From the mouth of Babes

"How did Donovan learn how to blow- what did you call it again mom? Peachberries?"

Tifffany

Quote of the Day

Fred Allen - "I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me."

On Parenting

So, it took me over ten minutes of bawling my eyes out (I am sensitive lately and haven't been sleeping so maybe that's why, maybe I was just moved) to figure out where to place this journal entry. Is this something for here, a story? Or me talking, for my LJ? I decided since there is a moral I'll talk about it here.

I was coming home from the store, listening to Dr. Laura as usual during the time frame of 12 and 3. I was debating whether to take my sick kids on more errands while they slept in the car and hoped I didn't fall asleep at the wheel, to go home and shower and relax do some laundry, or more work stuff. Then the commercial ended and Dr. Laura read a letter that related to a caller yesterday that I did not hear. The story moved me in such a way I had to run to my computer and write.

As soon as I figured out where anyway.

So, Dr. Laura has a new book I want to read (along with how many other books on my list right?) "Stop Whining, Start Living" and she said this letter summed it up nicely. So I turned the radio up and listened.

The short version of the story is about a lady who found out early in her pregancy her baby had something wrong and would not be able to live. The baby could die any day or even be born and live for a few days to weeks but no longer. The lady and her husband decided to keep the pregnancy regardless.

She named the baby.

Got ultrasounds and watched the little one grow.

She wore her maternity clothes and talked about her little boy.

Even had some layette clothing just in case I assume.

Each day she ate well and acted, well, pregnant.

She didn't do what I would have, which is for sure suck up some strong anti-psychotics, valium, alcohol or any other pain numbers. How about some cigarettes? Hey, my first baby is DYING!!!

Nope, knowing NO MATTER WHAT SHE DID this baby would die, she went through her whole pregnancy just like the rest of us doing the things she was supposed to and talking about her baby and bonding.

Her little boy was born and on his one week birthday they celebrated with a cake. On his three week birthday he passed away. I got from the letter she now has a beautiful healthy little girl.

I know of three other people who lost their babies in utero. No heartbeat at some point in the third trimester. Not exactly like this story but similar in that they labored and delivered a known stillborn baby that they went on to name, take a picture of, and mourn. I know at least two of them were followed by normal healthy pregnancies and the other one I think had twins after (she was a friend of a friend and I don't remember all the details but there was a baby after).

My cousin had her third baby boy and just after birth found out he was dying. He only made it eight hours. She too eventually went on and had a fourth, healthy as could be, boy.

We think we are going through so much and we ask why. Why me? Why now? What am I going to learn from this? Why do I want or need to be any damn stronger? God is tricky, right?

Losing ourself is bad and hard and wrong and we need to do what we can to make things right.

But, sometimes, we lose our children and there is absolutely NOTHING we could have done differently.

Somedays we need to reflect on our life and see if we are doing everything selflessly for our children. And that is parenting. That does mean taking care of ourselves, I am not discounting that in anyway. But sometimes it is easy to look at our wants and needs and what makes us feel good. We have to remember that they depend on us in every single way. They couldn't survive without us for the most part. And if things are not going according to plan, we don't flush them away.

Gotta get it all out NOW

Words and Lyrics by Elton John

Blue jean baby,
l.A lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now shes in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for god
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad
Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows, the tune she hums
But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can hear me
When I say softly, slowly
Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
You had a busy day today
Blue jean baby,
l.A lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, youll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now shes in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

Tiny Dancer, Elton John

'The words she knows the tune she hums"



Can't get it out of my head.

And She Was

They told me she was fucking crazy.

Off the hook. I didn't really believe them though because I do not really think they even know what crazy is. She needed help. A lot of help. People here, people there and I needed to be strong during all this. I was tired of people telling me things. Yet I kept asking.

I walked there. It was cold. The sun was out earlier but the cold ripped through me, making me want to walk faster but never warming up. It made my nose run and my lips chap. After a sniffle and reapplication of my Laura Mercier Lip Gloss Glace I felt almost a little better. I buttoned up my jacket and kept walking.

Maybe I should have worn socks like he told me to.

But I didn't want to wear fucking socks. I hate socks. I don't wear them unless its early morning and the wood floors beg my Karen Kane fuzzy socks to call my name. Otherwise, I just have a drawer full that I use to take up space so I have an excuse for more clutter or something.

I think I left the kids at home with a sitter. I rarely did that and it seemed very unreal. What if I didn't? What if I just left them home? What if I didn't even really have kids? Or what if the sitter was an incompetent shit? Or abused the kids? OR what if it went well and everyone had a good time? I knew nothing about that.

