Letting Go

I am sitting at the dining room table looking at the disaster around me.  Homeschooling texts, papers and drawings are all over the table.  The kitchen is in midclean.  The living room has board games, legos and loads of Christmas decorations.  The tree is up and has been for weeks.  Each ornament has a story and that is what decorating the tree is about.  I remember each year those ornaments made their entrance into our collection.  I have had 26 Christmases and I wish I could say I remember everyone of them.  But, sadly, I do not.
I was watching my two boys rolling around the living room sofa and chair this morning, still clad in pjs and was trying to remember a Christmas with my father.  I can only remember one when he was working at the fire station and came home mid shift to be there when I opened my ColecoVision game.  I got a Carerra 10 speed road bike that year, too.  Mom said I got my Porsche that year.  Silver frame with red handle bar wraps.  My father sat on a dining room chair in his navy blue uniform smiling at me.  I don't remember him staying all day though.  Though I do remember taking a nap with him on the green sofa in the living room.  He breathed so slowly and deeply.  I tried to pace my breath with his.  I felt like I was suffocating.  I was too small to breathe that slowly.  I wanted to be there with him.  I wanted to be like him.  I needed him so.  My parents separation made me want my father more and more.  You always want what you can't have.  For some reason, I was too much for him.
Every two weeks.  That is what was decided.  I would stay the weekend at my father's every two weeks.  It was rare when this actually happened.  He lived in an apartment above a shop in Galveston.  I thought it was a pretty neat place.  Two bedrooms and a sunny kitchen.  When I wanted to call my Papa I would call once and let it ring one time.  Then I would call back and let it ring until he answered.  He said I should do this so he would know it was me and answer the phone since he didn't always answer the phone.  I thought it was pretty cool to have our own code.  Come to find out...he had a girlfriend that he didn't want me to know about.  This special code was to make sure she didn't answer the phone when I called and upset me.  Twenty odd years later, this feels a little like a betrayal.  But I understand why he did it, too.
What i don't get it why he didn't make it a priority to see me every two weeks.  As a child I was of course disappointed but I took his excuses and believed them.  Now that I have children I also have extreme anger at my father.  I also feel like I didn't count to him.  Who would have thought that twenty-four years after his death I would start to feel inadequate.  But, here's the kicker.  I have always felt inadequate but I didn't know why.  And along with many other things that have effected who I am this one just dawned on me last week.  Sitting with my husband, having yet another tearful conversation I realized that I didn't feel like he fought for me.  He gave me up.  He took on a young girlfriend to fill his time, his void, his emptiness, his loss.  And I have spent a lifetime missing him.  The loss is deeper for me now.  I feel the loss of a relationship we couldn't have.  At eleven, the age I was when he died, he had done no wrong.  He was the fire fighter, the joker, the bear hug giver, my Papa.  And I still miss all that...more than I could ever describe.

I have his smile.

Lately, though, I keep hearing his words running through my head.  Things that I learned as I became an adult and started to hear my mother's side of things.  My father was deeply depressed.  He had no self worth and seemed to have suicidal ideations.  He told her that he was worth more dead than alive.

