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Monthly Archives: December 2015
Morning thoughts
I got the house clean enough. Now I can rest. It took me exactly 21 days because there were days in the middle where I had to collapse and do very little because I was so exhausted and in so much pain. But, it’s done now. I mean, I’m always shuffling my house. That’s never done. It’s not “clean” by any stretch. But it’s clean enough that I can rest.
Cleaners are coming on Monday. I really am not at a point in hand strength where it is smart to use a bunch to clean the bathroom and vacuum, etc. I have too much I want to get done in the next few weeks. So I’m spending money to save spoons. It isn’t a choice I make very often but this month… ok.
This morning is exciting. The kids have separate plans. Eldest Child is off to the hair salon with daddy. She wants pink, blue, and purple stripes and the least amount of hair cut off that she can get away with. Ok. Have fun. Youngest Child is elated beyond words that today will be private time with our babysitter. That has almost never happened.
The babysitter is one of the most favoritest people in the world for my kids. She is so sweet. She has a knack for working with children. She’s amazing. Everyone is super excited that I now have all the project stuff accessible. They are bouncing from activity to activity. The babysitter is really chill and awesome about set up and clean up. She considers it fun.
Hell yeah. Sounds good. I treat her like a classroom aide. I’m the master teacher; I come up with the plan and she follows through. This is so much fun.
I think I would do fantastically well in a one room school. I am really good at differentiating what different kids need. It takes a lot of spoons and on low spoon days I end up screamtastic from trying to think about that many things at once…. So maybe not. But I’m managing this really well with support. I’m having fun. They are having fun. They are learning so much.
When I say I want to talk to the kids about curriculum stuff that is probably confusing to other people. I use that word in a …. somewhat elastic way. I create most of my own curriculum. I don’t buy pre-packaged stuff because they always spend a lot of time on stuff I wouldn’t. That’s fine. I just don’t need to pay a bunch of money for the stuff other people think should be taught.
I don’t really feel I need a textbook to teach most of these topics. The information all exists outside of textbooks. But gathering the information, preparing what stuff needs to be in the house, figuring out out how to scaffold to upcoming complicated topics… that all requires thinking and planning on my part. That is all curriculum building.
But it doesn’t mean I’m going to go buy the Princeton set (or whatever).
When we were on the road trip we were learning every day but we were learning in a just about entirely unstructured “let’s dump a big bucket of information on your head” style. That’s good…. but it leaves a lot of holes.
I keep current on what grade expectations my kids would face if they suddenly had to be transferred to school. They are not lock step, they are asynchronous and I’m fine with that. But I keep an eye on making sure they aren’t too far behind in any area.
We cover science topics. I’m an absolute stickler for language learning and historical information. You will know *far more* than you would have learned in school. But there are still places where my kids are falling behind.
I have not extensively lectured them on the rules of all major sporting events for example. I remember written tests on the rules of volley ball. Guess what hasn’t actually fucking mattered to my life?
Sometimes I am astounded by how drawn to math they are. They bring it up just about daily. We do math problems all day long. I was a reluctant math learner. I learned early that I wasn’t good at math–I was good at reading. You had to pick a thing.
My kids have not internalized that message. They don’t even know it exists. The idea of picking their “one thing” is completely foreign. They think they are better at the things they practice most, but they are capable of doing anything.
It’s… mind blowing.
I didn’t grow up around people like this. I mean, I tried to teach it…. but I’ve never really met people who *believed* it. It was always one of those lies grown ups tell.
But my kids…. uhhh…. don’t think I’m a liar in the same way. It’s SO WEIRD.
They say (I don’t fucking remember who, ok?!) that you need to hear ten positive statements for every negative statement about yourself in order to have a balanced sense of self because we deeply internalize negative stuff faster. That’s what I was told when I was getting my teaching degree. Praise, praise, praise, praise, praise, praise, criticize, praise, praise, praise, praise.
That’s how I got the gang kids to concentrate and work hard. I made them feel good about themselves in an environment where they had been told they were stupid and useless their whole lives.
My kids think of themselves as powerful, competent, resourceful people. They think their mom is sometimes moody but generally *very* into them. My kids adapt through just about any circumstance with good cheer and a willing heart. They can walk into any new setting and adapt to new styles of work. They do not complain (much) about the work they are assigned. Really I think they complain less than I do.
Work is part of life. If you want to have a fun life, you have to do a lot of work. Let’s get to it. Then we can play. Oh when we play we play *hard*. It’s awesome.
The kids rest more and better than I do. They are starting to join the chorus of, “Mom sit down. That will wait. You need to rest.”
I hear that from fucking everyone.
I find it kind of hilarious how deeply I resent the ever loving fuck out of having to rest.
Sitting down is for other people. Not me.
Doesn’t help that I sat a lot on the trip. Between driving and being numb with pain in hotel rooms… I did a lot of sitting. I don’t like that very much. There was so much time where I literally couldn’t work because my hands hurt too much to seriously type and I couldn’t think straight. This was really fun in Florida. I spent a lot of time watching the ocean. I don’t do that in California. I’m not willing to drive to the ocean. It’s… not that far. Just far enough to be a pain.
I really like my house again. I love Christmas decorations. I love all the cards we get. (Thanks P! Your card kicked off the year!!! <3 )
I sent out a huge stack of Christmas presents in the mail. I haven’t heard from the parents of those kids and… well… I don’t know what else to do. I suspect some “slow fades” are happening but I’m apparently retarded at noticing that. Thus my deserving public scorn.
But I thought of you. Here are your presents. There are no further strings attached. You don’t have to ever see me again. That’s fine. I’m not doing it to curry favor. I’m doing it because it made me happy to think of you and buy this for you. If you don’t like it, pass it on. I won’t be hurt. I already got my joy out of this exchange.
