Wednesday, August 4, 2021

How It Went

We moved Alyssa to College Town the last weekend in July. It took three vehicles to carry all her stuff. I mean, she might have been able to condense it had it been absolutely necessary but since we had N’s truck (mostly for the desk and chair), my car and Alyssa’s car, we made the most of the room we had.

We started packing up the vehicles around 1:00 and were on the road by 2:00. It takes us about an hour and twenty minutes from driveway to driveway. So, yeah, not that big a deal.

We got all her boxes, the desk, the new air fryer, and, most importantly, her backpack in which Bubby, her stuffed dog, was zipped with just his head out for show, moved into the living room of N’s sister’s house. Poor L and T (L is N’s sister, T is the sister’s husband.)

We didn’t take it all upstairs, which is where A and N will be living (two bedrooms and a bathroom) because N wanted clean the rooms before filling them up with Lyss’s stuff. I get that but the piles of boxes in the living room made me feel bad for L and T.

Anyway! We offered to take A and N out to eat before we headed west for home. We ended up at Denny’s.

**Note to self: Do not order Denny’s patty melt…ever again. Remember those last twenty minutes in the car before the next gas station came into sight…just saying.**

Ahem. Lunch/dinner was fine, we headed back to the house to get my car and go home. We hugged in the house and then again in the driveway. Tom gave an exaggerated wail and the three of us, Tom, Olivia and I, got in my car.

We were fine even as Lyss waved from the front porch.

As we drove away, all was well. We were maybe twenty minutes away when Tom said something about Alyssa’s room.

For what it’s worth, we’d had this conversation before, with him insisting that it’s silly to keep it as it is because it’s SPACE and we need (read: HE needs that space.) He does not need that space. He has a barn (it’s a small barn but it’s still a BARN.), a detached garage with a loft (so, two stories) the entire basement, through which I walk a path between his rows upon rows of STUFF to the laundry room. He also has the family room and about a quarter of the living room.

All of that space mentioned in the paragraph above? It’s dedicated to eBay storage. Yes. Let that sink in.

So when I made some kind of noise when he mentioned taking of Lyss’s room all of three hours after she moved out for her freshman year of college, he asked defensively, “Well, what do you want to do with her room?”

I said simply, “I want to let it be her room.”

He wanted to know why. According to him, she’ll NEVER live in our house again.

Dude, never say never. And wait, what the actual hell? She’s eighteen years old. She’s going to come home for holidays, he has no idea if she’ll ever be home to live again. Instead of saying all that, I started crying.

Because why not?

He was shocked. Why was I crying? He said, “I thought you were over it.”

I sniffled. “I’m not crying because she’s moved away to school. I just want to let her keep her room in our house for at least this first year. We don’t know what’s going to come. She needs to be able to always come home.”

He made some kind of noise and I sniffled some more. My nose got all stuffed up from the crying and then the patty melt from Denny’s kicked in.

Just before we reached the gas station that brought me great relief, Tom agreed, “We can keep it her room for awhile.”

That’s big of him, right? But honestly, it’s the right thing to do, for her and for me.

The next morning, I woke up with a head cold. Late that day, as I walked around sniffing and coughing, Olivia asked me how I caught a cold.

I told her that Dad made me cry the day before and that made my nose stuffy and it just never got unstuffy.

She declared, “So it’s Dad’s fault you have a cold?”

Sure, let’s go with that.

Wednesday, July 21, 2021

Just a Hair Away from Ordinary

Back when I was told I had cancer and then informed that I would lose my hair during chemo, I didn’t care. I mean, I was fighting for my life. I was willing to sacrifice my hair in order to live. It was a no-brainer, right?

Right.

So during treatment and my subsequent baldness, I didn’t let it bother me.

Though, honestly, what the hell, cancer treatments? It’s bad enough to hear that you have cancer but do we have to lose our hair too? It’s just adding insult to injury, you know?

Now, though, I’m almost four years out from when I got my diagnosis. My hair has been growing out for over three years. It’s back to the texture it was before treatment, though to be honest, it’s a little thinner/finer than it was before. At least it seems that way to me.

But it grew. It came back and for the past few months, I’ve hated it. I wore it in a ponytail every single day. It was past my shoulders and felt limp and thin and stringy; not pretty, nothing to be proud of.

So, one recent Wednesday (how’s that for bringing it full circle?) I took a quick shower after screaming at Olivia for making a mess during her own shower (OMG, that is a post for another day…) and after my shower, I grabbed the scissors and made that first irreversible chop. I cut a good four inches off my hair.

Then I went to Alyssa’s room and handed her the scissors with the request, “Please make the left side look like the right side.”

And she did. She did a great job. She snipped and cut and did that angled thing around my face and you know what? I finally, FINALLY like my air again. It falls somewhere between my chin and my shoulders. It’s pretty much all one length and it looks so much fuller and healthier. I stand in the front of my fan for maybe two minutes each morning and flip it over to get it kind of dry and then I go. I don’t use product, I don’t scrunch it, I don’t straighten it or blow it dry. I just wash it, comb it, use the fan to dry it a little and I go. And it’s so freeing.

I haven’t felt this free about my stupid hair since the say my mom and girls shaved my head on the sixteenth day after my first chemo.

I just realized that I no longer had to grow my hair out just because I could. I didn’t have anything to prove anymore. I don’t have to let it keep growing just because I’ve been bald. I can cut it and enjoy it and still be grateful for it. I can stop fighting with it and let it be a little shorter and a lot cuter.

Cancer took a lot from me. It took my health, it took my freedom, it took my hair. But I’ve come so far since those days of fighting cancer…and so has my hair.

Wednesday, July 14, 2021

14 Years of 5p-

Although Olivia was two years old when finally diagnosed with 5p- syndrome, obviously, she’s been living with it her whole life.

At the time of her diagnosis, her doctor, the lovely, wonderful Dr. S told us that when Olivia is older, she will get to decide who knows she has 5p- and who doesn’t.

At the time, I was torn. I mean, yes, I want her to be able to pick and choose who knows what about her. But I also kind of wanted the world to be able to see her struggles so that people would be kinder and maybe more patient. Yeah, we all know how that works, right?

I learned early on that having an ‘invisible disability’ is a double-edged sword. There are benefits and drawbacks. Isn’t that how it is with most things in life, though?

We’ve always been open with family about O’s diagnosis. There was no reason to keep it a secret. She is who she is and she’s perfectly awesome even with her diagnosis. Yes, yes, I would STILL give her back that missing part of her chromosome, even these fourteen years later. I would take away that struggle because the world is hard enough to fit into without extra complications.

Anyway!

While at my aunt’s house over the 4th of July weekend, we were all sitting around a table, just doing what families do. My aunt said something about O’s syndrome as she was talking about my cousin H’s daughter and her struggles and my nephew stopped my aunt.

“Wait,” J said. “There’s something wrong with Olivia?”

Olivia looked at him and said casually, “I have 5p- syndrome.”

He looked confused and asked, “What does that mean?”

I explained about the missing chromosome and told him about how things are sometimes harder for Olivia and take her longer to figure out. Olivia is 357 days older than J (to save everyone from doing dreaded math, that’s 8 days short of being a full year older.) I told J that when he started walking when he was 13 months old, Olivia, at just over two years old, saw him doing that and figured if he could do it she could too, which is about when she started walking.

He grinned at that and the subject was dropped.

But it made me think. J hadn’t known that Olivia has a syndrome. To J, she’s just Olivia. A little quirky, maybe a little different but not ‘wrong.’ Sure, she has some weird habits (flapping, stimming, being immature for her age) but again, to him, that was just Olivia.

And that warmed my heart. It reminded me of that day in the doctor’s office all those years ago. It made me thankful for ‘invisible’ disabilities, and how because of them, my daughter is just Olivia, all her idiosyncrasies just adding to what makes her special and loved by family and friends alike.

Tuesday, July 13, 2021

An Ordinary Reunion

As always (except in 2020, which, how many times have we all said that in the past year?) we attended the Ordinary family reunion. This year was the 95th Annual Ordinary Reunion. Last year would have been the 95th, had we had the reunion last year.

Alas, Covid.

Anyway! Things are getting better, people are vaccinated, and we gathered, hugged and probably passed all kinds of germs back and forth. Olivia and I both have some sort of cold, so take that for what’s it’s worth.

The reunion is A Thing to Tom’s family. I mean, it’s fine and fun and I’m glad it’s just once a year. But the Ordinarys take it pretty seriously. They have a committee and everything. For several years (like…seven? Twelve? I don’t even know.) Tom was the president of the reunion committee. His youngest sister is the hospitality crew. Okay, she’s not the entire crew. That would be weird. No, her husband (who once ‘not all men’d me on FB and I almost unfriended him but instead just unfollowed and all is well because of that) is the rest of her crew.

Tom’s other sister, the one with terminal cancer, is the secretary of the reunion committee. Her daughter is the treasurer. At the reunion, L, the current secretary said we needed to vote in a new secretary because she might not be at the next reunion. Sigh. I mean, talk about sad thoughts.

But the reunion must go on and so names were tossed around. L tried to suggest I take on the secretarial role.

I meekly declined, saying softly that I thought that perhaps the job should go to someone who had not married into the Ordinary family. I mean, hell, I’ll use any excuse I can to get out of it.

One of the oldest Ordinary sisters suggested another woman, and that woman declared, “I’m very unreliable.”

And that, folks, is going to be my new go to when someone asks me to do something I don’t want to do. I will simply state, “I’m very unreliable.”

And I will leave it at that. No further explanations necessary.

Okay, unreliable lady did further explain that she suffers from chronic pain and so spends about 18 hours in bed. Which is sad and I’m sorry for her. But I kind of wish she’d just left it at, “I’m very unreliable.”

The treasurer ended up taking the job of secretary, which is very big of her. I’m proud of her as she navigates the world right now. I mean, she lost her wife last August, her mom is currently considered terminal, life just kind of sucks and she’s keeping her head up and trying to find joy in the world. We should all be more like her instead of bitching about corn on the cob.

