Lousy Mom?

Yeah, I may be.  But I’m also a dedicated one.  This is a shot of my son on the soccer pitch in a varsity game tonight.  It looks blurry, right?  That’s because it was pouring rain.  Torrential.  Every fan was soaked to the skin right along with the players.

The Scientist offered to stay and take the Ambassador home from his game, but no way was I leaving.  That was my kid’s game!  =)

They wind up tying at the final, but I do love watching soccer, and most especially when the Ambassador is on the pitch!

More on the whole name thing

I had a conversation this morning with a friend of mine about changing her name back to her maiden name now that she is nearing the finalization of her divorce.  She is very tight with her family, and I absolutely support her decision.  Really, her only question in it at all was how it would affect her kids, but I told her that they’d be fine.  With a simple explanation and a chill attitude towards the whole thing, it shouldn’t be an issue.

She then asked me if I thought I would change my name if anything went down between me and the Scientist.  I told her the truth; changing my name in the first place was a huge hassle, and I’m kinda lazy about stuff like that unless I have to be.  There’s no real animosity between us (there is between her and her ex, who is a huge doucheclown).  And I have zero affinity for my maiden name, so I’m not sure what the heck I’d even choose.

It just got me thinking.  I’m tight with my sister, and always will be.  I really don’t see anything changing that.  But if I had to be brutally honest, I’d be forced to admit that I really don’t feel like a member of my family anymore.  My brother and I are civilized adults when we’re together, and perfect strangers when we aren’t.  My niece and nephew, sadly, have shown quite clearly that while they are getting closer with their cousins, they have absolutely no use for the Scientist or myself.  Their choice; they are adults, and I am not going to force the issue.  My mother has been being more and more blatant in her favoritism of my sister and of my sister’s kids over me and mine, so yeah, that bond is strained too.  (See my next post for that one.)  I’m becoming more comfortable with all of this, but choosing to take the name that they share back with any sort of pride just doesn’t seem to fit.  I’m just one of them.

At one time, I thought I would take my mother’s maiden name of Collins, but really, my perception of my grandparents is much different from the one which my own mother holds.  Not a real shock, of course, since the grandparent relationship is vastly different, in most cases, than that of a parent.  But still.  Not sure.

So I guess this one time and place in which my solitary nature, while still quieting to my own spirit, kind of leaves me without a name of my own.  The Scientist’s name really isn’t mine, and I don’t feel any sort of familial bond pulling me to the one I grew up writing.  And yes, I realize that this is largely unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and certainly has no bearing on my life at this time.  It was just an interesting train of thought that wound its tracks through my mind today.

 

 

Dog days of summer

There’s a lot in my head, a lot in my heart, and a lot that’s on my plate right now.

I really thought I might write tonight, but at this point, I am so mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted that I’m changing my mind.

So instead, I’ll just hope that everyone else finds some peace in their lives.

Warning: Offensive post ahead!

Yeah, I know.  You’re surprised.

Like my previous post, there was a starting point to my train of thought.  The infuriating, misogyinistic drivel that inspired my own rant can be found here. The basic gist is that this man will be offended (his word, not mine!) if his future wife refuses to take his name — so much so that he ended a new relationship based solely on the assertion that the woman in question wouldn’t do it.

I was stunned to read phrases like “leave my manliness intact” and “in the man’s bible.”  Perhaps the best one is this: “If we feel like a man, we’ll act like one. And stripping of us the honor of bestowing on you our surname is one surefire way of knocking off a chunk from that pride.”  Did you hear that, ladies?  If you dare have the audacity to want to maintain your own identity, to have the same familial pride that he apparently cherishes, you damage his pride, and therefore, are responsible for his inability to act like a man.  Pretty big responsibility, huh?

Thankfully for women everywhere, this idiot will be “drinking his coffee” at home alone.  No real surprise there, right?