It was really hard feeling so far from home and people I love. So I went shopping. I don’t do that very often. Normally I don’t give many presents. I home-make most Christmas gifts for people. I like giving food and consumables. I don’t usually enjoy shopping. But this was fun.
I didn’t give everyone the same thing. I spent varying amounts of money on people not always highly correlating to how much I actually care about you. Some of the most important people… I didn’t see anything that made me think of them. I feel a little guilty… but I don’t want to give a gift just for the sake of giving a gift. I want to give you something that makes me think of you.
Which is a little weird because I did get a bunch of little kid stuff and then divvy it out. But that’s different. I have something like 50+ children under 10 in my life. I didn’t exclusively hand pick for each kid. I found the most interesting little kid stuff and then I figured out which was best for who.
But adults are *different*.
I want to actually honor you. Not just give you something. That’s not the point. I bought things that when I saw them I thought, “OH!! (Name!)”
It made me so happy to think of you.
I feel like an asshole because mostly I think of Pam in connection with my phone. Because so much of our relationship has been maintained over the phone. Otherwise… she doesn’t appear in my head as “stuff”. If that makes sense. I did, however, greatly expand my collection of Chinese history and culture and language books because that will make her happy.
Is that the same thing? I’m making sure to educate my children such that you and your culture are dead flat normal to them. But I didn’t find a ‘thing’ to buy you.
Love language stuff is complicated.
I love to feed Pam. I talk to her. I listen to her. But it is hard to give her gifts. That’s complicated.
My emotions are bouncing up and down like a pogo stick lately. I’m going hard between feeling elated that we are home, elated that I get to see the people I love so much, elated to be settling in to a house that feels like *home*. Then I feel anxious, scared, disgusting, like I am the worst person on the whole fucking planet and I’m going to wreck everything for everyone.
I’m trying to just be quiet about these bounces. I’m not sure how much is leaking. I’m never sure.
I reread the book about seven year olds yesterday because EC has been exhibiting a few more mild anxiety symptoms. I was feeling really bad that I am such a monstrous person that I’m causing her to have anxiety. Then I read the book. Apparently seven is known as an anxious and withdrawn age. Based on the book she is in the least 10% for anxiety. Oh. Hahahahahahahahaha
Ok. So she does feel stress at times. But she isn’t withdrawn. She doesn’t feel like everyone and everything is picking on her. She doesn’t articulate that everyone is mean. She has an uncanny ability to see many sides of issues. “I know you didn’t mean to say x in a way that sounded y but for me it sounded that way. Can you try again?”
Yeah… she’s doing great. If this is supposed to be an age where kids can’t connect and she’s still out building connections with every Kate, Melissa and Steve… we are fine.
God I love these books. I wonder if this woman is alive. I should try to track her down and send her a thank you note. This author is absolutely making my parenting experience. If my internet were working I’d look her up right now, but it isn’t. So I am typing into Notes instead. I suffer so.
It’s kinda annoying because I can’t use italics. I’m kinda obsessed with italics. Maybe you’ve noticed?
I love writing like this. It lets me feel less anxious during the day. If I write down that I’m feeling anxious it is an acknowledgment that lets it be less harmful during the day. “Ah. That’s anxiety. Self-soothing engaged.” When I’m just feeling but not processing… I get into these awful loops. I have to write down what I’m doing so that I can see it. It’s weird, I know. But it *works*.
Noah and I are going to hang out today. I don’t know what we will do. That’s bullshit. We are consistent. We will talk, eat, have sex, then talk and talk and talk then have sex then talk and talk and talk.
I want to eat his brain.
Some drips
I’m never sure why masturbation makes me think about humanity. Why do people do what they do?
Are men so afraid of being laughed at because, historically speaking, a man who was “less than” wasn’t going to get to pass his genes on. So we mostly have representation of folks who were particular about their dignity? I’m never sure.
I’ve been thinking a lot about articulated joints and connections.
What makes things work? What makes things move together properly?
I get these fantastic visions of monkey-spheres touching through connections. Connected at the corner of each weird-ass community.
What makes you so “normal” anyway?
I don’t even know.
I don’t know why humans are so convinced that the way to solve our problems is to fight or kill one another. Even if you hate someone, surely they can be allowed to live out of your sight?
Is banishment the same thing as a death sentence? It depends on who you are.
For creatures as social as me, perhaps banishment is death. Who knows. But I was cast out. I took that as a reason to go find my own.
My own means people who don’t need to be bound by tradition. Bound by what worked for your parents.
Maybe we need something different.
Cross posting for documentation (beds in 2015)
This is going to be one of my most fun years ever for this list. 😀
Fremont, Ca
San Pablo, Ca
Davis, Ca
Weed, Ca
Eugene, Or
Vancouver, Wa
Portland, Or
Mitchell, Or
Parma, Id
Twin Falls, Id
Salt Lake City, Ut
Paris Springs, Id
Just east of Yellowstone’s entrance, Wy
Sheridan, Wy
Palmer Gulch, SD (Mt Rushmore)
Kadoka, SD
Fairmont, Mn
Duluth, Mn
Eagle River, Wi
Milwaukee, Wi
Bourbannais, Il
Moneka, Il
Addison, Il
Hart, Mi
Manistee, Mi
Flint, Mi
Cleveand, Oh
Pittsburgh, Pa
Ithaca, NY
Peterborough, NH
Portland, Me
Mystic, Ct
North Bergen, NJ
Washington, DC
Boydton, Va
Statesville, Tn
Pigeon Forge, Tn
Nashville, Tn
Convington, Ga
Savannah, Ga
Orlando, Fl
Vero Beach, Fl
Miami, Fl
Marianna, Fl
New Orleans, La
Huntsville, Tx
Dallas, Tx
Fort Worth, Tx
Tucumcari, NM
Holbrook, Az
Phoenix, Az
San Diego, Ca
Fullerton, Ca
Anaheim, Ca
Is that it?
