Faded and Worn

Oh my God, I miss him more than anyone knows.

Time has flown and it all still feels like yesterday. . .

The wound has healed but it still hurts.

My heart aches over the loss of my Father.  Almost twenty five years later, I still miss him as much now as I did then.

Today would have been his 73rd birthday.

And I didn't remember it.  A status from my brother on Facebook honoring our father on his day had me in tears.

How could I forget?

And then I start thinking, that isn't the only thing I have forgotten.

I don't remember what his voice sounds like.

I can no longer remember the date that he married Mom.

I don't remember the sound of his laugh or any mannerisms that may have stood out to others.

The harder I try to remember the more I seem to forget.

My memories of him are like an old photograph, faded and worn.

A handsome young man at 18. . .

Love you, Dad.  You are loved and missed by many, many people.

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Unexpected Lessons

She is so very excited.

She will be meeting him, for the first time, a little later that morning.

She is giddy, like the schoolgirl she is.

They have talked on the phone a couple of times.  It started with a simple request to have a birthday wish sent out over the radio.  

Somehow, their relationship evolved from there.

Something about her intrigues him.  Maybe, it was something in her voice.  Maybe, he could sense her vulnerability.  Maybe, he knew easy prey when he heard it.

She is quiet.  Painfully shy.  And so very naive.

It takes a lot of coaxing from him to get her to agree to meet.  She is unsure of the things that he wants to do.  

Unsure, yet . . . interested.

The time comes for her to leave so that she can meet him.  She tells her Mom she is going for a walk and meeting up with friends.  She will be home later.

This was a time before cell phones and Facebook and twitter.  There is no way for her to be contacted after she walks out the door.

She feels a pang of guilt for lying.  If her Mom knew the truth there would be no way possible for her to leave the house.

Guilt turns to nervous butterflies as she walks toward the agreed upon meeting place.

She does not know what to expect.  Does not realize what is expected of her.

She reaches the designated location first and is forced to wait.

She takes in a slow, deep breath and tries to calm her nerves.

After only a few minutes he pulls into the parking lot.  He gets out of his green S.U.V. with a wide smile on his face.  She studies him.  He is wearing a crisp white polo shirt, khaki shorts and white tennis shoes.  His hair is shortish and blond.  She tries to memorize everything about this moment. She wants to remember it forever.

He takes her by the hand and leads her back to his truck.  Opens the door for her and waits as she gets in.

With the door shut behind her she takes it all in.

This is real.  This is happening.

She closes her eyes and steadies her breathing.

He has filled her with stories of the things he wants to do.  Has told her that he wants to show her how to satisfy her spouse when she is older.  

He wants to be her teacher.  

She opens her eyes and watches as he climbs into the driver’s seat.  With the turn of a key and the shift of a gear, they are off.

Still smiling, he makes small talk.  Asks her questions.

She answers his questions and asks a few of her own.

She enjoys the attention.  Thinks to herself that this must be what it’s like to have a boyfriend.

They finally arrive at the destination of his choice. . .  A secluded park.

There is an awkward pause in the conversation as he tries to transition into the role of teacher.

She does not know what to expect.  Does not realize what is expected of her.

He takes her hand in his.  Tells her what he wants her to do.

She complies with everything he asks of her.  She feels awkward.  Odd.  But carries on so as to please him.

She realizes that the things they are doing would be frowned upon by today’s society.  Knows that it’s wrong but does not want to disappoint him.

She wants him to be happy.

As the first lesson comes to an end, they pull themselves back together.  Pull themselves back into reality.

Small talk is made as he drives her back to the place at which they met.  

He holds her hand.  

As they pull into the parking lot, they make plans to meet again.

He tells her to call him and they will set things up.

Still holding her hand, he gives her a kiss.

She climbs out of his truck and walks towards the store that will be their meeting place from now on.  She turns and watches as he drives away.

Later that night, as she lies in bed, she catches the lingering scent of his cologne on her hand and her thoughts drift to him. . .

She did not know what to expect.  

Did not realize what was expected of her.

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Memories that will never fade

"I'll see you in the morning, Daddy!"