Worth More Dead Than Alive

A father to a little girl who believed he hung the moon.  He had no idea how much he was loved.  He had no idea how much he was worth.  And that was just one little person.
These words hit me hard not just because they are a shocking thing to hear but because they serve as a reminder to me that I am worth more than I think.  I hate to say it.  But, I understand what he was saying.  I have my deeply depressed times.  Those times when I think I do more harm than healing in this world.  Those times when I think my family would be better off without me.  Those times when I think I am worth more dead than alive.  Then I remember what the little eleven year old girl felt like when her father was dead.  He was so WRONG.  His death killed a part of me, too.  I could never cause that pain my boys life.  And it is a lifetime of pain.  Yes, it dulls over time.  Yes, you get used to it.  But, here I sit one week before Christmas and I look at all the things that my father and I missed out on over these last twenty-four years and it hurts all over again.
My boys are amazing.  Their love, compassion, innocence and hunger for life is so exciting.  I know I was there at one point.  Why couldn't he see that he meant so much to me?  It has taken me almost two and half decades to realize I am really pissed off at my father.  REALLY PISSED OFF
But I still love him so much.  I think that now that I realize this I can forgive him and maybe a little peace will come to my heart.  Maybe I can lay him to rest now.  Maybe I can give more of my heart to my family now.  They deserve to have all of me.  I deserve to have all of me.  I think I am on the path to getting the rest of me healed.  Hopefully, I will have it worked out sooner than later.  It's tough work to dredge up those past ills.  To acknowledge them and recategorize them.  It is becoming painfully obvious that the defense mechanisms that I have used for so long are no longer working.  I need to have different coping skills.  It's time for me to grow up.  I have a physiological response to that statement.  It is a daunting task.  I look forward to it. I want to take that pain and disappointment and use it as a tool as to what NOT do for my kids.  We can go ahead and put that in the NOT OK box.
My father did great good, too.  I have spent most of my life talking of all the good.  If you have spoken to me I am sure you have heard a story or two.  But, this moment, this is a healing time for me and I can't just focus on all the good.  I need to feel this out, assess it and move on.  Then those good times mean a little more. They aren't moments that I am holding on to to dissuade the hurt. To cover it up.  They start to have a deeper meaning.  Howard Mayes, Jr.  you hurt me.  Maybe you never knew it.  Maybe you repressed it.  But, I am standing here telling you.  I don't want to be hurt by this anymore.  I want to release this from my heart.  I want to forgive myself.  I want to forgive you.  We all do the best we can.  I get that.  I want to learn from your mistakes in this arena.  My husband deserves that.  My sons deserve that.  I deserve that.

Patience

"I'm going to go take a shower."
I nod slowly and am only slightly disappointed that it means the relaxed morning is coming to an end.  The shower signifies the onset of the work day.  He will clean up and get out.  That's what we all do.  Reserving our lounge wear and bed head for only the most intimate of family and friends.  It is a badge that shows our comfort with each other. 
He walks to the bathroom and I follow shortly after silently padding down the hallway in my big fleece socks.  The cold weather making everyone giddy and anxious at the same time.  The bathroom door opens and I grab his hand and lead him to the bed.  It's not time to shower yet.  Now is the time for snuggles in the warm blankets and to steal a few seconds alone while the kids are distracted by yet another sibling argument.  He smells of the veggies he blended for his smoothie.  His breathing is strong and familiar.  The kids are strangely quiet.  Which we both know means they are looking for us.  We pull the blankets over our head and he says "don't move."  We don't move.  Even my self soothing foot rubbing stops.  The front door opens and I have to break our silence and tell them to not go outside.  With that, they run into the bedroom, jump on the bed and yank the blankets from our heads.  "We found you!"  Giant grins and giggles.  "Let's Battle!"  This is my cue to get out of the soft sanctuary.  A mylar Darth Vader balloon is being bounced around the room.  Giggles and screams are filling my ears and I thank my god for life.  For my children.  For him.  For the ability to see how great my life is.  For my breath.  For my body.  For those giggles.  For those screams.  For all the smiles. 
As of late I have been meditating, thinking, praying and contemplating patience.  I have come to the conclusion that I have a deficiency in patience.  I need more.  So, where do I get it?  The funny thing is....I already have it.  I just have to use it.  I have to find it.  It seems to be spread out all over my being.  It's hidden behind my left lung.  It's nestled in  my knee joint.  It is scattered into all these little pieces.  That is why I have such a hard time finding it when I really need it.  I need to pool it together somewhere easy to access.  I need my heart to be ensconced in a warm lapping pool of patience.  I can access it easier there.  There will be no frantic searching for a reservoir large enough to get me through that one stressor.  I want to swim in it.  I want this like I like it is a tangible thing.  I want this like I used to want certain kind of car, or a pet when I was little.  I need the skills to gather that patience and make it accessible. 
I recently went to a Buddhist center for meditation instruction.  I was asked why I was there.  I couldn't find the words then.  But, that is it. I need to learn to pool my patience. Gather all the shotgun blasts of patience that is scattered around my body.  Oh, what a better way to live.  To have an endless supply of patience.  That is better than a million dollars.  I think about the things I could do with that patience.  I could breathe easier.  I wouldn't snap.  I wouldn't be the mean mommy.  Happiness wouldn't evade me as much.
 So, this is my quest as of late.  Bringing those little liquid mercury like pools of patience together so they can join.  This is my mantra:  Feel it, Find it, Use it.  Be your true self. Sat Nam.  I can find it on the mat in practice.  I must access it when I don't need it. See it there and believe it will stay there and not dry up.  I have it within me.  Sat Nam.  Be my true self.  I have all the potential in the universe. 