Where did you sleep?
I married the right primate.
Noah woke up hella early and talked to me for about an hour. He is intensely invested in helping me find emotional regulation. It works to his benefit.
He told me that dealing with people disliking what I have to say in this way is really good training for my future career. When people are going to hate me with the fire of a thousand suns because I want to talk about a topic that good people refuse to name.
Let me say it loud and proud INCEST.
He’s right.
Damnit. He likes to bring reality into things. We talked through the difference between this kind of low level chicken clucking combined with pearl clutching isn’t actually a threat to me versus the kind of anger I am going to inspire. I need to learn how to manage my emotions around different levels of threat.
I probably should reread The Gift of Fear. But that kind of thing is always complicated when your brain was fucked up such that you feel afraid all the time. Mostly I’ve just solved this by charging head first towards whatever scares me. Thus all the problems I’ve had.
Things are different now. For all that I have resources to fight back, I also have a lot to lose. I do and I don’t.
I’m scared of dying now in a way I never was before. For most of my life my death has been my closest and dearest companion. Now I’m scared. Don’t rob me of the time I have to be loved. I want this love. I want it so bad.
I want to be here for more years of my children wandering over to nudge me and say, “I thought about you. You’re awesome.”
They partially do that because Noah and I do that. Modeling love and support is the best experience of my life.
It is really hard trying to pretend I am someone who is worthy of this when I know I’m an abusive asshole.
But I have to act like I am worthy in order to teach my children how to treat people. If I act like I am worthy of disrespect I teach them to disrespect people.
I’m feeling real tired of trying this hard to be a good example. I’m such an asshole. Stomping on it is so hard.
We have a weekend off. The kids are going to go visit an auntie. Everyone involved is super excited.
I am blessed in the people who choose to show up in my life. I see you.
I’m really tired of big feelings. My arms hurt.
You aren’t wanted here.
So I’m still seeing referers from the troll site.
Can’t y’all go away? Can’t you go be mean spirited, low life fuckwads somewhere else?
I’m feeling pissed off, spied on, violated, and like if one of you cunts came to my house I’d love to slap your face off.
But you won’t come to my house and I won’t chase you down. Cause see how I stay in my god damn sandbox instead of wandering all over the internet shitting in other peoples sandboxes?
Guess what? You are neighborhood cats with no manners. Go. The. Fuck. Away.
You aren’t wanted here.
Do you know that you petty cunt-rags are causing someone with severe lifelong mental illness to be unable to sleep? That is not a nice thing to do. It’s fucking petty. You are coming to my space to be intrusive. That’s fucking rude. Yes, my writing is “public”. Guess what? Bathrooms are public places. You aren’t supposed to go in the one that isn’t marked for you.
This space is not for troll assholes. This space is for me. So I get to feel safe. Y’all are really disgusting if you think that people with severe mental illness don’t even deserve to feel safe in their own sandbox.
You are a petty fuckwad and I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns. I’m god damn tired of you raining on my parade since I got home. I’ve been trying to feel better. Then I keep seeing fucking hits from you god damn bitches.
THIS IS NOT HELPING ME REGULATE MY BEHAVIOR WITH MY CHILDREN YOU FUCKWAD ASSHOLES.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
Mostly because you cause me to have random terrible surges of emotions I then have to suppress or take out on my kids.
You shouldn’t have this kind of power over me.
I know I need to stop letting people have this kind of power. I’m not good at that.
I want to be ignored. I want to be allowed to do my shit in my space where I’m just trying to do my thing. I’m not trying to amass a following. I’m not telling other people what they should do. I’m documenting what I do so that I have integrity with my children.
And you come here to make fun of me for being crazy.
Are you a child? No. Are you a monster? Probably.
Mean girls are everywhere.
Human beings really aren’t that kind. We are monsters.
And yes, you petty bitches count.
I assume you assholes are ignorant as well as mean spirited. Let me educate you just a touch. PTSD is a permanent brain injury that results from extremely bad things happening to you. You can’t get it from a fucking hangnail. Do you know what a trigger is? It is when something that seems unrelated to your trauma happens and your brain is literally not capable of perceiving it as different and emotionally and mentally you are thrust back into the mindset of currently experiencing trauma.
So having you motherfuckers come to my site like this, guess what it feels like? It feels like when my father was stalking me when I pressed charges. I’m never sure when I’m going to have something much worse than being watched happen. When hundreds of hits show up like that, I don’t know if one of you complete losers are married to a channer and you are going to send thousands of people to make my life hell. You seem the kind of pathetic people to hook up with a loser like that. The kind of loser who likes to terrify people just to prove they are “strong”.
Ew. Ew. Ew.
When my father was standing at the end of my driveway, after he paid bail to get out of jail, he let me know that he wasn’t done with me yet and he hadn’t yet decided what to do next.
That time I won. I’m the only motherfucker still standing from that conflict.
Really, I suspect I would win next time too. Because I have resources and I absolutely relish a fight. But I don’t want the fight. I actively resist that fight. It wouldn’t be good for my kids. It wouldn’t be good for them to be around me while I fought that fight. I’d be an asshole. Because that is how you win fights.
You don’t win fights by being a good person. I don’t like to lose fights. So I’m ok with not being that good of a person.
