try to get something accomplished. No pain, no gain. If I want to be more mobile, I have to move. If I want the continued use of my arms and hands, I have to do more than use them, I have to exercise them properly to prevent further repetitive use problems.

I constantly berate myself for becoming so passive. But the pro-active Marisa stuck herself in a cramped little cage of emotions and lies then forgot she had the key to get out again. Berating myself doesn't get me out... getting out gets me out.

Oh, so poetic.

Charlie and I are on our way out. We're going to do something. We're going to visit places and accomplish things. Or we might just go to WalMart and buy groceries. Whatever, at least it'll be out.

Have you ever let yourself get caught in a vicious cycle?

Road to Recovery

2010-12-06T21:13:00.001-05:00

I was asked the other day about sharing more of my road to recovery. Many of the people reading this blog were with me on the 6 plus years of blogging that chonicled my life as a wife, a mother and a multiple with, at times, as many as 10 active alters in my day to day life. I stopped blogging rather abruptly in '07 or '08... I'm really not sure about the exact time.

Since then, what writing I've done has been sporadic at best, and pretty avoidant and whiny at worst. I haven't written about my integration, not because the process of becoming one mind was traumatizing or difficult... but because going through that process while sharing a home with a profoundly ill person who had no recognition of her compulsive need to control every aspect of our lives was hell. Pure and simple. By the time she moved out, a few months before the process of integration was completed, I was in the worst place I'd been emotionally since I first began the road to healing from DID.

For a long time I held resentment that a period of my life I should have been able to treasure and to process in peace was dominated by the constant ME ME ME of another. (I was even reamed by one person for not allowing her to say goodbye... because, yeah... my healing was about you.)

For a really long time, I've found it difficult to separate her and another's effect on my family with my desire to write about that period of time... how could I talk about my journey without including the person from whom I could only be physically separated by literally hiding in my room? Or the person who made up the other corner of a sick and desperately co-dependent triangle? How could I write about trying to navigate becoming one person while also battling a crippling depression, triggered in large part by the person who fought not only to destroy my marriage, but to talk my husband into committing me and allowing her to raise my children... because, of course, she was the more capable. How could I write about that time in MY life without (childish, I know) giving THEM the satisfaction of being part of the story? Especially as I had, on many occasions, been expressly told I was "not allowed" to write about them?

WHAT THE HELL? So I have to shut away 2+ years of my life because I might say something less than flattering or worse, the TRUTH about you? And what the hell was wrong with me that I allowed myself to be emotionally bullied into complying with such a sickeningly selfish demand? Why did I allow myself to cut off the outlet responsible for the recovery I had attained to that point?

Bitter as this question may sound... how can someone possibly delude herself into believing she was nothing but a positive influence on my kids when only two of the kids were willing to see her when she visited today? How can anyone think they knew best for a child I knew to be dealing with an autistic spectrum disorder when her entire approach was a military style 'my way or the highway' approach? When John was told a few months ago that she might come to visit, he said "If she comes to this house I'm going to lock myself in my room until she's gone."

I know she felt rejected when told that she couldn't come to the house. I know she was certain only Charlie would go to see her at a local restaurant... the shock on her face when she saw Rachel, Daniel and me was obvious. But however much she has blamed us for all that happened ("If you hadn't ____ then I wouldn't have ___ so it's really your fault") she cannot expect the entire family to welcome her back with open arms. This house is a shelter and sanctuary... I will not allow someone into this house who threatens that... even if it's not the intent.

*sighs*

I've come to the realization that I've blamed her for not writing. But it is not she who whispers in my ear that the crap will hit the fan if I write honestly about that time. I'm the one holding myself back.

I want to write about that time but not if it means also talking about Cameron, Kelly, Eli, Trish, Julie, Kate, Lex, Matreshka and all the other people hurt not just by Cameron and Kelly but by me because I chose to "Keep The Peace" and allow them their way because I was too chicken to stand up and say "NO MORE".

Most of those people are, I'm grateful to say, back in my life in various ways. Cameron and Kelly are not... and for whatever healing and reconciliation may come from today's visits... I'm not willing to allow them any closer than the periphery of my life.

If either of them, though I doubt they'll look that far beyond themselves, decides to hunt down this blog and read it. SO BE IT.

I'm not making any plans about writing... I find deciding I'll do it pretty much cements the fact that I won't. I'll just say this... if it comes to me... if there is inspiration to share a portion of that time... both the wonderfully beautiful healing that came in the midst of devastation and loss and that loss... then I'll do it. The "Rules" be damned. It's my life. My journey. No one but God gets to direct it.

If I could come out of hiding long enough to face two people I'd have been happy never to see face to face again... and do it with grace and a choice to believe the best (after the initial panic and 'what ifs') then I can face the years I keep trying to stuff in an ever growing box that threatens to squash me like a bug.

For crying out loud! Nothing we dealt with having those two in my life at that time even compares with what The Crew and I overcame!

I may never be able to confront them face to face about the devastation they leave in their wake (and not just in my life) but I can damn well confront myself. Writing about it does not give it or them power over my life... it serves to free me. Six years of honest outpouring in a little blogging community taught me that.

Now her 'things' are no longer in our care (forced responsibility), it's time to drop the rest of it and move on.

No promises Valerie... but I'll try to get there. If for no other reason than The Crew deserves to be remembered and honored this way.

Morning Hair

2010-12-02T21:16:00.005-05:00

Okay, so remember a few posts back when I went on and on about my hair and promised myself I'd learn to accept it as it and get over myself and would post pics so I could perhaps be a little more objective?

So this is what it looks like in the morning when I've just stumbled out of bed, not yet put in my contacts and compulsively check Facebook. It's not so horribly scary from the back... but if Charlie and Rachel are to be believed (jury's out on that) I looked rather monstrous. Even before I made claw hands and started hissing at them for teasing me.

It would probably be good if I work on that posture... but it's only because I have to have my face that close to the screen to read.

Working hard at thinking of worthwhile topics and have even gone back to keeping a pad of paper close by to catch the weird things said in this house.

Feel free to offer subject suggestions because there's so much flying around in my brain these days it's hard to catch anything long enough to turn it into a post.

Tomorrow, I think will be a collection of things heard around the house.

Oh, and I've talked Krys into giving me a haircut. I'll wait 'til she's got the scissors in her hand before mentioning it to Charlie.

They Say...

2010-12-01T22:26:00.001-05:00

Money isn't everything... but apparently, at Wal-Mart, it can be purchased for $1.98.

Pretty impressive. Oh, and Rachel gets the credit for finding it. Good eye, Kiddo. So why couldn't you find the benadryl right under your nose... hmmm?

Anyway, my brain is still twitching so this is all I got tonight. Now I just have to remember what Everything looks like and on what aisle it can be found. Gots to get me more of that.

Perception vs. Reality

2010-11-30T15:54:00.006-05:00

In a sleep deprived fog of hours spent trolling the intrawebz for things that would make me laugh when the temptation is to crawl in bed and see how long I can hold my breath... I started catching up on the adventures of one of the funniest writers in the blogiverse. After weeks and even months of allowing my own blog to gather dust while my circular thinking kept me paralyzed and unable to do much more than play time management games on gameshouse games, because beating those games proves I can actually manage time and accomplish something... even if it is totally fake.

Okay, there was supposed to be a wonderful sentence to end that paragraph and tie it into a cohesive little bow of rationalization. It didn't happen.

So, reading this other blog has given me the gift of laughing fluids out my nose and spastic-ally trying to shield the keyboard when laughing fits strike. It has also inspired me to decide "What The Heck" and blog whatever rambling nonsense can ooze its way from my frighteningly disordered sloth brain. I've been so tied up in my own convoluted restraint and protective wall things for so long that... did I mention I'm having a productive day if I manage to leave the house (or my room) for more than church?