But seriously, the fact that attitudes like this still pervade just irritate me to no end.  Seriously?  How is your genetic pride superior to mine?  Why is your last name automatically better than mine, such that it’s the one chosen to be on all of the paperwork?  The Scientist told me after 3 weeks of marriage that he should’ve taken my last name.  I could’ve smacked him.  Yes, the thought was sweet, and if he had had any foresight whatsoever, I probably would’ve had both of us keep our own.  However, by this point, I had stood in line at the SSA and the DMV and the bank.  I had called the credit card company, the doctor’s offices, our University, the post office, and the Good Humor man on the corner.  Those were the days before the Internet, so it meant actually standing in lines and making phone calls.  No simple clicks.

Now the obvious question about to spill out of your fingertips into my comments is, “Well, if you feel this way, why did you change your name?”  So I’ll save you the trouble and just answer it here.

When I got married, I hid a lot of the real me.  I was still crafting the mask that I wore for so many years, and at the time, the foundation layer was constructed from mutliple strands of “don’t rock the boat.”  “Do what people want to keep the peace” was the glue that went with that.  So when the Scientist’s father got very, very heated at the mere mention of a woman not changing her name?  I assessed the situation and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle.  Admittedly, it paired well with the fact that my relationship with my father was nonexistent at the time (and it was only ever tenuous at its best), so keeping his name really meant nothing to me.  I just didn’t care enough about my name to keep it.  Truthfully?  What I actually wanted to do all those years ago, was to take my grandparents’ name of Collins.  But I didn’t.  Like so many other things and times, I shut up, and I did what everyone wanted me to do.*

My own children have been raised better.  They have been raised with confidence in themselves and pride in their identity.  They have also been raised to know that a name can be altered easily to suit the person.  So if they, at some point, choose to marry and take their spouse’s name?  Rock on.  If they choose to keep their own?  Same goes.  If they choose together to take a new name, a new familial identity?  Much the same.  The point is that they are clear on the point that their identity, their heritage, and their history, is just as important as anyone else’s, and that the decision to alter their name rests solely within themselves.

This snarky vent doesn’t make me a man-hater, although some would say it does.  This is not about a woman’s lineage being superior either.  Instead, it’s about respecting your partner enough to have a discussion, to explore the feelings, to come to a decision that respects everyone involved, without murmurs of condescension and arrogance.  It’s about not merely assuming that the female name change is an automatic thing, not worth consideration.  But as much as the author of my referenced post above protests that it’s not about making his wife his “possession,” the attitudes he expresses clearly convey the opposite.

*getting married in my parents’ church
*doing it when it was convenient for THEM (finals wknd!)
*naming my kids names I didn’t like
*baptising them in my parents’ religion
*not following my instincts sometimes with my infants
The list goes on……….

Some days, I really think I am a “broken” mom

No, no, not in the usual ways that make you go, “Freakin’ DUH, Mick…next?”  This is something that has made me a little self-conscious over the years, and I guess after reading another blog post that I hit, almost by mistake, I figured I’d confess.  Now, let me say up front that I am not in any way saying even one negative word about this mom.  She seems like a great mom, and my own brokenness does not in any way reflect on her, or any other mom that has sparked these feelings in me.  Here blog post was merely the catalyst for my own ramblings today.  It can be found here. Please take a sec to read, or even skim, her post, if only because my own post will make a lot more sense.

This mom, along with so many others, got a bit teary at hitting another childhood milestone.  Everything from first steps to kindergarten graduations, to hitting double digit birthdays can elicit that wistful smile, those brimming eyes, and the little sniffles that show a mom who watches her baby achieve the next step in her growth.  It’s a very natural, normal thing for mothers, and moms across the world will nod in empathy even if they don’t know the other woman.

So what’s the problem?

I don’t do it.  My kids’ first tooth, first word, first steps, didn’t elicit a single tear.  Their first days of school didn’t find me reaching for the tissues.  I did not sniffle on my friend’s shoulder when they entered high school.  None of it.  I’m not sure what it is.  I’m not a cold-hearted person by nature; I feel emotion, and I show it.  But for whatever reason, the milestones of my children’s lives do not make me sad.

