Category Archives: birthday

Happy birthday!

Leave a reply

Today my Middle Child turns 9! The last single digit age. Kiddo is absolutely ecstatic to be no longer 8. Apparently 8 has been a really hard year and we are glad to be rid of it. Today kiddo gets to dictate what we eat all day and we allow birthday people to have a reprieve from school and chores. It’s going to be a fun day.

We literally came to Portland for today because kiddo wanted to spend today with Dad. We will be spending hours with Dad in a neutral location.

I have stopped using “Dad” or “Grandpa” with my kids. He’s a friend of the family. Not because I hate him or because I want to end the relationship… because it has been made clear to me that I don’t count as a daughter when it comes to giving support, only when it comes to asking for money. I don’t need to show my children that I agree that I deserve such a relationship with a “father”. But my friends sometimes need to be reminded of boundaries.

I am feeling some guilt because ECs birthday was a time of such limbo that she got very few physical presents. MC has… several physical presents. EC is also in that in-between time when she has given away her toys but she isn’t quite at the level for adult stuff yet. MC still solidly wants toys.

A while back MC’s therapist told me that my expectation for behavior should be based on thinking that MC is about one year younger than chronologically expected. Given that they are still in the 98% of height, this is still kind of hard to balance in terms of shifting ones mental process. People are guessing kiddo to be 11/12 years old because of physical development and in terms of emotional development it is more like they are turning 8. That’s hard. They do their absolute best to live up to expectations, but life is hard.

We leave for Bangkok in two days. Our thirteenth wedding anniversary and the day we officially own the house is in five days. We arrive in Inverness on my 38th birthday in thirteen days. (Because of dateline stuff we leave Bangkok in twelve days.)

We mostly packed last night. Like 80%? I think we won’t have a suitcase over 45 lbs and most of them will be under 30 lbs. That’s a far cry from everything being 50 lbs on the nose.

One foot in front of another. Keep going.

I sent the letter to the head teacher. Eeep.

Yay Noah

Leave a reply

Today Noah turns 43. I was with him when he turned 27 and for most of the birthdays in between. I like him more and more as the years go by. He’s a truly good man. He cares a lot about what he can do to make the world a better place. He doesn’t go nutty trying to do ALL THE THINGS but he consistently and kindly keeps putting his nose to the grindstone in his areas.

He is consistent. He is thoughtful. He is generous. He’s even funny. He’s pretty. He’s gentle and sweet.

I feel very lucky I get to spend my life with him. He is an absolutely breath-takingly wonderful spouse.

I’m looking forward to seeing another year of his life.

I have an 11 year old.

Leave a reply

I am grateful every day for my daughter. I like her very much. I enjoy her company. I enjoy watching her grow and develop and separate from me. She has her own personality and interests. She gets to enjoy the things she wants to enjoy that I do not enjoy.

She also appreciates that I put a lot of effort into trying to please her. I appreciate that she notices my efforts. I appreciate that she is very sensitive to the feelings of other people. She doesn’t need to share the mood someone else is having, but she notices. That’s a really cool thing.

She’s gracious and kind. She’s thoughtful. She will go out of her way to try and help other people feel special.

I feel honored that I get to know someone like her. I really admire her and when I watch her behavior I learn a lot about who I want to be.

On one hand I want to list off all of the things that are going on for her… but it no longer feels appropriate in the way it does to list the milestones for my toddler. She’s a person who deserves a greater level of privacy. If she chooses to announce her height, weight, or favorite things on the internet she has the right.

I don’t have that right any more. She has grown beyond being observed in those ways by me.

I am really grateful I get to have this relationship. I am learning a lot. I look forward to getting to learn more from her over the next many decades.

Happy Birthday Middle Child

Leave a reply

Today my boy turns 8. It’s been a journey to get to the point of saying that. I would do it all again in a heart beat because I’ve gotten to see my child create himself. He knows who he is and who he wants to be seen as in this world. I like that about him.

I like that he is capable of making decisions for himself about identity. He tried out being thought of as a sibling for a while and then he realized that wasn’t really what he needed from his relationship so he adapted. He has asked for Bubby to be his brother title name and that’s fine with me. (In my family history there isn’t a special name for anyone but the oldest sister. It’s ok that he wants his own thing too. I’ll support that.)

He’s really smart. He knows a lot of stuff. When he doesn’t understand something he will ask many questions until he really internalizes the topic. I respect that.

He is more aggressive with his big sister than anyone else on the planet and that really worries me sometimes. Let me clarify that I worry about his impetuosity as a child with limited self control and appropriately age developed brain. I do not worry about how he will turn out as an adult. He’s going to be awesome. But while his brain is forming… he reminds me so much of me. And I have so many things from my childhood I regret. I hope I can help him have a smaller list.

He is sweet. He is brave and willing to try almost anything once. He’s an incredibly gentle and caring big brother. He’s great with his baby sister.

I love getting to have private conversations with him. His mind is fascinating and intense. We talk about how to help one another with our big feelings. Things like “When I’m feeling sad I find that deep breathing helps.” “Oh, that isn’t as effective for me. I find that the most helpful thing is curling up under a blanket.” Like, not that he needs to help me but we share strategies. We encourage one another to exercise a lot because that helps both of us stay stable emotionally. If one or the other of us is being pissy sometimes the other will say, “Hey! You are sounding like a run might be helpful.” It’s really cool when that works out. It helps a lot.