I wrote a comment that turned into a blog post. The hours of composition in the pre-dawn light gave way to the first bit of writing I've done in recent memory that made me laugh to write it.

It even made me laugh to read it aloud to Charlie... and to rapid-fire edit 29 times in 20 minutes.

Charlie didn't seem to find it so funny. He didn't make a sound. (He now says that is because he had his Listening Hat on and was fighting not to laugh so he wouldn't get his butt chewed for not listening.)

Until I read him the one comment The entry has received... a very tentative and concerned seeming [hug] and then he bursts forth with belly laughter... and I think, that wasn't supposed to be the punchline. The humor was not meant to be in the very concern displayed by the well-meaning and loving individual(s) reading the post and thinking "Back away slowly, she's gonna blow!"

Even now, in a state of second, third and infinity guessing myself, I'm also rebelling... DAWGONEIT! This is a good thing! A little technicolor keyboard diarrhea is exactly what I need to break out of my self-imposed expectation to be the funniest, wisest, most awesomely radical Follower of Jesus willing to love the unlovable and not get caught up in the meaningless details like "is saying shit a sin?" person who is the just the epitome of all things bright, beautiful, poignant and still crap your pants funny in all the web.

I may never achieve that lofty if delusional status... but I can certainly acknowledge my brain is currently broken and hiding it ain't gonna fix it. Got to drag that craziness into the glaring light of an LCD monitor where it loses its fangs and shrivels with a high-pitched wicked witch of the west kind of keening cry before transforming into the Joy of the Lord best exemplified in the ideal Proverbs 31 Woman... Or at least can be revealed to be not quite so shamefully crazy as I'd feared.

But if I'm going to seem like I've lost my mind, I may as well enjoy it. SO I DON'T CARE THAT STATCOUNTER SAYS I'VE HAD 24+ UNIQUE VISITORS TO THE PREVIOUS POST WITH ONLY ONE ACTUAL COMMENT. I don't care that my stretched to the breaking point brain takes that to mean all at least 2 dozen people are quietly pitying my pathos...

I DON'T CARE!

I wouldn't object to the occasional reminder that people aren't waiting for the news of my commitment or even that they can relate to some of the scribbling...

BUT I DON'T CARE! really... if what I percieve to be milk-through your nose hysterical is actually frightening and disturbing to others... this is about HEALING!

Let the catharsis begin!

God is Watching!!! (Or What Was Supposed to Be a Comment to Hyperboleandahalf)

2010-11-30T12:49:00.010-05:00

Last year we agreed to take in one of our nearly-adult kid's friends for a few weeks. NAK's friend was crazier than a ~~shit~~house rat and louder on his own than my rambunctious and ADD-riddled progeny had ever been as a group. Had I known before offering our couch that Jesus had recently healed this young man of Paranoid Schizophrenia after the latest round of hospitalization and ECT I might have been able to find a nice way of explaining that we had our legal limit of Crazy in the house already and would be toying with the laws of nature if we added even a little bit more. You know how he knew he was healed? Jesus stepped off the pages of his bible and told him so, to his face! And He told him in Olde English, because no matter what any historians want to believe... Jesus sounded like King James when He spoke and as a result the KJ version of the bible is THE ONLY ONE THAT CONTAINS TRUTH. All others are an abomination by their very existence.

But I transgress...

One week into his stay I wanted to drop him off (read: shove him out) at the local homeless shelter from an only slightly slowed van but Hubby said "We've never turned anyone away. We won't start now." I argued that sometimes exceptions must be made, especially when a delusional young man is taking advantage of your relatively warm couch while ramming his divinely inspired version of The Gospel According to TIM down everyone's throat and calling the family's pastor to tattle on what terrible Christians we were. Also, when my tenuous hold on sanity is slipping, the cause needs to GET THE &#%$ OUT!

Two weeks into his stay I overheard a conversation that told me everyone else in the house was on the ragged edge too.

Delusional Kid: (to another member of the household) Is that your bible? *points to little camo-covered New Testament on coffee table*
Other Member of Household: Yeah.
Delusional Kid: Do you read it?
Other Member of Household: Wh... why?
Delusional Kid: Can I have it?
Other Member of Household: No man, we use the pages for rolling blunts.

Around that same time, the Oldest Child Still Living at Home accidentally made deviled eggs with Delusional Kid's eggs (the only thing he'd purchased with his own money while happily cooking complete meals for himself from food intended to feed eight other people as well) then within minutes of his outraged discovery had replaced them with a 2 1/2 dozen carton. That sin was so egregious that everyone in the house was reminded of it on a daily basis until Hubby finally snapped and explained that while he would love and pray for Delusional Kid, he would do it at a distance and Delusional Kid needed to get out before my Rage Filled Mountain of Head of Household Man flayed him alive, seasoned him and turned him into Asshole Jerky.

So it was that three weeks into this particular chapter of OMGWTFBBQ (a period of time even our church family thought was three months) Tim/Delusional Kid made his exit from our backdoor while passive aggressively offering his remaining food (you mean the EGGS?) to the rest of the family...
"It's not like I have anywhere to keep them... sleeping on the ground... using my jacket as a pillow... in the bitter cold. So you may as well keep them and eat to your good health."

The scene had been so loud and entertaining... because everyone likes when Dad/Hubby/Head of Household is angry as long as they aren't the Objet De Ire (that's french for "Top of the Crap List")... that every member of the household was gathered in the kitchen to wave goodbye to our former guest. In the silence after his departure, Oldest Child Still Living at Home opened the fridge to see what vast stores of food were left for us and pulled out the egg carton. She looked at it and immediately went into such convulsions of laughter that I briefly thought she was having a seizure... until she showed me the carton. Scrawled across the top of the carton, in several places and font sizes (is big scribbles a font?) was the following warning... "TIM'S EGGS. DO NOT TOUCH. 1 DOZEN + 1 EGG. GOD IS WATCHING!!!"

Anyway, your post reminded me of that... but a Klonopin should stop the flashbacks.

Oh and thanks for giving me a blog post.

---

And Just For Fun- The actual comment I posted...

Okay, it started out as a comment but then I was unceremoniously informed my comment was too large and so I made it into a blog post, just for you... but I know you're too Busy and Successful and Good Self-Esteem-y to have the time to read it, I'm going to leave the link anyway because I'm self-flagellating that way..

DISCLAIMER THAT ISN'T PART OF THE COMMENT BUT WHICH I FELT SHOULD BE APPLIED TO MY BLOG POST

My description of Delusional Kid is in no way intended to be offensive to or derogatory toward ~~Shit~~House Rats. Many of my dearest and closest friends have been rats and while none have been of the ~~Shit~~House variety, even Fancy Rats understand that a Rat cannot be held accountable for his birthplace.

Also, no offense is intended toward the mentally ill, the somewhat unstable or the slightly neurotic. You're the people I prefer to hang out with anyway.

Oh, and I don't mean to discount the possibility that Jesus can or has healed people of serious neurological disorders, it's just that I tend to question the validity of the claim when said healed person is still clearly delusional and then gets mad at your church leadership for not letting him sing, preach or take over the bible college classes after his first 2.3 minutes in the building. I mean, seriously... When someone has to be told that return visits will be met with a police presence you can usually rest assured it's not a case of Prophet Persecution.

I'm pretty sure there's at least one other potentially offended group I have yet to reassure but it's been, like, 45 hours since I last slept and about 32 of those hours have been spent reading a computer screen and I'm pretty sure there is some tiny print somewhere on the computer monitor box warning of Contacts Melting to Eyeballs from such extreme exposure so I'm going to step away from the computer and count the cracks in my slightly quivering eyelids.