Children. Specifically, my children. Fabulous little creatures that they are. Let's see. There is the oldest, 6, who I call Doodlebug. He is losing his first teeth. We brainstormed on ways to get them out quicker. None of which he agreed to. He decided that just letting them do their own thing is just fine. How can you turn down an offer to tie a string to your tooth and the other end to the cat and then slam the door to scare the cat. I would have thought a little boy would love to terrify an animal. Uh uh, no go. Then we discussed twisting the teeth with his fingers. Nope. I ended with the idea of pliers. I don't think I have ever seen his eyes open any wider than they did last night at that proposal. I was shaken off on that one. So, we are reduced to waiting. Not something I can do well. Not so patient. Might I mention, patience is something that is required in droves when you have a child. The need for patience increases exponentially with the presence of each additional child. Odd that patience seems to diminish exponentially with the presence of each child. Is this another one of those cruel jokes of life we are to just accept. Sadly, yes. Currently. Doodlebug is taking an extended bath to remove the orange juice pulp from his dried stiff hair. There was an orange juice incident with his little brother this morning. Somehow, the 21 month old, also known as Monkeybutt, kicked the glass while Doodlebug was drinking. There was a spectacular shower of pulpy juice over the big kid, sofa cushions and seat. Um, wow. I only have about another year before I can purchase a new sofa. We just have to make it past Monkeybutt's toddler years. Then I feel like it might be safe to get something new and not worry about the endless onslaught of sticky spills, accidental urine leaks and any other countless messes little ones create. I have a love hate relationship with peanut or almond butter. Kid's love the taste. I love that it is a healthy snack. I hate that it turns to concrete upon hitting my sofa cushions and pillows. Seriously, there are still stains from Doodlebug's toddler years. I have washed all the covers to boot but they just won't let go of the precious peanut butter.
The longer I have these kids the more I realize that Bill Cosby knew what he was talking about when he did his "Bill Cosby: Himself" stand up. Particularly the part where you have to tell the kids every single step in the task at hand. They take things so literally and will do exactly what they are told to do. The fact that they take everything so literally is the reason why sarcasm does not have any impact on them. Case in point: Enter sarcasm: "I just love it when someone is rude to me while I am ordering dinner." Mama, you like that? I think it is mean and I don't like it at all. "No, honey, I was being sarcastic." Carstatic? I still think it is not nice.
So sweet. A point in their lives where their ignorance is still innocent.
Yesterday, Doodlebug was taking a bath after playing in the mud he and Monkeybutt created with the sprinkler in the front yard. It was time to brush teeth and start heading to bed. I told Doodlebug it was time to get out of the bath and head into the living room. I forgot the all important "dry yourself with a towel first" statement. My 4'2" six year old hopped out of the bathtub and started to hustle his way to the living room still dripping. I stopped him quickly after I realized my mistake in commands. "Oh, hold on, you have to dry yourself." So, he did. I forgot one more thing....dry your hair first so you don't continue to drip. He slogged around the house briefly with droplets running down him back and leaving little puddles in the wells of the his footprints. Doh! Mom did it again. Be as literal as you can and life with kids goes a little smoother. Did I mention sarcasm doesn't work. That is a real shame. It's like a second language to me and I can just slip into it without thinking. I'm talented like that. I know, it's a gift.
I won no awards for Mommy of the year yesterday. It was one of those days. We all have them. No one is proud of them. But, it is behind me and we are working on a new day and it has already proven to be better for all of us.