We really love running together. I am dead serious that I trained for the marathon so I could keep up with my children. They wear me out. Yes, I can go farther than them. Yes, I am stronger than them. But not much and I have to constantly work on it. I have improved so much over the last ten years just because I don’t want my children to leave me behind while I am incapable of keeping up.

I don’t want to be left behind.

He’s a little ahead on math. He’s just about exactly at grade level for reading at this point. He’s really proud of all the Spanish he has learned. He’s much better than me at chess. I think he’s a much better artist than I was at his age, but he is very intimidated by me, Noah, and EC having more practice than him and he thinks he sucks. I think he’s pretty good.

He has a startlingly large fan club. Folks get along with him. He’s most prickly with his family. We are safe.

He doesn’t have one clear favorite book or movie. But holy tomato his favorite food is bacon.

 

Third time’s the charm.

3 Replies

I have said for ten years that any amount of labor time under 24 hours would be easy. I was right! 21 hours were fine.

First: this could not possibly have gone so well without our wonderfully kind friend who moved in for a week so that when I had a full day of contractions and they petered out I had no extra stress about feeling guilty about prodromal labor. I got to ride the waves and take whatever experience. It was a gift. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

My official labor got going around 8:30am on Monday. My contractions built in intensity and regularity all day. I went in around 7pm because my contractions were about 5 minutes apart and a minute long and consistently more than 10/hour. Mostly I was fretful because she had slowed her moving down and I was worried. It’s so hard not being able to see if the baby inside of you is ok.

I got to the hospital 3cm dilated (which isn’t that much and they could have sent me home) and 90% effaced with a bulging water sack. They wanted me to stay. Around 10:30ish they started Pitocin. The epidural was started around 11. Then I went to sleep. I was checked at some point. I was woken up/checked again around 4. During the 4am check the doctor accidentally broke my water bag because whoops it was in the way. At first she said 8cm. Then a minute later she declared me complete and instantly there were six extra people, lots of lights, and a whole bunch of beeping machines.

When my water was broken my blood pressure and her heart rate dropped dramatically. I was put on oxygen instantly. They started IV meds to support the baby.

Between 4:30ish and 5 I was in position and they started encouraging me towards pushing. Another moment of intense gratitude: my friend’s mom came to the hospital with us around 10pm. She was there talking and being supportive whenever I needed her. Her voice did sound above the crowd to give encouragement and feedback.

I might actually send out thank you cards. I’m really in awe of how people showed up for me.

The nurses also did a good job of giving feedback and support. But Ma’s voice was louder and more insistent.

Noah did a wonderful job of supporting me this time. He kept his face soft and loving the whole time. No grimacing at my pain. Well done, fantastic husband.

Ze baby emerged at 5:28am. I didn’t tear or get a skid mark or nothing. I am shocked by how relatively comfortable my external genitalia feel. I’m sore but it’s not bad. Internally the continued contractions to get my uterus back to size suuuuuuuuuuck. And why don’t I take 400mg of Ibuprofen three times a day and I wont have pain, right?! Oh man.

Several folks, including the lactation consultant, asked me about my THC usage. We clarified that I don’t smoke it basically at all (inhaling it is one of the most dangerous steps–we know there are problems from breathing smoke) and I went into details about why I use it and what I have replaced with it and why my medical team thinks this is the best choice for me. I was rather stunned by the extent of support I received. Most folks were like, “You are clearly very educated on this topic and you are making the best choice for your body. Alright. Excellent.” My pain management doctor telling me that my next line is Oxycontin and Ativan really helps. No one wants me on those meds. Definitely not when I’m breeding/feeding a kid.

I didn’t find out till we got home that one pediatrician had a judgy conversation with Noah about my THC when I was out of the room. I’m tempted to follow up on that because it might be a HIPAA violation for her to discuss my medication without me present and that kind of bugs me. What if I had been using birth control behind my husband’s back and she just wanted to mention that it might impact my baby and I am going to go home and get in trouble? You don’t report on other peoples medical care when they are not present. That shit’s not cool.

What if my husband didn’t approve but it was still the best mediation option and now he is going to make my life a living hell? That’s very realistic.

Anyway.

The baby feels slightly more fragile to me than my previous kids. Specifically: she’s having trouble with reflux. Her first whole night of life I barely slept because she would spit up, fill her mouth with fluid, and be unable to do anything about it. She couldn’t move her head to let it fall out and she couldn’t swallow it. So I spent a lot of time flipping her over and clearing her mouth. The lactation consultant agreed that putting her in the bassinet would be stupid. She needed to be up against my body with me paranoid and watching her. It was a festive/non-restful/wonderful night. Oh, I sent Noah home so he could sleep because otherwise we would both be exhausted and useless.

8:30am-5:30am. 21 hours. It was great. The first day of hospital recovery was lovely.

She was 20.5″ long (so .5″ shorter than the two older kids) and 8lbs 9oz. So heavier than both siblings, who were 8lbs and 8lbs 4 oz. I am steadily gaining 4ish oz per kid and that’s a great time to stop. Ha.

It took us till 1pm to secure check out because the hospital kind of wanted me to stay an extra night. But I got shifted from the maternity section to the pediatrics section and I kind of fell out of the “we will pay a lot of attention to you” rotation and that was difficult for me. I didn’t feel good about calling my nurse all the time to get the same care I had previously gotten for existing. So I didn’t drink or eat almost at all the second day in the hospital because she wasn’t offering anymore.

That was suboptimal. I came home and scarfed a big bag of salami because I needed protein before I killed someone.

