I know, I know....
Long time no see. My apologies. My computer contracted a virus somehow and had to go through some serious treatment, leaving it without any useful software and a complete clean slate of a hard drive.
And everything is gone. My photos, my music, all of my programs that I had (il)legally downloaded...all that. It's hard to get it all back together, and I have yet to start. Because of this, I have resorted to blogging from work, which would appal my mother...
Dylan turned seven two weeks ago. It was a momentous occasion for he and I. It was momentous for him, because he got to go to Six Flags, which he has bothered me about for the last year. It was momentous for me because I'm pretty damn proud I have kept him alive this long. He had an eventful weekend prior to his birthday, which fell on a Tuesday. We went to see Blue Man Group and The Cleveland Indians/Chicago White Sox Game with a dear friend.
On his birthday, I took the day off work (collective gasp) and took him to Six Flags. He was the happiest kid.
Dylan also started the second grade. He has a teacher I've never heard of but he seems to like. His school doesn't do a parent/teacher orientation for some reason (and if they do, I was never made aware of it. Considering they find it necessary to send a note home every time Dylan sharpens his pencil, I assume they would let me know about an opportunity to berate me in person) so I couldn't really tell you what she's like. Not quite yet, anyway.
He is happy because he has some of his old first grade friends in his class. I fear that without that level of familiarity, he would never go to school without kicking and screaming.
I read somewhere that Dylan is at the age where self-esteem really starts developing. This has recently become really important to me. You love your kids so much, you never think they would ever feel anything less than wonderful - because that's how you see them. But, I can see it in him when he starts to feel bad about himself or when he starts to question whether or not he is good enough and it breaks my heart.
Positive reinforcement has become such a big deal to me. Even when an ironic negative spin is put on something, like "psshht...watch us finish this block tower and a huge gust will come through the window!" it affects him. It's sad to watch sometimes, because, although it's not any one's intention, Dylan's feelings get hurt so easily. His self-esteem is so wavering. He is a good kid, a really well behaved kid, especially considering he doesn't have a father-figure. I wish I could sit him down and explain that to him.
Anyway, I have a ton of photos to post, and I will, as soon as I get my computer back in order. These long days are slowly wearing me down.
I always think that at a point things will get easier, they have to. I'm not really sure how, and at times I don't even believe that they will. It's an interesting thing to balance hope when you're a single mom. It's such a negotiation between relief and sacrifice. There are days I just assume it will be just this way forever and I really think I have finally just accepted it as such. There are moments that arise and remind me that there is more than this, that it can be easier.
Those are the days I like the best. The light-at-the-end-of-the-proverbial-tunnel days, where all the hours on my feet and leaned over the tub, and crawling across the living room picking up Lego remnants, and under tables fetching crayons, and at the park chasing footballs and in huge auditoriums echoing Christmas carols, only to go to bed and feel a light saber poke my ass, and wake up 5 hours later to action figure boxers and backpacks and lunch and keys and tied shoes...actually resembles a means to an end...
"If evolution really works, why do mothers only have two hands?" -Milton Berle
Monday, August 24, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
FYI
My stupid boss always sends me forwarded emails and just writes : "FYI" in her part and passes the info along.
...hm...
if the email wasn't sent to me, perhaps that means it doesn't pertain to me. Fancy that.
Anyway, I added a twitter widget over there ------>
so if ya'll start feeling ambitious you can follow me on there. I rarely update, but will start updating more frequently now.
It's a busy day. Just wanted to throw that out there.
...hm...
if the email wasn't sent to me, perhaps that means it doesn't pertain to me. Fancy that.
Anyway, I added a twitter widget over there ------>
so if ya'll start feeling ambitious you can follow me on there. I rarely update, but will start updating more frequently now.
It's a busy day. Just wanted to throw that out there.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Happy Birthday!
Happy 7th Birthday, Dylan!
I've been a mum for 7 years now, all on-the-job training with you as the boss. What a boss to have... Although parenthood isn't always necessarily what I expected, it's more amazing than I could ever put into words. (But here comes the part where I try...)