Those were the last words that I spoke to my Dad the night that he died.

His words to me?

"I hope so."

I look back on that night now, as an adult, and realize that he knew.

He knew he would not be there the next day.

There are so many things that I wish I would have said.  So many things that I wish I would have done.

So many regrets.

Why didn't I go give him a hug and kiss before I went to bed that night?  Because I thought he would still be there.

I remember that night like it happened yesterday.

Being woke up by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.  


Being scared.


Not knowing what was going on.


Hearing the words "I'm sorry Ma'am, he's gone.  There's nothing we can do."



Hiding under the covers as a fireman came and closed my bedroom door.


My world crashing down around me.


My brother carrying me downstairs and telling me that our father just died.


Uncontrollable tears.


Watching as my dad's body was brought downstairs on a stretcher and then taken out to an ambulance.


It being so very cold.


Sitting in a dark living room all alone as my Mom, brother and sister all sat in the kitchen talking.


Feeling lost and confused and alone.

Many memories have faded as the years have gone by.  But not these.

These memories will be with me for the rest of my life.

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There is me

I am 22 years old.

I am empowered.

I have made a life changing decision.

I have finally found the words to tell my husband that I am not happy and I want out.  That I want a divorce.

Not long after this decision has been made I find out that I am pregnant.

I am not happy about this pregnancy.  This is not the right time to be pregnant.

I have just turned my life upside down.

I tell my soon to be ex about this turn of events.

He is elated.  He thinks this means reconciliation.

I immediately stop him in his tracks.

I am not in love with him.  Being pregnant does not mean that the marriage is saved.

I weigh my options.

I can have the baby.  

I can put the baby up for adoption.

I can have an abortion.

I consider all these options.

If I have the baby, I will basically be raising a child on my own.  Plus I know the ex will want visitation and possibly share custody.  That means this child will be shuffled back and forth between homes until he/she turns eighteen.

I do not think that is fair.  

If I give the baby up for adoption, I know in my heart I will spend the rest of my life wondering if I made the right decision.  I will wonder if my child, who is no longer mine, is OK.  I will wonder if this child really does have a better life than what I could have given.  I will wonder if this child hates me because I gave him/her away.

I do not think this is fair.

If I have an abortion, there will be no baby.  There will be no fighting with the ex.  There will be no worrying about the child.  

I always thought that I had morals.

I had always told myself that if I was ever in a situation like this, that I would choose life.  Always.

I take a little time to think.  I tell no one outside of the ex.  

No.  I take that back.  I had just started talking to Randall on the phone and out of the blue blurted it out to him.  Not sure why.

Anyway.

Aside from the ex and Randall?  No one knows.  I keep this secret to myself.  

Anyone who knows me well?  Knows that there is something going on.

I finally make a decision.

I choose to have an abortion.

I am not happy with this decision but out of the three, it is the best decision for me.

I find a clinic and make an appointment.

I tell the ex my decision.

He is not happy.

He argues with me.  He tells me that he should have some sort of say in the matter.

I argue back.  I tell him that it is my body and my choice.  That this is my decision and I am sticking with it.  That if he wants to he can come with me to my appointment.

He decides to come with me when the big day arrives.  Only to leave me sitting there by myself right before I am taken back.

I am scared.  I am worried.  And I am alone.

But really, I should have expected this.  Why would I think he would want to be there?

The procedure happens.

Even though I have been told what to expect I am nervous.

The nurse and doctor are cold, unfriendly.

I am uncomfortable.  

I am told to relax, that everything will be over soon.

There is pain.

There is sadness.

There is me.  

I am all by myself.  

In more ways than one.

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Together but Separate

Watching a movie last night with Randall.

It's about a man protecting his family from a burglar and while protecting his family?  Said burglar might get hit with a baseball bat and dies.

The man ends up going to prison.  He gets screwed more ways than one after he is in the prison system.

Surprisingly, it wasn't a bad movie.

Felon is the name, in case you are interested.

After the movie I look at Randall.

"If you went to prison?  I would wait for you."