I took a much needed break from routine last night. I went and enjoyed a summer night in my naked Jeep. One of those nights that as you are driving the wind feels like silk on your skin. You just don't want to stop driving. Foot hanging out of the empty doorway. Sound of the wheels on the road and wind in your ears. Music from the radio is not necessary. Driving becomes a visceral experience. Things that you see seem more real when they are not from behind a pane of glass. You can feel fluctuations in temperature that would be completely imperceptible if you were locked away in the cab of a car. Conversation with people will even pop up when you are out in the open. Ah, it just feels good to be behind the wheel of my Jeep.
I first started my relationship with this Jeep in 1993. It has been to Florida and back. All around Florida. All around Texas. Parked in many a driveway. Been my therapists before I realized I needed one, when I had one and when I wanted to be one. I know where every ding and chip originated. There are even ones that are gone that I still tell the story of. There are countless adventures from all chapters of my life that took place in my travelling home. It is one of those cars that just feels like home. I sit in the driver seat and remember them all. Wrap them around me like a shawl. Good or bad memories...they are all comfortable. Only, now in my life the Jeep has become a source of comfort to my husband too. The call of the summer nights beckons him. Some nights a drive is in order to clear the cobwebs or the deep blue funk we all sometimes find ourselves in. A bit of respite from conundrums or a too loud household.
I just love to settle in, lean back and wrap my hands around the rubbed smooth steering wheel. I remember wondering if there would be a time when the whole thing was rubbed smooth and not just the one or two places I regularly held it at, years ago. Yep. 16 years later and it's rubbed smooth. I just love that.
I can't count the times it has been broken in to. Nothing of value was ever really taken. Sentimental value, yes, financial, no. Oh, well, there was the time when the fiberglass top was taken off of it in the middle of a December night. Who steals a top? Well, according to the cops repair shops do. That's comforting. Never found the people who pulled that one off but I was able to purchase a used top off Craigslist, get it repainted along with the hood and cowel of the Jeep that were starting to lose the clearcoat and a few other things with theinsurance money from that. It allworked out. I sometimes miss the stickers fromt he back window that had been there for a decade. They had stories too. When all this went down. The insurance company didn't want to pay for a rental car since the vehicle was still drivable. I had an almost three year old Doodlebug at the time and explained it was not possible for me to take him anywhere in December in a topless Jeep. They finally realized the severity of the situation and ended up with a rented Magnum for about a month. No complaints from me. THat was a blast toodling around town in that thing.
Then a year or so later neighborhood kids decided they wanted to set my Jeep on fire. The passenger seat has burn wholes in it. Neighbors chased the kids off and ran into my house and yelled for us to call 911. I was at another friend's house that summer night when I got the call. I was just around the corner and ran at mach speed home. At some point I kicked my flip flops off because I couldn't move fast enough with them on. Cops came. We had eyewitnesses and could identify the kids. Nothing came of it. Cold case now. Cops just wouldn't call me back when I was trying to get it moving. Guess there were better things to do. The kids are still in this neighborhood. I see them everyday. They glare and posture to us. They know they got away with it. The open hostility FOR NO APPARENT REASON is ridiculous. They are just thug kids. It is amazing to hear how the family of one of them talks to each other. A complete and total lack of respect on all sides. I have never heard f bombs dropped like that in any conversation between a mother and a son. Shocking. Guess delinquent behavior is expected.
Ah, to be the older and wiser 34 year old. HAH! Older: yes. Wiser: barely. I have so much to learn. It is amazing all the things my kiddos teach me. Or even reteach me. THere are many things about enjoying the little things in life that I forgot because directions to the grocery store with out too many stop lights took its place. Remembering to slow down and realizing that a day filled with "nothing to do" can be the most action packed days of all.
Woops...look at that. Noon on the dot, Monkeybutt is sleeping, Doodlebug is still in the bath, the computer battery is almost drained dry and I have a day of swimming ahead of us. Guess I should gather the suits and sunscreen and get ready for more Summer!