I remember being pregnant and having experienced parents look at me starry eyed and saying things like, “There's nothing like having a baby. The love you have for them--there's nothing like it,” At first my heart warmed at their nostalgia, but towards the end of pregnancy, I began to lose my patience with it. “Of course it's amazing, I'm growing my own person here. What kind of mom doesn't love their baby? I get it, I know.”
And then I had you, and realized there was no way to experience those depths of emotion without having been there yourself. The other day I was studying your profile as I snuggled you in my lap (which is increasingly awkward to do, with your ever-growing limbs seemingly all over the place) and reflected on my time as your mother and the spectrum of emotions that came with it.
As I studied the perfect swoop of your nose and the precious little bump on your ear and the tiny golden hairs that grow near your hairline, I felt euphoric with love for you, pride at having made you, panic that 7 years with you could have already gone so quickly, and fear and sadness for life's inevitable hardships that you'll be forced to suffer. My heart soars and sings and aches all at the same time with love for you. Contemplating your very existence fills me with excitement and anxiety over what the future may hold. You amaze me and amuse me and the responsibility and honor of raising you to fulfill your potential fills me with wonder and fear.
Even if I did the best job in the whole world of describing the emotions that make up the love that a mother feels for her child, it would still fall radically short of the true feelings in a mom's heart. There truly are no words to explain how much I love you and how glad I am to be your mum. I look forward to seeing what the future holds for you, but selfishly wish you could stay small forever. The last 7 years with you have been a joy, and I know the next 7 will be too (the 7 after that--I'm not so sure). I'm lucky to have a boss like you and I think you're teaching me well. I hope you can say the same for me.
So, Happy Birthday, my little prince.
I like you, I love you, and I'll always protect you.
Always,
Mum
I've been a mum for 7 years now, all on-the-job training with you as the boss. What a boss to have... Although parenthood isn't always necessarily what I expected, it's more amazing than I could ever put into words. (But here comes the part where I try...)
I remember being pregnant and having experienced parents look at me starry eyed and saying things like, “There's nothing like having a baby. The love you have for them--there's nothing like it,” At first my heart warmed at their nostalgia, but towards the end of pregnancy, I began to lose my patience with it. “Of course it's amazing, I'm growing my own person here. What kind of mom doesn't love their baby? I get it, I know.”
And then I had you, and realized there was no way to experience those depths of emotion without having been there yourself. The other day I was studying your profile as I snuggled you in my lap (which is increasingly awkward to do, with your ever-growing limbs seemingly all over the place) and reflected on my time as your mother and the spectrum of emotions that came with it.
As I studied the perfect swoop of your nose and the precious little bump on your ear and the tiny golden hairs that grow near your hairline, I felt euphoric with love for you, pride at having made you, panic that 7 years with you could have already gone so quickly, and fear and sadness for life's inevitable hardships that you'll be forced to suffer. My heart soars and sings and aches all at the same time with love for you. Contemplating your very existence fills me with excitement and anxiety over what the future may hold. You amaze me and amuse me and the responsibility and honor of raising you to fulfill your potential fills me with wonder and fear.
Even if I did the best job in the whole world of describing the emotions that make up the love that a mother feels for her child, it would still fall radically short of the true feelings in a mom's heart. There truly are no words to explain how much I love you and how glad I am to be your mum. I look forward to seeing what the future holds for you, but selfishly wish you could stay small forever. The last 7 years with you have been a joy, and I know the next 7 will be too (the 7 after that--I'm not so sure). I'm lucky to have a boss like you and I think you're teaching me well. I hope you can say the same for me.
So, Happy Birthday, my little prince.
I like you, I love you, and I'll always protect you.
Always,
Mum
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The Importance of Being Earnest
Part of being a single mom includes relying on other people. I have spent a lot of time looking into babysitters this past weekend and have come to the conclusion that no one is normal anymore.