And I am suddenly taken back to a time when we were together but not travelling on the same path.

He drove a cab and stayed gone more than I liked.

We lived with my Mom, who looked at him as a failure.  That's part of the reason why he stayed gone all the time.

We traveled down this path for some time.  Together but separate.

I spent every waking hour trying to make him see that the path he was on was one of destruction.

He was about to lose everything that he loved and cared for.

Finally it all came to a head.  I could not take any more.

I could not take the disappointment in Kaylee's eyes when Daddy didn't come home when he said he would.

I could not take the looks of accusation from my Mom when Randall wouldn't call for days on end.

I could not take being together but separate any more.

I blew up.

One day while he was gone, I gathered all of his belongings and tossed them on the front porch.

I had warned him that this was going to happen.

He did not believe that I had done it until he pulled up in front of Mom's house.

I went outside and talked to him.

Full of emotions.

I was strong.  I told him that he had reached the final straw and I was done.

I told him that we might be better off taking a break.  Separate.  And live on our own paths.

That was the hardest thing I have ever done.

He angrily sped off down the street.

I went back inside and collapsed.

I cried like I have never cried before.

Huge wailing sobs.

The pain in my chest was unbearable.

My heart was broken.

I had lost the only man I ever truly loved.

My Mom and Step-Dad both looked at me like I was nuts.

They assured me that I had done the right thing for me and for Kaylee.

It did not feel right to me.

I was now half of the whole.

I was incomplete.

Later that night I call Randall so he can talk to Kaylee and tell her goodnight.

We talk.

Finally I had opened his eyes.

I had made him see what he had and what he was losing.

It takes a few days but we get things straightened out.

He comes back to live at Mom's.

We are together again.

We are whole.

We start on the same path . . . together not separate.

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Shadows from the Past

On my 19th birthday, I received a surprise.

It was not wrapped up in a tiny box.

It was not something I could wear on my finger, wrist or neck.

I had been married exactly six months.

So it should have been no surprise, really, that I was pregnant.

What a gift to be given!

My then husband gave me the gift of a life inside my body.

I was in tears.  They were not exactly happy tears.

They were more along the lines of shock.  I went through a wide range of emotion in a short amount of time.

The thoughts that initially went through my head went something like this:

"OhmyGodOHmyGodOHMYGodOHMYGOD!!!  What am I going to do?  How did this happen?  I mean I KNOW how it happened but OH MY GOD!  There is no way I can be somebody's mother.  No way.  I can not have this baby.  I am not happy about this.  I can't believe this is happening to me!  What is Mom going to say?  She is going to be so disappointed in me.  I am not ready to be a mother.  Scott is not ready to be a father.  Why am I feeling like this?  Why am I not happy about this?"

I could not understand why I was not happy about the whole situation.  I was scared and worried.  Confused as to why I kept thinking that it was not wise for us to have a child so soon into our marriage.

I decided to give my sister a call.  If anyone could help me sort out my feelings, it would be her.  After all, she had gotten pregnant fairly early in her marriage too.

On the phone I give the news to my sister.  She is ecstatic.  She asks me if I want it to be a boy or a girl.  She asks me if I am having morning sickness yet.  She tells me that we need to get together so that she can help me buy maternity clothes and things for the baby.

I try to tell her how I am feeling.  How I feel emotionally about it.  She tells me that it's just hormones making me feel the way I feel.  That once I am farther along in my pregnancy I will start to feel differently.

I am not comforted.  I do not want this baby.

I have thoughts of abortion.  I do not voice them to anyone.  Everyone else is so happy.

I have my first doctors appointment.  He confirms that I am indeed pregnant.  I am told when my due date will be.  I am told to take my prenatal vitamins.

I wait for the doctor to ask me how I feel.

I wait for the doctor to ask me if this is something that I want.

I wait to be given other options.  Something other than keeping the baby.

No alternative is given.  I keep my thoughts and worries to myself.

I remain horrified about everything that is happening.

I remain the sole person in my little circle of support who has any doubts about this pregnancy.  I am the odd man out.

I do everything that I am told to do.

I eat 3 square meals a day.