Requisite Post

2010-11-14T23:04:00.001-05:00

Yesterday was a blur of babies and missed opportunities to nap. Oh, and tie-dying all of Dora's white clothes. Should have taken pics before Krys left. They came out really nice and it was a lot of fun. Charlie blames me for 'hippy' kids and grandkids. He's just going to have to suck it up.

Keeping up with the change things but spending entirely too much time inside my own head. That never ends well... so next week, perhaps it would be a good idea to find something that draws me out of the cave before I throw myself to the monsters lurking in the darkness there.

Sometimes I really believe the fragmented person I was then had a hell of a lot more going for her than the supposedly whole person I am now. When it comes right down to it, I liked the Crew better than I like myself and for all my talk about accepting myself, I confused liking my cast of characters with liking Marisa.

I'm turning off comments for this post. It's all I can manage to be that raw and honest right now... Don't have the capacity for input just yet.

Freeform Friday

2010-11-13T00:59:00.011-05:00

It's nice to sit down with a subject and a few thoughts on said subject before opening a new post page... but I've been thinking and thinking and then the room started to fill with smoke and I gave up. So whatever comes to mind it is...

John's sense of humor is awesome. The First Place winner of his middle school's spelling bee posted the following status on Facebook in response to queries about the winning word: "i forget teh winnin werd sumthin in teh 'Godforsaken' catagory".

One of the most wonderful things about my family is knowing I can count on a true belly laugh at least once a day.

I've been playing on youtube again...

Yes, I am that grandmother. And Becka's that Mom (offscreen left) and Rachel's that Aunt (offscreen right).

Babysitting (borrowing) Dora for the night so Krys and Steve can have a night out on his birthday. They're going midnight bowling. Dora keeps their schedule so she's usually up until about 2am. So I'm tossing back coffee spiked with coffee shots. The corner gas station gives them away with the creamer and I grab one every time I get a refill.

Wow, that sounds pathetic. I'm such a java junkie... but still a non-smoker so I'll worry about the caffeine another time.

I can't say enough how much Charlie and I are enjoying the grand-parenting gig. It's not just the babies... there's something about Charlie holding an infant that makes me fall in love with him all over again, every time. Krys and Becka are beautiful Moms and it's a joy to see the parents with their little ones.

Cleo, the adorable little kitten I bottle fed and played mama cat to, is pregnant. We're expecting the kittens just about any time. We're fairly certain she managed this before we had the AC replaced and could close all the windows. I didn't think she'd gotten out after that... but won't really know until the kittens are born. It's frustrating... We've been scraping together car money for the last few months and missed the chance to get her spayed before procreation. As much fun as it is to have kittens in the house, we really don't need to be the crazy cat family... oh, wait... forgot, we already are the crazy cat family. *sighs*

Random statement that reminded me we'll never be a normal family... "You'd better not be making biscuits on that yoga ball, cat. You pop it while I'm sitting on it, we're gonna have words."


Soda can tab chain mail

When Krys and Steve came over, I was about a quarter of the way through the above project. Krys asked why I was making it (I can and have made linked steel chain-mail) and I shrugged and said "Because I can." I'm a craft collector, especially those that involve repurposing materials. I'll try any new craft at least once.

Not long after Krys and Steve left for their date, Daniel came in, hinted around about how many tabs it would take for a wearable shirt, speculated on how comfortable it would be then suggested we drink more soda... and I thought, that is why I'm making it. If it can impress Daniel and engage him in positive verbal interaction, I'll beg on the streets (or online) for tabs and build him an entire suit if he'd like. I might even be willing to buy more soda... but would rather not have to go that far. I like my family with teeth.

So, yeah... if you live nearby and you drink from aluminum cans, save the tabs for us. I need to find someone who drinks Red Bull. The tabs are different and it'd be fun to use those for a bracelet.

Lazy hair pic. This is immediately after putting it up, after applying smoothers and de-frizzers and before leaving the apparently protected air of the bathroom... because here it almost looks good. Daniel said something earlier today about me looking young. (I resisted the urge to ask if he was looking for something) John then came up to me, fluffed the frizz at my temples and suggested that "without those" I'd look even younger. "Yes, dear. Thank you. Now go away."

It may have been a fluke, as we haven't been able to repeat it and teething babies can be fussy that way... but yesterday, Becka and I were fairly certain Elena was freaked out when I had my hair down. Granted, it was the hideous Trelawney look... but I took my hair out of the ponytail, looked at Elena and she started to shriek. Put my hair back up and she instantly stopped and smiled at me. Curious, I took my hair down again and shook it out. Elena flipped out. Put it up, giant toothless grins. I did it one more time to be certain, while Becka giggled and I resisted the urge to grab the electric clippers and pull a britney spears... Not sure if I feel sorrier for Elena or myself.

Charlie and Daniel are going to fix a few things on the car tomorrow... Thank God for that car. It's getting too cold for sitting in the back of a truck to get around town. I was beginning to think the boys would have to keep sleeping bags in the truck to stay warm.

When I asked Daniel about his increasingly fluffy sideburns, he informed me he's NOT shaving until he first grows a beard. He's not waiting until he's "35 or something like that". It almost (but not quite) makes me miss the days when stinky feet were his biggest hygiene/grooming issue.

Hmmm.... not sure this is going to be a satisfying way to post... but I missed one day and did not want to miss a second. Technically, I have anyway as it's now half an hour into Saturday morning.

Thursday, fulfilled all the change guidelines... today I slept way late and mostly hung out with the babies. I'm not able to stay up late anymore just because I want to. As previously stated, it requires chemical assistance even with the extra sleep. However, bouncing on a yoga ball with fussy babies in my lap totally counts as exercise so it's all good.

Those Days

2010-11-10T21:18:00.001-05:00

You know those days... when the crap seems to hit the fan with frightening frequency?

This wasn't one of those days... until I woke from an afternoon nap to find it was now too late to make church.

I should have gone anyway.

But then, some long needed issues have been addressed with the teens in the house and I believe sincere effort will be made to affect change... at least until they forget and the cycle starts again... *face palm*

Okay, I'm being a little dramatic. It's been a good day. As Krys put it, it was a "Momma, daughter day".

Krys needed some dental work done so we headed to downtown Charleston and the Dental School clinic.

Okay, I know dental work and good day don't seem as though they should fit together... but they did. We got there at an awkward time so they did the exam and the work almost 2 hours apart, giving us plenty of time to take a long walk and short lunch together. Were we both in better shape, we could have make it all the way to Noeli's resaurant. Maybe next time.

Years ago, when Krys still lived at home and The Crew were a daily part of our lives, Krys and I would make the occasional midnight run to Walmart for milk or some other necessity. We used these late night excursions to talk, bond and to just cut loose and be silly in a place where you can do that and not get a second look. When C was here, that was taken from Krys. For two years, I couldn't get alone time with any of the kids without major drama and competitive bull-crap. After Krys moved out, the opportunity to have that bonding time... well, let's just say there was a dry spell.

Krys and Becka both enjoy their Daddy time and they spend a good bit of time talking as father and daughter. Due in part to the current bout with depression, in part due to different lives and different interests and in part to I don't know what... Mom and daughter time has been pretty scarce.

For a little while I even entertained some silly thoughts that Krys didn't want to hang out with me. I even cried on Charlie's shoulder about it. Then, just before Dora was born, Krys and I had an afternoon pretty much to ourselves. It seemed like forever since we'd talked like we did that day and simply enjoyed our time together. Today was another one of those days.