Are you?
It isn’t helping my day-to-day frustration that I have this cloud of assholes watching me. It isn’t helping my ambient feelings of anger and impatience that I know I need to have part of myself gearing up for a fight that may not come.
It makes it really hard to muster up appropriate patience with everything else. Y’all are stealing from my spoon drawer and I’m pissed.
I don’t have a lot of energy going spare. And I’m wasting gobs of it on y’all. Because you are still here.
I hate you.
Why must you breathe?
You know how sometimes when you are tired and you don’t feel all that well you run out of patience for random noises? I hit that point yesterday like a brick wall. I was so forking grateful my friend was over so that I could walk out into the yard instead of going off like a roman candle over and over. I wasn’t sweet and loving… but it wasn’t as bad as it could be.
I have a kid free weekend this weekend. I’m about four hours of work away from feeling really done and happy with the house.
I need to fucking rest.
Neighborly moments
Well, I ran into the kid I tried to hire as a mother’s helper a few years back. I apologized. I should have stopped being angry much faster. It was immature of me to hold on to it so long. Kids screw up.
Another neighbor came over to chat and let me know he’d still like to fuck me. I told him I don’t fuck people who are so old they might die on top of me.
I think I’m going to have to get way more aggressive about telling him to back off. He’s starting to really bother me.
So strong
The last two days have been emotionally intense for everyone. The kids and I are all having intense feelings.
I felt like I barely touched EC with my foot. She felt it was a kick and she responded with extreme force and screeching. It felt kinda over the top and I walked away to cry. It was triggering.
She apologized to me later in the day. I told her that I don’t think she needs to apologize. I can suck it up and deal with harsh “no’s”.
Then this morning I told her, “I think part of the reason I had emotions as big as I did is because… I really needed to be strong like that when I was exactly your age. And I wasn’t. I was hurt very badly because I couldn’t do what you just did. I admire you so much. I wish I was as strong as you. Sometimes I have really confused feelings when I watch you do things I wish I could do.”
She beamed and hugged me hard for a long time.
These things are very complicated.
Assessing damage
I suspect it will be months before I should seriously be typing. Fire. Fire. Burning fire. My arms hurt.
The house is coming along! My neighbors are showering me with love. My friends are driving from near and far.
I have complaints (cause I can always complain) but I’m really happy just now.
Day 49 of my cycle though. Tapping my toes waiting to start bleeding. It’s starting to feel like my body is waiting till the house is clean so I can rest when I’m bleeding. Like, full on sit around and bleed on a towel cause you are so still rest.
I read about it in Cunt and I’ve never ….. actually just spent a week bleeding on a towel to see if it is more comfortable than other stuff. So I don’t know for sure.
Eight hours of sleep last night. I think that is either the first or second time since I got back. I’m grateful I’m starting to relax.
I have this idea. I think I should continue working with my Oakland therapist on trauma stuff. She doesn’t flinch. That’s….. hard to find.
I think I’m going to start interviewing people who live close to me. I want to find someone who is a parent, who has more understanding of parenting issues to see more often.
I think some of my current coping skills are not great and bordering on a real problem without quite arriving there yet. But they could. I think I need some behavioral guidance on figuring out some of the reactions I need to have. This is hard for me. I read and read and read but without feedback from adults… it is hard to know how to implement what I read. I’m trying. But whoopdie doo da.
Things have already improved dramatically in terms of my behavior. I’m more calm. My tone of voice is easier to control. It is easier to have gentle hands. I don’t have to force them through a mountain sized list of tasks when they hurt like a mother fucker. It’s easier to be gentle.
Pam said she was worried I was being too hard on the kids. I was worried I was being too hard on the kids. I was too hard on the kids in the way that children raised on the prairie had hard lives. You have to work.
And I was too loud. And I was too harsh in my tone sometimes when the kids were being slow and I wanted to go pass out. It wasn’t nice, kind, nor the right thing to do. It was my best in that moment, pathetic as the delivery was. Was the trade worth it?
Eldest Child says I am not that mean at home. I take more space. I create more of a bubble around myself to absorb that nasty temper so I don’t inflict it on anyone. I have that luxury at home. But I’ll take my kids with me on adventures where I lose that bubble. Even though I’m rather an asshole.
Why?
Because being nice 24/7 isn’t really much good preparation for life, now is it?
But I don’t think I’m capable of perceiving the balance I want to get to. I don’t think I can be objective enough. I think I want to work with someone who has more specific focus on children.
And I still want to get EC evaluated. I just… haven’t done it yet. Everything is crashing down on my head. Neighbors keep bringing me cards to get started on the remodel. The company I fired showed up yesterday to be obnoxious so I slammed my door in his face. (When I tell you it isn’t a good time because I’m not fully dressed… do not start a fucking sales pitch you asshole. Inappropriate power dynamics much?!)
I don’t give a shit if my baby sitter did tell you I was coming home. I fired your fucking company because y’all had shitty boundaries and lots of blame issues. You are not convincing me I should give you a second chance. Quite the opposite.
But I’m overwhelmed on getting everything done. The kids are still settling into the house. I haven’t felt able to shove them through everything already.
Still defragging the trip.
You know, people outside the valley usually don’t know what I mean when I say defragging.
Whether I am part of the Technology Era or not…. I am.
I spoke too soon.
Fuck fuck fuck a duck
Screw a kangaroo
I thought the trolls would leave by now
But I was just a fool.
Are they gone yet?
I ain’t seen a hit from that site in a while. Have they decided to move on to being snotty about someone else?
YAY!!!!
Wow
That was such an awesome event. That was one of the easiest parties from my point of view in years. My wonderful friend handled food. I did tea. Noah did… everything else.