I have healthy snacks.

I exercise a little bit.

I take my vitamins.

My 12 week appointment comes along.  The doctor can not find a heartbeat.  I am told not to worry.  That sometimes the heartbeat is hard to find.  I am sent to have an ultrasound that same day just to make sure everything is OK.  It is confirmed that there is no heartbeat.  I have miscarried.

I cry.  I am sad.  I feel guilty.

Surely it was my ill feelings about this baby that caused me to miscarry.  I know that I am being punished for the way that I reacted.


Deep down inside?  There is a sense of relief.  The turmoil that was going on inside my head quiets.  The worry recedes.  I relax.  I feel better.

I am scheduled to have surgery.

Surgery comes and goes.

Things start to feel normal again.

Scott and I do not talk about the baby.  We do not voice our feelings to each other.  I sense that he is sad but I also sense relief in him too.  Maybe he wasn't as happy about the baby as he let on.

This is the beginning of the end for us.  This loss did not bring us closer.  Did not make our bond stronger.

It will be three more years before I address how I feel and grow brave enough to tell him that I am not happy and want to divorce.

I am turning 33 today.  I remember this time in my life like it was yesterday.

I am not pregnant.  Even though I wish, with every fiber of my being, that I was.

I am haunted by these shadows from the past.

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Remembe{red}: Glad to be Home

I am trying something different today.  Stepping out of my comfort zone I have decided to try some creative memoir writing for The Red Dress Club.  The prompt for today:

Think of a room from your past.  It can be any type of room at all.
Take a mental picture of that room.
What happened there?  What is it like?  What is the atmosphere there?  What are the smells, the sounds, the sights?  How does it feel?
Now reveal that snapshot to your reader.
Take us to that room.

This is my first time participating.  I welcome any and all critiques.  Just please don't be too hard on me.

Enjoy!

I awaken from my nap in the mousy brown recliner that has been my bed for the last three days.  I am covered with the old crocheted blue and white afghan that Mom has had for what feels like forever.  The recliner has been the only place that I have been able to get anywhere close to being comfortable.

I look at the dark paneling on the walls that has been there since before my parents moved in 40 years prior.  I stare at the pictures, memories from the past, that hang on the wall.  Pictures of my brother and sister and me as a baby.  Pictures from events that I have no memories of.  My eyes land on my favorite picture.  Mom, Daddy and me.  Mom in her lovely purple dress, Daddy in his blue blazer with a white button down shirt and blue tie and me in my cream flowered dress.  I smile as I remember how silly the photographer was.

Mom sits on the comfy blue couch that she insisted upon having not long after she remarried.  She needed a change.  Needed to remove some of the old memories in order to make room for new ones.  She is reading a book and doesn't notice that I am awake yet.  I want to sit with her.  But my body will not allow it.

I look at the bookcase that has sat in the exact same place for fifteen years.  Everything on it is covered with a thin layer of dust.  It's loaded with old books that have been read many times over.  These books will someday belong to me.  On this same bookcase sits a few of my academic trophies from seventh and eighth grade.  Kaylee always looks at them but to her they are nothing but toys.  Mom tells her that if she does well when she starts school she will get trophies like those.  Just like her Mama.

The crackling of the fire distracts me.  I watch the flames as they lick the wood.  Orange fingers wrap around the logs.  Mom walks over and throws another log on the fire.  I listen as the heat makes the log hiss as it warms and dries out.  I love the smell of the wood as it burns.  I close my eyes and relish the heat as it reaches out and touches my toes.

It is bitter cold outside.  The coldest winter we've had in years.  I listen as the wind howls through the eves and rattles the windows.

I open my eyes again and Mom is watching me.

"Hey there Stash-bug...  How are you feeling?"

I ponder this question for a moment.  I want to cry because she is calling me by a nickname that she hasn't used in years.  I do not feel the greatest but I won't tell her that.  The last thing she needs is more worry.

"Not bad for someone who had a gigantic ovarian cyst removed 6 days ago."