In the past, I’ve said that I never wanted kids.  This was true.  But once I made the decision to do so, not only did I discover that I was pretty good at it, but that it was also kind of a cool process.  I’ve watched in awe as the stories and adventures of their lives have been written on their “Tabula rasa.” I’ve felt fascination as I watched their own personalities emerge, seen their personalities develop and blossom.  It’s been so cool for me to see or hear that they were commended for their manners or their helpfulness and know that I taught them that.  I’ve instilled a respect for the earth, a love of diversity, and a passion for the exploration and education that comes with traveling our world.

But never did I find myself misty-eyed over any of it.  Excited?  Yes.  Proud?  Definitely.  Anticipating what comes next?  Absolutely!  But not wistful.

As they near their adulthood and move out into the world on their own, I know my life will change right along with theirs, just as it’s always been.  I’ll greet those changes with the joy, laughter, and amazement that has come with each passing day of their lives, but for whatever reason, I don’t see myself crying for the past.

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

A brief spat last night with the Scientist (totally born out of stress, no actual Conflict-with a capital-C) got me thinking today.  The beauty and bane of an hour-long commute to and from work means lots of time in my own head.  It led me to some conclusions, and maybe even a few questions, but it definitely made for some interesting internal discourse as I drove.

A little backstory: when the Scientist’s father had the stroke in March, and was subsequently diagnosed with cancer, he dropped his life (like most people would) and flew out there to be with his parents, to facilitate the life changes his father would need to make, to assist his mother in creating an environment of health for them both.  He grocery shopped for healthy replacements for the pantry, he sorted paperwork for insurance, translated the medicalese (with my help) for his bewildered mom (who, like most people, doesn’t speak the language).  He was his mother’s rock when she had no one else to lean on, and he quietly stood behind his father while they both confronted their own mortality.  In short, he was amazing, as I would’ve expected him to be.

Now, if you go back and reread that last paragraph, nowhere in there was there a mention of the fact that his parents have another child.  Why is that, you ask?  Well, because the Scientist’s sister, the Banker, was cozily ensconsed down in Florida, doing absolutely nothing.  She and her spouse make more money than we do, and have one less kid, but she could not be bothered to hop that flight to be at her parents’ side when tragedy hit.  Her reasoning behind this egregious abdication of loyalty?  Ready for this one?  “They didn’t ask me to come.”

Uh huh.  So.  Allow me to check my facts here.  Your father has a stroke, and in the midst of the treatment is diagnosed with cancer.  He does not “do” emotions.  At all.  Your mother, who is already suffering from depression, but has done nothing but take care of other people for her entire life, does not utter the words, “I need support, please come help” and that is your excuse?  Seriously?  The Banker and I have never been close, but any residual respect I might have had for her went sailing out the window right along with my incredulity.  It was, for lack of a better word, unfuckingbelievable.

Now, in a vague parallel, our own hero of previous posts, Golden Boy, blissfully allowed my sister and me to shoulder the entire burden of caring for our mother and father last year during the four months between our father’s crash after reacting badly to a cocktail of chemo until his death.  On January 8th, when he was put on the ventilator and went into MICU in a coma, Golden Boy was summoned, and he obediently arrived.  He stayed a week, and went home.  Then, as we realized that the end was indeed imminent four month later, GB was again summoned, and again arrived, staying until after the funeral.  The interim time apparently wasn’t his problem.  Amazingly, though, he did manage to find time to rent a truck and drive down here to take the majority of our father’s tools (he was a woodworker by hobby and occasional trade).  Ah, the greed of the living is glorious.

Yesterday, the Scientist received a phone call from his tearful mom that his father had backslid.  Medically, he’s been doing well.  He felt good on the patch, stuck with non-alcoholic beer, was pleasantly surprised to find that healthy replacements in his diet weren’t so bad after all, and the results were showing.  The tumors looked ok, radiation was no longer needed, and stasis had been achieved.  Rockin’, right?  Well, yes.  Right up until he picked up the cigarette and the beer again.  *facepalm*  The Scientist was, quite understandably, livid.  If [you] want to behave in a way that has been clearly illustrated as a death sentence, that’s cool.  But man up.  Own it.  Do not sneak around like a teenager engaging in rebellious behavior, and don’t treat your wife like that when she has stood by you every second of every day.  And hell, don’t bankrupt your widow by accruing medical bills from chemo and medications and such, and then throwing it away.