Today marks the start of my sixth week of Crossfit. This is all still so new and strange to me. I never would have thought I would be doing what I am doing. Jeremy has been at it for about a year now and the response in his physique is nothing short of amazing. He is in better shape than he ever has been and I gotta admit he looks damn good. I think that really may have been a big drive for me. I want him to be proud to have me on his arm. I don't want to feel like people are looking at him and wondering what the hell he sees in me. So, when I learned there was a cross fit class at Fit and Fearless that was women only I discovered that all the excuses had run out. That was the last thing that was keeping me at home. I was very intimidated by the Krav Maga classes I took shortly after our second son was born. I wanted someplace that felt somewhat "safe" for me. I started back to my yoga with a vengeance last fall and wanted to do something that would help me strengthen my practice there also. So, I did a group workout one Sunday and later that week I was in Kara's class.
I am incredibly proud of myself at the moment. I go to class three days a week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday) and haven't missed a day for anything less than the stomach flu. I realized that if I miss days then the next time I show up it is just going to be that much more difficult. There is also a part of me that I don't remember paying any mind to in the past. I have noticed a little competitiveness developing. Trust me when I say it is simply a blimp on the radar of anyone else as I am not competitive in physical activities. I never have been in organized sports and it is unfamiliar territory.
I am not really expecting this competitiveness to develop much more but it is an all together interesting feeling. I never thought I would be able to say that I love doing cross fit. The workouts can me brutal and definitely painful. There are days that I want to bury myself in a shallow grave when I leave The Box (loving nickname of the gym we work out in). But, for the most part...it's GREAT! Don't tell Jeremy this, but now I understand why he would come home and give me blow by blow, or rather squat by squat descriptions of the workout. I still don't think I talk as much about it as he does. Seriously folks, he would spend as much time as it took to workout to tell me about it. I had spoken to him about him being a little obsessive. But here I am, posting a blog about this when I haven't posted anything since August of last year. I find it hard to believe so much time is already gone.
I have started to cultivate friends there, too. They are definitely a bonus and often give much needed encouragement when I am feeling thick or heavy while exercising. So, now, somehow, we decided it was a good idea to do the Zone Diet. Anyone who has seen Jeremy knows this isn't about losing weight for him. It is for me but also about just making ourselves healthier adults. We have these two amazing little boys that are looking to us to be there for as long as we possibly can. With so much history of heart disease on both sides of my family I would be remiss in my duties as a Mom to not make sure I am as healthy as I can make myself. So, I count blocks of food to eat. I keep hearing it will get easier. As it stands, I am spending far too much time working out what we will have for dinner than is comfortable to me. One week in to the Zone and I have been considering taking my food scale with me while I am out to make sure I am eating the proper quantities. That is taking it to an obsessive level, I think.
I will let you know how it goes. So far, so good. Jeremy took the scale away from me. Says he did it so I would stop stepping on it. I figured he was tired of the emotional repercussions of me stepping on that evil little machine of the devil! He admitted that was another reason. Oddly though, I have cared less about what the scale says lately. I know I am getting healthier. I know I am doing more for myself than I ever have. I know that my children deserve the best. That also means that no matter how I feel about myself they have to have the best mother I can give them. They will not pay for my poor self image. It doesn't seem like much of an option anymore. I have to be my best. I may not know what will come to me in the future but I am certainly planning on meeting it a better me!
Did I mention that the mascot for the program I started is called Pukey the Clown. How the hell did I get into this? It really goes against all reason for me to be in a sport that pushes you so hard that you will get a visit from Pukey and end up doubled over revisiting the food you may have recently ingested. Gotta love it, right?

