Friday, January 31, 2020

And Then He Came Back

My dad is notorious for showing up at our house on either a Friday or a Saturday night at around 9pm.

Granted, this is better than him coming over at that time on a Tuesday. I can’t say I’d be able to be civil if he did that. Ahem.

**Tangent because I can’t help it: There is this radio host in our area (She co-hosts a morning show on a Fort Wayne radio station.) who, instead of saying ‘granted’ in the context that I used above, says “Granite.” As in the stone that is often used for countertops. Not as in, “I grant you this caveat.” Which is why GRANTED is the correct word in this situation. No, Nichole uses GRANITE, as in, I wish my house had come with granite countertops. But instead, she’ll say something like, “Granite, it’s better that he comes on a Friday or Saturday than a Tuesday.” Which, I think we can all agree, is WRONG. To be fair to this stupid radio ‘talent’ her male co-host is equally moronic. He almost always uses ‘I’ instead of ‘me’ even when ‘ME’ is grammatically correct, which irritates me to no end, as shown in more than one post right here on this very blog. I think he’d even been known to use the ever-dreaded possessive I as in, “It’s my wife and I’s anniversary.” *shudder* Like I said, Andy’s a moron too. Why yes, I do 'hate listen' to them. It amuses me even as it infuriates me. I'm a tangled web of contradictions. End Tangent.**

So yes, one recent Saturday, my dad pulled into my driveway at 9:05. He came to the door as I bitched and moaned to an amused Olivia about the rudeness of the whole situation.

He rang the doorbell twice (because once isn’t enough, obviously) and when I answered the door, trying not to be as grumpy as I felt, he asked me if I’d call my sister and ask her if his phone was at her house.

I did.

It was.

After I’d made the call, he made an off-hand comment that A receiving a call from me that late in the evening might make her think Dad had had car trouble. Ha. Hahaha, funny joke, that. (Dear Reader: this is called fore-shadowing.)

He only stayed a few more minutes because I think he really wanted to get back and get his phone. Who knows if he planned to drive off again once he had his phone. He’s a nocturnal dude. He likes to drive at night. I know. I think it’s weird too.

So he left, saying something about going to his niece’s (okay, she’s the widow of one of his nephews but still…) house before he went home and how he’d call her if he had his phone blah blah blah.

The girls and I settled back into watching “Making a Model with Yolanda Hadid.” What?

At 10:15, about an hour after my dad left, I saw lights in the driveway. I said aloud, “Who’s here?”

Alyssa and I twitched at the curtains, trying to figure out who was in the driveway. It was a truck that parked right at the end.

We made sure all the doors were locked and continued to lurk at the windows. We’re weird like that.

We have motion activated outside lights. As my dad walked up the front porch steps, his face was illuminated.

I was opening the front door before he could ring the doorbell. The truck that had dropped him off was already backing out of the driveway.

Walking in the door, my dad announced morosely, “I had a flat tire.”

Tom asked if he needed help changing the tire.

My dad didn’t have a spare tire in the truck he was driving. It was parked in the parking lot of the fast food restaurant where Alyssa works. He’d gotten a ride from a tow truck driver at the service station attached to the restaurant.

He used my phone to call my sister, who lived about 40 miles from where I live.

He hung up and handed me my phone, telling me that my sister was going to come get him.

I told him I could take him home or he could stay the night and we could get him back to her house in the morning.

We decided that I’d take him back. It was going to be the same amount of driving no matter who was driving. Either I’d drive him there and then go home or she’d drive to my house and then take him back to hers.

I changed into real pants and kissed my husband and daughters goodbye.

My dad asked if we could stop where his truck was parked on its flat tire so he could get some things out of it to take home with him.

We did. It wasn’t like we had to go out of our way to do that but even if it had been out of the way I’d have taken him there because, damn it, I can pretend to be a kind and loving daughter just as easily as I can pretend to be a kind and loving mother.

This might be a good time to mention that it was raining…hard. And, better still, I had never been to my sister’s house. I had no idea where she lived other than it was west of Angola, near a lake.

Reminder, I live in Ohio, which is east of Angola.

So we drove toward Angola. I watched my car monitor the outside temperature. It was 33 degrees; just above freezing.