Our friend went home last night. Her dog was experiencing a lot of stress from the new rules with a baby. My house had already been hard because there were more rules than usual and it was just not fair to keep cracking down on her. I am so so so so so so grateful my friend stayed as long as she did. The dog’s behavior was great. She never did anything inappropriate. She was just done with the restrictions. I would have flipped out long before she did. Such a good girl.

I tried to tell Noah to watch the baby and let me sleep in between nursing last night. Ha. That uhhh… didn’t work very well. He did a 7.5 hour shift and I probably got 1.5-2 hours of sleep. Sigh. It’ll be ok. I will sleep today.

It is fascinating to me how excited and complete I feel. I am so happy I get to learn about this wonderful daughter. She gets cold! Like me! She shivers a lot. She needs a fair bit of bundling in our frigid California weather. Ha. I really can’t tell who she looks like yet. She looks like a whole new person and it is so neato. She’s beautiful and I feel completely overwhelmed with gratitude that I get to keep her and take care of her. She is my responsibility. I am allowed to love her with my whole heart.

I can’t express what that means to me.

I don’t feel sad about wanting more children. I feel like I am at my limit emotionally and physically. This is my family. This is what I want/wanted. In the future I will have the spoons to foster, but I don’t think I will ever take on a baby again. This is my journey.

I feel so lucky.

Big kids are ecstatic. They are snuggling her and talking to her and trying to learn how to be helpful. It will be a process and I’m glad to be on it with them.

I get to have two daughters and a non-binary kid. I get to have a husband who thinks I am the best thing since sliced bread. I get to have friends who show up to help me and support me through complications and challenges. I get to have a home I am allowed to alter and be safe in however I want. I get to have healthy meat and vegetables every day so that my body achieves a level of functioning I didn’t believe possible for me.

I can’t believe this is my life. I am one of the luckiest people ever born. I have so much. I am so grateful.

I am glad I am still alive for this feeling.

Ze baby has already had 8, maybe 9 poopy diapers and 2 or 3 wet diapers. I’m getting confused already. This is a great sign though. Her digestion is working. Her kidneys are starting to function as we hoped. We have a pediatrician check up in about 6 hours.

This is going as well as something can go. I am eternally grateful.

Random note: to the best of my knowledge my child is the only person in the entire world with her legal first/last name combo. I will do my best to never put it on the internet for her. That will happen when she chooses.

Just another day.

1 Reply

I have a birthday coming up in a few hours. I’m ignoring it.

Do I feel more mature? More ‘together’ than I did a year ago?

I feel like I have more self control in some areas and I also feel like I am running out of fucks to give on social stuff. I’m increasingly isolated and pretty happy about it. I see people… but not like I have for most of my life.

I’m Skyping regularly with some of my closest friends. I have delightful people who come over for walks and for dinners. I visit people when they invite me. I’m not inviting folks over as often. It’s me, not you. I’m feeling distant.

A few years back my birthday was this fevered pitch of need. I don’t feel loved and I need people to jump through hoops to PROVE THEY LOVE ME. Folks jumped through the hoops. In the end I felt worse because I know they jumped those hoops for me and I still struggle to feel love at all.

It’s not what anyone else is doing. It’s in me. I don’t want anyone to jump through hoops anymore. I know the love is there… when I don’t feel it isn’t your fault and you shouldn’t try harder. It’s me.

Sometimes I feel kind of dirty and ashamed because I can see how loved I am. But feeling it is more complicated.

How much of learning to love yourself is learning to set boundaries to prevent people from hurting you? How much of learning to love yourself is learning to accept responsibility for the problems you cause?

I’m a judgmental piece of shit. I judge people left and right, often when I have no right at all. When it won’t even impact me.

Where is the line between judging whether something should work for you, judging whether something is a Problem, and judging whether something is just… suboptimal but fine. I’m struggling with this. I still catastrophize more than I should. Oh no! If you haven’t helped this person be independent by age ____ then they will have x or y or z problems!

Bitch, put your crystal ball away. You aren’t right all the time. And if they do have those problems… how is it your fucking problem?

Mostly it isn’t. And I need to chill the fuck out. There are things I need to judge, when small children are behaving in a terrorized fashion. But mostly… folks are doing their thing and it isn’t about me and I don’t need to be so reactive and bitchy.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I’m willing to put up with in the past few years. It’s shifting. It drifts. What I would tolerate three years ago I’m completely done with now.

I don’t know who I’m going to be by the time I hit 40. It isn’t that far away. 4 more years.

I’ve been out for 18 years. I’m still having to try and learn how to not pick codependent, dysfunctional relationships. I’m still trying to learn how to not judge things that are none of my business.

I don’t hit like I did. I don’t scream like I did. I don’t hurt myself anymore. I will tell someone to stop contacting me instead of cutting myself to manage the dysregulation I feel when someone I love tells me that their problems are allllllllllll my faaaaaaaaault.

It’s some kind of progress.

I’m not that great. Some day will I be able to feel less hatred for how far I have to go to be who I want to be?

Sometimes lying is the truth.

1 Reply

Today I am going to smile. I am going to laugh. I am going to be encouraging and I am going to seem happy.

It is my baby’s birthday party. I can’t make this about me. My baby needs love and support and to feel like they are delightful for being alive.

Yes beloved. I will put my shit in a box. I’ll deal with it later. Today it is about you. And you are glorious and a source of joy.

The happiest days of my life.