Late that evening I asked Tom what all the secretary has to do because he was talking about how the treasurer doesn’t actually have a lot of responsibility except, you know, money, which?!?

The secretary’s responsibilities are: -Take notes during the reunion meeting (have I mentioned that after everyone eats, they (we) all sit around and everyone shares what’s happened in their family over the previous year. Yeah, so taking notes during that would be fun, right? -Keep a book of addresses each year, passing around a notebook for everyone to sign in and write down if their address or phone number has changed. Sure, that’s great fun too, nagging everyone to sign the book, since people are awful about that kind of thing. -Reserve the pavilion in which the reunion is held. You know how much I love calling people and doing shit like that? Yeah, not at all, right? -Create the yearly letter that goes out sometime in late May or early June reminding everyone that the reunion is the second Sunday in July, like it has been for 95 years. -Mail out said letter to everyone in the address book you keep.

Yeah, I’m taking a hard pass at all of the above. I don’t do that for my family of origin, why would I do it for the family I married into? Just because I spawned a couple of Ordinarys doesn’t mean I want to take on the responsibility of them seeing their extended family every July. Nope. Leave that to the next generation, is what I suggested. I told Alyssa her time as president is coming.

She deadpanned, “I’m very unreliable.”

Friday, July 9, 2021

My Apologies

I apologize for everything. If the weather isn’t what you’d hoped it would, I will tell you I’m sorry. If the fan I bought shakes when put together, even if I took it apart three time and then put it back to gether and it STILL shakes due to an unbalanced blade, I will apologize.

Obviously, none of this is my fault. Duh. But I can’t help it.

Growing up, my dad apologized for everything. He was always sorry. I remember wondering why he was apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault.

Yes, I see the irony of that sentence up there. I also know that I come by it naturally. But knowing that doesn’t stop me from being annoyed by it.

And then, recently, I’ve noticed that Olivia is telling me sorry for things that are very much not her fault and it…it breaks my heart.

I’m perpetuating the cycle and it makes me crazy. It makes me sad and mad and sick to my stomach.

I don’t want her to apologize for the traffic or the weather or the sunburn you got yesterday because YOU forgot to put on sunscreen. Heck, to be honest, I don’t want to apologize for those things either. I want us to be able to go about our day not feeling like every little thing is our fault.

I have to nip this in the bud. I have to stop saying I’m sorry for everything so that I can help her NOT get into the habit of doing it to the point that she can’t stop herself. I hate it and I don’t want her to get to this point to.

So…I’m trying to figure out how to stop. I need to be more deliberate in what I’m saying and how I’m saying it and, yes, even WHY I’m saying things. That’s the only way I know to start.

Wish me luck?

Thursday, July 8, 2021

Anticipating the New Normal

Alyssa told me recently that her last day at her current job is July 30th. She’s planning to move to her college town in the days following her last day at work.

Yes, I have FEELINGS about this. However, I understand her reasoning for moving to College Town three-ish weeks before classes start. She wants to find a job (she plans to work about 15 hours a week) and just get settled in before school starts.

I get it. But yes, there are those FEELINGS. Those FEELINGS though, are mine to deal with, not hers. I want her to fly free and enjoy this time. I want her to embrace her freedom and her youth and wring the joy out of it all.

Her best friend is going to the same College Town and I’m so happy for them to be there together.

We’re going to miss her but remember, College Town is only an hour away. And even if she doesn’t come home often, just knowing she CAN come home will be enough.

So Olivia and I went away for the long 4th of July weekend. I took Friday, July 2nd off work and we went with my mom and my nephews to Battle Creek, Michigan for the weekend. We had great fun (though, seven year old nephew is a raging brat) and it was nice to just be for a bit.

But Lyss wasn’t there. She had to work that Friday and then planned to spend the weekend hanging out with friends. She was missed.

I felt like that weekend was a precursor to the coming months when she’s away at college. She will be missed.

Life will go on. Olivia and I will continue to do things together and Alyssa will come home and seamlessly fit back into our lives while she’s home but things will never, ever be as they were even a few months ago.

And yes, there are my FEELINGS again. They bubble up and threaten to erupt. I feel them and let them simmer and they calm down to manageable proportions.

We’ll be fine. It may be rough here and there but life is about change and embracing the new and exciting things that come your way. We’ll miss her but we’re so happy for her and there you have the push and pull of growing up.

Wednesday, July 7, 2021

You Know What I Hate?

Corn on the fucking cob. I hate it so much. The only good thing about corn on the cob is eating it.

The rest...sucks. It sucks so, so much.

My mom called me one random Tuesday and asked if I'd been to Wal-Mart that day. I had. She asked if I'd bought any corn on the cob. I hadn't.

She was surprised because it was on sale. 20 ears for a dollar. OMG! Really? Like wow.

But, I surmised, it wasn't shucked was it?

She confirmed that it was not shucked.

Big surprise.

Guess what? I HATE shucking corn. I hate it so much. I hate it with the passion of a thousand suns. All the unshucked corn in the entire world could disappear and I wouldn't be sad.

I hate it.

I also hate cooking corn on the cob.

But it's so easy, you say.

I know! I know how easy it is to boil the stupid stuff. But I still hate it. I hate it almost as much as I hate shucking the stupid ears.

Guess what else I hate. I hate cutting the corn off the cob. Gues who my kids prefer to eat their corn on the cob. Yep, they prefer to eat it OFF the cob. Guess who always has to cut the fucking corn off the cob. It's not Tom who usually does the cutting, is all I'm saying.

So after telling me about the Walmart sale of unshucked corn on the cob, my mom offered me some of the corn she'd purchased.

I declined that day, saying it was Tom's birthday and so I already had dinner planned.

So she suggested I go to her house the next day and get the corn.

FINE, I'll get some stupid corn from her.

But no, lovely woman that she is, she BROUGHT IT TO US, that very night. Because she loves my daughters and hates me.

So the next day, today, in fact, I shucked that fucking corn (Alyssa helped because she loves me and I bitched the entire time and she thought it was funny that I was bitching about how much I HATE SHUCKING CORN.)

Then I boiled those stupid ears.

After boiling them, I cut the stupid corn of the fucking cobs and my girls had a feast.

You know what? It would be hard to eat corn on the cob with no fucking teeth.

Thursday, July 1, 2021

It Was Fine

All that worry about my family being dicks was for naught. Everything was fine.

In fact, the graduation party was an unmitigated success. There was plenty of food, there were gifts and decorations. People showed up and stayed for hours.

My mom’s heart even seemed to thaw a bit. Miracle never cease.

We had scheduled the party for 1 to 4. We met the trustee (one of Lyss’s teachers) at 10. He unlocked the building for us and we got started on the set up.

Tom thought it was ridiculous for us to start setting up that early. Ha! Showed him. We were still getting the food out when people started arriving at 12:55.

Yes, of course someone arrived five minutes early. Why wouldn’t they? And obviously it was someone from my dad’s side of the family. Phil is just That Guy.

But whatever. It was fine.

Everything was fine. I think people had fun. I know they ate and talked and laughed and balloons were tossed and children sweated outside on the playground.

Alyssa smiled and greeted her guests and sat with her friends. She ate macaroni and cheese and mingled and Olivia irritated her to no end.

It was fine. It was great even.

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

Finally, the Post About Graduation

There was never any doubt that we’d get here but it feels like it happened in the blink of an eye.

I so clearly remember riding in a car driven by Tom down a side street in Huntington, Indiana. I was about halfway through my pregnancy with Alyssa. I was just starting to show and you could finally see her moving.

I’d had a miscarriage before I got pregnant with Alyssa. As we drove down that street, my breath hitched when I realized that it could still happen again. Tom gave me an odd look and asked what was wrong. I asked him, “What if I lose this baby too?”

He tried to console me by saying if that happened, we’d try again.

I shook my head, “But I want this baby. I don’t want any other baby, just this one.”

That baby graduated from high school last week. The baby I cried for and wanted so desperately before she was even born is eighteen years old and heading off to college in the fall.

There were some REALLY long days interspersed through these past eighteen years but those years? They flew.

I am so proud of who she is. I’m so proud of how hard she works and how much she cares and how kind she is. She’s so smart and confident and funny. I am so lucky to be a part of her life, so have brought her into this world and to be able to watch her do amazing things.

She was the baby I wanted even though I didn’t even know her as I cried over the thought of losing her. She is magical and mystical and she surprises me all the time as she continues to find herself. I hope the confidence she’s cultivated through her high school years continues and grows during her years in college. I hope she makes more amazing friends and continues to hone her strengths and talents.

But most of all, I hope she’s happy. I hope she finds her people and her way and does the things that make her the happiest.

Fly high, sweet girl. Be the best you you can be.

Saturday, June 26, 2021

Your Nerd Is Showing

I work at a place that has an IT team. This is so very different from my previous job where we had an IT guy, and he worked in a different office, which was a full hour drive away from our facility.

Here, we have six members of the IT team, two of which work at another plant, which is less than a mile away. The other four work about fifty steps from my desk.

These guys pass my desk multiple times a day.

One afternoon, one of the IT guys happened to stop for a minute for a quick chat. He mentioned his cats. He said he has a few that live in his garage and one that lives in his house.

He explained that the house cat used to be his neighbor’s cat but said neighbor didn’t take care of kitty and so kitty became IT guy’s cat. Kitty lives in the house because IT guy doesn’t want neighbor to get any ideas about taking kitty back.

I told him he was a hero for taking kitty out of a bad situation.

Then he told me that kitty’s name is Bat Man.

I immediately asked, “Do you sometimes call him Bruce?”

IT guy’s eyes lit up and he smiled, as if thrilled that someone had actually asked that question. Still smiling, he answered, “Yes, yes, I do.”

We shared a nerdy laugh and the conversation ended.

There’s no point to this story whatsoever except to point out that sometimes you’re surprised to find fellow nerds and sometimes, you get to surprise fellow nerds with your own nerdiness.

That day I let my nerd flag fly.