Once we were in Angola, I asked my dad where we were going.

He instructed me to head for Crooked Lake.

Once we were on 200W, I asked him where to next.

He pointed left and said, “Turn here.”

“Here?” I said, not seeing anywhere to turn. It was dark, there wasn’t a turn lane and honestly, I couldn’t even see a freaking road.

He pointed to a building with several outside lights. “There’s a road there.”

I finally saw the turn lane and figured out what road he was talking about.

I turned.

We drove some more. The rain kept falling, the temperature dropped to 32 degrees. Sigh.

My dad is TERRIBLE at giving directions. He never once gave me any sort of warning before just announcing, “Turn here.”

Where? Here? It was dark and it was raining. And I was beginning to worry that the rain was about to turn to ice (spoiler alert, it didn’t.)

I finally got him to my sister’s house. He asked me if I’d be able to find my way back.

I would.

I did.

I also waited to make sure he’d make it inside my sister’s house because, see above about being a kind and loving daughter.

When I got home, Alyssa was in bed, Tom was asleep on the couch in the family room and Olivia was waiting up for me in the living room. She was SO tired.

Alyssa told me the next day that she’d tried to get Olivia to go up to bed when she, Alyssa, did. But Liv insisted on waiting for me.

She’s got the kind, loving daughter thing down pat.

I’m pretty sure my dad was glad to be reunited with his phone.

How did we all survive before cell phones?

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Broken

So I’ve mentioned that Tom spent most of 2019 broken.

It occurred to me recently that maybe it was his way of getting back at me for having cancer and having to go through treatments.

Oh come on, we all know it wasn’t a conscious revenge plot on his part but let’s admit I was a lot of work back in late 2017 and most of 2018.

So…maybe breaking bones was his way of slowing down, taking a minute and letting others do for him.

Sure, it seems like a pretty painful way to get a break but this guy works hard. He doesn’t stop on his own so I guess God, the universe, whatever you believe, decided to slow him down in the only way possible.

Not that he let us do much for him but he definitely slowed down.

He’s still limping a bit from that fall from the tree that broke his foot.

But he’s back at work (Ebaying) and getting out of the house (to go to antique stores, but still!) and he’s planning on going back up that damned tree and finishing the job he started the day he broke his foot. He says he’s going to use scaffolding next time, which he swears is safer than that he was using (a ladder? The tree itself? Who knows.) the day he fell.

Sigh.

I just pray that 2020 is a better, healthier, safer year for us all. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Anxiety

The first couple of weeks back to school after Christmas break have been tough. Olivia’s stress levels seem to be up.

A few IEP sessions ago, the school psychologist suggested giving her something for anxiety.

At that time, I was skeptical. I didn’t see her as anxious.

But these days…well, there might be something to it.

She gets anxious as the slightest hint of a change to her routine. The moment someone seems to maybe, even a little bit, be mad or annoyed with her, she shuts down. I can almost see her walls go up and her brain shut down. Once that happens, she’s completely derailed from whatever task someone wants her to do.

It drives me crazy and it breaks my heart.

I know she doesn’t do any of this on purpose but if maybe, just maybe, we can give her something, a medicine, that will help ease the anxiety that causes her this stress, well, wouldn’t it be worth it? I think yes. It will be worth it to me, to her teachers, and most of all, to her. To give her some relief from her constant worry, the stress of what comes next, the anxiety of how each day is going to unfold.

So we’re going to try.

My nephew has been on ritolin (she’s not going to be taking ritolin) for years. My brother tried taking him off it at the beginning of the year and it has been a disaster. He just can’t concentrate. So he’s going back on his meds.

There is no shame in using the tools available to help our children reach their fullest potential.

I have fought to keep Olivia off medication for most of her life but it’s time to give her some relief. If it doesn’t work, she doesn’t have to keep taking the meds. If there are side effects that outweigh the benefits, we can stop the meds. But we have to try.


Tuesday, January 28, 2020

Plank - Singular

Okay, so I’m not doing any sort of resolutions because I’m old and tired and I don’t want to set myself up for failure. I already feel like a failure on a daily basis, why do that to myself even more?