2 Replies

Eight years ago today I was arguing with a doctor about whether or not they should just up and take me to surgery or if they should check my cervical progress again. Around this time, I hit 10 cm and I told her (the doctor) off.

It took three hours of pushing, including taking a break in the nap to be given more pain meds because I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open let alone push. I get why they wanted to operate on me.

Luckily while I was pushing there was a shift change for the doctors and the nurses. The new doctor on shift said, “You are a transferred home birth? Do you want the placenta?” then things started looking up.

When my baby was born she was put on my belly and she army crawled up to my breast, lifted her head and immediately latched on. It was a moment out of an idealistic-birth-story. If you ignore that it took me 49 hours to get there. The folks in the delivery room said they had never seen a baby do that before. I didn’t know how to tell them that I did expect that. It was what the books said would happen if you made sure you put the baby on your belly right away.

Ok, it doesn’t always look like that. But the books said it could.

My sweet girl. Born hungry. Born interested in going out and getting what she fucking wants instead of waiting for it to come to her.

I love you so. Every day with you blows my mind and teaches me new things. You are inspiring to me. You teach me who I want to be. Thank you for continuing to prefer my company above all others. I feel the same way. I’m so glad we agree.

Happy birthday my love. I hope we still love each other this much in eight more years.

Mellow birthday

2 Replies

Oh today has been divine. I went to a chiropractor and a massage therapist. I feel like they did wonderful work. We went out to a nice lunch. My friend made dinner and a pineapple upside down cake. I took a nap. I feel loved and cared for.

I contrast this to previous years. There have been previous birthdays where tons of people went to tons of effort… and I spent the entire day in a hell of anxiety because I was convinced that everyone was about to hate me any second.

I’m so ridiculous.

My friend asked me why I conflate people telling me that I deserve what I’m getting now with the implication that I deserve what I got when I was a kid.

Because it is a trigger. It isn’t rational. It isn’t because I “want” to conflate the two. Because when someone says that they are so happy I’m getting what I deserve my central nervous system goes live like touching a match to the end of a fire cracker. It’s a trigger. And people say it to me a lot. So I flip out over that one a lot. So I vent about it on places like Twitter, and here, and… y’all get to see it.

Sorry. Trying to document the fun of PTSD. Why do I continue to conflate those two things? To show how fucking frustrating it is that I have this central nervous reaction year after year after year after year.

I’m tired of reacting to these things. I react to fewer things than I used to. I am improving. But some reactions are still there. Some triggers are huge. “Deserve” is a rather large trigger for me. It’s not rational. It’s just there.

Hey I no longer flip out when people say, “Don’t hold back tell me how you really feel.” I’m improving. Things are changing.

But change isn’t constant. Change isn’t easy to measure. Change comes in fits and starts. Change often hurts.

I’m trying. Documenting things and venting actually helps this process. I hope you notice that I’m bitching about slightly different things over time…

Maybe we dodged a bullet.

Leave a reply

When I was pregnant with Shanna Noah and I seriously considered moving to Pittsburgh. We flew out here in January to visit snow and see if I could maybe stand it because it is so much cheaper. Right now I feel like we dodged a bullet. I don’t think I would have done well here. I’m not sure what all it is, but I think I would wither here.

For one thing, driving around the city is panic attack central. I haven’t had panic attacks in months and months (I can’t remember the last one–but I wrote about it so it was a while ago) and I’ve had two here while driving. That sucks. The roads are super narrow. Sometimes intersections are absolutely terrifying and I’m convinced I’m going to kill everyone. That’s not even an interpersonal thing–that’s just about the lay out of the city.

It is so dark. It is summer time and it is uncomfortably warm… and it is still dark. The buildings obscure the sun.

I have met some nice people. I met an awesome woman I know from Twitter. I know I could find people I would like. It’s not just that the folks I wanted to stay with didn’t work out.

It’s complicated.

I’m glad we get to move on to New York now.

I feel guilty that I haven’t already written long thank you notes to everyone who participated in my birthday present. My mind is blown. 44 letters submitted by people who like/love me. That is very intense. I love you all so much. Thank you. I will be writing to everyone individually.

Holy tomato thank you. Thank you for loving me. I will spend my birthday reading and rereading your letters.

Yes, I choose you. I choose being in your life and I hope I can invite you into mine.

Great birthday

1 Reply

I am pretty sure this officially qualifies as the best birthday of my life. At the very least it was the lowest stress. I’ll take it. No, I will not be repeating the experiment next year. Next year I will be traveling alone with the kids and it won’t be an option.

I drove up to Guerneville on Tuesday afternoon. I decided to make as little camp as possible. I set up my privacy pop up (it is just big enough to stand up inside and change your clothes if you have what some people might refer to as “modesty”–obviously I got dressed out in the open because that wasn’t my purpose) for my little travel toilet. I’m telling you, as lame as I feel that travel potty opens up a whole new world for me. (I have bladder issues. Being too far from a toilet is an issue for me.)

So outside the van I had the little toilet area, my chair and an ice chest. Everything else stayed in the van and I played with where things might live. I have some ideas for long-term living in the van.

First: I need an air mattress that will fit appropriately in the van. Sleeping on just the tumbling mats is very uncomfortable. Not going to work for months. Shanna says just bring more pillows and my thought is: but what do we do with them when we aren’t sleeping?

Tuesday I stayed near camp and didn’t do much but read. It was lovely.