I shared with the three girls last night my secret paranoid fear that growing up with a mentally ill mom would leave them wanting to get as far away from home as possible as soon as possible. I've always had a fear my kids would want to distance themselves. It was tough to admit out-loud. I've shared similar concerns before... but last night was more of a "I'm sorry for all of the things you guys had to deal with and I want you to have your own lives and move where ever you find happiness but I hope it isn't so far away that you never want to come home and I don't get to see you and your children as they grow." They were reassuring, of course... but days like today truly set me at ease.

I don't want the kids to feel dependent on us for help in their adult lives or as if we're trying to maintain control but I also want to be there when and where I can. Krys thanked me for accompanying her to the dentist and all I could think was how glad I am that she wanted me there and I could spend that time with her and Dora.

It was a good day.

Change One Thing
- Walked for at least an hour, carrying both my over sized purse and the diaper bag. I think under the circumstances and the way they were carried, that counts as extra resistance. So I can count that as a workout.
- All the walking was outside. BONUS twofer.
- Hung out downstairs with Rachel for an hour.
- Too pooped for onerous chores but did finish a hat.
- Wrote... again... *gasps*

This is enough to get a good start. I'll work to keep consistent through November and work to change other things as these become part of the routine... but I'm definitely hopeful that it's been a good start and a little more thought out than my usual efforts.

So, yeah... hoping this writing thing gets easier again. When I start composing posts in my head, I'll know it's there.

Ooo, Tuesday!

2010-11-09T20:56:00.003-05:00

You tease me, Tuesday... with all your "I'm so much better than Monday" talk... but I know better. You drag me out of bed early only to toss me on my rear in the center of the middle school car-rider lane. Okay, so it was better than the middle of a road or highway but couldn't you at least have let me get to a place that didn't COMPLETELY block traffic and draw every eye in my direction? The roll out of bed, throw on yesterday's clothes, try to pull the mop into a reasonable ponytail look is NOT my best.

Should have taken a picture.

Charlie told me he'd never seen a ball joint snap the way this one did. The bolt was found a few feet from the truck, sheared in half. A teacher who stopped by to see if he could help made the same statement. Charlie just replied that only his wife could do that kind of damage to a vehicle. *sighs* I'll never live down the Cadillac Eldorado. So you shouldn't drive a car 250 miles without oil. I know that now. I still say it wouldn't have happened if he'd kept the car he had before the Caddy (HOTT '67 Chevy Nova he'd restored himself). The Caddy's death was God telling him the trade was a mistake.

While Charlie, Krys and Steve were struggling with the monster truck at the school, Daniel asked me to explain the ball joint. I said that in vehicles with independent suspension, the ball joint is just like the ball joint in your hip or shoulder. That basically what happened this morning was the truck fell and broke a hip in the school driveway. I know this information because I helped Charlie replace a ball joint... possibly even on the blasted Caddy.

The fact that I not only know what a ball joint is but can also explain it using an understandable analogy, yet can't help my kids with math homework disturbs me.

Then again, the boys are learning about cars too and each of my daughters knows more about cars than their respective significant others ever have. It's resulted in some hurt pride on the part of more than one male, but I think it's awesome. They know enough to diagnose and repair the basics. They aren't helpless little girls. That's a good thing.

I'm rambling... Waiting for the good news from Charlie that they found a vehicle.

*2 hours later*

He bought a Lexus. A silver, '98 Lexus. For the price we could afford.

'Scuse me while I go give thanks.

And Tuesday? You're forgiven. This time.

Change One Thing
- 15 minutes outside- This was unplanned but hey, it works. Doesn't matter if I'm outside due to a broken down truck or if I'm intentionally soaking up vitamin D... 15 minutes is 15 minutes.
- Well over 15 minutes sorting through Mama's stuff. There's more space in my room (still not all the way there) and some things can now be relocated to the garage.
- Yesterday it was shoulders and upper body, today abs and lower back... wow... tomorrow I might even take a walk!

Haircut Hell

2010-11-08T21:02:00.010-05:00

I'm so jealous of my daughters. All three of them can just randomly state "I'm cutting my hair.", do it and there's never any drama. Even with Rachel's waves, which did create a little bit of discomfort when she chopped off her hair earlier this year, she can still cut and go. The last haircut was a bit of a 'screw you' to her ex who disliked the idea of short hair entirely. After 2 years of broken promises, she felt entitled to do something for herself without checking with him first. Considering all the ways a hurting woman can get revenge on an ex, I think Rachel chose the most productive and healthy route. I wish she'd been able to leave her hurt on the floor with the 4 pounds of hair she shed. But I digress...

This is supposed to be about me!

Kidding... just kidding.

Well, only slightly. Just haven't gotten there yet.

Rachel has been straightening her hair. She has an audition for an acting scholarship (among other things) on Sunday and her hair looks far more polished and dignified straight. So, with that in mind, she had Krys trim her hair to just slightly shorter than chin length. It looks awesome. She'll do a great job this weekend going from the slightly scorched (physically and emotionally) animalistic character she plays in Saturday's competition to Sunday's poised and polished young actress doing a monologue.

Here's where some of the jealousy kicks in. As Krys put it, "With your face, short hair makes you look butch, Mama." I really wish I could wear the style Rachel has right now... I mean without looking like the stereotypical white, southern grandmother... or like the male in my relationship. Now you know my stand on negative sexual stereotypes but come on... when someone says 'butch' does a feminine picture come to mind?

*sighs*

After Krys finished Rachel's hair, she started on her own. She's taking 6 inches of length off her hair and it's still shoulder length... it still goes from auburn at the tips to blonde in the center to dark blonde/light brown at the roots. Somehow she carries that look well. It's been less than 2 years since she cut her hair chin length and this is how much it's grown.

If I wore my hair this length, it would look like Dark Helmet... not the look I'm shooting for.

Becka's hair is currently past her backside and longer than a micro-mini skirt. She's cutting 22 inches of it this week for charity and her hair will STILL be past her shoulders.

She could cut her hair shorter than it's been since she was a thumb-sucking toddler and it'd probably be past her shoulders in 6 months. Don't hate her because she's beautiful. Hate her because you want her hair.

Did I mention that not only does their hair grow with above average speed, it's as thick or thicker than their Daddy's hair? The same Daddy who decided to grow his hair long when Krys was a toddler and had a ponytail halfway down his back by the time Becka was born? The boys are the same. They need to see the barber monthly or I lose track of their facial features.

Becka's hair is totally straight... so much so it won't even take a curl for more than a few minutes. Krys has waves but not curls. Rachel has a lot of curl but manages to tame it down to waves.

My hair... well, my hair was once upon a time as straight as Becka's. Then I hit puberty. With each successive child, it has grown curlier and curlier. Something I dreamed of as the only straight haired child in a curly haired family. And I admit, it has it's moments now, when it's finally below my shoulder blades. It's back to the length it was when cutting it short was a necessity because i couldn't lift my arms long enough to even gel my hair, much less braid it or blow it dry. It's taken many years to get back to this length. My hair grows at the rate of a sloth on barbiturates.

I like this length.

Except when I don't.

Now that summer is over and keeping my hair off my neck and out of my face is no longer an issue of survival, I still can't get out of my head the image of the halo of frizz surrounding the too sweaty face that has been my visage since mid-March.

Plus, I'm lazy. If I can wear my hair up and out of my face, I will. Except it rarely looks good that way. Whether I wear it up or down, it requires lots of gel, and smoothing... stuff and anti-frizz spray or pump oils and prayers and contortions and it feels like I'm using my head as a cauldron and getting the curls just right requires a particularly difficult potion and if I get the mixture wrong, I'll end up looking like I have a head full of slightly rusted steel wool... texture included. (or if that offends, my hair is a souffle and if not handled properly it falls flat. Sorry. That analogy just doesn't work) No matter how perfect the look when it's done, if it goes up in any sort of style, wings sprout from my temples and wave to draw attention to themselves.