Tuesday, June 22, 2021

Sleep: Part 6570

But seriously, when you have a 14 year old and an 18 year old, you don’t think those delightful offspring of yours will be contributing to your sleep, or lack of. Right?

Wrong.

So, so wrong.

My children are beasts. I’ve said that from the start, way back when I was blogging on March of Dimes Share Your Story. My complaints about my children’s sleep habits are legendary in some circles.

In fact, once I met some of the women from MOD SYS they ‘joked’ that I needed our yearly conferences just so I could sleep through the night with a bed all to myself.

You know what’s not funny anymore?

Being woken up several times a night for many nights in a row by my children.

These children, need I remind you, are TEENAGERS.

And still they wake me up through the night.

Summer has wrought havoc on O’s sleep schedule.

Tom lets her sleep until 11:30 or noon each day, which means when I’m heading to bed at 9:30 or 10 (let’s remember, I’m not on summer break, so I still get up no later than 6 each morning) she’s nowhere near ready to go to sleep.

I don’t want to drug her (aka, give her Tylenol PM) each night to make her ‘sleepy’ when I go to bed. That’s not fair or right.

But I also don’t want to make her go to bed when I do so that she can toss and turn for HOURS, flashing her freaking book light (she sleeps with a book light instead of a teddy bear) across the ceiling, into the hall, down the street, into the attic, everywhere that will annoy me and keep me from sleeping well.

Have I mentioned before that I really like it to be DARK when I sleep? As in, please don’t shine your book light into my eyes and ask me if I’m awake.

Sigh.

So that’s the younger beast.

The older beast, the ADULT beast, has been working four days a week since the week after her graduation party (so, like two weeks…) She works 4pm to midnight. Which sounds great, right?

Except in the two weeks she’s worked this schedule, she has texted me no earlier than 9:45 on several nights to say she’s going to come home at midnight, shower and then go to a friend’s house. The friend is either Tessa or N. So that’s fun.

I don’t actually care that she’s going to friends’ houses, I just wish she’d make this decision before 9:30 each night so that I’m not jolted out of my falling asleep routine and made to make decisions, replies, what have you, past the point where I can function as a decent human being.

The most recent event, the one that broke the jumping sheep’s back, was a night when I’d declared to Olivia that I was going to bed at 9:30 and she was going to stay up with her dad until she was decently tired enough to JUST GO TO SLEEP. Ahem. Yes.

So I went up, Olivia followed me long enough to get her teeth brushed and her orthodontic rubber bands put in and then she bolted back to her tablet. Lucky me, I settled in and fell asleep before 10:30, which is a freaking record these days.

12:15: Alyssa came in. “Mom?” she whispered. “They let us go a half hour early. N’s home for four days. Can I go to Twyla’s house and see her?”

I mumbled that that was fine, but was she coming home or spending the night with N?

She said, “I don’t know yet. I’ll text you.”

“No,” I insisted. “I either won’t get it until morning or it will wake me up (I didn’t say AGAIN, but I thought it.) Decide now and leave your dad a note so he doesn’t come up at 3am to tell me you’re not home and demand to know if I know where you are.”

She agreed to these terms and off she went. Ten minutes later, I heard Olivia making her way upstairs.

A half hour after that, I woke up again to Alyssa whispering to me. “Mom? They movie they were watching at Tyla’s was just finishing when I got there so I came home brought N with me.”

I struggled to wake up AGAIN and asked, “Did you leave your dad a note about N being here?”

She told me she did.

At that point, I realized that bathroom light was on and asked her what the hell Olivia was doing in there.

She said that Liv was sitting on the toilet.

I pulled my tired ass out of bed and went to the bathroom to whine at O. She grudgingly made her way to her bed where I insisted that she either turn off that damned book light or place it somewhere (under her pillow, for example) it wouldn’t shine across the entire room.

At that point, I think everyone went to sleep and I didn’t wake up again until my alarm went off at 5:10. So…I got about 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Must be a record.

Honestly, it hasn’t been this bad since Olivia was 8 years old.

Monday, May 31, 2021

Just Ignore This One

At work over the past couple of years I've been tasked with creating a monthly ‘health newsletter’. Yeah, it’s as exciting as it sounds.

But one thing I’ve realized as I work on the articles that are in these newsletters is that more often than not, articles about exercise and nutrition piss me off.

When some ‘expert’ writes about overtraining and suggests that ‘after particularly hard day, give yourself a break that next day. Go on a gentle hike or take a yoga class.’

I just want to puke.

First of all, who the hell has time to ‘go on a gentle hike’? I know I don’t. I don’t leave anywhere near a place to hike, so I’d have to DRIVE somewhere to do it.

I work 40+ hours a week. Then I go home and do a minimum of 20 minutes of homework with Olivia each night. After that, I make dinner and clean up after dinner. THEN I pack lunches. If I’m lucky and it’s not Olivia’s bath/shower night, I’m done around 7:30. Who want to go on a hike at that point?

Not me, that’s for sure. And a yoga class? I don’t live anywhere near a place where I could take a yoga class in person so it would have to be done in my living room with an audience. No thank you.

I read the blog of a woman (why do I read this blog when it irritates me so much? That’s a question for another day.) who claims to go for 4+ mile walks or do some sort of Facebook workout each day before the kids she babysits for show up. This woman had six kids of her own and babysits in her home. Supposedly, if one of her teenagers is home, she’ll just trot out for an hour in the middle of the day and go for a ‘run.’

**This reminds me of way back when there were ‘discussion boards’. I often visited one at iVillage and there was women (who turned out to be a troll) who’d post on a board for step-parents. The line I remember most is when she once wrote, “I insist on a hot breakfast.” I read that with a snotty little smirk, like people who serve their kids Lucky Charms with extra marshmallows should be forced to relinquish custody. This troll would often talk about how he and her husband would go for walks in the evenings after the kids (I think she claimed there were six of them) were in bed. Sure. Sure they did.**

Can you hear my eyes rolling from here? Give me a break.

I know there are people who make exercise a priority. Bully for them.

I read an article recently (again for the work newsletter) that talked about not making exercise about losing weight. It suggested that people instead make exercise about being healthy.

Duh. Like we don’t all know that.

It also nagged about how a person shouldn’t make themselves do workouts they don’t enjoy. That sort of thing isn’t sustainable. You think?

I think my bad attitude comes from the fact that I KNOW what I SHOULD be doing. I KNOW! But I don’t know how to make what I should be doing a priority. Instead, I have to prioritize homework, and making a living so we can pay our bills and keep a roof over our head. I have to make dinner and clean up. I have to pack lunches and at some point, I just have to be done doing and doing and doing.

So the thought of going out at 8pm (because I am NOT getting up before 5:45 to exercise) and exercising is not attractive to me. Even if I could find an exercise that I might actually enjoy (hahahhaha) actually doing that exercise at the end of a day that started at 5:45am and is still going at 8pm is probably out of the question.

Just ignore this post. I felt the need to whine and bitch and sometimes. Getting it out of my head makes me less likely to be bitchy about it, even if I don’t vocalize it, when I get home.

Friday, May 28, 2021

The No-Good, Very Bad McDonald's

We were on our way home from a track meet and Alyssa asked if we could stop at McDonald’s and get her a McDouble, fries and a strawberry shake.

I said sure and we headed north and west, toward home and the nearest McD’s. We were about an hour away from home, in Defiance, Ohio.

We found the McD’s and took our place in the drive-thru line. The line wasn’t bad when we got there. It got much worse soon after we arrived.

I placed our order: 1 McDouble cheese burger 1 six-piece chicken McNuggets with ranch 2 medium fries 1 medium strawberry shake 1 medium chocolate shake 1 large Coke 1 water

We head to the first window where we handed over our $17.31, exact change, thank you very much because I’m ancient and it’s what I do. They were lucky I didn’t have an actual change purse carrying all my coins.

We got to the second window and the girl inside asked, “What did you have?”

I told her and she handed us our water, Coke and a bag of food. I asked about the shakes.

She looked confused and asked someone inside if they’d ‘made’ the shakes.

You know that at McD’s, you don’t actually MAKE shakes, right? You just pour the milky substance from the machine into the cups. It’s not complicated.

She then asked us to please go park in “Drive-Thru Reserved Parking #2.”

Mmmm, okay. We did this and Alyssa ate her McDouble in about four bites. She was hungry. She snacked on her fries while we waited for her strawberry shake.

My mom ate her fries and we waited for the shakes. We hoped whoever brought the shakes would also bring straws for our Coke and water since they hadn’t been place in the bag with the food like they usually were.

I looked at the clock and it was 7:06. I declared that at 7:15, I would go inside, Covid be damned, and ask for the shakes.

My mom decided that was a ridiculous amount of time to wait and stomped inside.

She came out with straws but no shakes.

She said that the straws were just inside the door so she’d just grabbed them and left.

I had been waiting for the straw to eat my McNuggets because I wanted to drink the sweet, sweet Coke while I ate.

I ate a nugget and took a drink of the Coke. It tasted weird but I thought nothing of it. It was similar to when I’d had issues with my taste buds right after chemo.

I finished off the nuggets with minimal sips of Coke because it really was a weird taste.

A poor McD’s worker, a very thin young man with crossed eyes, came to our car with a bag. I wondered for a moment if he’d bagged our shakes. Nope, he asked if we were the car waiting for the McDouble and 6-piece nuggets.

I replied that we were actually waiting for shakes. But as he walked away, I realized he’d brought the FOOD we’d ordered and received. He’d already walked back inside before I could ask when we might expect the shakes.

The woman in the car next to us got out and stormed into the restaurant. I got out and threw away our garbage and decided I’d go in too and see what the problem was with the shakes.

I decided that while I was already out of the car, I’d also go inside and find out about the shakes.

The woman who’d stomped into the restaurant came back out, fire shooting out of her ears.

I got up to the counter and ignored for a few seconds but then the cross-eyed dude came back in after taking something out and I asked him about the shakes.

An older (probably 30s) woman asked what kind of shakes and what size.

I told her.