I came across a local girl, from the same town as us, who was 18 and looking for a good babysitting job. She and I exchanged emails twice, and it seemed as if I had finally, finally found someone worth looking into. She was responsible, interested in going to school full time for "either nursing or child development" and just needed money for books and such. I explained what kind of kid Dylan is and what he liked, how he behaved, and told her what I could afford.
We agreed on a price and days. I felt optimistic and called a girlfriend of mine. She googled this young ladies e-mail address. We found her myspace, where she stated she was "high a5 fuk" and how she "~~**mi55e5 her baybie**~~" and invited her friends to join in on the countdown until her 'baybie' gets out of jail. Also on her myspace was a long blog about her recent abortion and how it was a "spiritual moment" for her.
After a shocking few minutes, I thanked God Almighty for not allowing my son to wait in line behind this young lady in line at Walgreens, let alone all day, one-on-one.
So I called a few numbers I had written down.
One woman had a dog barking so loudly in the backgroud, I thought she may have been standing on his tail while holding a megaphone right against his snout.
Another had a smoker's cough that made it hard for me to decipher if she was continuously yelling "AT!" over and over at me, or if she was hacking up phlegm. She was also watching "Wheel of Fortune" at an atrocious volume.
And finally, I called a mousy woman who calls herself "Aunt Fanny." Honest. I can't make this stuff up. She spoke painfully slow about her son and his "tramp of a wife" and how she watches his kids sometimes. They like to do "crafts and such" and sometimes she'll take them for a walk "outdoors" for a "bit of nature".
Um, excuse me, Aunt Fanny. He is seven. His idea of "a bit of nature" involves peeing on your newly-planted rosebush while you aren't looking and while you are bent down marveling at how quickly each rose has withered and died in a matter of minutes, (everyone knows it's the acidic kool-aid piss of children) using a plank from the neighbor's fence as a light saber to swat your adorable little terrirer three yards away...accidentally, of course.
Needless to say, I have reached that hopeless slump where I sort of sit and wonder if there is a way I can somehow be at work and with Dylan at the same time. I start to think of various stories I've read about these remarkable single parents who quit there jobs because they are tired of being disappointed by other people and open a cupcake boutique in a deteriorating neighborhood and how one simple cupcake boutique transformed an entire neighborhood. A real rags to riches story.
...and I realize I want so much less than the average person these days. I would just like someone I can count on.
Obviously, that is too much to ask.
I feel awful that all of this is happening and that Dylan is aware of it. I hate that I have to go through this still, six years into this, you would think it would be clear who we could and couldn't count on. It's not.
I know things will one day be easier for us. Perhaps I will get married or Dylan will be old enough that he can spend a bit of time alone, but all of this is a long road away, and I am so blessed to have such a good kid. (He really is a good kid, despite my tremendous amount of complaining). For example, while typing this, he yelled "AW MUM! I WAS JUST EATING A VANILLA WAFER...UHM...IT'S REDUCED FAT! AND...UM...I SMOOSHED IT ON MY LOOSE TOOTH! AW MAN. THAT WAS AWFUL!" how cute is he?
so cute is the correct answer.
he is so .
cute.
Anyway, tomorrow morning, I am due back at work and my babysitting search has not progressed.
The reason I am on this sitter search is not as simple as it sounds. My mom watches Dylan during the day. I think this is a safe topic, as she has stopped mentioning the blog, and I am led to believe she no longer reads it.
My mom, who was a foster parent for years, watches him during the days and early evening while I work. Since I work two jobs, she usually has him into the evening. She and my dad keep Dylan overnight one night a week. When school starts back up, she will only have him after school for a few hours.
My mom is also home with my 15 year old little sister during this time. She is a handful, truly. But she is the closest thing Dylan has to a sibling, arguments and all. She is the closest thing he has to that kind of companionship and underlying love for someone. Right now, it is hidden under layers and layers of contempt for one another and it drives my parents absolutely nuts. Honestly, though, I think it's a good relationship for both of them to have.
Occasionally, she'll also have my neice, who is my sister's shadow.