Why didn't I drive my car?

I think I was drinking. White wine. Australian with a bite? Or old fashioned Chardonnay? Maybe I had a little of both. I was getting very confused. I pulled my jacket tighter in the wind.

They told me she was totally crazy.

I really wish I had straightened my hair. My hair was frizzing in an unusual way due to the weather. The kind of hair that looks great peeking out from under my beanie, all wild and curly but just looked funny and poofy when I took the hat off. I closed my eyes for a minute and felt like I was back home. Things spun a little and I felt pale.

I opened my eyes and looked around. Where the hell was I going again? I think I need my car. Heater, defroster, you know.... seats. Maybe I would go back. I started to turn around.

I was still in my driveway.

Something was not quite right but I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was the chill. I needed something from the house but did not want to disturb the little ones inside. Or the sitter.

Did I have a sitter?

I think I did. I think I knew her from somewhere in the past. An old teacher walks by with his dog and I notice his familiarity after a few minutes of talking about dogs and children and the Ranch. He remembered me too with a laugh.

"Trouble! Hope I wasn't too hard on you! Good to see you turned out well."

I looked around. Me? I nodded and smiled and made some more short conversations before saying good-bye. Turned out well? If he only knew.

I dream at night. I dream about kissing and hockey sticks and getting lost in my own backyard. I wake up sweating. Crying. Confused.

But right now I was cold. Too cold for the weather here. Something was wrong. Springtime was here. Maybe it was going to rain. That's it. Explains the pains in my legs. Oh how they ached. Especially when it rained. Or maybe it was from the walk. No, I don't think I got very far. God things fucking hurt. Why was that?

SUCK IT UP.

Keep going. Okay- car, walk? I had some sort of keys in the pocket of my new but used jacket. It was warm but thin and worn. But the kind that never went out of style. And it fit me like a glove and asked for compliments when worn out. Looooved it.

Crazy is as crazy does.

Do I know her?

I got into the car, turned on the heater and wished it was in my garage. Vvvroom Vvvroom. I love loud engines, big cars and Fords. I popped a pill. Maybe if I put my head back for a minute and rested... No, not in the car. "Normal" people don't do that. Okay. Hands on the wheel.

I totally forgot where I was going.

At first. Then I remembered. I got out of the car, which was still cold anyway, walked into the garage and shut the door hoping it wasn't as loud as it sounded in my head. I sat on the floor. It was dirty. About a glass of wine remained in the bottle and I drank it. Followed by a cool bottle of water. Things were becoming clearer.

I went inside quietly and put on my prettiest pair of pajamas. I weighed myself. Almost, I thought, almost. I threw on my un-sexiest robe made from the same material as baby blankets along with my cool socks. Okay, at least my nightgown was pretty. I took off my hat and convinced my hair to get into a ponytail.

I broke out a big dish of cookies and cream ice cream and another bottle of water. I watched some meaningless TV and tried to forget about what was going on.

But I could not.

I finished my ice cream, took another pill and got into my cool bed with lots of blankets. No one was there yet. They told me she was totally crazy but they didn't even know her. I can't remember if I met her tonight. It seemed like a sick memory that made my stomach turn in the way you aren't sure if you need to get up and run or roll on your other side and pray.

Pray.

I pray a lot lately. I started praying a lot a little over a year ago. Sometimes I don't pray. Sometimes I yell at God. I get mad at him. Sure I thank him every day for this and that and the kids and I say our Serenity Prayer at night. But after that and when I am alone I talk to him and it is not always nice.

Make me understand. I want to see more. I want to know more. What am I supposed to be learning? And what was your point here? I'm angry at you God. I'm angry at me and life and being confused.

They told me she was crazy but they didn't know the first thing about her.

OLD Writings

As never published before, by yes this here blogger: (Note writings over ten years old)





There is a man with a vision who cannot see
And a girl with a pain who cannot feel
A child with a spoon who has no food
And a baby who has died that has not yet been born


There is a dream that falls before you awaken
And a smile that fades before you can see
A treasure buried deep within that has not yet been found
And a hope that gets crushed before it falls


There is a why to every what before the how
And a see to every saw before the totter
A wish that is forgotten to every candle that is blown
And a because to everything that has happened


There is a key to every locked door that cannot be found
And a gun for every bullet in every wound
A loser to every winner at all the games
And a reason for every tear which has been cried


There is a way that AI feel which i cannot explain
And a day for everything that must be done
A moon for every sun on each day
And an end for all that has begun