She told poor cross-eyed dude to make them for me.

I waited. And waited.

The poor fella seemed to be having trouble filling the cups with the shakes. He grabbed a handful of napkins and cleaned the chocolate off the outside of the cup.

Then he came to the counter and asked very timidly, “Uhh, the strawberry isn’t working. Will you take vanilla?”

I politely told him yes, I would take vanilla.

I just REALLY wanted to get out of there. I felt like if I was in there much longer, I would never escape and it would turn into an episode of The Twilight Zone.

I escaped with my mom’s chocolate shake and Alyssa’s now-vanilla shake.

They were relieved to see me, having feared, like I had, that I’d never return from the black hole that was McDonald’s lobby.

I picked up my Coke for another drink and paused when I saw that the lid had the ‘diet’ tab pushed in.

SON OF A BITCH!

That was why my Coke tasted weird. It was DIET. I HATE diet Coke.

However.

I was NOT going back in the restaurant. I had maybe taken five drinks so it was pretty full. I figured it was the universe telling me I didn’t need caffeine that late in the evening.

The rest of our trip home was uneventful. We ranted a bit about the service at that McDonald’s but then let it go because life’s too short to get that miffed about a couple of shakes. We were in good company and had a nice evening.

When I got home, I was preparing to pour the nasty diet Coke down the drain when Tom stopped me.

He took a sip and declared it, “Deeeeee-licious.”

Then he proceeded to drank it all. I was glad because suddenly I didn’t feel like I’d wasted my money.

Thursday, May 27, 2021

Finding Her Voice

Today is Olivia's last day of seventh grade. It's been a great year for her, even with Covid and masks and one 'close contact' quarrantine.

She's had an incredible team working with her at school. Other than preschool, when her teacher was kind of a bitch, she’s had excellent teachers since she started at our tiny, rural school.

Every teacher, though, has struggled to get Olivia to speak in class. They’ve all managed to get her to whisper in response to a direct question but none have managed to get her to use anything above a whisper…until now.

Her current teacher and aide, Mrs. H and Ms. P, have both worked hard this year to try and get Olivia to use her voice.

While it could very much be Olivia’s maturity and social growth that has brought about this monumental event, I do give Mrs. H and Ms. P credit too.

One day after school and work, Olivia told me that she answered a question from Mrs. H in her normal voice. I asked her what she said and she told me she said, “Yes.”

It was one word but it was said at a normal volume, not a whisper. She said that Mrs. H and Ms. P were the only ones in the classroom with her and so she’d felt comfortable to answer the question.

I high fived her and gave her a hug, exclaiming how proud I was of her and how excited I was for her.

A few days later, she reported that Mrs. H hadn’t been at school that day but at the end of the day, Ms. P had asked Olivia if she’d answer a few questions from her classmates in her normal voice. Olivia agreed to try.

This time there were just two other students in the classroom with O and Ms. P so it wasn’t as if she were ‘performing’ for the entire class. Again, she said she just answered the questions with yes or no or used other one-word answers. But still, this was a big step.

She’s steadily increased the number of words she’ll give as an answer to questions but she’s speaking…out loud…to her teachers and classmates.

The most recent celebration was when she told me she talked to her other aide, Mrs. B. This woman has worked with Olivia since first grade. Olivia said Mrs. B asked her if she could hug her when she (Olivia) spoke aloud to her. Olivia practically preened with pride at this.

I love her team. I love that they’re so proud of her and making her proud of herself. I love that they’ve never once given up on her.

Her teacher recently sent me an email telling me proudly that Olivia spoke out loud to her speech therapist. This is another woman who has worked with Olivia since kindergarten. She’s never been one to give an inch where O is concerned. She’s known all along that Olivia was capable of more than she was giving. She was determined to be more stubborn that Olivia.

We’re getting there. She’s fourteen and still making amazing progress. I don’t think we ever know our true potential. We all have to keep working as hard as we can to do and be better. Let’s all try and be like Olivia, always improving, always getting better, always reaching farther.

She’s my hero, my inspiration.

Wednesday, May 26, 2021

Just Another Vent

I live in a very conservative area of the country. It’s exhausting, actually.

The people who believe the propaganda spewed by our 45th presidents makes me sad and angry and exasperated all at the same time

This little rant is brought to you by a couple of 50+ men talking amongst themselves about ten feet from my desk at work.

One was visiting from an outside company. The other is a co-worker of mine.

Anyway, these two old white dudes were there, co-worker was signing out a company car so they could go to one of our other facilities.

Co-worker noticed Visitor’s mask, which was in his hand not on his face, and said to Visitor, “You can wear that if you want to but you don’t have to.”

Visitor replied, “I hear they make you sick.”

“I’ve heard that too,” Co-worker replied.

Are you fucking kidding me?

In this day and age, do people REALLY believe that WEARING a face mask will make them sick? Why would they think that? Is there any sort of proof that this is the case? Wait, let me google.

Nope, a quick google search shows there is no evidence that wearing a face mask will make you sick and, in fact, there is heavy evidence the wearing a face mask will prevent you from getting sick. So…

Earlier this week, as one of our production employees was clocking out, someone mentioned gas prices going up. I said something about having put gas in my car the previous Friday before work and finding that by 10am that morning, gas had gone from $2.72 to $2.99.

Dude clocking out said something like, “This never happened when T*#@^! Was president.”

I simply said, “Hmmm.”

But come on! We all know that gas prices go up and down regularly. It’s not like gas went down to $.99 when 45 was in office and is suddenly $10 a gallon now that Biden is president.

And yet…these people believe these things. These people, these working class citizens believe that if we raise the minimum wage so that people can, you know, LIVE and not be on the verge of poverty, that somehow that will make THEIR (the working class) lives harder. They believe this and it makes me crazy.

I said something merely in passing within earshot of my step-dad a few weeks ago about how great it had been to go get our Covid vaccinations and not have to pay and I mused about how great it would be if all health care were like that.

Holy shit, I didn’t realize I’d thrown down the gauntlet there. He started going on and on and on about how much we’d pay in taxes if that were the case and how the American people would pay for it one way or the other and on and on and on.

Dude! I was not looking for a debate. I was simply saying how great it would have been a few years ago for me to have fought cancer and NOT worried about bankrupting my family due to the insane cost of medical treatment.

And all this was coming from a man who receives his care free of charge from the VA, which I do not begrudge. He served his time, he deserves to get his medical on the government’s dime. But don’t we all deserve decent care? Why is the cost of insulin so prohibitive that some people have to choose between their medicine and feeding their family? Why do epi-pens cost so freaking much that some people have to forgo them and just pray they don’t come in contact with a tree nut or a bee?

It feels like simple human decency to me.

Women have a right to their own bodies, sick people have a right to the medicines that will make them well. People have a right to make enough money to pay their bills and maybe even start saving for retirement. Is this all really too much too ask? Are they all really such radical, liberal, socialist ideas?

Tuesday, May 25, 2021

"Endearments"

I know I’ve written about women who call everyone ‘hon’ or ‘dear’. And I’m sure at that time I touched on men who do the same thing.

I might even have mentioned how irritating I find it when random dudes call me ‘dear’ or ‘hon’ but the same thing from a woman doesn’t bother me.

I recently had an epiphany as to why that’s the case.

Women who use endearments for people who are not their immediate family do it to everyone. They call the lady next door, the dude checking out at the grocery store, and their nieces and nephews these things. They’ll say, “Thanks, Hon” to anyone and everyone, no matter the age, sex, or relation of the person being spoken to.

Men who use endearments…only use them at women. Dudes do not call other dudes ‘dear’ or ‘darlin’.

I even went so far to confirm with Tom that this is the case. He said that no man has ever called him ‘dear’ in the process of helping him check out at the antique store or while handing him his change at Rural King.

And I know, I KNOW, not all men (don’t @ me) who call women ‘hon’ are creeps but a lot of them are, even if they don’t think they are. They’re using the ‘endearment’, even if subconsciously, because they feel that women are beneath them, more akin to children than to the man himself. And so to call a women ‘dear’ is to remind her that he’s above her and that she’s smaller, less important than he is.

Women, on the other hand, who use endearments, do it across gender/sex lines. They do it because it’s part of their lexicon. Where I’d call someone sir, ma’am, or even dude, these ladies say dear and hon and sweetie.

Men need to stop it, by the way. The need to stop calling women who are not their wives or daughters dear. Stop calling women who are probably smarter than you things that belittle them. Even if you don’t think it does, stop it just in case, mmm’kay?

Monday, May 24, 2021

Insta-Stupid

I do love me some Instagram. I can spend way too much time browsing the search by or just watching the stories of the people I follow.

However, the ‘sponsored’ posts can sometimes be REALLY annoying. There’s this one particular ‘influencer’ I follow (her kids are adorable and yes, she’s cute too. She’s a little crunchy for me but whatever.) I don’t mind most of her posts. They’re pretty neutral.

But there was one post several months ago that has stuck with me.

She was talking about Reese’s Cups. I know, riveting.

But she started the story with something about how Reese’s cups are her favorite chocolate, which…duh.

But then she went on to stay, “But! I’m REALLY picky about my Reese’s cups. They have to be really fresh.” **Yes, she said these words with as much uppity snootiness as it might seem written out.**

Wait…what?

Fresh?

What the peanut butter chocolaty hell is this?

She talked and gave actual examples of an ‘old’ Reese’s cup and a ‘fresh’ one. The old one broke and the peanut butter was ‘crumbly’. The fresh one wouldn’t even break, because the peanut butter was too soft to break. The paper that came off the old cup was dry. The paper from the ‘fresh’ one was oily…so. Yeah.

OMG. Seriously?

Supposedly her aunt, who knew how picky her dear niece was about her Reese’s, had found a way to get the factory (THE REESES FACTORY, apparently (don’t @ me, I KNOW it’s really the Hershey’s factory, WHATEVER!)) to send this woman Reese’s cups directly to her, cutting out the middle man that is the grocery store.

She never once said this was a sponsored story. She just went on and on about how picky she is about her Reese’s and how important it is to get it fresh from the factory.