On my birthday I woke up and sang happy birthday to me. I didn’t manage that day of silence thing. Ha. I am constitutionally incapable of silence, apparently. I talk to myself a lot.

I walked for a few hours. I walked past a spa place on my way out of town (I was just walking wherever) and I had the thought, “hmmm… do I want to waste money?” Short answer: yes.

On the way back into town I stopped and asked if it was possible to get any last minute spa services. Turns out that the person working the desk called around and one nice lady could come in.

Once I met her it felt very serendipitous. Turns out it was also her daughter’s birthday. She told me very specifically that she was so happy to be able to share her mother-love for another daughter on her birthday. I didn’t respond, exactly.

During the massage she asked about my tattoo, like body workers do. I gave very vague hints, like I do when I’m trying to not overwhelm people. She was very nice to me. She was very encouraging. She told me she was proud of me for picking my kids over grown ups who need to be able to take care of themselves. I cried on the table. Later I nearly fell asleep because I was so relaxed.

She totally undercharged me so I left a bigger tip to make up for what she was supposed to charge me. Because that’s how a rich person should roll. I honestly believe that. I hugged her when I left and thanked her for being part of the best birthday of my life.

I walked around for a while longer and got a single scoop vanilla ice cream cone (of *course* vanilla) and walked around town singing happy birthday to myself.

I bought a postcard and wrote on it and sent it to Shanna and Calli and Noah. It has already arrived at the house. The kids… really didn’t care. Oh well. So much for that effort.

I also bought a couple bumper stickers. Now I have reason to clean my disgustingly filthy vehicle. Once upon a time I had a car covered in bumper stickers. I took them all off when I started teaching. I have no one who can fire me now. Maybe time to be obnoxious again. Goodness knows I will drive this vehicle until it completely dies just like I did my last one.

I went back to camp and emptied my potty and got things ready for an easy pack-up-and-go experience.

I went to sleep around dinner time and woke up at 11pm. I drove home. I talked to Pam from 1-3, then went in and seduced Noah. I didn’t get nearly enough sleep during the night so Thursday I was a zombie.

All in all an entirely satisfactory birthday. Two thumbs up. Would do again.

I look forward to taking my kids up to the Russian River now that I understand a little bit more about what that means. We are going to have a lot of fun together.

So now I’m 33. I have weird feelings about 33. My parents were 32 when I was born. It feels like now I have lived through all the prerequisite time they had before me. Now I’m seeing the part of life that they lived through too. Now I’m comparing their direct actions to mine.

Someone on the PTSD forum asked if people are more successful than their abusers. Of course mostly people exploded at him because they feel they aren’t and they have deep shame around that. A few of us said, yes–we are more successful. And it’s ok to ask that question.

Why do some people experience trauma and curl up in a ball without ever being able to function again and some people bounce higher? I don’t know. I wish I did.

Yes, I think I am more successful than anyone else in my family. It’s not about my bank account balance. I am better at managing my impulses. I have managed to stop abusing people. (Yes, I freely acknowledge that I have abused people and I have the potential to do so in the future. I stomp on that like fuck.)

Dwayne. That was the name of the student I talked out of committing murder. I will never forget him. I don’t know if he went on to do it later or not. I hope not. I know that I talked him into a reprieve.

I may feel like a success for the rest of my life because of that moment. On that day I said the right thing. On that day I was able to share the enormity of pain he was in and show him that there were other options.

I wonder what happened to him. I have looked his name up on the internet and so far no murder convictions appear.

I feel successful because even though I *feel* alone sometimes I know that throughout my adult life there have been times when I have whispered “help” and closed my eyes and fallen backwards into a tightly woven web of love. I have the most amazing friends a person can have. I may not be blessed in the blood-relative department (though Shanna and Calli are pretty rad) but I have amazing friends. I have friends who will walk through fire for me.

It was sorta funny when I got to the camp ground. The guy who worked there gave me shit at first and sorta indicated I may not be welcome. Then I said, “Daddy James said I could come.” “James who….?” “James _______”  “Oh!  Of course you can stay! Tell him to come up here soon and visit me!”

It isn’t what you know, it is who you know. And I know some really wonderful people.

I got many wonderful emails and SMSs that I haven’t responded to yet. I’m still just kinda floating in the sleep deprived haze.

Today, we paint. Some friends are coming over to paint the planter boxes with us. It will be a lot of fun.

Life keeps plugging along.

bodies and food and sleeping

Leave a reply

I slept from 7-5:30. Well, that’s not entirely true. I was awake for a little bit around midnight. I wandered in to put the chicken broth in the fridge because I forgot to do it earlier. Then I woke up around 4 and climbed in bed with Calli because Shanna had come into my bed and I couldn’t move any more. But I still got more sleep than average. I assume this is good for me.

I’m not shaking/trembling. I neither feel self-hating nor like I want to set things on fire. Watching the hormonal cycles come and go is pretty awful.

Maybe it is partially because Noah gave me time off yesterday. I got time alone. Maybe it is mostly just that I passed the worst few days of my cycle. Maybe it is that I am *really* excited for the trip I’m leaving for on Tuesday. Only gone two nights. But I get to be alone. Blissfully, entirely alone. No one will scream in my face. No one will hurt me on accident.

I feel like the fall no-eating period is starting early this year. I feel like it happens more in October, but maybe I am misremembering. This has happened every year for many years. The season shift from summer to fall isn’t good for my appetite.