Which brings me to mumbling something about "just shaving my head". Which, if said within Charlie's earshot, sets off a PTSD like reaction from him where he curls in a ball and puts his hands up to protect himself from the memory of the crazy woman raging through her tears about the idiot at the salon WHO CLEARLY FAILED HER COSMETOLOGY COURSES AND I'M NEVER LEAVING THE HOUSE AGAIN!

When he's able to relax himself enough to regain the powers of speech, Charlie usually begs me not to or attempts to forbid me getting a haircut without planning weeks in advance and providing him a prescription for a powerful anti-anxiety drug.

It's been 20 years since a haircut reduced me to tears but the reaction is the same.

Usually, I end up hiding in the bathroom while he's out or sleeping and trimming away the split ends that only enhance the Professor Trelawney look I so try to avoid. Then, when he doesn't notice, I casually mention I cut my hair and wait for his brief spell of hyperventilation to pass.

Did I ever mention he doesn't do well with change?

Wouldn't it be cool to wake up and not have to worry that only my autistic son sees the merits of my 'morning curls'... to be able to run a brush through my hair and go? Better yet, wouldn't it totally rock to not have to worry at all? I mean, like, without shaving my head at all? I'm pretty sure that would send Charlie into a genuine cardiac event... or psychotic episode. Neither of which I'm willing to risk.

So what are my options?

Learn to like what I have as it is... high maintenance or no... I prayed for curly hair like my sisters for years. It'd be silly to try giving back the gift.

I'm going to take pictures and post pictures of days and moments when my hair isn't up to scratch... and I'm going to deal with it. If I can learn to accept my face, I can accept the hair that goes with it.

Or the clippers will come out and it all gets shaved off.

Either way, It'll be a change.

Ack cough Spores

2010-11-08T14:24:00.003-05:00

I've unleashed something in my bedroom. Don't know if it's the moth balls, the mold on the leather or 40 years of whatever can grow in the dark and damp. It's all over my bedroom floor, in piles related to subject... most of what is certainly trash has been taken care of (Don't tell Momma I called anything trash, please. When she's not angry with Charlie's older brother Jerry, she still reminds us of the great emotional and sentimental devastation we caused when the church pulled a hoarder's intervention on her in '99.)

The pictures are awesome. The jewelry ranges from total costume junk to some truly lovely fine jewelry. There's all Daddy's (That would be Charlie Sr.) medals from Korea, all the news clippings from the rape and murder of the 14 year old aunt Charlie never met... and the subsequent stories from the trial... the amount of ammunition found stored next to the the mint condition vintage car Avon decanters is mind boggling.

This is my third time trying to consolidate three trunks to one. It's getting easier to recognize the difference between the envelopes marked "very important papers" and papers that should be preserved. I'm pretty sure the records of bills paid in 1984 are no longer necessary. The actual insurance policy is important but everything the company has ever sent... not so much.

Honestly, this is the stuff I love doing... but today it's interfering with the ability to breathe. Time for some benadryl and a break.

It frustrates me to no end the computer has decided to quit recognizing the scanner. These stiff and crackling snapshots from 50 and 60 years ago need to be preserved... and I'd love to show off what an adorable toddler Charlie was. One way or another, we'll get them all saved digitally.

What to do with 75 pounds and 20 years worth of Happy Meal toys is something I don't know how to tackle. I'm fairly certain the possible value of even the rarest item will be outweighed by the time it will take to unearth is, research it, clean it, and try to sell it.

Okay, with or without a player, the Beatles 8 track stays.

Krys is on her way over with Dora. I need to get this stuff packed back in the trunk and hope the air clears a bit before they get here. It's Grandma time.

Oh, and for the record, I've written, worked on an overwhelming chore and hung out downstairs... that and 15 minutes of PT exercises for my shoulders. Yeah.

Figures...

2010-11-07T13:21:00.000-05:00

Start something new, lose access to the computer. Well, I had access... just not more than a minute or two and nowhere near enough to sit and write.

On the upside, I got my 15 minutes downstairs and 15 minutes outside, soaking up the sunshine (while I still can) and will make certain to do the same today. But first, the nap.

For a 'day of rest', Sunday is often the most tiring day because of Praise and Worship. Not complaining or anything... it's a good excuse for a nap. But it's something that involves body, soul and spirit... that can be draining.

A friend is helping me revamp the look of this thing. Can't wait to see what she's come up with.

Change One Thing 2.0

2010-11-05T14:22:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I changed something about the house that has the effect of changing my comfort level. It's a good start but the whole 'change one thing' idea is more about changing me, my outlook and my physical health. Perhaps not entirely, as changing things in my environment can also serve to help improve life in general for the family as well as me. What's most important is making changes, a little at a time, that have a positive effect.

Rules. Hmmm... not sure it's a good idea to set actual rules. Silly as it sounds, that's an almost instant guarantee that I'll pressure myself right out of doing anything after only a few days.

Guidelines. Yeah, guidelines could work.

As for the house, changing one thing can be anything from doing an avoided large chore I can do on my own to simply rearranging a shelf. It doesn't have to be every single day just yet as it's important not to take on more than I can physically handle and end up stressing myself into overdoing it. For now, I'll limit household changes to anything I can do in less than half and hour. This does not count the day to day responsibilities of being mom/wife/grandma.

The personal changes seem small to me right now and I'm determined to stop judging myself so harshly. If it's small, it's small. We all know how quickly small stuff adds up so I'm setting, well, I guess it is a rule that I can't ever tell myself a change isn't enough. If it's made, then darn it, it's enough.

I could list all the things that immediately jump to mind as far as needing change but again... I'm trying to do this without overwhelming myself and shooting myself in the foot at the start... so no list.

What I will do is explain each change. In all those DID recovery years, the why of things was pretty darned important. It gave clarity and helped fix the point of whatever was being dealt with at the time.

So, today I'm stepping out of my comfort zone and spending 15 minutes sitting downstairs in the living room. That time will be spent reading, knitting or talking with the kids. It will not involve reminding kids about chores, homework, behavior or any other 'orders'. It will not involve me doing any household-y work of any kind. I won't distract myself from the discomfort of hanging out in a room that's not my bedroom. I'll do this each day until it stops being something I have to consciously decide to do. When that happens, I can extend the time and use it for more productive purposes. For now, it's about getting out of my room for no other reason than to do it.

Oh, and to keep myself accountable, I plan to chronicle the effort. Even if I don't post more than a sentence, I'll post something daily. I need this outlet, this medium and I'll never get back to it if I keep telling myself there's no point unless I have something 'important' to say. pbfft. That's got to be one of my lamest excuses for avoiding something yet.

So there it is. Today I'll greet the kids as they come in from school instead of expecting them to come upstairs and say hi.

And it is enough.

*EDIT*
Managed the 15 minutes... but they weren't all at once. Rachel unexpectedly brought over a friend (STRANGERS!) and Krys brought over boxes of baby clothes to sort. Still, I did manage to just hang out. Took an hour and a half to accumulate 15 minutes but it happened. Overall, an hour and a half downstairs and my head didn't explode and I didn't totally panic. I'd say that's a good start.

Change One Thing

2010-11-04T09:39:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking about this for a little while... the idea of simply focusing on changing on thing at a time. Perfectly logical, I know... but as much as I am able to see details, it gets hard not to become buried in them to the point of uselessness.

The living room has been a particular frustration for me. I've simply stopped spending time in that room as much as possible. Really bad way to encourage family time. *sighs* There are a couple of things I can do that won't take too much a toll on my body to improve things. One of those things is the curtains.