But! See, there’s this thing I’m trying to do every day for a year, just to see what happens.

At the time of this posting, we will be six days into the new year. And every single one of those six days, I’ve done a plank for ten seconds.

I know! It’s so simple and so stupid.

And yet, I want to see what happens. I want to see if I feel stronger in a few weeks. I want to try and go five seconds longer each week. So on each Wednesday, one week after the other, I’ll try to do that plank for five more seconds.

What are the odds that by December 31 of 2020 I will be able to do a plank for 4 and a half minutes?

Yeah, I realize that they’re not actually all that good but I’m going to give it a try.

I’ve been good about washing my face each night and slathering on the coconut oil. It’s a habit now. If I can do this plank thing for a month, it might become a habit and not be such a chore.

We’ll see. Let’s give it a go. (Ha! I’ve watched one too many British baking shows, haven’t I?”

Monday, January 27, 2020

Creeps

I hate that my daughter is at the age where creepy old men feel like they have a right to make creepy comments to her while she’s just going about her day.

She’s working at a fast food restaurant near our house. This restaurant is near a major highway.

Truckers and travelers alike stop at this restaurant.

She’s been asked for her phone number more times than she can count. She always just deadpans, “No.”

Sometimes, the creepy dude will ask, “Why? You got a boyfriend?”

She’ll give the tiniest pause and then say, “Yes.”

I told her that I hate that she has to pretend to be some other dude’s property for other dudes to leave her alone but that I am glad it works and she should use that to her advantage.

I fear that if she were to tell them she has a girlfriend, it would just make the situation worse.

Men (OBVIOUSLY NOT ALL MEN!!!) can be creepy as fuck.

The other night during a quiet moment at work, she was out sweeping the dining area’s floor.

A creepy old dude asked her if she washed windows. Because she’s polite and sweet, just said, “Sometimes.”

Creep replied, “I’ve got some truck windows that could use a cleaning.” And I’m sure he laughed like it was the cleverest line any creepy ass dude had ever creeped at a cute young girl.

Asshole.

I went so far as to ask Tom why some old dudes think it’s okay to be creepy to young women.

He honestly didn’t know. But then again, he’s not a creepy dude, so I can see why he wouldn’t understand how they think.

This all makes me so angry. Angrier than ever, actually. I mean, I’m already kind of always pissed off. But knowing that she’s having to put up with the same shit women have dealt with for as long as time has been recorded just makes me that much madder.

Men?!? Stop it!

While Liv and I were at Lyss’s work one evening (We’ve been there all of twice since they opened last October.) we’d placed our order and I was paying the girl (Lyss) who’d taken my order. The creepy dude waiting behind me had to ask the girl working next to Alyssa about the ‘special’ stickers Alyssa and her co-worker had on their visors.

Dude said something like, “Hey, you two are the only ones with the ‘special’ stickers? Is that because you’re the only ones who are special?”

Again, he thought he was being ever so clever.

Yuck.

He was at least my age, probably older. These girls are in HIGH SCHOOL.

Stop hitting on girls young enough to be your freaking daughter, if not granddaughter. It’s not cute, it’s not clever, it’s not endearing. It’s creepy as hell and we’re so sick of it!

I did roll my eyes at him and if I hadn’t have Olivia with me, I might have said something. I’m on the verge. I’m telling you, one of these days I’m going to lose my shit on one of these creeps and he won’t know what hit him.

Well, he’ll probably think I’m just some menopausal bitch who is jealous of the attention he’s giving the hot young things behind the counter. Because that’s the way some men think.

Friday, January 24, 2020

Cocky

Okay, so I admit it. I felt pretty darned good as we went to bed that first Monday back from Christmas break.

We’d gotten a lot done. I’d freaking rocked the domestic goddess thing.

When I got home from work that evening, Olivia and I pounded out her homework in record time. We went to my mom’s house to visit for a bit, went back home where I heated up dinner for both girls and myself. Tom’s on his own for meals, he tends to work right through the regular dinner hour so…he’s a grown up, he can figure it out.

After dinner, I packed lunches and then took Olivia up so she could take a bath. She was only vaguely stinky but I know that a vague funk can turn into a vicious funk very quickly.