I think of it as my yearly punishment for my father’s death. I am not sure how it is going to work with running this year. Yesterday I ate pancakes for breakfast (with yogurt and strawberries) and pad see ewe for lunch and I *could not eat* dinner. Even though I ran six miles yesterday. I did a bunch of other random chores too.

So it begins. My stomach hurts. I don’t remember it starting before my birthday in the past, but my memory is far from perfect. Noah says that the no-eating thing is hard for him to track because my eating is tied to my mood and stomach pain and illness. When I’m not feeling good I don’t eat.

Why does food feel like something I have to earn by being “good” enough? I’m not very good. That’s an ongoing problem.

My arms hurt really badly. I think I slept wrong and my right shoulder is jacked up.

I did my best to consciously *not* pay attention to anniversaries this summer. I noticed they were coming and deliberately distracted myself so I missed the days. Dad’s death is harder. I wish it was as easy to pretend I don’t notice as Tommy’s death.

Oh man. Why do I feel overwhelmingly like I killed my father this year? I didn’t. He killed himself.

Stupid hormones.

Also: I submitted my book to one publishing house. I have my eye on a second. Those two are the only ones for a little while.

Like it goes.

Leave a reply

Yesterday was a banner day. One friend said she isn’t going to be able to see me for a while. That whole I’m too intense thing. It’s appropriate, fair, and the right thing to do if someone needs space. Other friends stood us up for dinner.

Mostly it wasn’t a bad day. I spent time with home schoolers. (I managed to spend a lot of the time discussing house organizing strategies–that was fun.) Sometimes I think it is very important that I not spend too much time around the home schoolers. I don’t want them to have to tell me to go away too. That would hurt my kids. So I have to very carefully divvy out how much time I spend there so my kids don’t get told to go away too.

One mom is not real happy because apparently Shanna and the boy she has had a crush on for over a year ran out to the field and kissed. There’s a milestone for you. The other mother expressed displeasure and said that wasn’t to be happening.

My point of view is so skewed. Someone else is really upset because a six year old and an eight year old had a chaste peck. I know that by that age I had given blowjobs to…..at least five or six boys and girls (That I have strong memory of and I get the impression more was happening in my first neighborhood than I remember because we moved when I was three). Perspective is important. Not that I’m saying it would be ok for Shanna to upgrade her sexual activity because I did. That is NOT my point. My point is that a chaste peck is… not alarming to me.

I told Shanna that it is very sweet that she loves him so much, but for a few more years she should limit herself to hugs because kisses are for grown ups. She looked at me like I was a big fat liar. Fair enough. She was more willing to admit that if the boy’s mother is upset about it then it shouldn’t happen again. She doesn’t want to get him in trouble. I feel kind of sad that I am already teaching my daughters to be careful with their sexuality because people around them will punish either them or their partners if they do it in a way that isn’t “approved”.

I feel sad and empty. I feel like I am stupid for reorganizing my life because I want to facilitate relationships with people only to have them tell me that they can’t.

I want to beat my head right now. I feel so stupid.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been thinking that I should finish the letter to Noah’s parents. And I’ve been thinking about the letter I wrote to my mother that I haven’t had the guts to send. The feelings about those two letters could fill thousands of words by themselves.

So I feel shitty with a pile of crap on top. Thinking about how much I wish my mommy loved me will pretty inevitably make me want to hurt myself.

At 3am Calli came and found me. She said, “I’m alone in my bed.”

“…..ok.”

“Shanna is in her bed.”

“….. ok.”

“I don’t want to be alone in my bed.”

“Ahh, now we come to the crux of the matter. You want me to come to bed with you.”

“Yes. And I want you to cuddle me and I want you to sleep with me all night long.”

“Well, I can’t promise all night long. But I will snuggle you back to sleep.”

I had to leave the room when I couldn’t control my crying any more and I didn’t want to wake her up.

Mama mama mama. Every time my kids say it I think of how many millions of times I said it only to not get my mother. I’m torn between feeling like I am “healing my inner child” by facilitating this for my kids and feeling so jealous of them I can barely breathe.

I remind myself over and over that I have three people who love me. That is three more people than a lot of people get. Don’t be greedy.

But today I’d like to beat my head. I think it is kind of interesting how head beating wasn’t much of a thing for me as a kid. When I was a kid I was more focused on cutting, burning myself, biting myself (to the point of blood), and hitting myself with large blunt objects.

Now those activities are less appealing. Now I just want to kneel on concrete and beat until I am not capable of thinking any more. I don’t know if this is a step up or down.

I don’t think the birth control pills are helping very much so far. I can technically understand that I have this dip monthly. These feelings aren’t “real”. But they are.

I am struggling with how to deal with the people who ask me for space. This is not just one person. There are a lot of people in this camp. More than a dozen. I overwhelm people. This is a known issue.

Once people ask for space I try to turn and walk away. They will ask me to come back if they want me to. Only people don’t really. So usually I wait a year or so and I ask again. Then I’m told I’m too intense again. Then I wait a year.

Am I ever going to get to the point where I just walk away? I don’t know. It is so hard for me to walk away from people. I don’t want to feel more alone and unloved than I already do. So I maintain tenuous contact with people who may or may not actually like me but who definitely can’t really handle me. Is that fair to me or them? I don’t know.

I feel tremendous guilt when I ask any of these people to spend time with me a year later. Like I am inflicting an unwanted burden on someone who has already told me they don’t want it. There are always mixed signals. I’m always told that they just need a little break. And then they wait for me to initiate contact and I get kind of passive aggressive comments in public later if I don’t keep pursuing them for a relationship even though they told me to go away.