I put the footrest down and sink my toes into the thick, white, plush carpeting.  I gingerly scoot to the edge of the recliner, sore from the line of staples that run up and down my stomach like a zipper.  I contemplate getting up but think better of it and scoot back into the cozy old chair.

Mom has slept here in the living room the whole time I have been here.  She has taken care of me.  Brought me food and things to drink.  Kept Kaylee at bay so she wouldn't jump on me and hurt me.

I love it here.  In this house that I grew up in.  I hate the reasons that I am here but for the moment I am glad to be home...

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Forgotten

When I was 7 years old, my Daddy was very, very sick.

It all started with a collapsed lung.  He was having trouble breathing.  He was shaking like a leaf.

Mom kept asking him if he needed to go to the hospital.  He kept saying no.  I guess either Mom kept nagging til he gave in or it got so bad that he knew he absolutely had to go because we loaded up in the car, with Mom driving and went to the ER.

I was in my jammies.

Ready for bed.

I was in the backseat with my favorite blanket.

Scared.  I remember being so, so scared.

We got to the hospital and he was taken back immediately.  There was no waiting.  This was the most dire of emergencies.

I sat in the waiting room.

In my jammies.

Ready for bed.

I wrapped myself up in my favorite blanket.

Scared.

Not really understanding what was happening.

After what seemed like hours, I was able to go back and see Daddy.  I remember the doctor telling Mom that they had to insert a chest tube to drain Daddy's lung and it had to be done with no anestetic.  The doctor said that Daddy might have died if they would have given him anything to ease the pain.

There was blood on the floor.  Daddy's blood.

I cried.  How could he still be alive with this blood on the floor?  He was laying down.  Tubes coming out of him and machines all around him.  Eyes closed.

I was so scared.  I couldn't say anything to him.

He was admitted.

Mom and I went home.  I think I even went to school the next day.

Mom spent as much time at the hospital as she could.  I remember more than once getting off the school bus and having to sit outside on the porch because no one was home.

I was scared.  I didn't understand what was going on.  I wondered why I had been forgotten.

No one told me what was wrong with Daddy.  No one talked to me.

I did, on occasion, get to go see him while he was in the hospital.  I would go with armfuls of drawings that I had made for him.  He always made sure that they were hung on the wall.  Right where he could see them.

I was afraid that he would forget me.  That's why I made so many drawings for him.  He couldn't forget if there were reminders of me hung up everywhere.

I don't want Kaylee to be forgotten.  I don't want her to be in the dark about everything that is going on with her Daddy.  I don't want her to be scared and feel alone.

I am trying to keep her in the loop.  I try to talk to her about everything.  I try to get out of her how she feels about it all.  She won't open up to me.

And that scares me.  That's how I was at her age.  I felt like the people who were supposed to love me the most were leaving me behind.

I am trying to do for her what my Mom didn't do for me.

Being on the other side now, I completely see and understand how Mom got so completely wrapped up in Daddy and his sickness and trying to take care of him.  I get it.

I just wish she would have remembered me.

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Mother Hen-ish

Three days into the new year.

Hello to you 2011!  So nice to see you come around.  Can you please be an easier year for us than 2010 was?

For anyone who is wondering about Randall's last stay in the hospital, he was released the next day.  So he was able to ring in the New Year with his family.  It was nice to have him home.

Nice to have him home and stressful at the same time.

I have been in mother-hen mode pretty much since he walked in through the door.  I know he hates mother-hen mode but he never complains about it.

Mother hen mode is me asking him a barrage of questions to see if he is OK.

This is me:

"Are you OK?"
"Do you feel OK?"
"What's wrong??"
"Are you sure you're OK?"
"Are you nauseous?"
"Are you going to throw-up??"
"Can I do anything for you?"

I know the answer to the last one would probably be, "Yeah, leave me the fuck alone."  But he has never said anything like that to me, ever.

It's stressful for him.  It's stressful for me.  I worry so much when he gets sick like he has been.  He tries to protect me when things start getting bad.  He will tell me that everything is fine.  Sadly, I have been down this road way too many times before and I know that we will be visiting the hospital sometime soon.