I helped her wash her hair and then, by 8:30, we were downstairs where I washed the dinner dishes, got Olivia her evening serving of pie and ice cream and by 9:10, we were heading back upstairs to bed.

And, get this, I’d accomplished all of the above with minimal bitchiness. Go me!!

So it only makes sense that the very next day, a FREAKING Tuesday, was a disaster.

I got home after at 5:20 after having to stop at Walmart for cereal, batteries, Tums, bagels, a rotisserie chicken, oatmeal cream pies and Suzie-Qs. Yes, that was the list. Ugh!

Olivia and I sat down to do homework.

I lost my shit pretty much right off the bat, which made her put up a block that kept her from writing $1.35 on problem number 3.

I stopped her from erasing something because the erasing, the constant erasing, the never-ending erasing drives me insane.

But the derailed her almost completely.

We sat there for a half hour trying to complete five math problems that were something along the lines of: “Write the number in standard form: 9 hundreds, 3 tens and 7 ones.”

Which I read aloud to Olivia and then say, “Write 937.”

That was the first one. It was fine.

The second one was similar…and yet harder.

The third one asked her to write a number sentence and then said something like, “Miguel had $.85. He earned $1.35. How much money did he have?”

All she had to write was, “$.85 + $1.35 = $2.20.”

Easy, right?

No.

Because I’m a terrible person who stopped her from erasing the $ before the 1. We sat there for fifteen minutes with her just looking at me.

By the end I just wanted to cry. I wanted to cry for me and I wanted to cry for her.

I hate that this is so hard for her. I hate that I sometimes make it harder still.

Before bed that night, I told her I was sorry for being so cranky.

She said, “Well, at least you’re only cranky when you’re talking to me.”



My heart broke into a thousand pieces.

My sweet, beautiful, funny, smart girl thinks, feels, and believes I’m only cranky when I’m talking to her.

That says a lot, doesn’t it?

It means I have to work hard, in the long term, to STOP being such a bitch to this child. She deserves so much better. She deserves a loving, patient, kind parent who doesn’t take her idiosyncrasies personally and works out ways to help her around the blocks her brain puts up when things don’t go exactly as planned.

So yeah…that happened.

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Seventeen

And just like that, Alyssa is seventeen.

I mean, sure, those early days were so long but these years have flown by.

She's so amazing. Her talent, her kindness, her joy and just living her life is inspirational.

She deserves so much more than these few lines but I didn't want this day to pass without acknowledging how proud I am of her and who she is becoming.

She's a loving daughter, a sweet sister, an amazing friend. She adores her grandparents with just the right amount of exasperation over how 'old' they are.

She is beautiful, she's strong, she's so darned smart.

I marvel on a daily basis that she's mine even as she spreads her wings and prepares to take on the world.

Happy birthday, my sweet, wonderful girl.

Friday, January 3, 2020

Dismissed

I wrote this before Christmas break even began but it is an excellent example of how I need to start using my words, so I'm putting it here just because:
I hate confrontation. Maybe my total discomfort with that is why I push down my own thoughts and ideas and just roll with whatever the loudest personality in the room says.

I can almost always see the other side of an argument.

I mean, okay. There was this time when a boyfriend wanted to write a bad check to Meijer for cash. That was a no-brainer for me and we fought bitterly over that one. That time, no, I couldn’t see his side. He wanted me to do something that was so fundamentally wrong that I didn’t even try to see his side of things. Let’s face it, he was trying to get me to BREAK THE LAW and I refused. Never is beer worth the risk of prosecution. Honestly, I can’t believe I even need to put that into writing.

But most of the time, the issue is over opinions rather than right and wrong. Most opinions are neither right nor wrong. Obviously there are exceptions. Like if your opinion is that 45 is an excellent president, your opinion is WRONG. But most opinions, like preferring green grapes over red grapes, well, that’s okay, it’s just an opinion, it’s not right or wrong.

Which is why I am not usually willing to debate or argue an opinion. I don’t like to argue unless I know I’m right.