*********************************************************************


A dress hangs from a bed post
As a reminder of the hope
That once was
Curtains shield the room
From the full moon
That seems to stare inside
At the fan that spins
As if it can never reach
Its destination
The mirrors on the wall
Reflect the room
As it is to be seen and
Not as it is
Forgotten hopes strewn across the floor
As if they are ashamed
The clock changes every minute
A reminder of time that has gone by.
**********************************************

Music Playing- no radio on
Don't remember what
They were saying
To me about
The time when
Things were different
Wind whips through
My delicate skin
As if to punish me
For wrong doings
I stop and it and stare
They don't care
You know where
The leaves turn colors
And fall gracefully
To the ground upon
Which they lay
Kaleidoscope of colors
Fills my vision
Why are you following me?
I have not got anything
To offer you.

Other Writer's Words of Wisdom

Yelling at living thing does tend to kill the spirit in them. Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words will break our hearts...

Robert Fulghum



Crazymaking: "A form of interpersonal interaction that results from the repression of intense aggression and which seriously impairs its victim's capacity to recognize and deal with the interpersonal reality"

George Bach and Ronald Deutsch





If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, its yours. If it doesn't, it was never meant to be.

Unknown



"What a drag it is getting old. Kids are different today,I hear every mother say. Mother needs something today to calm her down. And though shes not really ill, theres a little yellow pill. She goes running for the shelter of a mothers little helper. And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day.

Things are different today,I hear every mother say. Cooking fresh food for a husbands just a drag. So she buys an instant cake and she burns her frozen steak. And goes running for the shelter of a mothers little helper.

And two help her on her way, get her through her busy day.

Doctor please, some more of these. Outside the door, she took four more.

What a drag it is getting old.

Men just aren't the same today,I hear every mother say. They just don't appreciate that you get tired. They're so hard to satisfy, you can tranquilize your mind. So go running for the shelter of a mothers little helper. And four help you through the night, help to minimize your plight.

Doctor please, some more of these. Outside the door, she took four more. What a drag it is getting old.

Life's just much too hard today, I hear every mother say. The pursuit of happiness just seems a bore. And if you take more of those, you will get an overdose. No more running for the shelter of a mothers little helper. They just helped you on your way, through your busy dying day."

Rolling Stones



"I never Promised You A Rose Garden"

Joanne Greenberg



"DOCTOR GORDON'S WAITING ROOM was hushed and beige.

The walls were beige, and the carpets were beige, and the upholstered chairs and sofas were beige. There were no mirrors or pictures, only certificates from different medical schools, with Doctor Gordon's name in Latin, hung about the walls. Pale Green loopy ferns and spiked leaves of a much darker green filled the ceramic pots on the end table and the coffee table and the magazine table.

At first I wondered why the room felt so safe. Then I reallied it was because there were no windows.

The air-conditioning made me shiver.

I was still wearing Betsy's white blouse and dirndl skirt. They drooped a bit now, as I hadn't washed them in my three weeks at home. The sweaty cotton gave off a sour but friendly smell.

I hadn't washed my hair for three weeks either.

I hadn't slept in seven nights.

My mother told me I must have slept, it was impossible not to sleep in all that time, but if I slept, it was with my eyes wide open, for I had followed the green, luminous course of the second hand and the minute hand and the hour hand of the bedside clock through their circles and semi-circles, every night for seven nights, without missing a second, or a minute, or an hour

The reason I hadn't washed my clothes or my hair was because it seemed so silly."

Sylvia Plath



"My clothes were bought at the flea market, always too big and laughted at by the other children in school. I can still hear them say 'It's all up in your long laced boots, ha ha.' The first new garmet I ever wore was a coat that I bought when I went to work. This I wore with great pride."

Rosemary Delaney (Memoirs of my Nana, to be re-written by none other than yours truly someday)

Simple Discussions

"Did you see the dishes in the dishwasher are clean honey?"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know? It's not like you ever do anything anyway. Then the one fucking time I put a dish away, you fucking bitch because they were clean. If I leave it in the sink you break my balls about that. Should I just throw it a-fucking-way?"

"No, I didn't mean it that way. I didn't even know you put anything in the dishwasher sweetie. I just wanted to make sure you didn't put anything in the dishwasher because I had not had a chance to empty it yet."

"You know what your fucking problem is? You're never happy. You say I don't do enough and then you bitch because I put a FUCKING DISH AWAY."
He sulks. The TV suddenly gets even louder even though it is quiet in the house.

She feels confused. What did she do wrong? She was just asking a FUCKING question. She pauses. She will not cry and tries again.