I don’t feel like I am capable of doing much right. I feel like I hurt people just by existing and that isn’t very nice of me. I should shut my stupid piece of shit mouth because no one wants to fucking hear it.

I told the home schoolers I wouldn’t stay for the whole camping trip. So I can go running with someone who doesn’t really want to see me any more. Yup. That’s how things go for me. This is the second time I have planned far in advance for a race with someone only to have them need space from me. I have had successful races with friends if we decide to do it together at the last minute. Planning to do things with me enforces more time spent and then I become a problem.

I’ll run the six mile loop today again. I still want to run a marathon in March. I’m pretty sure I will plan to do it alone. That seems like the best idea even if someone says, “Oh I will do it with you.” It’s just not a good idea. I’m too hard to deal with.

I feel so guilty for wanting people to be my friend. I am toxic waste and I should stop hurting people.

I am looking forward to my birthday this year probably more than I ever have in my life. I am going to be alone. I am leaving my house the day before. I am not bringing my phone or any other screen. I am going to spend the day of my birthday alone. I am not going to speak to anyone.

That way I will feel no disappointment about anything all day. I can have a day with no expectations from anyone else in the world. It doesn’t matter if no one else wants to talk to me or be nice to me.

Last year on my birthday I spent a week in advance telling the kids, “I want to do x, y, and z. Because it’s my birthday.” They yelled and screamed the whole time and made x, y, and z entirely unpleasant and terrible. I cried through the afternoon and evening because I wasn’t even allowed to eat the french fries I wanted to eat without getting berated.

I want to beat my head on concrete. I wonder how much this change in impulse has to do with a chance in circumstance. I only have privacy in the garage. There is no way in hell I would cut in the garage. Too messy. I only cut in the bath tub. I no longer have private access to a bath tub. I am old enough and wise enough that I am not going to burn myself in the house again (fire damage is real, yo). And frankly, after my brother burning himself alive… burning myself is less appealing. That habit mostly went away after Tommy died. It wasn’t a game any more.

Just like I don’t understand the appeal of video games where you shoot people and kill people. I’ve had a gun held to my head. It’s not a fucking game.

If you hit yourself with hammers or the like you get marks you can’t hide. Beating my head on concrete doesn’t leave appreciable external bruising. Perfect!

Because I haven’t beat my head on concrete in a while, instead I have developed a habit of sometimes sneaking out to the garage and eating a handful of chocolate chips. Mmm secret binge eating. That’s the ticket.

I am having huge feelings about the fact that I have concluded that I have to stop drinking alcohol. I can’t have the occasional glass of something. It makes me sick. Literally, physically sick. I am not physically well for days. That means I have to stop drinking. I am having huge feelings around this. I am anti-12 step programs. Yes, they work for some people. Ok, saying I am “anti” them is too strong. I have never wanted to participate. I think that is ok. I am not going to turn my authority over to a higher power. Nope. Not this lifetime.

So I’m having weird feelings around not drinking. It feels like the end of fun. Which is weird because… I’ve never been much of a drinker. I have always enjoyed feeling like I had it as an option even if I frequently didn’t take it. Now that I’m telling myself I “can’t” have it I feel rebellious and angry and like I want to sit down and drink a bottle of wine by myself.

My contrariness is a real problem. Well, and my self-harm urges are strong, If I truly crystalize that drinking is self-harm then of course it is suddenly more appealing. These fucking fuckers keep telling me I shouldn’t beat my head because I already have enough brain damage. Drinking it is!

Only I can’t beat my head and I can’t drink. I can’t keep increasing my stroke risk just because I want to. I can’t keep doing massive damage to my internal organs just because I don’t like myself very much.

Sometimes I wish that it was socially acceptable for me to sew my mouth shut and just go through life that way. People would like me so much more.

Shanna and Calli and Noah like me. That is three more people than a lot of people have. I shouldn’t be so greedy.

Oh man, $

Leave a reply

At the end of this December I will be hanging my head in shame as I reveal the extent of how far I fell off plan this year. I can’t bear to tell it before I have to. Oh man.

I feel so grateful that I am now in a position to throw money at my problems and have it actually go well. This is privilege.

I’m feeling scared that I won’t pay the mortgage off as fast as I want. Which means that it will still be paid off early but not as early as I WANTED. I am struggling with this internally.

As my checking account balance sinks… the investment account grows. Holy crap. Am I feeling “ok” about spending money on these things because I know it is kind of covered by invisible money somewhere else? Don’t fall into that trap, Krissy.

I’m fixing things on the house. I’m paying for help in that process. I’m moving forward on book stuff. I’m buying equipment we will need for the cross country trip. I’m not blowing money. I’m not being impulsive. I’m not wasting money. Although we have been eating out too much. Bleh.

Well, for my birthday I will be going to the $15/night place and bringing camping food from home. That’ll be good enough. I just want to not be near people.

I need to have a birthday entirely free of expectations of people. I am not asking for things. I am not organizing a party and asking people to prove they love me by showing up. I don’t want to feel like I have to perform happy in order to earn affection this year. If I want to lie in the fetal position and cry all day… I won’t be disappointing anyone.

I spend so much time and energy feeling terrified of disappointing the people I love. I stop talking to them rather than risk disappointing them.

I’m ready for a stay at home phase. Summer is ending. Thank goodness.