So when Tom got all opinionated about which mug we should stuff with candy and send with Olivia for the sixth grade mug exchange and hot chocolate party, I kind of shut down. His opinion was that the dippy little mug with the picture of the snowmen was better than the taller one that was shaped like a snowman.

I disagreed but I didn’t have a reason for my opinion other than the taller, snowman shaped one was cuter.

His opinion was based on the fact his belief the shorter, more traditionally mug-shaped one would be less-likely to be spilled by a rambunctious (or just clumsy) twelve year old.

My own opinion was based on the fact that the sixth-graders in questions are typical twelve year olds.

I truly believe that Tom was basing his opinion on his belief that Olivia is a typical twelve year old. She’s not. She’s just not.

Where she’d very likely spill that mug, the kids in her class…probably would not.

I started to tell him about seeing one of her typical classmates the evening before at a basketball game (I was there to sell beef sticks, not because I enjoy watching high school basketball. I do not enjoy watching high school basketball…in fact, I do not enjoy watching any level of basketball, be it high school, college, professional, junior high, little tykes or even geriatric. No. I will pass on all basketball, thank you ever so much.)

Ahem, back to the game where this classmate of Olivia’s walked by me several times and then stopped to say hi and ask me how Olivia is doing.

Can you even imagine? A twelve year old girl stopped to say hi to the mother of her classmate and ask how the classmate is doing. She looked and acted fifteen freaking years old. She’s not even going through that awkward chubby stage a lot of twelve year olds go through. She’s beautiful and kind and smart and social and I’m damned sure that if she had a hot chocolate-filled mug that looked like this:


Or this:


She would not spill it. She wouldn’t need this dumpy little mug just to keep the hot chocolate from meeting the desk and the floor.:


And you know what? Who cares if they do spill it? These teachers, the people ORGANIZING this shindig, know these kids. They know them better than Tom and I do. We know Olivia and we know that she’s not a typical sixth grader. And hey, if a kid does spill their hot chocolate (Olivia?) the teachers are the ones who have to clean it up, not us.

But back to my starting to tell him about seeing T at the school that night. I was going to try and explain to him about how mature she seemed and how capable of sipping hot chocolate out of a snowman-shaped mug she probably was but all I got out was, “I saw T, Olivia’s classmate last night at the school-“

And at that point, he kind of moved his hand in a way that came across as dismissive and said, “Yeah?”

I shut down. I shut my stupid mouth and I started to move away.

Tom put his hand out and asked incredulously, “What are you doing? Were you just going to walk away?”

I was. I’d been dismissed so I was done.

He swears he was just doing the hand movement thing to move the story along and that he was waiting to hear a story. There was no story. There would never be a story. I was no longer interested in defending my opinion.

Then…THEN I felt bad for thinking he was dismissing me and my stupid eyes got teary. I hate that so much. I also hate that instead of shutting down when he ‘dismissed’ me I didn’t just call him on it.

My opinion is no less valid than his just because it’s different.

But my aversion to confrontation is so strong that I’ll just meekly walk away rather than ‘argue’ my point. I put argue in the quotes because it wasn’t even an argument. It was a discussion but that man has a strong opinion about everything. And his voice is loud and can be booming. It feels like a confrontation even when he doesn’t mean for it to be confrontational.

Sigh. I don’t know where I’m going with this. Maybe I’m just getting it out because it’s been bugging me for days.

For what it’s worth, he put the dumpy, dippy mug away and insists that we’re sending the cute one since that’s the one *I* want to send. Whatever. Sometimes getting weepy is the only way I can get my way. I hate that that is true.

Thursday, January 2, 2020

Words

As the new year begins, I am thinking about how to make 2020 better than 2019. First, Tom can stop acting like he’s twenty years old (or hell, 40!) and doing things that are going to hurt him. No more climbing twenty feet into trees with a chainsaw.

Second, I want to start using my words.

I want to stop using the word, “I’m sorry.” But I want to use words like, “That makes me feel like crap, stop doing it.”

I want to stand up for myself and stop apologizing for taking up space.

To my credit, I’ve stopped saying “Thank you” to people for whom I am doing a favor. I will say, “Okay” if they want me to acknowledge something but not thank you. For example, there is this woman at my work who will bring her PERSONAL mail down for me to take to the post office when I go to drop off business mail. As she’s dropping her mail into my inbox she’ll say, “Here you go.”