My hands burn, but I wanted to say thank you to everyone who came. I am honored to have you in my life. I’m really grateful that I get to have people like you inside my bubble.
Fuck you, body
I’ve been awake for hours. Mostly crying. I’m being quiet. I’m shaking. I feel like I’m about to fail everything. I’m about to completely crash and hurt everyone.
It is inevitable. I’m evil.
Opinions, bodies, work
I quit NextDoor because hearing that much about the opinions of my racist/classist neighbors is making me hate my community very much and I’d prefer not to feel that way. Also, I keep getting “flagged as inappropriate for the community” every time I argue that maybe the folks stealing cans aren’t actually mega-rich people looking to scam the community. Fuck you, NextDoor.
On one hand Noah spends a lot of time telling me I should care less about the opinions of other people. On the other hand… looking outward kept me alive. These things are so complicated.
I had a very restful day yesterday. Two of my kind friends conspired to keep all the children out of the house from 10-3:30. It was literally blissful. It let me see, just a bit more clearly, how much physical effort it is for me to Alpha the house. I’m tired. I’m tired of giving opinions and caring about the opinions of others.
It isn’t that I don’t want to care it is that I am finding out what literal exhaustion and “I literally can’t” feel like.
My shrink had opinions about how the house is going. See, I’m not supposed to care. Only I pay for her opinion. Sometimes her opinion is biased in a way that doesn’t work for me and I have to manage the fact that I’m paying for an opinion that is really not useful to me. That’s complicated.
I really want to feel more centered. I’m not there yet.
Body wise things are kind of surprising and wacky. I used my measuring tape yesterday, because I feel a weird cognitive dissonance about my body. Apparently either my measuring tape has stretched over time or I am larger in every measurement. I’ve been 38″-31″-41″ for a few years, almost regardless of weight. Right now it says 41″-35″-45″. That should feel like a big difference in terms of being bigger. Instead I feel smaller than usual. My “skinny” clothes are fitting well. My “heavy” clothes are weirdly baggy but still wearable. I don’t feel like I am the size I am. On the trip I bought clothes as small as a size 10. I guess this is vanity sizing gone to hell.
Also: Eldest Child has cavities. The dentist sternly admonished that she shouldn’t be brushing her own teeth. I know. On the trip I literally just couldn’t do everything. Yes, they brushed their own damn teeth. Not well enough, I know. I know.
It has occurred to me that one of the biggest reasons that Noah and I gel so well is because we are both essentially workaholics. If Noah isn’t working on his primary job he is working on his second job. If he isn’t doing that he is directly interacting with the kids (which is work) or cooking (which is also work).
He doesn’t rest much more than I do, maybe less. True his work is mostly less physically taxing than mine… but we really do work a similar number of hours a day. This has been interesting to come home to. I spent months traveling being reminded that most people don’t enjoy working the way we do. Yes, I watch a lot of Netflix. 99% of the time I watch it while I’m working to keep my mind from getting frazzled because doing one thing at a time is hard. I can clean more effectively and for a longer time if I have a show on. If I’m not watching anything I get distracted by six projects in the middle of the day and the cleaning is dubiously done.
I’ve been thinking really hard about “neglect” when it comes to parenting. Am I neglecting my children?
The harder I think about it the harder it is for me to figure out what I really “know” on this topic. Neglect is when a child has needs and the parents don’t meet them. Do you know why parents usually neglect their children? Necessity. It isn’t usually malicious. The parent is giving all the parent has to give and it… isn’t enough. Then we start getting into, well, what are the rights of citizens? If their parents can’t meet their needs should the community step up for the good of their future status as a citizen? It’s complicated. What kinds of neglect matter? Is spiritual neglect worse or more important than the kind of neglect where your children are literally physically dirty? I don’t know.
I think a lot about neglect. I think about what happened to me and I think about what is happening to my kids. My mom did her best. She really and truly failed me on so many levels it blows my mind. If I was never taught, can I turn around and teach what my children need to know? Am I absolutely required to neglect them because I am incapable of seeing what I can’t see? I don’t know.
I don’t think they are neglected on a long-term basis. But there have been days in their lives when my hands hurt so bad I couldn’t hold a toothbrush to brush their teeth for them. I oversee them brushing… is that enough? Apparently not. I’m not supposed to care about other peoples opinions. But the dentist thinks I should care about his opinion very much. If I’m not personally doing every step of work he thinks I should be doing… is that neglect?
I’ve been thinking about how the size and shape of ones life decides a lot about how much you can do for your kids. I could sit home and save up spoons to be the personal nursemaid for my children for a few more years.
Somehow I feel like EC will learn more from being expected to do it with supervision so she can find out that half-assed isn’t good enough. If I save her from every consequence, how will she learn?
Isn’t that part of parenting too? Not protecting your kid from every every every mistake? Kids have to learn. If you shield them from consequences 100%, how can they learn to deal with problems?
I met this guy on the trip. His father wanted to teach him about responsibility so the dad got a dog for him when he was a kid. He loved that dog. He cared for it diligently and well. Then the dad made him dig a hole. Then shoot the dog. The father wanted the kid to understand death.
Sometimes I find it hard to believe that the mistakes I let my kids experience are so bad. But then I think my calibration is probably really fucked up. Where is the god damn line?
I have no plans to do such a thing. I’m just saying.
I’m not supposed to care about peoples opinions, but if I don’t care about my housemates opinions I could wreck our friendship, I could hurt her, I could fuck up her kids. Her kids have very different needs from my children. There are a variety of foods they can’t eat that are normal parts of our diet. I have to think hard every day about almost every interaction because their needs matter and their needs are different from mine.