I don’t know why this bothered me so much.

Maybe it’s because if I were pickier about my Reese’s I wouldn’t be so fat that I produce my own gravitational pull. I mean, hello, if it says Reese’s it’s probably going to go in my mouth, no matter how old it is.

I don’t even know.

Saturday, May 22, 2021

Playing Favorites

My mom has never really seemed to have a favorite child. We’ve all known, my brothers and I, that our mother loves us with everything she has.

My girls have never been jealous of each other. I’d like to think that’s because I’ve never played favorites.

This past Mother’s Day was lovely. Tom made me breakfast, Olivia made couple of things at school and wrote the most delightful card.

Alyssa got me a car freshener and put it on top of a note wishing me a happy mother’s day and telling me she loves me. She signed it, “Your favorite.”

Later in the day, Olivia was at the table and she asked me if I’d seen Alyssa’s card.

I acknowledged that I had seen it, that Lyss had left me the nice smelling tree now hanging in my car.

Olivia read the note and laughed at the ‘Your Favorite’ signature.

She sat and pondered for a moment and then said, quite seriously, “I think that if you did have a favorite, it would be me.”

I hope they both always think they’re my favorite. If they think that, I’m doing my job well and for a woman who has constant doubts as to her ability to mother at all, that’s saying a lot.

Friday, May 14, 2021

Teenagers

I have been lucky enough to be able to attend all of Alyssa’s track meets this year. I’m in a job where I can work extra today and take off a little early tomorrow.

One of the benefits of going to the meets is being able to take Alyssa with me when she’s done with her event (she’s only high jumping this year.) After a particularly far away meet, I signed Alyssa and her friend Tessa out of the meet and they rode home with me. For those gasping that I signed out a student who is NOT my child, whatever. I had her mom’s permission.

The ride home was fun. I got to listen to all the teenage gossip and was brought up to speed on all the drama that’s happening between a freshman boy (B) and a junior girl (G.)

See, this freshman boy has a crush on a senior. We won’t name the senior. B, the boy, started dating G, the junior girl after he realized that the senior girl wasn’t going to date him.

Wait, let’s stop here and remind everyone that freshmen in high school are fourteen and fifteen years old. This kid, this BOY, is the same age as Olivia. Let that sink in. He’s fourteen and making a play for a senior who is 19. The junior, G, is eighteen, which is still icky when you’re talking about a fourteen year old.

Anyway, as Lyss and Tess talked, it came about that B tried to break up with G but G didn’t accept his break up. She told him, “No, we’re going to work on this relationship.”

And…he just accepted that.

I was saddened by this. I quickly reminded the girls in my car that it takes two people to make a relationship work and one person to break up. B didn’t have to accept G’s insistence in making the relationship work. He could have walked away, blocked her on all social media, not answered her calls/texts/tweets/chats, etc. But, alas, he fourteen and she’s eighteen and she decided they were going to make it work so apparently they’re ‘making it work.’

Can you even imagine this scenario if the genders were reversed? The ick factor is already high but imagine a fourteen year old girl telling her parents that she’d tried to break up with her eighteen year old boyfriend and he’d told her no. There would be restraining orders and possible arrests and what have you.

I don’t know if B told his parents about trying to break up with G. I don’t know what they know but if I were his mom and I knew the situation, I’d be all over that girl, letting her know that she was not welcome in my son’s life.

Sigh. I wish I could say that B and G looked cute at prom, but they just looked awkward. G was smiling as if nothing was wrong and B just looked out of place and uncomfortable.

Yes, yes, I know. Alyssa was a freshman and N was a junior when they started dating. But Lyss was fifteen and N was seventeen, so…not quite the same thing. And, as far as I know, Lyss never tried to break up with N only to have her breakup denied.

Thursday, May 13, 2021

Post-Cancer Mindset

There was a time, way back in my teens and twenties and maybe even my thirties that I felt like I was invincible. I felt like I was going to live forever and that I’d always be young and healthy and beautiful.

Then I was diagnosed with cancer when I was 46.

Reality and my own mortality smacked me in the face so hard that it knocked me over.

So yes, my cancer was found very early and I was never actually on the verge of death but hearing the words, “You have cancer,” well, it does something to you, emotionally, mentally, maybe even physically. It’s like a slap, it hits you so hard you can barely breathe.

And once you’ve heard those words, at least once I heard them, I can’t stop thinking that every single twinge, every new pain, every ache and cough is the first sign that the cancer is back, this time with a vengeance that won’t be stopped by mere chemo and radiation.

I recently had a pain on my tongue (gross, sorry) and it hurt like a mother-trucker. My first thought was that it was cancer…yeah, of the tongue. My second thought was to worry I’d have to have surgery to remove my tongue. Would I be able to work if I couldn’t speak? Would the removal of my tongue just be the beginning and after a while, the surgeon would have to go back and remove part of my jaw? Would I have to wear one of those weird plastic half-masks to cover my disfigurement?

All this went through my head in an instant.

What the hell, Brain? Seriously?

I mean, the whole pain on my tongue was probably from eating an entire bag of butter mints over the weekend. Once I’d rinsed my mouth with saltwater and then again a few times with the antibacterial mouthwash the orthodontists gave Olivia for the sore in her mouth, guess what? The pain was pretty much gone.

But for those few hours between the pain manifesting itself and my home remedies, my brain went to the dark place, the place where everything is cancer, everything is leading to my untimely death.

I know that everyone who has faced a serious illness feels this way and we all do what we can to get past it so we can at least enjoy the life we’re lucky enough to still be living.

The moral of this story is to not be a glutton and eat so many butter mints in one sitting that it makes one side of your stupid tongue raw. I might be an idiot.

Wednesday, May 12, 2021

Speeding By

I knew back when Alyssa started her freshman year that her four years of high school would fly by.

I knew that I needed to try and cherish every moment, every band concert, each evening at home watching television with her (at the time, we were engrossed in The Middle and The Goldbergs), very school musical, every track meet, every homecoming dance and every prom.

I knew that the days would drag but the weeks, months and years would sprint past us.

And yet here we are, on the cusp of her high school graduation and I’m looking back and wondering where it all went. We have pictures to prove we lived it all but it seems like just last week she was rehearsing for her role in Shrek and yet that was freshman year.

She’s already pulling away. She has been for months. She basically spent the weekend of prom away from home. And that’s okay. That’s how it should be. But it’s bittersweet for me and Tom. We already miss her and she’s not even truly gone yet.

I want so much for her. I want her to enjoy every minute of her life, not be waiting for the next thing and then the next. I want her to wring the joy and fun out of each experience, to know that this one moment can be the best until the next best moment comes along.

I hope I’ve instilled even a little bit of whimsy in her. I hope she takes time to find the whimsical trees planted beside office buildings and the pleasure of sleeping late. I hope she sees that the world can be so very magical even though there is so much that needs to be changed and fixed.

High school isn’t the best life has to offer but it can be amazing. I think she’s had a good four years. She’s made wonderful friendships, found love, worked hard and played harder…I hope.

We still have years of love and fun ahead of us.

I just wish I could slow things down, even just a little, for her and for me. I want to freeze these moments and step through my magical tree once in a while to revisit the evenings on the couch, the times around the dinner table, the Saturdays at lunch and the moments when she was fourteen and obsessed with Pentatonix. I’d go back to when she was four and pretending to be a horse, or a lion or the little mermaid, just to watch her, to soak her in, her innocence, her beauty, her imagination. I’d preserve some of those precious parts of her and give back to her so she can fall back on them when life gets hard and boring and lackluster. I’d give her those moments back so she can use them to get through adulthood with a little bit of whimsy still inside her.

She’s growing up so fast; too fast. I want to grab her and hug her close and remind her that her entire adult life is ahead of her and she needs to slow down and be a kid for as long as she can. The whole wide world is waiting for her and she’s going to do amazing things in it but she doesn’t have to do them all right now. She can stop for a minute and just remember that little girl who bravely switched schools when she was seven, who made new friends and played Hunger Games with those new friends in 4th grade. She can be the girl who memorized all the members of Pentatonix birthdays and quizzed me regularly to ensure I was paying attention. She can play board games on a Friday night and sleep in on Saturday, hugging her stuffed dog in her sleep.

The world will be there when she’s ready and I know she’s ready now. But maybe I’m not quite there yet.

Tuesday, May 11, 2021

A Prom

Prom We all remember what was happening last year, right? I was at home with my entire family. We were attempting to finish up the school year via Zoom and trying to stay healthy and safe.

This year is different. Many (but not enough) of us are getting vaccinated or are vaccinated and we’re slowly re-emerging into our lives.

The girls have been in school all year. Olivia was quarantined as a close contact once this year, way back in October. Alyssa, somewhat to her own annoyance, was never quarantined. She continued to work, go to school, hang out with a select number of friends (many of whom also worked with her) and basically has lived her life.

And on the first of May, she got to go to her senior prom.

They sort of had a prom last year. If you call getting dressed up, meeting at a nearby hotel, having dinner served by your parents and then getting prizes a prom. I mean, there were no outside guests allowed, only juniors and seniors that attend our school were allowed. If you were lucky enough to be dating either a junior or senior and were a junior or senior yourself, well, hey, you got to go with a date. It was fine. They were all lovely.

But this year…they got to have a ‘real’ prom. They got dressed up, they went to each other’s houses for pictures, the prom was held at the school. The junior moms decorated the gym and there was dinner and dancing in the cafeteria (our school calls it the ‘auditoria’ which is stupid and I won’t use that word other than to point out that it’s stupid.)

Olivia was a little worried on Thursday about where she’d each lunch because the cafeteria had been overtaken by the juniors and seniors for prom.

After the ‘social hour’, during which family and friends could come (if they had a ticket because there’s still a pandemic out there) and sit in the bleachers in the gym and each couple would be announced and proceed around the gym, stopping at three different points for pictures.

It was cute.

And fun.