Sometimes, life gets in the way. Sometimes my parents get tired. Sometimes the weekend can't come soon enough, sometimes my sister and Dylan are at each other's throats. My work schedule gets cram-packed, Dylan has a bad week where he just drives everyone nuts, Jaclyn gets restless, Mom wants a bath but Dylan keeps talking...
But, in general, this is the way it has been. This is what Dylan depends on. One of my biggest fears was that he would lack consistency, that we wouldn't know what the next day would bring. My parents have provided us with a solution to that problem with love.
I want to say, before I go into too many details, that I understand that things go on within the four walls of a home that don't ever get out. I know there are things that outsiders aren't aware of, yet it still affects them somehow.
Anyway, enough bush beating, yesterday afternoon, while I was vaccuuming my mom left me a voicemail in her crazed, panicked voice where you can tell she wants to yell, and does, but only every few syllables. And she says, in her tiny, frantic tone "Sarah! It's your mom. You need to call me. You need to give me a call."
And there is distance in her voice and I know what is happening and I drop my face in my hands and with nothing, nothing other than dread, I dial the telephone.
My dad answers abruptly, and I wish I could be the first to speak. And I wish I could just slow down what I know is happening. This godawful lump in my throat and all the twisting you could imagine in my stomach and it is as if every ounce of insecurity I hold just below the surface comes out like a typhoon. He is cold and so far away and I wish he weren't.
I have a very difficult time thinking of the way this makes me feel. It's the utmost feeling of abandonment and discouragement of self to be dismissed by your parents. truly. And no other feeling made sense when this conversation was taking place, for the millionth time.
Dad tells me that he and mom never have any free time to do anything and that they know it is because of the kids. He tells me "we're done".
"So, it's mine and Dylan's fault that you don't get to go out?"
"yes, we're done."
"I'll let Dylan know you guys don't want to help with him anymore because you can't go out and have fun."
"I don't really care what you tell him, but the bottom line is that we're done. Effective immediately, we're done."
...and just like that, every weight ever in the whole world topples on me and I feel insane with panic and fear and every other emotion that juts through your heart and renders you helpless.
I would like it if I could say this is the first time he has ever said these same words to me. It's not. This kind of thing happens regularly, in fact, just that morning I was telling a friend that it had been awhile since they sent me into this panic. Anyway, it leaves me in a place of utter distress, where I cannot see straight and am so on edge my chest feels wound with rubber bands.
The reason I mentioned not knowing what goes on in the four walls of a house, is that I never know what brings this on. I never see this coming, and it is always effective immediately. I never know when it will happen. I never know what anyone did to piss them off to the point of not caring about anyone else.
I don't know what brought it on. I am sure it seemed like an effective solution to whatever problem had risen at the moment.
I hadn't said anything to Dylan about any of it until this afternoon, because a day or so had passed and now they aren't answering my calls and I am worried. He overheard me calling Aunt Fanny and asked why.
"because I don't know that Grandma and Papa are going to be able to watch you anymore and I just want to be prepared."
"why can't they watch me?"
"I'm not really sure. I think Grandma is just stressed out."
"are they mad and you're just not tellin' me?"
"No...why?"
"Cause I can be better."
The reality of the situation is that right when I think nothing else can go wrong, it does. The people we rely on can fail us with no reason at all. The way things are never stays that way for long.
I have spent the last two days frantic, trying to find someone competent to watch him. Imagining my boss's response when I call to explain that I suddenly have no babysitter, and so I can't come in to work. . . Yes, I'll say, I know the economy is awful and I should value my job, but ya know, they're done, so I have to figure something out.
Meanwhile, people are interviewing every day for just the position I happen to have called off on for a bullshit reason...You do the math.
Regardless, Dylan is an amazing kid. Anyone who doesn't want a part in his life is just missing out. Their loss. We'll learn to get by.