We found bigfoot!

Jeremy said the Doc told him that the patchiness would fill in as he got older.

Surprise!

I have always watched surprise shows and wanted to be a part of something like that. I have seen the soldiers coming home to surprise family members. The fake surprise on the spoiled sixteen year old’s face when Mommy and Daddy give her the $70,000 car on Sweet Sixteen shows and people receiving a million dollars from Publisher’s Clearing House. I never really knew how I would be able to be a part of the whole surprise thing. Nothing really big ever happens to me (unless giving birth to my second son in the back seat of our car at a gas station counts). I live a very normal life. I love my predictable life. I have two beautiful boys that keep me on my toes. That is generally all the excitement I have the energy for.

But, I still always thought a surprise would be fun. I don’t mean “oh, look you got me flowers” surprise. I mean a rock you to the core surprise. I got my opportunity about two weeks ago.

The planning started only about a month before the event was to take place. I was planning a trip up to my mother’s place in July. The boys and I had taken the train up in June and spent a week with her. It was a wonderful time and we were really looking forward to doing it again before school started for Evan. I had set aside the date I planned on taking the boys north on when I got an email from my aunt in Australia. Technically, she is my aunt. She is my mother’s sister. She is ten years older than I. She has loved me and tormented me as her little sister all my life. I am proud to be her pseudo little sister. Ishea, pronounced eye-shay, sent me an email asking for me to do whatever she asked me to do, drinking would be involved and confidentiality would be necessary. I was both compelled and completely terrified. This was my big sister asking for me to give up free choice for a weekend. God only knew what she had in store for me. My husband was even suspect over what would be in the works. The truth was actually much more benign than expected.

Ishea had not been over to the States in four years. Both my mother and I were feeling the distance between Ishea and us deeply lately. I missed Ishea terribly and the phone calls and emails just were not doing it. So, once I got this email from Ishea I contacted her via email and she called me later that night. It would seem that her twenty fifth high school reunion would be taking place the first weekend of August and she wanted me to be her date. Well, did it look like I had any choice? Nah. Even if I did, I would not have made any other choice than to go. I really would follow Ishea to the ends of the Earth if she needed me to.

She would come over to America. Spend a week here with me and my cousin (her other niece) since we live in the same town, head south for a few days for the reunion then north to surprise her sister (my mother). This is where the crazy surprise comes into play. Little big of background: I speak to my mother at least four times a day. We are in constant touch and never keep things from each other. So, here I am now sitting on this surprise for her that I bigger than anything I have ever had before. I had to start avoiding my mother. This was incredibly difficult for me. I started to feign illnesses or bad moods so I could get off the phone sooner. That was the only way I knew how to avoid telling her that her baby sister was coming into town. Ishea was to be Mom’s belated birthday present. Mom turned sixty this year and we couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate that.

I told Mom that I planned on making our trip north a few days later than we had already planned. She was still expecting me and the boys for our week long vacation with her. She had called me countless times to tell me about all the things she thought would be fun. All I could think was “if you only knew what we have in store for you!” On the day we ventured north I arranged with Mom that we would meet her and Pharris at a restaurant since the boys were starving and she would be coming back from getting Pharris from school. This would be the first time we ever did something like that but not too out of the question. My car full of people stopped at a Central Market to pick up some flowers. We only hoped we would be the first people at the restaurant. That would make concealing the surprise so much easier. With flowers in hand we headed onto the last leg of our trip. Several phone calls and few little lies later Ishea, the boys and I made it to the restaurant before Mom and Pharris. Ishea and Evan went to the bar area to stay out of sight while Kellen and I waited at the table. Ishea and I both were worried that Motor mouth Evan would let the cat out of the bag before we could surprise mom. It was best to keep him away from the table and not tempted to yell out “we have a surprise and Ishea is here!” or some other form of that. There was only one other table with people at it in the restaurant. At least we knew we wouldn’t be disturbing too many other people. We knew there would most likely be squealing and definitely crying.

Evan came out first after I gave the all clear sign (me removing my glasses from my head). He had his beautiful little pink bouquet of flowers for mom. Why he occupied her attention, Ishea circled around mom and came up behind her. She wrapped her arms around her and kissed her on the cheek. Mom was struggling to turn around and see who was there. When she did she turned to look at me with a completely bewildered look on her face. I can truly understand what a person’s face looks like right before their eyeballs fall out of the sockets. Mom’s mouth dropped open, her eyes opened wide and all she could say was “Oh, my God! It’s so good to see you.” Pharris was in complete shock too. I don’t think I have ever seen him look so confused before. But, once he got a hold on her he wasn’t going to let her go. It was so sweet. He had his “Stinker.” That is his nick name for his baby sister. He held her close and wouldn’t let go.

At first it was almost like Mom didn’t know what to do. She kept her distance a little bit and even leaned over at one point and poked Ishea on the shoulder as if to see if she was real. Then she was able to get a real hug. And that is when the tears started. All this time we had spent missing Ishea was realized. We were the Motley Crew again. Even if we only had a week together we were determined to love each other as hard as we could so we could make it until the next visit.

The Rubowski update

According to the vet I spoke to this morning. Ruby is doing well. She has had no additional seizures. So, now we just watch and wait. If she continues to act squirrely then we bring her back to the vet. Otherwise, we just assume all is well. Rest assured we will be keeping a watchful eye on her.