And the senior class, because they’re lovely people, voted the exchange student the prom queen this year. She’s so sweet and fun and I’m so happy for her. She’s from Italy and I hope that her ‘abroad’ experience hasn’t been too awful, seeing as she’s stuck in freaking Edon, Ohio, population 850+ give or take 10. Talk about a disappointment.

But like I said, she’s fun and seems to be making the best of her “American” experience. She was a cheerleader for football and basketball. She had a supporting lead role in the musical. She’s running track and just putting herself out there. It’s more than I can say I did my senior year and I was still in the same school I’d started at when I was five. So…perspective.

I feel for the seniors of 2020 who missed out on all of this. I know most of them have moved on and sure, they have quite the story to tell but it still sucks. They’ll never get their high school senior year back. And I feel for the parents of those seniors. They missed out on so much too.

Monday, May 10, 2021

Borrowing Trouble?

Okay, so here’s the thing:

I come from a redneck, conservative family. Yes, it’s as annoying as you might think.

Alyssa is out. She is in no way in the closet. She and Naomi have been together for over three years.

I’ve posted pictures of every single prom they’ve gone to on all the social media platforms I have.

And yet…I’m pretty sure most of my extended family (as well as immediate, such as brothers, who can be assholes) does not know she’s gay.

I don’t care if they know. I don’t care if they bury their heads forever and pretend they don’t know what they know. It’s not my story to tell and so I haven’t bother to make any kind of announcement. If someone were to ask, Alyssa has given me permission to answer.

But!

Her graduation party is in just over a month. Naomi will be there, as she should be. This is a big day for Alyssa and Naomi is a huge part of her life.

I never, ever want Alyssa to hide any part of who she is. I am proud of her, every single part of her. I think she’s amazing and I want the world to see her.

I don’t think anyone will be weird at the party. I hope they won’t.

Do I mention to Alyssa that people might be weird? Do I prepare her for potential weirdness just so she and Naomi aren’t blindsided if there is weirdness or do I go into this with the expectation that everyone will be on their best behavior?

I mean, who am I kidding, right? People are jerks all the damn time, even to people they claim to love.

But I don’t want to borrow trouble. There might not even be trouble. Though I’ve mentioned that an aunt has been a royal jerk a few years ago when relating a story about some lesbians their family lived next door to a thousand years ago, right? This aunt has VERY strong feelings about those particular lesbians which has, unfortunately, colored her feelings on all lesbians forever and ever and always, thank you very much.

Ick.

The one time we talked about this (at Auntie’s salon) I tried to gently point out that just because she felt a strong ick factor from those particular women, it didn’t mean that all women who are gay are creepy or inappropriate with children. I reminded Auntie that there have been men who, since the beginning of time, have treated women and children badly but that didn’t mean that ALL men (ugh, ‘not all men’) are bad, misogynistic, rapists, abusers, pedophiles, etc. Sadly, I don’t think she got what I was saying or, you know, she didn’t want to hear it.

Alyssa is unwilling to spend any amount of time at this aunt’s house these days and I do not blame her even a little. Olivia and I still go with my mom because Auntie lives on a lake and so her place is lovely and wonderful in the summer for all kinds of summer fun. But we try and be as un-political as possible. And yes, I know this is probably not the best stance and ask me after the party whether Liv and I will be going back to her house.

So. Will Auntie be a bitch? Will my brothers be assholes? Will everyone just let it be a nice, celebratory day for Alyssa and not be dicks? Do we even care what other people think?

And wait, if anyone DOES say something, will I react like a boss and shut that shit down? Damn, I hope so.

I guess we’ll see.

P.S. I’m honestly not worried about Tom’s side of the family at all. First, he has a niece who married a lovely young woman a few years ago (sadly, niece’s wife died about six or so months ago…) and so his family seems to understand that we are living in different, better times and if you don’t like the way others live and they’re not living in a way that’s hurting anyone else, you should just keep your yap shut.

Friday, May 7, 2021

They Win

Fine. Whatever. I give up. They win.

I mean, we all knew they would, right? It was two against one so the odds were not in my favor.

I called the person in charge of the community building Tom wanted to rent for Alyssa’s graduation party.

The building was available the week after graduation. She said that it wasn’t nearly as busy as it’s been in past years. She wondered if there weren’t as many kids graduating.

I suggested that parents are waiting to see what happens in Ohio as far as large gatherings go before scheduling/renting space goes.

Anyway, I reserved the space. But I left Tom with a list of things he had to do in order to actually use the space.

See, he has to call our insurance agent and get her to email the township secretary with our policy number and proof that we have ‘event insurance’ for this. And it has to be up to $300,000 worth of insurance.

So that’s his first job.

Then, after we get the paperwork from said secretary, he has to write two checks, one for $130 (the cost of renting the building) and one for $100, which we’ll get back as long as we leave the space in the same condition we found it. That’s the price he has to pay to not have to clean our house and have the party there. I think he feels like he’s getting a bargain.

And finally, the day of the event, he has to help me schlep all the food/decorations/beverages/anything else I can think of the four-ish miles from our house to the community building. And he has to stay the entire time of the open house and then help clean up and take everything home.

It’s not asking too much. I mean, she’s his child too, he should be there whether or not I need help with anything or not.

Thursday, May 6, 2021

Attitude

Well.

Once upon a Tuesday evening, there was a home track meet. Tom and Olivia joined me at the track to watch Alyssa do the high jump (she came in 4th) and bask in the lovely weather we were having that day.

It was a day in which the temperature rose to the low 80s. So it was lovely, if a little warm for the runners.

The high jump took a long time because girls kept having to go off and run races then come back and jump and round and round they went.

Finally it was over and Alyssa joined us outside the fence that circles the track. She informed me and Tom that there was some sort of ‘senior night’ going on. At that point, Olivia collapsed into a puddle of despair. She was hot and tired and bored and hungry.

My mother took pity on us all and offered to take Liv to her house while Tom and I waited with Lyss at the track for whatever senior thing was happening.

Tom and I found a seat in the shade while Alyssa stood at the fence and watched the races. It was fine.

But then she got bored too. She came over to where we were sitting and said she was ready to go. She hasn’t actually heard about anything for the seniors from anyone official, just from her best friend. So the three of us left, Tom and Lyss for home and I headed to my mom’s to get Olivia.

I offered to ‘let’ Tom go get her but he declared with a smirk that we all know that Olivia wants me. Ha. Sure, she does. He was just saying that to get out of having to go get her. I mean, okay, yes, if he were to show up to pick her up, her first question would be, “Where’s Mom?”

But should that stop him from being the one to pick her up? No, it should not. Of course, she was at MY mom’s house, so there’s that too but still…

So I got to my mom’s house and they were surprised to see me so early. Olivia had just started eating some broccoli. She’d just finished a bowl of pineapple with whipped cream. (It’s a Gram thing, that sort of thing never occurs to me.) She ate two bowls of broccoli while I was there.

We finally got home and Tom had pizza ready. It was about 7:15. It was thoughtful of him to make pizza.

He informed Olivia her pizza was ready. I told him she’d eaten broccoli and pineapple at Gram’s, hoping it would soften him toward her eating all the pizza he was putting in front of her.

It didn’t.

She didn’t complain, so she must have still been hungry.

I gathered O’s homework so that we could get through it after she ate.

Tom asked me why I wasn’t eating.

I told him I would eat after homework was done.

I must have replied with a snippy tone because he gave me a look and asked me what I was giving him attitude.

Excuse me? Attitude? Are you kidding me?

I sighed and tried not to cry and informed him that I simply wanted to get homework out of the way before I could eat.

But seriously, attitude? What am I, one of the kids?

He left the room and I felt the stress of the day press down on me. What the hell just happened?

He came back to the kitchen and heated up O’s pizza because she can’t stand to eat anything that is cooler than the temperature on the surface of the sun.

She ate and I organized her homework.

But it felt like the entire evening was off. We were all tired from being in the heat and the sun. We’re used to frigid temperatures and this sudden summer heat was too much for our delicate systems to take.

In the end it was fine. Homework was finished, pizza was eaten, and everyone finally went to bed and slept off the stress and attitude of the day.

Wednesday, May 5, 2021

This or That

Graduation is coming up. It’s speeding upon us at lightning speed, actually. May 30th is the day. So…what do we do about celebrating?

We’re all (well, most of us) vaccinated so let’s PARTY! Right?

Okay, but where?

I want to have it at our house. It’ll be fun to have people in and out. We have a huge side yard and a decent back yard. We have a big back deck and a cement pad-thingy we can put tables on and a tent over and set up chairs at various locations in the yards.

Tom does NOT want to have it at home. He claims his main reason is because people will come and just stay for hours.

This will be an open-house, so come, leave a card with cash/check for Lyss, eat some food and be on your merry way, right?

No, he’s just sure they’ll pop a squat and stay for the duration.

Honestly, I think his biggest concern is having to clean. I’m telling you this, not as a complaint but simply to provide information. 40% of our house is taken up by ebay stuff. That’s not including the basement. If I include the basement, it’s more like 60% of the house is ebay storage. So…there’s that.

Alyssa wants to have it at my mom’s. She insists that Gram’s house has better parking and more shade. Whatever. We have plenty of parking and we can set up tents to provide shade…so yeah.

So what do we do? I informed Lyss that if she wants to have it at her Gram’s, SHE has to ask Gram and Pawp if they’re okay with it and if they show even the slightest hesitation, we’re NOT doing it there.

Before Alyssa could even ask my mom, I called a community center and asked about reservations. Alyssa insisted that it was WAY too late to do this.

Well, they have the building available the weekend after graduation, which is actually pretty good, right?

It will be $135 dollars for the rental but only because my mom lives in the township. If she didn’t, it would be $170. We will have to send them a separate check of $100 for a security deposit and provide proof of ‘event insurance.’

Those things are Tom’s job. I’ve done the work of making the phone call. He can call our insurance and send the checks. We’ll see which process feels more stressfull to him, calling about insurance and writing checks or cleaning.

More details to follow.