A child needs a grandparent, anybody's grandparent, to grow a little more securely into an unfamiliar world. -Charles Morse
I came across a local girl, from the same town as us, who was 18 and looking for a good babysitting job. She and I exchanged emails twice, and it seemed as if I had finally, finally found someone worth looking into. She was responsible, interested in going to school full time for "either nursing or child development" and just needed money for books and such. I explained what kind of kid Dylan is and what he liked, how he behaved, and told her what I could afford.
We agreed on a price and days. I felt optimistic and called a girlfriend of mine. She googled this young ladies e-mail address. We found her myspace, where she stated she was "high a5 fuk" and how she "~~**mi55e5 her baybie**~~" and invited her friends to join in on the countdown until her 'baybie' gets out of jail. Also on her myspace was a long blog about her recent abortion and how it was a "spiritual moment" for her.
After a shocking few minutes, I thanked God Almighty for not allowing my son to wait in line behind this young lady in line at Walgreens, let alone all day, one-on-one.
So I called a few numbers I had written down.
One woman had a dog barking so loudly in the backgroud, I thought she may have been standing on his tail while holding a megaphone right against his snout.
Another had a smoker's cough that made it hard for me to decipher if she was continuously yelling "AT!" over and over at me, or if she was hacking up phlegm. She was also watching "Wheel of Fortune" at an atrocious volume.
And finally, I called a mousy woman who calls herself "Aunt Fanny." Honest. I can't make this stuff up. She spoke painfully slow about her son and his "tramp of a wife" and how she watches his kids sometimes. They like to do "crafts and such" and sometimes she'll take them for a walk "outdoors" for a "bit of nature".
Um, excuse me, Aunt Fanny. He is seven. His idea of "a bit of nature" involves peeing on your newly-planted rosebush while you aren't looking and while you are bent down marveling at how quickly each rose has withered and died in a matter of minutes, (everyone knows it's the acidic kool-aid piss of children) using a plank from the neighbor's fence as a light saber to swat your adorable little terrirer three yards away...accidentally, of course.
Needless to say, I have reached that hopeless slump where I sort of sit and wonder if there is a way I can somehow be at work and with Dylan at the same time. I start to think of various stories I've read about these remarkable single parents who quit there jobs because they are tired of being disappointed by other people and open a cupcake boutique in a deteriorating neighborhood and how one simple cupcake boutique transformed an entire neighborhood. A real rags to riches story.
...and I realize I want so much less than the average person these days. I would just like someone I can count on.
Obviously, that is too much to ask.
I feel awful that all of this is happening and that Dylan is aware of it. I hate that I have to go through this still, six years into this, you would think it would be clear who we could and couldn't count on. It's not.
I know things will one day be easier for us. Perhaps I will get married or Dylan will be old enough that he can spend a bit of time alone, but all of this is a long road away, and I am so blessed to have such a good kid. (He really is a good kid, despite my tremendous amount of complaining). For example, while typing this, he yelled "AW MUM! I WAS JUST EATING A VANILLA WAFER...UHM...IT'S REDUCED FAT! AND...UM...I SMOOSHED IT ON MY LOOSE TOOTH! AW MAN. THAT WAS AWFUL!" how cute is he?
so cute is the correct answer.
he is so .
cute.
Anyway, tomorrow morning, I am due back at work and my babysitting search has not progressed.
The reason I am on this sitter search is not as simple as it sounds. My mom watches Dylan during the day. I think this is a safe topic, as she has stopped mentioning the blog, and I am led to believe she no longer reads it.
My mom, who was a foster parent for years, watches him during the days and early evening while I work. Since I work two jobs, she usually has him into the evening. She and my dad keep Dylan overnight one night a week. When school starts back up, she will only have him after school for a few hours.
My mom is also home with my 15 year old little sister during this time. She is a handful, truly. But she is the closest thing Dylan has to a sibling, arguments and all. She is the closest thing he has to that kind of companionship and underlying love for someone. Right now, it is hidden under layers and layers of contempt for one another and it drives my parents absolutely nuts. Honestly, though, I think it's a good relationship for both of them to have.