It is worth it, but it is tiring.
I think the “potty training” stage is basically over. Bonus Kid gets how it works. She is even managing during many hour outings out of the house. Yes, there will be more accidents in the future. (Life is like that.) But she’s doing great. It didn’t take two weeks. Yay!
It is hard trying to get enough 1-1 time with everyone in my house. Every kid wants attention. Every adult. They all want a piece of me. I feel like there are no pieces left for me. So yesterday was lovely. I got to spend time in the bath then I slathered myself with so much moisturizer I glistened. My skin is hellaciously dry after the travel. I put oil on my hair and let it sit for a long time. Whoa. I don’t usually have time for such shenanigans.
Right this minute I feel both incredibly competent and like a complete failure who will fuck up everything in the whole world.
I hate that feeling.
Tomorrow is our tea party. This will be the messiest my house has been for a party in years and years and years. Know how much I care? Not one little itty bit. I ain’t found everything yet and fuck it. Oh well. I’m too tired to give a shit. It’ll be a fine party.
Let’s be clear that this will mostly go off without a hitch because my ridiculously kind roommate said, “Oh I’ll do food.”
Bless you.
I went up to Sarah’s and stole I mean kindly took off her hands many many many boxes of books. Another dozen or so boxes? She doesn’t have storage space, hasn’t for years, probably won’t for years… if things come to my house she can visit and go shopping in my bookcase whenever she wants. With things in boxes it is hard to find anything so she buys a new digital copy. Really, I’m providing a service. Ahem.
And this way I can bribe her into dropping by a bit more often. Win/win/win.
My housemate might be leaving this weekend. Their house renovation isn’t done, but families are complicated. I get that.
It is very important to me that I be a friend to their marriage instead of a self-involved, selfish twat. Even though I’ll be sad to have my Bonus Kids leave so soon after I get to see them again… it’ll be ok.
It’s not all about me, yo.
I wonder if part of my difficulty sleeping is because I’m trying to lower my tolerance. So I’m using less medication. My tolerance is way higher than I want it to be. Gosh, recently I read an article about Willie Nelson’s pot consumption. I aspire to being as god damn cool when I’m in my 80’s. Maybe by then I’ll have gotten over being ashamed of myself for needing meds. Maybe.
I definitely understand Willie’s lack of preference for strain. Being high is awesome. I wish it felt more recreational at this point but that’s just over. I have patience when I’m stoned. Acres of patience. Mountains of patience. I don’t feel like I’m at a party. I feel like I don’t get mad when toddlers scream in my face. It’s… not as “fun” as I wish it were. Oh well. It’s just… helpful.
Being stoned more during the day instead of being stoned to passing out at night is different. On the road there were mostly days I couldn’t medicate, so I used a lot at night to ensure I slept. Now my body doesn’t know which way is up. Ugh.
Now I’m back to using it more during the day and less at night. Here I am at 3am. I’ve been awake for hours.
Patience with the kids matters right now. I have repair work to do. If it is to be excusable that someone cracks under extreme stress, that means the rest of the time I need to lower my stress so I’m not cracking a lot of the time. My kids were… maybe more patient with my volatility on the trip than is strictly speaking optimal. The kids were good at saying, “Are you tired?” when I started ranting. I tried to button my lip once I noticed I was doing it. Yes, I’m tired. I’m so tired I feel like I am barely alive. Yes, I’m tired.
That plays into my monsters/heroes thing I’m thinking about a lot lately. The SFPD is arguing that they shouldn’t have to wear body cameras because they are being treated like criminals. At a time when they also just shot an unarmed man… yesterday. That’s not their first time shooting an unarmed person this year. Maybe we’d stop treating you like criminals if you stopped acting like criminals.
In our society we have all kinds of safety nets to protect monsters. If they have enough money, just about any kind of behavior is excused and forgiven. Race plays into this but money is a bigger factor.
How do we decide what should be forgiven and how do we decide what should be punished? If you look at the jail rosters… clearly we decide that what should be punished is people daring to be objectionable, poor, too black in front of people who don’t like that kind of thing.
White people commit crimes at the same rates (or higher rates) on just about every criminal axis. We are not proportionally in prison.
I think hard about the spectrum from neglect to abuse to assault. How in the hell do we really decide where to divide these topics?
I’m working on scripts for a few things that are buzzing in my brain. It’s hard because I can’t/won’t write them down at this point for a complicated list of reasons. I’m not good at working through these things without writing.
Writing is how I teach myself what I want to say.
Noah is literally the only person I can practice with right now. That’s feeling hard. He doesn’t really have 5 extra minutes.
Need to stop typing. Stupid arms.
“I don’t have time to tag” is turning into “fuck you life I won’t categorize JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT ME TO, MOTHERFUCKER”.
Looking forward to today
My friend offered to take the kids to the dentist so I don’t have to drive twice this week. How awesome with a side of groovy is that?! She slept over because they have to leave at 7:15. That’s devotion right there.
I was maybe a trifle stupid in terms of “resting” because yesterday I spent a lot of time crawling around the arbor putting up Christmas lights. Now when I look out into my backyard I see a brightly lit area. This is my favorite part of winter. Sparkly lights. I didn’t put any on the front of the house. I ran out of steam and I don’t actually care that much about other people seeing the lights. I’m not doing this for other people. I’m doing it because I want to wake up and sit down in the morning to look out at the lights and let that giddiness fizz in my belly.
I’m home. And it’s Christmas.
Today I will rest a lot. And do mild, gentle exercise like a walk and stretching.
I do want to feel better.
Just a bit.