I used to say, “Thank you.”

Now, I simply say, “Okay.” Because hello, I’m doing her a favor, not the other way around.

So yeah.

There was this moment recently where I felt like Tom was dismissing me. And so I started to walk away, feeling dejected.

I want to be the type of person who simply says, “Are you dismissing me?”

And then waiting, letting him either acknowledge his shitty tone or deny it.

Either way, I want to use my words. I want to voice my worries, my fears, my triumphs.

Here comes 2020.

No resolutions but I am determined to use my words in this coming year.

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

From 19 Into 20

As years go, 2019 wasn’t a bad one. I mean, compared to 2017, the year in which I was diagnosed with cancer and was told that my job was being eliminated all within a two-week time frame…yeah, 2019 wasn’t bad at all.

Alyssa turned 16, she failed her first attempt at getting her driver’s license, much to everyone’s surprise (No sarcasm there, we truly were surprised she failed.) She did pass on her second attempt and was rewarded her license to drive. She drove away from us alone for the first time. It was only a four mile trip to the dollar store but still…these days, she drives herself twenty miles to Bryan for voice lessons, to school every day, to work a few days a week, to hang with friends, etc. She’s so independent and it makes me proud and sad all at the same time.

I worked. I ‘celebrated’ my one year anniversary at my ‘new’ job. I’d have celebrated 19 years at my old job if it those at corporate hadn’t decided they could make more money by sending production to England. Sigh.

Oh hey, I ‘earned’ three whole days of vacation for all of 2019. They were parsed out sixteen weeks apart. Yeah, that was fun.

Shall we remember how many paid days off I had at my old job? Why not? Let’s wallow a bit longer, shall we? At 19 years of service, I’d have received 4 weeks (that’s 20 days) of paid vacation and one week of paid sick/personal time. I also received 11 holidays, two of those were ‘floating’ holidays, to be taken at will, as needed, the same way vacation days worked.

Enough wallowing, let’s look in the bright side. As of today, January 1, I will have a WHOLE WEEK of paid vacation. That’s FIVE WHOLE DAYS. Yes, those words are dripping with sarcasm. I’m not so much looking on the bright side, am I?

Wait, I take it back. 2019 was actually kind of sucky. I almost forgot about Tom and his ‘year of injuries.’

He spend the last half of 2019 broken.

It all started in June, when he tripped and fell into a wall, hitting the corner with such force that it broke his clavicle. That put him out of commission for almost eight weeks. It was awful.

Then…THEN, he was back on his feet for two whole weeks when he fell from a ladder he was using to trim my mom and step-dad’s tree and…he broke his right foot. That was back in late August. He’s still in pain. It makes me sad.

Speaking of being sad, Olivia is in sixth grade and I think this has been our hardest year yet. She’s being left behind by her peers. I knew this was coming. I thought I was ready. But it just makes me sad.

She brings home homework that she simply isn’t able to do. She doesn’t think like a typical sixth grader. She can’t read a passage about Mesopotamia and take key points out of that text and then answer questions about the agriculture or geography of that area.

She’s so smart in her own way. She’s got so much going for her but school work on the typical level isn’t one of those strengths. And it makes me crazy when I sit there for forty minutes doing her homework myself because she isn’t getting anything out of that, even when she’s sitting right there with me.

I wish I could rewire her brain, replace that missing part of her chromosome, ‘fix’ her while retaining the things that keep her so very Livie.

Alas…

A few other tidbits on 2019: My auntie Nell had a stroke and spent a couple of months in the hospital, only to be moved to a nursing home for rehab. She’s STILL there but is making a little progress. I pray for her each night. This auntie is Amy’s mom so her illness is big blow to her immediate family.

My dad’s sister, my Aunt Esther died in October. She was 94. She lived a good, long life. She left behind a legacy of children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. She was my dad’s last living sibling. Now he’s the last of his parent’s children to be alive. I am sad for him even as we celebrate the life she lived.

Anyway, let’s raise a glass to 2019, while it wasn’t as bad at 2017, it can still go screw itself.