Tuesday, May 4, 2021

Too Much of a Good Thing

Tom is VERY good to me. I fully admit that and am ever so grateful. I’m mean, the dude drove 18 miles on way recently to put air in my tire after my car alerted me that one of my tires was low. So there that.

But if that man does not stop putting two cuties a day in my lunch bag, I’m going to start throwing said cuties at his head.

Ahem.

Sorry.

Remember way back when I was pregnant with Alyssa and was diagnosed with gestational diabetes? No? Well, it happened.

And once I got that diagnosis, I saw a dietitian who gave me a bunch of charts and colorful diagrams of things I should be eating.

Tom took those charts and ran with them. He packed my lunch every day for almost twelve weeks. It was very sweet of him.

But he sent me way too much food. Every single day, I would open my lunch and be overwhelmed by how much food was there. It was all very healthy food (the bananas were a nice touch since he KNEW I wouldn’t touch those things if they were the last food on earth) but there was too much of it.

So, after being gently scolded the first couple of days for not eating all my food, I simply started chucking food (all biodegradable, I’m not a litterer) out the car window as I drove home each evening.

Uneaten peach? Out the window. (For what it’s worth, I do not eat peaches as one might eat an apple. The fuzz is a no-go for me.) A huge hoagie bun? Chucked out that window so fast. Hey, it would be a nice treat for some wild animal. You’re welcome, Bambi.

I just couldn’t deal with the food and I also didn’t want to deal with the mild looks of disappointment thrown my way when my loving husband took in what I’d eaten, and more importantly, what I hadn’t eaten that day.

So…it’s a long-running issue for us. He wants to take care of me and ‘feeding’ me is one of his love languages. I get that. I am also a grown-ass adult who can figure out my own food, thank you very much. So these days, I’m taking those stupid cuties to work and offering them to anyone and everyone who walks past my desk. And when they start to get a little wrinkled, into the trash they go.

Is it a waste? Yes. But it’s also not worth the ‘discussion’ we would have to have it I went home and said, as gently as possible, “I love you. And I love that you take such good care of me but enough with the cuties!”

Okay, I could probably word it differently but you know what? I hate confrontation so, so much. I hate confrontation almost as much as I hate bananas and milk. Over those things, I will confront the hell out of you. But cuties aren’t worth the stress and so…I’m drowning in cuties over here.

Monday, May 3, 2021

Oh Hell

So Travis the turtle is a very bad influence on Olivia. We’ve established that and I’m trying to curb Travis’s naughtiness in an effort to model good behavior for Olivia.

I can’t say it’s working extremely well but we can’t break bad habits in a single day so…the work goes on.

At that orthodontist appointment that we thought I had wrong but that I’d actually had right, they decided it was time for Olivia to wear rubber bands.

Guess what that means?

Yes, it means I get to stick my fingers in her mouth every single day for the next six weeks. Yay!!

And poor Alyssa has to do it when I’m not there because Tom insists that his fingers are too fat and he can’t see well enough. Sigh.

I wore rubber bands back when I had braces. Alyssa wore them too. We know what we’re doing and it’s fine. But you know what? I wish Olivia had the confidence to at least TRY to put them in herself. Alas…she’s very sure that she’s simply not capable. And she would rather DIE than stick her own fingers in her mouth. Which is…weird and annoying but, well, it’s also life around here.

So whatever.

But the best part of that entire day (other than finding out I was right when I’d thought I was wrong) was when Olivia announced at the end of the evening that the first thing she thought when she heard the orthodontic tech say it was time for O to start wearing rubber bands was: “Oh, hell.”

She said it so mildly and it was so appropriate to the situation that I couldn’t help but laugh.

Alyssa rolled her eyes at my laughter because, well, when she was 14 she’d never had uttered such a word in my presence. So that’s another case of first born and last born behavior that fits all the stereotypes.

Saturday, May 1, 2021

That One Time I Thought I was Wrong but it Turned Out I was Right

Once upon a time on a Tuesday, Alyssa had a track meet and Olivia had an orthodontist appointment. A’s track meet was to start at 4:30 in a town about 40 minutes from work.

O’s orthodontist appointment was scheduled for 4pm, which, on a typical day, would give her and Tom plenty of time to get to the appointment where I would meet them and take her to the appointment. Tom would take himself…somewhere else.

It works.

Except for those days when I need to be somewhere else, like at a track meet.

So the weekend before this fateful Tuesday, I asked Tom very sweetly if he’d do me a favor. I asked if he’d stay with Olivia for her orthodontist appointment while I made my way to Montpelier for the track meet.

He agreed, though a bit reluctantly. Or rather, he was reluctant until I offered to let him go to the track meet instead. Then he decided an orthodontist appointment didn’t sound so bad. I didn’t mention that he’d need to go through the KFC drive-thru after the appointment because it’s just what we do. His fear of the drive-thru is well documented and may have altered his choice of parental assignment.

Alas, as luck and mother nature would have it, we were hit with a cold front and a ton of snow (it was April 20th for those keeping track.)

The track meet was canceled so I met Tom and Olivia at the orthodontist for her appointment and sent him on his merry way.

Thank you LORD that I was able to send him on his way. If he’d gone into that office and been told what I was told, that man would have been livid.

See, we walked in and I told the receptionist that Olivia was there for her 4:00. The receptionist did her thing and said, “Um, I don’t see her on the scheduled.’

Now, anyone who knows me KNOWS I mess things up. I do. I can’t seem to help it. I mean, hello, I showed up for a party in Indianapolis a week early. A WEEK!

So I said, “But I got the email.”

The ladies at the front desk asked if I had my phone with me.

Duh. Of course I did. I pulled it out and there it was, the email reminding us of Olivia’s appointment at 4pm on…Monday, April 19.

Damn it.

They were kind enough to fit her in (thank goodness there had been a cancellation and her appointment was only 20 minutes long) and after her appointment we got KFC chicken for Lyss and Liv (and I encountered nary an issue with the drive-thru) and made our way home. I was going to get Crazy Bread from Little Caesars (it’s in the same business complex as the orthodontist) but I decided since I’d screwed up the appointment I wasn’t allowed to be rewarded with the deliciousness that is Crazy Bread. Sigh. Adulting sucks.

When we got home, I confessed my mistake to Tom only because I know that Olivia, that sweet darling little shit, is unable to keep a secret to save her life, would have told him everything the first chance she got.

He gave me a look that said something along the lines of, “You’re an idiot.”

Or, maybe he didn’t. I could very well have read that on his face when it wasn’t there at all. It happens.

But then he asked, “But how could you have done that?”

I rolled my eyes and asked him, “Have you met me?”

Then we decided to check it out because I’ve gotten less flakey in my middle-aged years than I was even a few years ago.

And look at that, there on the corkboard affixed to the basement door was the slip that orthodontist’s office had given us at her last appointment: OLIVIA ORDINARY, NEXT APPOINTMENT, TUESDAY, APRIL 20 AT 4:00PM.

OMG I’d given up the special treat that is Crazy Bread for nothing.

I’d just meekly accepted that I’d been wrong but I hadn’t been wrong! I hadn’t written the date wrong on my calendar at work. I hadn’t remembered incorrectly.

Of course, if I’d bothered to read the reminder email I could have called them to find out why they were reminding me of an appointment that was a day later according the slip THEY’D GIVEN ME! So yes, in future days, I will read the reminder emails more carefully.

But the real moral of this story is to NOT deny yourself Crazy Bread for a mistake that is probably not even your mistake. Because hello, even though I thought I was wrong…it turns out I was not wrong. Or at least I was not as wrong as I’d first thought and even if I’d been all the way wrong, that’s not really a reason to deny myself Crazy Bread.

Thursday, April 22, 2021

Just 30 Minutes

One day last week, between track meets and doctor appointments, I left work at 3:30 to meet Lyss at the doctor for her second meningococcal vaccination. The appointment took all of five minutes and we were on our way at 4:02. She had to be at work at 5 but figured what the heck, she’d just go in early. That girl…

I could have gone back to work and worked 15 more minutes until the ‘end of day’ but because my 18 year old has a better work ethic than I do I went home.

I got home a half hour earlier than I usually do.

But what do you know? Olivia didn’t have any homework that day. I know! Miracles abound.

I called my mom to check in, it was her and my stepdad’s 26th anniversary. I told her how cold it was supposed to be the next day and suggested that she skip the track meet and just stay home and warm.

Then I called my dad to check in with him since I hadn’t talked to him in a few days and he had been in the emergency room just the week before. He was doing well, but, in his words, just didn’t have much gumption. I told him he should just rest and continue to recuperate.

After that phone call I went down and transferred towels from the washer to the drier.

I put a few pieces together in our current puzzle.

I packed Alyssa’s and my lunches. (I know, she’s a senior, she usually does pack her own lunch but on days when she has to work until 9 or so, I pack it for her because I want to and I like being able to do small things to still take care of her.)

I made dinner for Olivia and by 6:30…the evening was spread out before me like a blank canvass. What WAS I going to do with myself?

It’s amazing how that extra half hour seemed to stretch itself out.

Yes, there were a few things that coincided with making those 30 minutes seem like a lot more. No homework is a HUGE gain in time. Dinner was just reheating leftovers rather than actually making something more involved. The towels were already clean in the washer, just needed to go into the drier. But oh how good it felt to have a whole evening of nothing ahead of me.

I think I’ll enjoy retirement when it finally rolls around in fifteen or so years…sigh.

Wednesday, April 21, 2021

Flights of Fancy

Olivia asked me one day if it’s weird that she sometimes imagines things different from how they are. She went on to explain that she sometimes imagines meeting her current favorite celebrity and being besties with her.

I told her that everyone does this. Then I amended that with, “Everyone with even a little imagination.”

It’s how those of us with an imagination get through the mundane parts of our lives, which, let’s be honest, is the majority of each and every day.

She likes to tell me all about the stories she’s concocting in her head. She calls them ‘fan fic’ because that’s a phrase she heard from Alyssa once upon a time. Even if there’s nothing in the stories about a celebrity, she still calls them fan fic. I don’t bother to correct her because who cares what she calls her flights of fancy?