My hands hurt. So I won’t write much.
My shrink is unhappy with the hair pulling stuff. She says we are probably going to spend the whole next session talking about that. Fair enough. It came up at the end of session and we didn’t really get into all of the specifics. I’m not looking forward to this conversation, but maybe I need to have it.
I kinda exploded at friends and Noah last night. Not exploded at them. Expressed specifics of my triggers out loud, which I normally try to avoid doing. I’m having a hard time with the fact that I need to be in my room to have privacy/quiet space. That’s causing me problems. I’m not unhappy about people being here, but I’m experiencing some triggering. It’s hard.
I try to avoid this because I did some yelling. Folks told me it wasn’t that bad and it was clear I was… more hitting a boiling point in myself than really being angry at anyone. I’m just freaking out.
Having no where but my bedroom to go is hard for me. Intellectually and emotionally I feel like I am still that awful, horrible 12 year old bitch who had to spend most of my time in my room because no one wants to see my ugly, stupid, hateful face.
I’m not upset about anyone in this house about this trigger. But it’s happening and I’m struggling. I’m keeping it from the kids (I think) but it’s there for me.
Overall my shrink was surprised I’m keeping things together as well as I am. I’m doing well with being in the role of “support for Bonus Kids”. It’s going well. Everyone is getting along well. The house is improving dramatically with every day.
I’m tired. I’m sorta wondering if I can handle taking January off. Can I talk me into it? I’m so tired.
Going back to normal?
Well yesterday I was down to 55 hits. Does this mean the cackling hens have moved on to other targets? Let us hope.
For the record I consider myself a cackling hen. I don’t really mean huge insult by saying that. Just describing what I see.
Ok, I am pissed off at myself. Why did I think it was important for me and the kids to see our dentists on the first god damn week of December?! We could have waited. But… it’s hard to reschedule. So I get to drive to Cupertino twice this week.
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
It’ll be ok.
I scheduled phone appointments for my shrink this month. I’m not going to drive 2+ hours roundtrip to her office this month.
I… don’t want to sort books twice. And Sarah told me I could come over and go through the boxes of books she has stored since she moved out because she really isn’t going to have space for displaying any year soon here and anytime she wants one she can come over and just borrow it. So having me store the books isn’t like getting rid of them it is like off-site storage you don’t have to pay for.
I can live with that. Access to books, hey.
I’m making Noah do that with me for our date this week. I’m not driving, but I’m heading to Oakland. I know that this book re-integration is coming so I can’t bring myself to start sorting the new books. I don’t want to do it twice. I’m tired.
I helped decorate the tree by spreading ornaments out on the couch so the kids could see them and by putting half a dozen highly breakable ornaments up. Otherwise I let Noah, housemate, and the kids do the work. I was proud of myself for the level of non-work I managed. Mostly I watched. *pat self on back*
One of the things I liked a lot about being a classroom teacher as opposed to being a home schooler was the planning period. As a classroom teacher you sit down and with mellow time to fill you decide how you will spend your time over the days, weeks, and months to come. You can get ahead of the work cycle. You can do things to create time periods where you are coasting.
Home schooling… I haven’t found a coasting period yet. As soon as I sorta catch up in one area I’m behind somewhere else again. Yes, some of these complaints include things like food all over the floor and sweeping because home schooling is much different from classroom instruction… but ugh.
I feel like I never catch my breath. Too many big things happening all the time.
I’m going to be super bummed when the house mate moves out. I mean, I’ll like having more quiet and more space… but I’m going to miss them a lot. This is really nice.
I feel tremendously bad a lot of the time because I’m aware that part of the reason this is going as well as it is springs from the fact that I learned a lot living with Sarah. I don’t want to make those mistakes again. I’m really angry with myself for not being able to make that work. On paper it really solves a lot of my problems.
But my expectations are the problem.
We can all only do what we can do. I am not good at keeping my expectations humble and then I get angry. That’s my fault and something I work on. But it’s still an issue.
Had a great conversation with a friend recently about parental expectations, reactions and reactions. Meaning what the parents want, then what the kids do in reaction to the parent demanding (or asking, I suppose) for whatever then the parents react to how the kids react. Oh golly.
In particular this friend was saying that sometimes when a child cries in response to a demand/request she feels manipulated and she doesn’t like that feeling. She feels angry.
I pointed out that sometimes I feel anger, but it’s always about my internal load of what I’m carrying. I get angry because my internal sensor says, “I’ve given too much today and I can not be supportive right fucking now” which really isn’t the fault of the child. But it happens.
She thought about that.
I see the crying as manipulation, but without a tinge of negativity based on the word. It is largely a subconscious way of asking for attention/support/love. I’m ok with my kids crying to communicate that their bucket is empty and they need some love to put in it. That doesn’t make me angry inherently. I get angry when I feel empty. That’s not about whether or not they should ask that is a reflection of what I have to manage because sometimes the request is awesome and sometimes I struggle.
That’s about me and not about the request.
She reflected and realized she only sometimes gets frustrated. I kind of nodded in my faux-sage way.
When I feel calm, peaceful, relaxed, and like I have energy to burn…. a child crying just triggers the desire to love the child.
When I’m frazzled, anxious, tired, in pain, or just generally done …. a child crying triggers me to want to punch holes in the wall.
This is not about the child.
For the record, I haven’t punched a hole in the wall in a while.
I’m getting better. But I grew up with siblings who put their hands and heads through windows as part of their temper tantrums. Punching the wall is so… mellow.
I will never get as far with my self control as someone who has never had my difficulty with control. That’s just… probably true.