I got him a flight for Friday, but he’s going out quietly.  I think he wants to “bust” his father cold, to let natural consequences spark the inevitable confrontation.  And his mother, who is one of the sweetest people on the planet, would be incapable of not warning him.  Not sure what’ll come of this, but we’ll see.  I feel bad for the Scientist.  I’m powerless here; all I can do is support him as his best friend, and be there if he needs to talk.

Anyhow, now that you’ve been bored through the back story…

Apparently, the Scientist’s mom discovered the smoking/drinking a few weeks ago.  She called the Banker, who not only did nothing (shocked?  Nope, me neither!), but did not call the Scientist.  His mother didn’t want to tell him because she “didn’t want to ruin his trip this weekend.”  (We took the Professor up to DC to dance in the Nations Capital Feis.)  *facepalm*  Why do people do that?  Like we aren’t adults and can’t handle our stresses?  And the bad news is somehow lessened if you wait?  Really?  Aaanyhow.  The Scientist was expressing his frustration with his sister’s inaction, and I mentioned that I was surprised that he hasn’t said anything to her yet about that, considering it’s been 5 months and she still hasn’t gone, etc.  He snapped back that I was the pot calling the kettle black, as I never confronted Golden Boy about leaving the mess for my sister and I to handle last year.

Now, by strict factual analysis, he’s absolutely right.  I have not approached him with that.  Thing is, I don’t speak to my brother unless we’re face to face.  We both know how to be civilized adults, especially in familial situations.  It’s like I’ve mentioned before: my 70yr old mother does not need to know about our history.  So we laugh, we chat about cameras, weather, kids, and other acceptable, neutral topics.  No muss, no fuss, no problem.  And at first, while I snapped back that no, I hadn’t spoken to Golden Boy, but “I tend not to initiate conversation with my molester, thankyouverymuch.”   He pointed out that my sister shared the load and never said anything either, but really, that’s irrelevant.  #1, my sister does not do confrontation, and #2, my sister’s feelings and actions are her own, not mine.  We both settled pretty fast — I know he was just stressed, and really, this isn’t any huge issue.

But it did get me thinking about it.  And really, the reason that it never occured to me to make an issue of Golden Boy’s immature avoidance of responsibility while I get irritated about the Banker all boils down to one thing.  Expectation.  Let me try to explain: my history with GB leads me to have absolutely no expectations of familial bonds or relationships with him.  Years after his dalliance with me faded, I made the mistake of trusting him once.  Yes, once.  I was 17 years old.  The details are largely irrelevant, but he led me right down the path, and like a fool, I followed.  When it exploded in my face, I was stunned, speechless in my sense of betrayal, angry and hurt.  That was the last time.  When I married the Scientist, it was by a judge; my parents tweaked and pressured us to marry in their church as well.  I did so, and my sister made the 15 hour trip up for it.  He couldn’t come 4 hours because he had a volleyball tournament.  I’ve had friends who hear that and are indignant on my behalf, but really?  It never even made me blink.  He is such an insignificant aspect of my life that his presence or absence at important events means elicits absolutely no emotional response.  So while my sister and I were emotionally and physically exhausted after 4 months of constant stress, it never even occured to me that calling on him would’ve been an option.  The concept never entered my mind.  My sister says that she plans to call him when our mother has surgery for her spinal mess, which is 4-6 weeks after they remove the tumors from her lung on Tuesday.  All I could do is shrug.  OK, whatever.  I would certainly not tell her to call on people to help us out; but that phone call will come solely from her.  I can Facebook or call my aunts, but GB is strictly her domain.