Curtains in the living room have been a problem as long as we've lived in the house. They're either too long, giving cats, kids and furniture against the walls something to pull on, or they're too short. One other problem has been that the few decent curtains I've found in thrift stores don't block light, causing TV and fish tank glare that's tough on the eyes. A few months ago, I gave up, cut a couple of old blankets in half and just stuck them in the windows.

I.HATE.THEM

Last week, while going through some of Mama's things, I found a couple of sets of matching curtains in her linen closet. I brought them home just in case. They fit. They fit without having to move the rods. They come to less than 1/2 inch below the windowsills and will not get caught between the furniture and the walls. They're thick enough to stop the glare without blacking out the room.

In the grand scheme of things, it's a small one... but being able to have real curtains that do the job is one simple change that will make a huge difference for me. One little thing that makes the idea of being in that room less onerous... meaning doing the chores for which I'm responsible (the kids have finally gotten consistent with keeping it tidy, minus folding their laundry) less stressful.

So today I'll change the curtains. It's only one thing but it's something... and that will have to do. Maybe it will lead to something more.

Wanted: Someone familiar with Blogger to help me improve the look of this thing...

2010-11-03T16:29:00.001-04:00

yeah, well title says it all.

comment if you're willing.

What to do, what to do

2010-11-03T10:35:00.002-04:00

I hate not smoking. There, I said it. I think I hate not smoking maybe even a little more than I hate smoking.

Okay, maybe not more... but more than 2 months into this and i still can't go more than a couple of hours without thinking about a smoke.

It doesn't help that I've achieved the 'average' amount of quit-smoking weight gain and grown right out of my clothes... the size that has fit well since John was born... the size that has been, on occasion, a little loose is now choking me. That constant pressure brings up a whole other set of bad habits I miss.

One of FB friends has been on a weight-loss journey for the last year or so. He's done quite well... but I see pictures of him now and wonder why the hell he's still trying to lose weight? and then I remember the pleasure of the accomplishment and get jealous. He posts his food and exercise journals and all of his other weight-loss trials and I have to admit to wanting to tell him to screw off. Though I think hiding him from my feed is probably the better option. It's not his fault I'm so bothered by it.

And I have to keep telling myself that smoking is NOT a healthy or recommended form of weight control... That's what my Mum said when she started smoking again when I was in my tween years. "I'm only doing it to help me lose weight." She quit again a couple of years later... I never did. At least not before Charlie and I got married.

It's the MDD season again and over the last few weeks I've been more inclined to fall into it than to fight it. THAT is not an option... but I am tired... so freaking exhausted. I want someone to tell me that major depression doesn't have to be a part of my whole life. I know that's not true... but the lie would be nice to hear anyway. Maybe one day I won't have to worry about upping my medication or trying to find something new or how are we going to pay for it... I hate resorting to scheduling every moment of a day so I don't zone out in front of the computer or hide under the covers.

Time was, I could turn on the radio or some CD's and sing my way out of the clouds enough to make fighting more of a positive challenge than a chore. Charlie is officially retired and it's rare that he and Becka's family are all out at the same time. I don't get alone time during school hours anymore and I can't let loose in front of others. Stupid excuse, yeah... but it is what it is.

I want to write more... to come to some positive conclusion... some plan to jerk myself out of this melancholy... but not today. I will say I have made arrangements to get myself out of the house and spending time with other people for tomorrow. At least that's a start.

And if I need reminding...

2010-11-02T14:20:00.002-04:00

that I still love dress-up...

http://sleeptalkinman.blogspot.com/2010/11/nov-2-2010.html

They announced an impromptu costume contest Thursday or Friday and I jumped to play along. Of course, that was when I thought John would wear it.

This makes 2 last minute costumes that have won contests. Rachel's Whomping WIllow from a few years ago is still my favorite. Rachel was teasing me this morning (they ran around waking up to the house with the news of my win while I hid my face in my jammies and blushed like crazy) that at least she was only seen by the People Of WalMart... while STM's blog is read worldwide my tens of thousands.

It's an odd feeling when your ego is both stroked and flogged at the same time... and No Jarred... not THAT kind of feeling. :P

Playing Dress-Up

2010-10-26T21:59:00.001-04:00

I've never been much of a 'joiner'... especially when it comes to school stuff. My experience with PTA and other school related groups has put me around a few too many Stepford types. It gets old being the weirdo in the group of uptight, wannabe perfect people.

But after chaperoning a tech rehearsal and helping strike the set after the last performance of "13", I blurted out my willingness to become a Backstage Booster. I've second and third guessed myself about this all week until getting Daniel dressed in a last minute costume the other night.

Rachel is right... first, theater people are just the right kind of odd for me... parents included. Second, it's exactly the kind of thing that would both get me out of the house and give me an outlet for creativity without hiding.

At the tech rehearsal, I stepped in to help with preparation, though technically, I was only there to keep the kids from sneaking backstage or into dark corners to misbehave. (did that too) At one point, the theater director was trying to figure out how to fit classroom and bedroom props in a tiny room offstage and being the Tetris/puzzle type I am, it was easy to suggest a way to make everything fit and still be accessible. Rachel told me later the director loved meeting me and was thrilled I'd shown up and spoken up.

Despite being poorly dressed for it in my church clothes and heels, I couldn't help jumping in with striking the set and had a blast with the kids and other adults. It was after we were officially finished that I spoke with one of the Booster moms and gave her my information.

Knitting, sewing, crochet, make-up... I'm good with these things. I never felt my kids missed out not celebrating Halloween all those years because they could have candy and we'd had a dress-up trunk they'd been using since Krys was about 6 years old. They could dress-up and be anyone they wanted anytime.

I think the biggest reason I caved to trick-or-treating a few years ago was because I missed the dressing up stuff enough to set aside my convictions. I'm not entirely proud of that, by the way... but it makes sense... I lived 30 something years of my life either functioning with or trying to hide the whole cast of characters that are a part of me. I'm a natural chameleon and helping the kids (or anyone else) transform to someone else is not only a gift, but something I've only just realized I love.

I have no idea where this post is going other than to acknowledge learning something about myself... and finding a place to let that something be free to create, transform and pretend. It fills a place that's been empty the last few years. If I can find that in more than the drama team and a yearly event I'm not entirely excited about... it could be good.

Let's hope so... but if I ever turn into a stage mother, someone slap me. please.

In a Moment

2010-07-14T20:56:00.001-04:00

She's a perfect, tiny human.
Her little face shows all the beauty of her mother and father.
Her tiny little feet and hands are breath-taking.
She's so small, she's wiggled out of two diapers today. Each time, they were found around her knees. The little mittens on her long nailed hands fly off every few minutes she's awake. She's going to be a pistol.
Elena came so quickly, the midwife had only just set her purse down in the nurse's station before she appeared. I keep giggling at the memory of the nurse trying to hold her head in for just a few more moments so the midwife could sit down.
She was born less than 7 hours after Becka awoke to contractions.
She was born with such relative ease (less than 20 minutes of pushing) and the wonder in Becka and Noeli's faces was so beautiful... it was like falling into an icy well the moment the nurse snatched her from Becka's stomach, yelling for help.
She wasn't crying.
She wasn't breathing.
It was only a minute... the passage of only moments...
But it's amazing the memories that can fit into such a few moments.
The moment we were told that week-old Becka's heart wasn't functioning like it should... The 7 minutes between pulling Daniel from the bath water and his first rattling breath... the moments when pertussis stole 6-week-old John's breath, turning him blue.
It's amazing too, the intensity of prayer that can occur in only moments.
It was only a minute before the resuscitating bag gave Elena that first breath she needed to take over on her own.
My brave, strong Becka broke down and we cried together to the joyous sound of an intensely irritated, wailing newborn. Poor Noeli stood between the two ladies in his life, not knowing who to comfort first.
Then the nurses swaddled his daughter and laid her in his arms. He looked in her little eyes then looked up to meet Becka's gaze.
In that moment, we witnessed a family born.