He slept all day Sunday.  When the pain is as severe as it has been, that is how he deals with it.  He sleeps.  And I leave him alone.  I let him sleep.  I figure that when he sleeps his body is healing.  And then I hope that when he wakes up, he feels a little bit better than he did before.

He finally woke up around midnight, maybe a little later.  And asked for some soup.  As I was leaving the room, he looks at me and says, "Thank you.  Thank you for letting me sleep and thank you for taking care of me.  I don't know how you have stayed with me as long as you have.  Especially since I have been so sick.  If it was reversed and you were the sick one, I would stay with you of course but it would be hard."

Wait... What?

I just nodded my head.  Pretty sure he didn't mean that to come out the way it did.  He's funny with his words sometimes.  I know that if the situation was reversed, he would do all that I have done for him plus some.

So remember my makeover by Kaylee last week?  The one where Randall got a makeover too?  Well, I asked him and was quickly told that I was not allowed to post those pictures, ever.

Heh.

I figured if I couldn't post the whole picture, I would post part of the picture!

Hee hee!  I can be so freaking sneaky sometimes!

Without further adieu, here's part of Randall's make-over picture:

Think he was just a little surprised?

I giggle every time I look at this picture.  It is priceless!

So much for trying to tell me what I can and can't post!

Hee hee!

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What's in a Name?

I am about 5 months pregnant.

It's right at that time when you get your first ultrasound.  The ultrasound.  The one that tells you if you're having a boy or a girl.

That is, if you are so inclined to know.

And I was inclined.  I wanted to know.  I needed to know.  I did not want to be surprised.  I wanted to have it all planned out.

Randall and I had already been tossing names around.

Caelan for a boy.  That was a name I came across in one of those baby name books and loved instantly.  I still do love it.  In fact, if I am ever blessed to have another child and I have a boy, he will be Caelan.

Briana or Rhianon were the girl names.  Not sure why, only that I liked the way they sounded.

Those were the names we settled on.  Before we knew if we were having a boy or girl.

Randall could never remember the girl names and was always saying something completely different.  Something completely wrong.

I would get all pissed off and annoyed.  And would yell at him.

"This is going to be our potential daughters name and you can not remember what her name will be??  How is that going to work when you are trying to call her to come for dinner?  Or when she is in trouble?  Or to make sure she is OK on the playground?  What will you do?  Call her, 'Hey you'???"

He never had a good argument.  Only that the names were hard to remember.

So comes the day that we have the ultrasound.  Here comes the day that we will know, boy or girl.

I will be happy no matter what the sex of the baby is.  Although secretly, I am wishing for a boy.

We get into the little room with the ultrasound machine.  Why do the machines always seem so much bigger than the room itself?

I sit down, get comfortable and let the technician put the cold blue jelly on my big pregnant belly.

And a few minutes later we see a baby on the screen.

We see the heart beating.

We see the baby's head.

We see a foot.

And then the best question is asked.  "Would you like to know the sex of the baby?"

Randall and I answer together, "Yes!  Yes we want to know!"

The tech pokes around a little bit, trying to get the baby in a good position.  I see the other foot.  A foot so tiny, so perfect.

I can not wait to touch that tiny piece of perfection.

After a couple of minutes, the tech says, "OK!  It looks like your baby is a girl!"  She shows us the girl parts and then moves on.

In that moment, the baby's head is on the screen.  I am looking at it.

That is my daughter.  My. Daughter.

Two names pop into my head instantly.  They are not the two predetermined names we picked out ahead of time.

They are Kaylee and Kayla.  I like both names.  Love them.  And instantly know that the little girl in my belly will have one of those names.

As we leave the office I tell Randall about the name epiphany that happened as we found out the sex of our baby.  I tell him, "I have two names for you to pick from.  I like both of them and will be happy with either one.  Pick from Kayla or Kaylee."

He looks at me, a smile in his eyes, "I pick Kaylee.  She will be Kaylee Nicole.  I want her to have your middle name so she always carries a part of you with her."

How sweet is that?

I could not even believe that I had considered the other two names.  There is nothing wrong with them.  At all.  They are fine names.  Just not names that are my daughter.