Occasionally, she'll also have my neice, who is my sister's shadow.
Sometimes, life gets in the way. Sometimes my parents get tired. Sometimes the weekend can't come soon enough, sometimes my sister and Dylan are at each other's throats. My work schedule gets cram-packed, Dylan has a bad week where he just drives everyone nuts, Jaclyn gets restless, Mom wants a bath but Dylan keeps talking...
But, in general, this is the way it has been. This is what Dylan depends on. One of my biggest fears was that he would lack consistency, that we wouldn't know what the next day would bring. My parents have provided us with a solution to that problem with love.
I want to say, before I go into too many details, that I understand that things go on within the four walls of a home that don't ever get out. I know there are things that outsiders aren't aware of, yet it still affects them somehow.
Anyway, enough bush beating, yesterday afternoon, while I was vaccuuming my mom left me a voicemail in her crazed, panicked voice where you can tell she wants to yell, and does, but only every few syllables. And she says, in her tiny, frantic tone "Sarah! It's your mom. You need to call me. You need to give me a call."
And there is distance in her voice and I know what is happening and I drop my face in my hands and with nothing, nothing other than dread, I dial the telephone.
My dad answers abruptly, and I wish I could be the first to speak. And I wish I could just slow down what I know is happening. This godawful lump in my throat and all the twisting you could imagine in my stomach and it is as if every ounce of insecurity I hold just below the surface comes out like a typhoon. He is cold and so far away and I wish he weren't.
I have a very difficult time thinking of the way this makes me feel. It's the utmost feeling of abandonment and discouragement of self to be dismissed by your parents. truly. And no other feeling made sense when this conversation was taking place, for the millionth time.
Dad tells me that he and mom never have any free time to do anything and that they know it is because of the kids. He tells me "we're done".
"So, it's mine and Dylan's fault that you don't get to go out?"
"yes, we're done."
"I'll let Dylan know you guys don't want to help with him anymore because you can't go out and have fun."
"I don't really care what you tell him, but the bottom line is that we're done. Effective immediately, we're done."
...and just like that, every weight ever in the whole world topples on me and I feel insane with panic and fear and every other emotion that juts through your heart and renders you helpless.
I would like it if I could say this is the first time he has ever said these same words to me. It's not. This kind of thing happens regularly, in fact, just that morning I was telling a friend that it had been awhile since they sent me into this panic. Anyway, it leaves me in a place of utter distress, where I cannot see straight and am so on edge my chest feels wound with rubber bands.
The reason I mentioned not knowing what goes on in the four walls of a house, is that I never know what brings this on. I never see this coming, and it is always effective immediately. I never know when it will happen. I never know what anyone did to piss them off to the point of not caring about anyone else.
I don't know what brought it on. I am sure it seemed like an effective solution to whatever problem had risen at the moment.
I hadn't said anything to Dylan about any of it until this afternoon, because a day or so had passed and now they aren't answering my calls and I am worried. He overheard me calling Aunt Fanny and asked why.
"because I don't know that Grandma and Papa are going to be able to watch you anymore and I just want to be prepared."
"why can't they watch me?"
"I'm not really sure. I think Grandma is just stressed out."
"are they mad and you're just not tellin' me?"
"No...why?"
"Cause I can be better."
The reality of the situation is that right when I think nothing else can go wrong, it does. The people we rely on can fail us with no reason at all. The way things are never stays that way for long.
I have spent the last two days frantic, trying to find someone competent to watch him. Imagining my boss's response when I call to explain that I suddenly have no babysitter, and so I can't come in to work. . . Yes, I'll say, I know the economy is awful and I should value my job, but ya know, they're done, so I have to figure something out.
Meanwhile, people are interviewing every day for just the position I happen to have called off on for a bullshit reason...You do the math.
Regardless, Dylan is an amazing kid. Anyone who doesn't want a part in his life is just missing out. Their loss. We'll learn to get by.
A child needs a grandparent, anybody's grandparent, to grow a little more securely into an unfamiliar world. -Charles Morse
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