So for me to be upset that GB didn’t show up to help out with our parents is a rather foreign concept for me.  It really doesn’t affect me one way or the other.  But the Banker?  She doesn’t have a tight relationship with the Scientist, but she has always, always been the Favored Child.  (no, I am not exaggerating in the least, but I won’t waste space in this already huge post with evidence.)  I expect more from her.  She damn well should’ve been out there at least once by now.  There’s just no excuse.  And while no word of condmenation will come from me in her presence, it does piss me off on behalf of not just the Scientist, but of his mother as well.  She is drowning in her own grief and stress out there, and has almost no support system whatsoever.  I worry a lot about her, and watching her own daughter abandon her because she is too lazy is just unacceptable to me.

Holy long posts, Batman.  Guess it’s time to shut up and go back to ruminating for a while…

Being grateful

The whole “emo” thing drives me nuts.  There.  I said it.  The constant, “Life sucks, the world sucks, you suck, I suck, life isn’t worth living blahblah morestupidwhining yadda yadda.”

Grow. The. Fuck. Up.  And if you cannot manage that?  Then please, for the love of Mick, Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

There are people who have real issues.  There are people who have major stresses in their lives, and huge obstacles to overcome every day.  And you know what?  The adults, the people who are mature and genuine, manage to not only deal with those issues, but they can somehow scrape together enough perspective to realize that there is always something positive that can be found.  This is not about being a Pollyanna.  This is about choosing your path.

You can choose to whine.  You choose to sulk and pout.  And really, I suppose I should respect that choice.  But I don’t have to listen to it, and I sure as hell don’t need to respect you.

I’m guilty of getting overwhelmed, too.  Right now, things are a mess, and some days it’s a struggle to force myself out of bed to face it all.  But amidst all the shit, there are positives.  There are joys that I can savor, there are things of beauty to be seen.  The world can be an amazing place if I choose to explore it.  But it’s on me.

So while I rail at the insipid, emo bottom feeders that irritate the crap out of me, I need to put my own money where my mouth is.  To that end, here are some of my own rays of sunshine that have graced my own life of late.

• I have Ben & Jerrys ice cream in the freezer.
• The new creative project I’m working on is coming along really well.  It’s therapeutic for me to design and create.
• When I come home at night, my family is welcoming and supportive, offering help when I need it.
• My teammates at work, while still not high on my “trust” list, are going through their own shit right now, and yet we still manage to make each other laugh throughout the day.
• I’ve taken some photographs lately that I really like.
• I’m trying to take some time for fun; minor league baseball, some sightseeing while on a purposeful trip, etc.
• I’ll be going on a photo weekend in a few weeks to a new city that is just overflowing with photographic opportunities.
• I think I have a chance, albeit a slight one, to make the deadline at work.
• The weather has been great; hot and sunny, with occasional wild thunderstorms that are fun to watch and beneficial to my gardens.

I’m sure I could think of more, but I’m getting tired.  I have some more stuff to do, and we’re watching Hell’s Kitchen, which is a family favorite every week.

So the moral of the story is this: there are positive aspects of your life that you can focus on if you choose to do so.  If you do?  Kudos.  You have my respect and support, and admiration.  But if you choose to be a whiny, pansy-ass, emo bitch?  Do us all a favor and go somewhere else.  Those of us who are doing our best to deal with shit without drowning don’t need the negativity.

Life’s Roulette Wheel

So, as my recent posts so clearly illustrate, my life is in a bit of a shambles.  It happens, and I’m really no different than anyone else.

But I started to look around and think, “Huh.  Which problem do I stress over first?”

The possibilities were numerous, of course;  the priority for my stress attention shifts as fast as a teenager’s love life.  Should it be my kid, my mom, my job, the oil spill in the Gulf, gay marriage, the next presidential candidate, the plight of the purple tailed wombat…?  Too many options!