"I just meant not to put any dishes in the dishwasher because it was clean and I was going to empty it in the the morning when I was not so tired and it wasn't, you know, after midnight." Sarcasm begins to drip to cover the hurt.

"You are so fucking lazy you can't even empty the dishwasher? You are home all day doing absolutely nothing. Sad."

He gives her the silent treatment. How did a discussion about dirty dishes turn into her being lazy when the dishes were done except for his late night snack???

"I said I meant not to put any new dishes in the dishwasher." Not like he ever did anyway. Why did she bring this up? Why did she start shit on a seemingly good night? Crap.

He louders the TV and makes mocking gestures with his hands that are supposed to resemble her mouth.

She leaves the room in tears. Determined he won't see her cry for the 1,038th night. Unfortunately, she is not quiet enough and he mimics her.

"Whaah. Grow up whore."

She cries harder into a pillow.

The little girl awakens in a 'random' night terror.

"Tend to the fucking kids Mrs. I do Everything, but yet lets the kids cry."

She slowly goes to her little girl. She holds her through the twenty-minute session of hellish night terrors. Sometimes she has 'only' one. Though usually four to six a night. She fools herself saying her little girl 'just' has random night terrors. Overtired. Heriditary. Whatever makes her feel okay at the time.

But that is not the case is it? "IT'S YOUR FAULT" screams the voice in her head.

The baby settles down. The girl walks back in the other room.

"Hey baby," he sings from across the room. "How come you don't want to cuddle with me anymore? Don't you love me like I love you? Come watch this show with me..."

On being naive

The less you know, the more you believe.

Bono

Oh so true. Innocence truly is bliss. Intelligence takes us places we never knew existed and perhaps never wanted to.

A Whiter Shade of Pale

We skipped the light fandango
Turned cartwheels cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
But the crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
As the ceiling flew away
When we called out for another drink
The waiter brought a tray

And so it was that later
As the miller told his tale
That her face, at first just ghostly,
Turned a whiter shade of pale
She said, there is no reason
And the truth is plain to see.
But I wandered through my playing cards
And would not let her be
One of sixteen vestal virgins
Who were leaving for the coast
And although my eyes were open
They might have just as wellve been closed
She said, Im home on shore leave,
Though in truth we were at sea
So I took her by the looking glass
And forced her to agree
Saying, you must be the mermaid
Who took neptune for a ride.
But she smiled at me so sadly
That my anger straightway died

If music be the food of love
Then laughter is its queen
And likewise if behind is in front
Then dirt in truth is clean
My mouth by then like cardboard
Seemed to slip straight through my head
So we crash-dived straightway quickly
And attacked the ocean bed

Procol Harum/Keith Reid

The Days Following

She held my hand and looked straight into my teary eyes. I could barely look up at her. For the first time in a long time, I trusted someone new. There was something about the way she spoke to me. The way she could not let me leave without another round of words.

I suddenly felt close to her. Closeness in a way as if I needed her. Perhaps I did. I eventually looked up and so she spoke. Sternly, but quietly.

"One of the hardest things you are going to go through right now is the loss of the dream. No one, no one here at least, will tell you to stop loving him. He is the father of your children. For some reason you fell in love- probably with someone that is not even recognizable at this moment. He will always be part of your life whether you want him to be or not. Coming clean is hard. Letting go of the old dream is harder.
"Accept that someday he might get better. More importantly, accept that one day he may not. You may not. But you will get through this. There is nothing wrong with you for falling in love and falling apart. It happens to those we least expect it to. There is no profile for the victim. It is okay to still love him. But for now and maybe for always- it has to be okay to be without him.
"You look so young, so lost, so confused and so undetermined. You are doing all the right things, going through the correct motions, but your heart still is confused and that is OKAY.
"We are all here for you. People you know will be there if you talk. Others won't want to be bothered. Others will come out from places you did not know were there. It is okay to still love him. It is okay to cry for your dream, your family, your past and all the years of hurt you bottled up, belittled, and pushed under the bed".

She said these things I did not want to hear.
She made me listen.
As tears streamed down my face. My Face. I don't cry in public. I have allergies and mascara in my eye. But I don't break down in front of strangers. Or at least I never had until that day.
And she's right. I do still love him. And I don't care what anyone thinks of me. I might be scared of him. I might be terrified of us. I might despise what has been done. But I love him. I love the idea of us. The memory of who we once were.
I love the "me" that never cried and never failed- just misjudged. I miss the girl who was innocent enough to believe that enough had already happened in her life.

Silly girl. Don't you know what they say?

Life begins at Thirty.