They are not my daughter.

They are not my Kaylee...

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Pondering the Past

I am stuck.

My mind is blank.

So I am typing the first things that come to my mind.

After an email I received today, I can't stop thinking about some things that happened after we first moved out here to Washington.

It's not anything that I am prepared to share.

Not yet anyway.

But I am coming to terms with the fact that the things that happened are a part of who I am.  They are a part of what makes me, me.  And while I am not proud of those things, I need to own them.  It is just really hard.

It is hard to think about them and relive them.  I get panicky thinking about them.

I get panicky thinking about how dangerous things really were.

I get angry for not following my gut instincts.

I hate how memories can make you feel sometimes.

And these leave me feeling helpless, sad, lost and confused.

But they are only memories.

Things from the past that can't do anything to me now.

Not physically anyway.  It's the mental shit that could have me looking for some Xanax or Prozac.

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A Special Day

It has been a long weekend {to me anyway} leading up to a very special Monday.

Do you see this guy right here?

He is a man of many talents.

He is a man who loves his family.

This picture?  Christmas 04.  I think.  

He is a man who has a birthday today!

YAY!

Happy Birthday to you Randall!

You are not over-the-hill yet!

;)

Love ya babe!

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Silly Facial Mud Putty

I was going through my journal and came across an entry from the beginning of September.  Thought I would share it with you.


Friday Sept. 3, 2010

Today, Kaylee was playing with her silly putty.  Usually not a bad thing.  Until you start playing with it and pretending you are in a spa and you're using it as 'facial mud'.

Can you guess what happened next?

She came crying that she had silly putty stuck in her hair!

She was balling.  She was so upset.

I was angry.  Very angry!

But I didn't blow up.  I held my temper.

And immediately started wondering, "How the hell do you get silly putty out of hair??"

Randall's suggestion was to try and comb it out.

So I did.  It did get most of the putty out but left her hair streaked with pink goo.

I made her hop in the shower.  And we washed her hair.

I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed some more.  I used a ton of shampoo.

I was skeptical, thinking the whole time, "This is gonna be bad.  I'm gonna end up having to cut her hair, I just know it!"

Would you believe that simply washing her hair actually got the silly putty out?

I was totally amazed.  I was expecting to have to get my scissors out.

Hopefully Kaylee learned her lesson.

Silly putty does not a facial mud make...  LOL



Happy to report that since this happened 3 months ago, Kaylee has not once put the putty anywhere near her face!  


Hee hee!

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Comforts of Mom

Having a sick kid is never fun.

Having a sick kid over a weekend is even less fun.

Kaylee's field trip was on Friday.  She had such a good time.  I was glad.  The only thing she didn't enjoy was the fact that they had to eat their lunch on the bus, on the way back to school.  Can't say that I blame her on that.

When I picked her up from school, she didn't look right to me.  I asked her if she had been crying.  She replied with a resounding "NO, I have not!"

So I let it go.

Later in the evening, she started complaining about her throat hurting.

Uh oh, this is not gonna be pretty.

By eight she is completely miserable.  She is fevered.  Her throat is killing her.  She feels like shit.

By nine she is ready for bed.  Already in her jammies and coming to tell me she wants to go to bed.  Highly unusual for her since on Friday and Saturday she gets to stay up later.  I'm a softy and let her stay up 'til eleven on the weekends.

She tells everyone good night.  I head to the kitchen to get her a bottle of water.  I turn around and she is standing there.

"What's wrong Pumpy?"  Pumpy is short for Pumpkin, my nickname for her since she was born.

She croaks out, "I want you.  I really don't feel good."

And she walks to me, hugs me.  She's in tears she feels so bad.  She just wants some love and comfort from her Mama.

Who hasn't been in that position before?  Who hasn't wanted the comfort of someone special when they feel like crap?

So I wrap her up in a hug, kiss her on the head and walk her to her room.  I get her all tucked in.  "Will you lay down with me?  I feel horrible Mama."