Unfortunately, while each of these potential stressors represents a red slot on a roulette wheel, the ubiquitous black slots are just as important.  See, the black slots are the sources of guilt.  Everything from “you’re not doing enough for your mom” to “you failed miserably in teaching and guiding your kid” and “you should be working harder to meet work deadlines.”  Throw in not reading enough on politics and current events, not doing any volunteer work, or having my gardens looking how I wanted them this year, and you’ve got one hell of a game.

“Step right up, Ladies and Gents!  Place your bets, c’mon and play!  Everyone’s a winner in this one!  See where Mick finally loses her mind completely…”

I kind of felt like everything was spinning out of control this week, and so I tried to come up with a better way.  I can’t fix the issues.  And I can’t completely alleviate the guilt.  But I can take more of a triage approach to it.  First thing is to try to keep my own physical strength solid.  I’m watching what goes in my mouth, back into working out, trying to get more sleep.  Then I figured I’m going to sit back and just handle stuff as it comes.  Whichever stressor jumps to the front of the line at any given moment will be dealt with, and then I’ll move on.  I can only do so much without burning out completely, so this might (hopefully) make things more managable.

“But Mick, what about the guilt?  Those black slots are just as prevalent as the red, you know.”

Very true.  And that is a problem that I’ve been struggling with for a long time.  V (therapist) says I take on too much guilt.  And maybe she’s right. But unraveling years of tightly woven cloth is not done in any short chunk of time.  So I will start with shifting the mirrors.  Instead of taking feedback from just anyone, and really, even myself sometimes, I’m going to reserve that for the few people I truly trust.  If I bring a situation to one of them, and get “what the hell were you thinking?” back, I know there’s an issue.  But where I may beat myself up for something, they may well tell me to chill out.  We’ll see how it goes.

In the meantime, I really need to find a game with better odds.  This one is bleeding me dry!

Cruel Summer

I’m not sure what I was smoking when I thought that July would be a mellow month for me.  What a dumbass move that was.

Work went ballistic, with our deadline getting not only jacked but then exacerbated by various people going on vacation.  Excellent.  I’m kinda mostly dealing with that.

Had a family situation that really rocked our world, but I can’t discuss it here due to some privacy concerns involving other people.  Suffice it to say that our family’s world kinda slipped off its axis temporarily.  It’s resetting, as I knew it would, but it will take some time before it’s completely back where it needs to be.

But the worst part really came out of left field.  My mom was working on getting her spinal surgery scheduled.  Doing my share of helping out with recovery was not a problem; I don’t mind at all, and I can work my schedule pretty easily.  The mess in her vertebrae turned out to be worse than we all thought, so she had to see a new super-specialist.  OK, fine.  Super specialist sees her and sets a new date, but it’s considerably later than the original date, and she is in some serious pain.  As my worry increased (along with my sister’s), Mom’s pain level and depression did too.

Then Mom’s regular doctor called with her CT scan results.  2 more nodules on her right lung, and they “don’t look good.”  Shit.  So for certainty’s sake, a needle biopsy would be done, but everyone pretty well knows that the C word has crashed into our worlds once again.  Mom’s doc wanted the biopsy done right away, but Mom was in too much pain.  She needed that spinal stuff done first, and while we weren’t ecstatic, we did understand.  But an appointment with a pulmonologist was put on the docket anyhow, and we figured we would go from there.

Of course, it wasn’t destined to go smoothly.  The pulmonologist took one look at the CT and scrapped the idea of a needle biopsy completely.  He is apparently concerned enough that he feels the nodules needs to be excised entirely.  And the date scheduled?  The exact same day as the spinal surgery.  And the neurosurgeon?  Will not touch her until the biopsy is done, and if it is cancer, as we all basically know it is, he won’t do the surgery at all.

Um.  Excuse me?  My mother is in excruciating pain, having issues with numbness and balance, and then after having to deal with chemo, you’re going to deny her the healing surgery she needs?  You have got to be shitting me.  I am stunned, pissed off, and just beyond frustrated.

And really, I am emotionally just kinda done.

I really hadn’t planned on ever seeing this view again:

Duke University Chapel, as seen from the cancer wing at the hospital.

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