Blog Response to the Comments Section...

2010-07-01T15:26:00.001-04:00

of this post.

It's sad to see general internet truths so plainly proven in the wonderful combination of trolling comments on this article. (yes, there is sarcasm)

The basest examples of our society can truly stand out and shine online. Also, if there are two sides to be argued, 99.9% of respondents will take a hard-line stance on either side, without genuine consideration of the other.

From my personal experience, 1 in 10 proclaimed Christians online spend far more time arguing their point than living it. Ditto for the over-generalized and belittlingly titled group known as "non-believers". I find the opposite to be true offline. That is... when I take the time to get to know people beyond a spiritual or religious label. (BTW: I do not count the overlap of those people I know both on and offline)

Why? Because, it's far easier to be an obnoxious, attention seeking zealot of ANY cause, attitude or belief on the interwebs. It's harder to yell and scream in the real world without being forcibly removed. Hence the reason such extremest groups as Westboro Baptist Church make a lot of noise yet really only contain a tiny number of members. Freedom of speech only gets you so far and, generally, an individual behaving as boorishly in public as many (on all sides) behave online would be written off as a loon. Online you can get away with it.

I've been reamed by "both" sides for proclaiming my faith in Jesus while refusing to lower myself to the same level as those so desperate to be heard they never listen. I tolerate being called deluded and unintelligent by those who don't share my faith and condemned as deceived of Satan by those who do.

Why? Because... I choose to take those two simple rules of loving God and loving my neighbor as myself quite literally. It was asked why, if those two rules are what really matters, do we have such a big bible? It's because no skill, discipline, way of life, whatever is achieved all at once. A beginner cellist first learns about the instrument, then about the music, then how to pluck out notes all before they are ever taught how to properly hold a bow or play a complicated musical piece. If you don't first learn the basics and you aren't preternaturally gifted, you'll never be more than mediocre.

Those two rules are pretty much the second step in the foundation of the belief. Until that's truly grasped and understood, all other biblical knowledge is trash. The bible is big because life is complicated and there's a heck of a lot to learn and understand.

What a lot of people who have taken the first step of this faith (Entering into relationship with Jesus) forget is that it's none of our business to be critical of anyone who has not chosen to take that first step. We also cannot change anyone's mind by raging about it or reminding them of the rules of a faith we're supposed to live by example... Not everyone is meant to preach. Quite often those who do aren't gifted for it. We can be more Evangelizing in our actions than in our words. Words are best reserved for answering questions.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to see all people put a little more focus on being responsible for themselves and their actions... good or bad... online or off ... than they do in pointing out the hypocrisy (or whatever else is the pet-peeve) in those who believe differently? That was, I believe, the point of this article.

If you could go back in time 10 years and tell your younger self something, what would it be?

2010-06-23T00:28:00.002-04:00

In a word, I'd tell my self to fight. If I could tell myself in that time when The Crew was hiding and I felt my life would never get better, it would be to keep fighting and hold on. People make mistakes but it wasn't intentional and I'm strong enough to get past it and heal. I'd tell myself The Crew would come back when they are ready and that it's okay to trust the treatment team... they'd be the ones to get me there. I'd tell myself recovery is possible and 10 years isn't really as long as it seems. I'd tell myself the kids and Charlie would be okay and we'd continue to grow as a family and have grandchildren to look forward to.
I'd tell myself to hang on.

Ask me anything

Who has been the biggest influence in your life? What did they do to impact you so deeply?

2010-06-23T00:14:00.002-04:00

I've waited to answer this question. I'm hesitant to get all mushy... but there's no way to write this an not get all slobbery and effusive.
The person who has had the biggest impact on my life is Charlie. He's my best friend, my hero, the man who introduced me to the concept of a truly personal relationship with Jesus. He showed me how Jesus can change a life. He taught me what unconditional love is. He taught me to find laughter in the absurd and in the things people wouldn't usually laugh about. He taught me to find joy and is the reason I fought so hard to become an optimist.
He's an incredible father. He's still a huge influence on the lives of his kids and every one of his daughter's still calls him "Daddy". The card they gave him the Sunday had us both in tears.
He's going to be an incredible grandpa. Just today he was talking about his expectation that he will be the designated snuggler.
I so love that man.
He's the most gentle, loving cynic I've ever met. He's got a razor sharp wit and the biggest, loving heart I've ever known. I cannot imagine a moment of my life without him
We've had an awesome ride in our 24 years together and I look forward to, I hope, another 24 or more. I dream about a Golden Anniversary.
Yeah he's my hero.
My geek in tennis shoes.
I don't think anyone will ever compare to him.

Ask me anything

Proselytizing Prognosticating Procrastinator

2010-05-28T14:17:00.004-04:00

These reports for GMTI (Bible/Missionary school)are kicking my behind. I was a lousy student in school. Never knew when to keep my mouth shut, enjoyed entirely too much questioning of authority and doctrine/accepted theory(this made me especially frustrating for my Catechism and Confirmation teachers) a total lack of interest in study outside the confines of the school building and a particular delight in anything in word or deed that might make the teacher squirm and my classmates laugh (even if said laughter was at my expense or was the kind that comes when people are too shocked for any other reaction) I have to acknowledge that despite a greater degree of self-control, not much has changed since my school years.

Yes, I love my run-on paragraphs.

In the grade eight yearbook, my English teacher wrote "Don't conform too much in high school." Sarcasm... the language of the perpetually annoyed.

I have two reports due in under four hours and have only just begun the in depth research needed. These reports must be delivered orally and last eight to ten minutes each. For me, that's about four pages of single spaced, 14pt Times New Roman typing.

Here I sit, last minute looming, melting in a stifling bedroom, lukewarm coffee to my left, research scattered about the desk and desktop screen... blogging.

*face palm*

I've not yet figured out the particular combination of procrastination and self-doubt that drives my insistence to take everything down to the last possible moment... but even this moment of introspection is fueled more by the desire to put off the inevitable than to look inward at what cracked cogs make me tick. There is a basic fear of creating anything to be submitted for grading, critique, assignment of value or judgment by others that makes me seek to avoid, avoid, avoid.

Even knowing the outcome, I avoid.

I'd love to write the post-in-progress comparing fire ants and their stings to the words of the all-too-often-poisonous words of edification and correction that raise so many spiritual welts... but I have reports to write.

I guess I'll have to put it off til later.

**EDIT**
It's 5:02 pm and class starts at 6. One report is complete. The other is still in pieces. *sighs* So typical. No excuses... Until I found inspiration for the completed report, I struggled with getting behind the subject of the one that is yet to be completed. I will do it tonight when the house is quiet so it can be handed in tomorrow. At least I can say my focus was relatively undisturbed. I'm not going to kill myself to get it done tonight. I'd rather save what's left of my energy to pay attention and be a good little student in class.

.

Who do you most admire? Why?

2010-05-27T20:22:00.001-04:00

That's a close tie between Helen Keller and Mother Teresa.
Both did what no one really believed could be done. Both overcame incredible obstacles in their lives. They were both symbols of strength, even in their perceived or genuine weakness. They lived their convictions... made a difference... earned respect in times when women weren't much respected... questioned themselves and had the strength to answer honestly... and they are both the most truly beautiful people in the "inside where it counts" department.
Their character is something to be admired and emulated.
After scripture, their words and observations on life are the ones I most often recall when a nudge of encouragement is needed.

Ask me anything

What would be your dream job?