Of course I lay down with her.  I have to be under the covers, she is happy no other way.  She snuggles up to me and lays her head on my chest.  Memories come flooding back of holding her as a baby.  How she needed and relied on me for everything.  How peaceful it could be to just hold her and watch her sleep.  I am saddened a little.  There won't be many more opportunities like this.

Tears are falling.  From her, even though I am a little misty eyed.  I rub her back and tell her to concentrate on going to sleep.  She moans and whines and cries some more.  I am doing the best I can to comfort her.  Finally, after about 20 minutes, she calms down enough for me to get up.  She isn't asleep but she is calm.  She is some what comforted.  She really didn't want me to leave.

I tell her that she will go to sleep easier if I'm not in bed with her anyway.

Ten minutes later she was fast asleep.

I wish I could say she woke up Saturday feeling all better.  I would be a liar if I did.  She felt rotten all day.

Sunday she felt a little better but was not 100%.  That means she was kept home from school today.

Hopefully she will be able to go back to school Tuesday.  She can be a real bear when she's been cooped up for such a long time.

Keep your fingers crossed for me!

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Time to Remember

Not a lot of words today.

Just some much deserved remembrance of a man who was lost way too soon.

I lost my Dad to cancer when I was nine.  23 years ago today.

It feels like it was so long ago and yet it seems like it only happened yesterday.

My Daddy, on my birthday in 1986

The years have helped to dull the pain but it will never completely go away.

Sad that those same years have also started to make me forget the little things about you.

The sound of your voice.  The way you laughed.

The faces you would make as you were deep in thought.

I still cry when I think about you.  But the tears don't fall like they used to.

I still have a hard time talking about you.  But it is easier than it used to be.

I am thankful for the time that you were in my life.

I will take today and celebrate you.

You are so very missed, Daddy.

Love you always,

Your Baby Girl.

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Stupid Choices of a Younger Me

I have been thinking about making some changes in my life.

Changes that I need.

Changes that will help better me as a person.

You see, as a teenager, I made some stupid choices where my life and my schooling were concerned. 

Early in my senior year of high school I decided that I didn't want to go to college.  People would ask what I wanted to go to school for and I could never come up with an answer.  There was nothing that interested me enough to pursue as a career.  So I decided that I would take a year off after graduation, to chill out and think and come up with something to go to school for.  No big deal.  

That was my first mistake.

Mid way through my senior year I met a guy at work, thought I fell in love and got engaged.  That's right, engaged, to be married.  And actually got married to this man three months after graduation.  

Before he and I got serious I had tossed around the idea of joining the Army or the Marines.  I had even been talking with a recruiter for the Army.  I was really close to signing papers and I decided to talk to my boyfriend about it.  

He was not supportive at all.  His worries were 'What happens to us when you move away' and 'Is there anyway that I will be able to come with you'.  He seemed way more worried about these issues than I did.  That should have tipped me off right there that he was not the one.  But I ignored those signs and decided not to join the Army.  All because of him.

That was mistake number two.

Mistake number three was getting married at such a young age.  I regret doing it.  All I can say is that I was young, in love with the thought of being in love and desperately wanted out from under my Mom's roof.  

I used him to get out of her house.  It is not something that I am proud of.  But in turn, he used me too.  We both worked and while my paycheck was used to pay all the bills he spent his paycheck on frivolous things like comic books, adult magazines and video games.  

I can remember having several arguments with him about how he spent money.  And telling him that we were married and that our money should be pooled and that I was majorly stressed out with the bills and couldn't do it all by myself.  Honestly, we acted more like friends with benefits than we did a married couple.  Needless to say, we didn't stay married.

So my need for change stems from some of the mistakes that I made when I was younger.  

What is the change?

I want to go back to school.  I want to further my education and become something.  Become something that my family can be proud of.  I still do not know exactly what I want to be.  I have a few ideas but nothing concrete.  

I also have to psych myself up for going back to school, as I have it in my head that I am too old to even try.  

I have a lot of thinking to do.  A lot of soul searching.  

I'm scared of the change that I want.

The best thing is that Randall supports me.  He wants me to better myself.  He wants me to feel good about myself.

I just really hope that I don't chicken out on it all.

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