She has this very vivid world going on in her head. She still has imaginary friends but they don’t visit as much as they once did. These days, they’re off living their best lives, imitating Melanie Martinez to the point of getting surgery and changing everything about themselves.

And that’s okay too because Olivia is able to live out any sort of wild fantasy through Mush Mush and Katherine.

Back in the late seventies and early eighties, I had a very vivid imaginary world going on around me. It helped me through my parents’ divorce, through the birth of my youngest brother and the increase in responsibility I took on when I started taking care of him when he was five months old and I was thirteen. The characters in that world still sometimes check in, letting me see how we’ve all grown up.

My imagination brings me comfort, takes me on adventures and alleviated boredom.

I hope Olivia’s does the same for her as she continues to grow and imagine.

Tuesday, April 20, 2021

I Can't Not

For the first track meet of Lyss’s senior season, I took a box of chips. You know the kind, the variety pack of individually packaged chips.

For the second, sent four bags of apples.

For the third, I cut up celery and bagged it with baby carrots, grape tomatoes in compostable snack-sized baggies.

I know.

But as I lugged in the bags of vegetables to prepare bagging them up, Tom asked, “Why are you doing this?”

I told him, “Because someone has to.”

He just stared at me.

“Hey,” I told him. “I’m not in charge of the food. I just signed up to bring it. The lady in charge has a bigger job than I do.”

“How many other parents are providing food?” he wanted to know.

I shrugged, “Maybe five or six others.”

“Huh,” he said.

I told him, “There are kids who never have a parent or relative at the meets. There are kids who don’t have food to bring to the meets. We do this because it’s the right thing to do. We provide food and we cheer for the kids who are showing up even though their parents aren’t. And we try not to judge those parents because who knows what’s keeping them away? Maybe they works second shift jobs and can’t take time off. I can’t not do this.”

He watched me wash grape tomatoes and baby carrots and then cut up celery stalks. “You’re one of the good ones,” he declared and walked away.

That one sentence made me tear up and filled my often empty self-esteem to almost over-flowing. Being noticed, by one of the most important people in my world, means a lot. Having him take a moment and acknowledge that I do a lot for our kids and the other kids around them…it’s just nice to hear that he thinks I’m doing a good job.

Monday, April 19, 2021

She Didn't Mean To

The puddles on the floor during bath time.

The noodles on the floor after dinner.

The ink stains on the couch after crafting/drawing/writing.

She didn’t mean to make those messes.

Really. I know she didn’t mean to.

And yet I get frustrated. I get angry. I yell.

I wish I could say I don’t mean to. But sometimes, I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

The broken cup, the lost shoe. She didn’t mean to.

The half-done homework, the Chromebook forgotten at school, the destroyed artwork she’s trying to piece together.

She didn’t mean to.

I wish I could tell those who work closely with her that she doesn’t mean to do things that frustrate them. She doesn’t mean to make more work for them day after day after day. She’s not doing these things AT them.

But how can I expect them to be more patient with her than I am?

I try to rein it in. I try to listen to myself even as I’m fussing at her about the mess on the floor and how, as I kneel to wash her hair, I didn’t actually WANT to have to put my knee in a puddle of water.

But then she laughs. Even then, she doesn’t mean to. She laughs because she’s stressed and it’s her outlet. She laughs because she probably hopes the laughter will lighten the mood that I’m dampening with my bitching. She laughs perhaps because she doesn’t understand social cues and doesn’t realize that her laughter in the face of my frustration will only serve to piss me off.

And so, I get angrier and louder and meaner. And I hate it. I KNOW she doesn’t mean to do these things. And yet, they keep happening and I keep trying, even as I’m being a bitch, to turn it into a teaching moment to remind her that she’s NOT four years old. She can take a bath without making a mess.

And yet…can she? Can she really? Because there are moments when I wonder. Just like there are moments when I wonder if, while at school, she really can be left alone with scissors. For what it’s worth, at home, we do not leave her alone with scissors.

Reminder: she’s fourteen years old and cannot be left alone with scissors. Perhaps I shouldn’t be leaving her alone while she bathes. But she’s fourteen years old and she deserves a little privacy so…dilemma. I don’t worry about her safety, I just worry about the mess.

She doesn’t mean to be frustrating during dinner when she can’t swallow that last bite. She doesn’t mean to annoy you when she spits it out into the garbage instead of the toilet. It doesn’t matter that she’s been told where the best place for spitting food is. She needs to get it out of her mouth and does so into the most convenient receptacle.

She doesn’t mean to. She can’t help it. Are we pushing her enough? She’s perfectly capable…but is she?

There’s a struggle, a line we can’t quite see. We want to push her to do more, try harder, do her best but when will we know that we’ve pushed hard enough, when she’s done enough? When will we all see that she can’t help it and that she didn’t mean to?

Friday, April 16, 2021

Waxing Poetic

There’s this tree that sits at the corner of the building in which I work. This tree deserves to have poems written about it.

It’s a knobby old pine with funky branches and it doesn’t belong on the corner of an office building.

It belongs in front of an old cottage where fairies flutter among the violets, singing to the butterflies and bees as they flit between the dandelions and the morning glories.

Inside the cottage lives an old couple, the wife knits and bakes banana bread and irons her curtains. The husband whittles and builds model airplanes and ships in bottles. They smile indulgently at each other as they pass in the small hall that connects the front entry to the kitchen at the back of the cottage.

I go outside every day and check the mailbox for work and pass by this tree and each time I want to hug it.

I know, weird. I’m not really a tree-hugger but this tree is just so…it’s not big enough to be majestic but it’s something. Maybe it’s magical or mystical or a portal to a quieter, sweeter time.

I have imagined living in this cottage in the woods. Maybe I’m the old lady who crochets instead of knits and I make blueberry muffins because I like them better than banana bread. I imagine being away from the hustle and bustle of the modern world. I imagine having a little garden and a few chickens and being entirely self-sufficient. I don’t need anyone or anything that I don’t already have in that little cottage and the small clearing around it.

This tree would live in that little piece of the woods with me, guarding my cottage, watching over my flowers and my vegetables. It would welcome the fairies and the gnomes. It would hold off mischief and wrong-doers. Maybe this tree is the way to my little cottage. It’s how I come and go, how I visit friends and family, how they visit me in my little piece of heaven.

I don’t know. Obviously, this is all just a bit of fantasy. But that tree inspires fantasy. It inspires poetry and the imagination and all kinds of shimmery, dreamy things.

Thursday, April 15, 2021

Just Sad

Last week I received numerous emails from O’s teacher. O was having a rough week. She was acting out in class, she hit a classmate, she wasn’t doing her classwork. All of this led to lunch detentions and finally an after school detention.

Tom and I talked to her. She was grounded from her tablet and from watching YouTube on the television.

The day after the plethora of emails, I got a single email letting me know that she’d had a much better day.

We had a weekend and a Mon day and things seemed to be fine. We upped her Lexapro dose and continued to talk to her about appropriate behavior at school

Tuesday came and O had an appointment at the eye doctor to get her new glasses fitted. After that appointment, I made her go with me to A’s track meet. I figured we be there twenty minutes tops because Lyss only high jumps. Alas, all good intentions are met with a laugh and a slap in the face.

We got to the track and found out that they’d started the boys high jump first and so Lyss and the other girls would have to wait until the boys were done before they could jump. Which meant we’d be there the entire meet because the boys had to wait for each other to run their races and blah blah blah.

Olivia actually behaved pretty well. She ran up and down a hill, rolled down the hill and across the grass and managed to entertain herself with minimal irritation to her sister. I was glad she was getting some fresh air and exercise; most days she gets home from school, grabs her tablet and the remote and settles in on the couch for the night. Or, you know, until I get home from work and we sit at the kitchen table to do homework.

Sadly, our bright mood couldn’t last.

Tom, champ that he is, had dinner ready for me and the girls when we got home from the meet around 7:10. We ate, Olivia and I finished her science homework and I checked my phone.

There was an email from her art teacher.

She wanted me to know that she’d kept Olivia in from free period because she wanted O to redo an art project. The teacher had left O’s side for maybe five minutes to help another student and when she returned, Olivia had cut her art project into ‘a million little pieces.’ She said that she wants to help O learn to work independently. She said that Olivia is so sweet and works so hard and…whatever. She suggested that Olivia is having a rough week.

Backtrack…at the track, Olivia explained to me that they were doing a project in art based around some artist who paints people with exaggerated features. She said that she’d had to redo part of it because she’d ‘accidentally’ cut the head off her project.

Anyone who knows Olivia at all knows they can’t leave her alone with scissors. Please don’t think I’m blaming the teacher here. I know that Olivia is 14 years old and should be able to work independently without disaster. I know this. Tom’s know this. Hell, Olivia knows this and yet…time and time again, we’re shown that she simply cannot be trusted with certain things. And scissors are one of those things.

I replied to the teacher thanking her for her email. I wiped my tears and finished packing my lunch. I am so tired of yelling at Olivia. I’m so tired of thanking teachers for all the work they’re doing with O. I’m so tired of Olivia feeling like the whole freaking world is against her.

Later that evening, Olivia said to no one in particular, “Why does everyone not like me anymore?”

My heart shattered into a million pieces to resemble the art project she’d destroyed earlier that day. I just…what do I do? How do I help her? How to I reinforce her confidence and self-esteem while reminding her of appropriate behavior?

I’m failing her.

Even though I hugged her and told her how much I love her I felt like she was unsure. I reminded her that we all just want her to do her best and if she destroys her work, she has to do it over again and that’s just frustrating for everyone, including her. But even when she does stuff like that, it doesn’t mean we don’t like her.

But is that enough? Am I doing enough? What else can I do? What more can I do? I want to do whatever she needs from me but I don’t know what that is. She deserves so much more, so much better. She deserves to know she’s loved, to know we LIKE her.

This entire situation just makes me so sad. I can’t even imagine how Olivia is feeling when all this is happening. The idea of her beautiful spirit being crush just breaks me.