2010-05-27T20:12:00.002-04:00

I first read this question and immediately complicated it to the point of confusing myself. Immediately creating a separate set of circumstances under which certain jobs would be the ideal.
RAWR... forget complications.
The first thing that comes to mind is Parent. Already living that dream.
Assuming a paying job is the goal answer, it would have to be On-Air radio broadcasting... preferably a Christian station with music which doesn't make me grind my teeth. Locally, that would be WAY-FM... not sure how realistic a return to radio would be but that would be it. A forum for communicating, listening, reaching people but not necessarily being crowded in by them... A chance to minister, share, pray and entertain in a way that wouldn't be 'performing'. Yeah... that's the one.

Ask me anything

Return to Openness

2010-05-27T20:02:00.001-04:00

With all the privacy issues cropping up on FaceBook, elsewhere and conspiracy theorist sites the world over... everyone is being reminded not to put anything on the web they wouldn't want seen by the world. There is really no such thing as privacy online.

Having been hacked, stalked and just creepily lurked, I'm fully aware of the false sense of security privacy settings can give to people.

That said... and with no illusions of privacy... I choose to shed some of my carefully applied armor and write openly again.

Realizing my blog and my FaceBook are linked and knowing that for the first time ever, this means no more separation of extended family, church, blog, online friends, irl friends, etc... It's all well and good to say "I am who I am with no reservations" when keeping a whole group of people from the thoughts reserved for blogging... but it's not fully honest. Safer, maybe... but not honest.

It's funny that I wrote the first three paragraphs of this entry before John's comment about not hiding feelings. His opinion was the very same thinking that led me to the decision to stop secluding and shielding myself. Without blogging honestly, I doubt oneness would have occurred in the relatively short 8 years of therapy involved. I also doubt I'll be able to keep moving forward in health, faith or maturity without it.

I don't need compartments and boxes quite so much anymore. It might add some complications and require standing up for my convictions a bit more often... but I'm okay with that.

These Times...

2010-05-25T23:26:00.001-04:00

Nights like tonight are some of my favorites. A rare dinner shared around the too small table. Chris has worked his butt off the last 2 nights to give us this gift.

Later everyone, well almost everyone, is jammed in the living room, hanging out. The school year is winding down, exams are almost done and so Becka and Rachel are a tad less... um...touchy.

9pm on the dot, Daniel jumps up, comes into my room, grabs the phone and locks himself in his room. That's when I went outside and found John killing the next hour of exile from his bedroom by visiting with the vehicles in the driveway (see facebook status). Rachel asked at one point why he could climb up on top of the van and she wasn't allowed to when she was younger. Um, because he's sitting. You used the car roof for a trampoline, remember?

Later, sitting outside enjoying the mild evening, I looked up and realized I was the only one of four people outside not wearing a captioned shirt. Chris has one that says "I live in my own little world, but it's okay, they all know me here." It's the first time he's worn it in the 8 months he's lived with us. It was his way of reminding me he now knows he belongs. Rachel is wearing her Holy Grail shirt with the caption "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries". It never ceases to amaze her how few people get the reference. John's shirt says "Sometimes I pee when I laugh." He only wears it for bed. It's a hand me down from Becka... who sometimes did...

Krys headed out before leaving to pick up Steve from work and go home. I don't remember what we all talked about in the driveway... just that there was a lot of laughter. Krys is so excited about her garden.

Yesterday she showed me the plot of land they'd tilled with Steve's peppers and food stuffs planted on one side and Krys' sunflowers on the other. Then we wandered the property munching wild blackberries. We joked about how the grand kids will learn all about wild edibles and foraging because Grandma's just crazy that way.

After Krys went home tonight, Rachel and I came in and had a poking fight. I can't believe my laughing didn't wake up Charlie... especially as she'd shoved (I never did get out of the computer chair) me into the foot of his side of the bed.

Becka and Noeli are the only ones left in the living room now. He was up at 5 to go to work at 6 and hasn't been able to keep his eyes open much since we got home from the ultrasound. She's at one end of the couch, sound asleep... and he's at the other. Just before she fell asleep she let me know they're ready to get the crib next week.

I went back outside and sat watching the clouds floating in front of the moon. After a minute or two, John came out with tears pouring down his cheeks. "I need some snuggles, Mom."
"What's wrong Babe?" I pull him into my lap.
"I miss Patches."
Our older cat, Too Socks... the one who has always been a bit crazy, has taken to sleeping on the top bunk with John. The place that had once been Patches'.
"Maybe Too Socks is missing her too and knows just the person to help her feel less lonely."
I asked if he wanted to plant some flowers over Patches' grave tomorrow. We talked about her and her beautiful colors and chose flowers that each represent the colors in her fur and eyes. Then he drew a picture of what he'd like to put there in place of the heart-shaped collection of river rocks we have now.

I'm suddenly reminded of when he was 4 and drew a picture of the house of his dreams.(Even then he knew we'd need an elevator and more bedrooms.) He drew it in 4 sections then planted the carefully folded drawings around the perimeter of the house, so his dream could grow... and I think 'what if'? Wouldn't it be wonderful to see the fulfillment of a child's faith?
John's finished his drawing. It's "Dedicated to Patches: a friend to one and all, a second mother, ball of beauty, love and compassion. Rest in peace. (You'll need it!!!)
I asked him why she needs it and he smiled through his tears... "For when I get to Heaven."
I asked if it was okay to share this in my blog and he reminded me "Feelings shouldn't be hidden." Collectively, I sometimes think these kids are wiser than I'll ever be.

Everyone but Chris and I are in bed. It's so quiet in the house. There are programs I could catch up on but... not tonight.

Tonight... I think I'll enjoy the quiet... I'm almost relaxed even.

Sometimes it's just nice to be.

formspring.me

2010-05-25T14:27:00.001-04:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/SweetGestalt

Bittersweet Gestalt

Busy Making Other Plans

Deconstructing Tara: Aftermath Pt. 1

In That Order

Just Sayin

Deconstructing Tara: Pilot Pt. 3

Deconstructing Tara: Pilot Pt. 2

Yay, Pepper Spray!

Deconstructing Tara: Pilot

F-F-F-Frustrating

Deconstructing Tara: Title Sequence

Deconstructing Tara

Resolutions

Processing Schmocessing

Title Goes Here

Never Enough

The Plan

There's Always a Price

The Comfort of Same

All I Got

Safe Place

Flashback

I, Me, Us, We

Frustration

Q and A pt 3 for Frank

Q and A pt 2.

Why Now?

Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

And Not the Good Kind

Second Guessing

Depth Peception

Q&A

Pause, Process, Proceed (Companion Post)

Full Stop

Farmer 'Risa

Instinct vs Training

Note to Self...

No way to boil this down to a quote

Must be Menopause

Such Sweet Romance

Department of Redundancy Department

Bright, Shiny, New Day

He'd Kill Me If He Knew

Conclusion

If This is a Test, I'd Really Like to Pass

Hunting License

At a Loss

Pitter Patter

It Works Both Ways

Things To Do

Season of Letting Go

Forest for the Trees

Resentment

News

Feeling Powerless

Different Thinkers

Q&A Episode 1

To-membries

Insensitive? *shrugs* Valid? Definitely

Open for Questions

ASD According to John

Remembering to Breathe

Four Feet, Ten Inches of Brave

Yeah, Sometimes it's Like That

Road to Recovery

Morning Hair

They Say...

Perception vs. Reality

God is Watching!!! (Or What Was Supposed to Be a Comment to Hyperboleandahalf)

Requisite Post

Freeform Friday

Those Days

Ooo, Tuesday!

Haircut Hell

Ack *cough* Spores

Figures...

Change One Thing 2.0

Change One Thing

Wanted: Someone familiar with Blogger to help me improve the look of this thing...

What to do, what to do

Insensitive? shrugs Valid? Definitely

Ack cough Spores