I feel really happy about how things have gone since we got home. I know we are still in the honey moon stage. I do love a good honey moon stage. I’m schmoopy in love with my husband. I feel like my kids and I have such an extraordinary personality match up that it blows my mind. We just get along.
I think it is kind of funny that I’ve been working with the kids on sarcasm a lot lately. I am not usually a particularly sarcastic person. When I am sarcastic I like to go for the Hey. I’m. Being. Sarcastic. angle. I don’t hold back. Mostly my sarcasm involves turkey poop.
We have a hilarious kids book where a turkey eats a bunch of sheep poop because of a prank. So turkey poop is just kind of a thing around here. I talk about turkey butts too. When someone is annoying me they are acting like a turkey butt. I don’t call people brats. I don’t call people harsher names. I say, “Stop acting like a turkey butt.”
I wouldn’t call it civilized. I would just say it isn’t very traumatizing. My kids think it is funnier than shit.
And we all know that shit is hilarious so that’s a big statement.
Potty training continues to go well. There are occasional accidents but mostly she’s pretty potty independent and it has been just over a week.
Yay!
It’s ok to have accidents when you are learning a new skill. Life is like that.
I feel really angsty to get outside and start cleaning up the yards, but not yet. The house isn’t fully settled yet. I still need to find a bunch of stuff. It’s driving me nuts.
The reason I need my house tidy is because I have a whole crowd of people turning to me to say, “Where is _____.”
I DON’T FUCKING KNOW.
Which I’m not supposed to say at top volume 300 times a day. So I need to go fucking find everything so I can start god damn answering with something other than a muted shriek of frustration.
I love you all. But I’ve been gone a long time. And you bastards moved stuff while I was gone. You say that nothing moved while I was gone and that’s a lie. What happened was things were moved then never put back.
THAT’S DIFFERENT.
I love you though. I’ll find everything. It’ll be fine. I just… need a few more days. By this weekend I will know where everything is.
Sometimes I love that I can hold all this in my brain. I just need to carefully look through the contents of every drawer and cabinet in the house then I will just know where everything is. I’ll remember. I will be able to close my eyes and visualize whatever object they want to find and the background picture of what is touching it will fill in the blanks and I will just know.
I love being a visual person.
There are lots of parts of me I don’t like so much. I really like being visual.
Today is going to be awesome. I want to take the trailer hitch off so I can go up my driveway again. Right now it would scrape the whole way.
Then I want to take the van to be cleaned. It is nasty. Then I get to install more car seats. Whee.
I hate car seats. I’m just forking saying. HATE car seats.
Bonus kids mean I have a minimum of five more years.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Ok. I can do it. Seven years down. Only five to go.
I need to take stuff to the post office (sorry Jenny, I’ve been an absolute lazy bones about getting stuff moving so far) and bags to the thrift store and extra packing peanuts back to UPS. My inlaws send me about five big black garbage bags worth of packing peanuts every year.
Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
Because they don’t want shit to break.
And a dentist appointment this afternoon on the other side of the valley. The day starts with therapy.
And Pam is coming over tonight. She used to be our steady Wednesday but Wednesday night is the only evening our baby sitter has free. So Pam switched. *phew* Glad that worked out.
Anything else to remind myself of for the day?
One of my dear friends has a horror of living in a house with as many books as I have. Her parents had issues around stuff management and there were too many books in her childhood home and things weren’t really… kept up.
I bring that up because I reflect on the fact that I’m not many years away from having my roof supported by stacks of books and I was wondering if I am doing a disservice to myself or my children by having so many books.
One crucial difference, I hope, is that I plan to read all of these books. They aren’t for show. I desperately want the knowledge contained within. And I’m shit at libraries.
I worry about creating problems in my kids. So I pay attention to where my friends have problems. I pay attention to why.
I’m not just focused on sexual abuse. I pay attention to a lot of metrics. Not sexually abusing my kids is one of the easiest things I’ve done parenting. I am incredibly lucky that I feel absolutely sexual attraction to children. It just doesn’t exist for me. So maintaining appropriate contact in that arena doesn’t take time, effort, or work for me. I monitor my children a lot more than average, but that’s so global that the preventing sexual abuse part doesn’t read as work.
I consciously and seriously worry about causing a lot of issues. I worry about a lot of kinds of abuse.
It is fascinating to me that in many languages there just aren’t words for talking about abuse the way we do in English. There are cultures that don’t have a concept for what you mean when you say abuse or incest. Even if the concepts exist… they aren’t discussed in the same way. They aren’t thought about in the same way.
What is abuse in one time and place is completely normal or even mild in another place and time.
I tell my kids that part of what is hard for modern parents is that times are changing faster than ever in the past and as a species we are usually slow to change. People of my generation are trying to learn to adapt at a rate that would have been entirely unthinkable to our great grandparents.
We are changing the world faster and faster. The most important skills to be teaching now are adaptability and innovation. Use whatever is available to make something new.
These skills have always mattered but not like they do right now.
It is hard getting that pause to figure out what you should be doing. That pause I miss so badly from lesson planning. I was good at lesson planning. I had binders. I miss my binders.
By my third year of teaching I had shit down. I had detailed lesson plans. I had created quizzes, tests, alternative assessments, essay prompts, study questions, vocabulary lists…. Every day I just had to show up and do what I had laid down for myself.
I miss that.
But I’m not a sustainer. When I left I gave my binders to my favorite guy in the department because he wanted to switch from what he had been teaching to my primary area. He was elated that I’d done all the work for him.
Time to start the day.
Perspective
Reading this article about one of the Westboro women defecting.
They had a paddle on the wall. They beat their children with it. But *I’m* clearly abusive because I pinch some hair once in a while?
Culture is fascinating.