Logistics

Leave a reply

Thank you for all the comments. I certainly know I am not alone in experiencing social anxiety and group troubles. I read textbooks. I know how common my issues are. Heh. It is interesting seeing where other people are with handling it. I go in and out of phases where I can handle putting myself out there. Sometimes I can and sometimes not so much.

Tomorrow is a tea party at our house. The current RSVP count is maddening because it never stays the same in the last 24 hours. This group is… really big on changing their minds in the final hours. Which means if I start baking this afternoon there is a non-zero chance I will make two or three times as much food as I need because half or more of the people will cancel.

But the house is pretty much ready. I’ll choose to just be happy about that. I am ridiculously impressed by how helpful the kids are becoming. Shanna washes dishes now too. With every party that goes by they do more and more of the work.

My secret plan is working. My kids are going to be entirely adept at hosting before they are ten.

My kids are going to have very different issues than me. I really can’t predict what they will be like. But I know they will show up as adults with a large variety of skills.

We aren’t going to the park today because Shanna’s favorite girl in the neighborhood is only available to play on Tuesdays. Shanna asked if she could stay home to see her friend and that will make my life easier. I don’t know what it will mean about the whole shape of the day.

The kids were going to K’s while I have therapy before the park then Aqua Adventure. Now… I’m not so sure. We’ll see.

I finished all the invitations for Calli’s birthday yesterday. I feel on the ball on that one because I’m a month early. *phew*

I need to make a list of foods I’m making for tomorrow so I can email people. Folks always ask what they can do. The thing is, given how high the flake rate is for events… I hesitate to share duties. If someone decides not to show up at the last minute then I have to scramble and I don’t like that much. Tea parties aren’t like pot lucks. They aren’t events that can have a completely random menu. Says my little control freak brain.

I’m sorta thinking that I could say, “You can contribute $5-$10 on a sliding scale for what your family can afford per kid if you want to defray the costs. I do not require that any kid pay. If I couldn’t afford the parties I wouldn’t have them.”

I like them being just so. That makes it easier for me to get set up in advance. If I am reacting to an unpredictable amount and quantity of food from other people… I experience a lot of anxiety. What if someone else has a bad morning and brings their six kids without having made the food they agreed to make? I’d be uhhh up a creek. Either I would spend the whole party making food such that I didn’t get to talk to anyone or have fun, or kids would be standing there picking through my snack cart for the whole time. Neither option pleases me.

(I specifically said six kids because at this moment in time no one in the group has six kids. [Err, at least not that have all six active within the homeschool group…] So I’m not picking on anyone. It’s a metaphor. It could be one kid. But it would be more likely with six kids because man I have a lot of sympathy for moms with that many kids. I can’t imagine keeping up with that workload.)

I would be just as fussy with two or three kids.

I can create a smoothly ordered system if I am in control of all the pieces. I’m shitty at adjusting to, “Well I forgot to buy cucumbers so I made pb&j’s instead” when I already made the pb&j’s for the party and now that’s all we have to eat….

People are variable. And if I just do it then I don’t get mad at anyone for being human. I get that they are human and all. I need to be loving and accepting of people being where they are.

I’m probably better off saying that people can give $ if they really want to contribute. I totally don’t think I want help. Maybe some help. Not really. Go away. Don’t help me.

I’m kidding. Don’t go away. Come to my party. Enjoy yourself as a guest. Don’t pressure me to make-work for you because that’s hard. I’ll get to the work at a pace I can handle. Then I don’t have to stop my train of thoughts to create something for you to do. That can be pretty frustrating.

When I want help I ask for it. Shanna’s second birthday was awesome. I told my friends to come over and do everything for the party because I was very pregnant and I planned to sit in a chair.

They did.

It was really pretty breathtaking. The fact that I have social anxiety and insecurity about my relationships is pretty much horse shit. They show up. They work like dogs. I am so grateful.

I suppose that yesterday when I thought of the wedding reception and my 30th birthday I was looking for mass. At that quantity of people I start cracking.

The birthday parties for the kids have all been really great. I know that the parties aren’t for me so a lot of my anxiety goes away. I have a much narrower parameter of acceptable behavior “Ok for my kids” and that relieves the pressure of what to say to people.

As I look at the group of people who is working hard to know my kids throughout their lifetime… I feel quite humbled. My kids have an extensive network. There are a lot of grown ups who have been there over and over for six years running for Shanna. She trusts and loves them with absolutely no limits.

I feel so grateful that I get to see what that looks like. Even as I go through my feelings of rage that “chosen family is bullshit” these people show up for my kids. And they show up. And they show up.

Even my worry about an “appropriate place” for them to go should I die… they have options. They have lots of aunts who would make it work. My kids may not get to have the life I would give them, but they would be loved and cared for. They would be told good things about me.

I’m so grateful that I have gotten to this point. Even though sometimes I feel like I am going to have to leave because I am a monster who will hurt people.

Other people have to decide for themselves if I am hurting them or not. I should not proactively withdraw just to keep them safe. That isn’t actually what they want. They would rather tell me to knock it off if I start over-stepping. Well, maybe they don’t like doing that.

But I’m not shitty company all the time. Clearly folks like talking to me once in a while. I can stop pretending that I am torturing people just by existing near them. It is a really annoying habit of mine.

And I settled the menu for the tea party and followed up with sending my address to all the guests. Checking things off lists.

The kids have been staying up till 9 pretty consistently. Stupid Day Light Savings. They are sleeping later. It’s pretty awesome.

Oh, it’s official. I will not drink hard alcohol anymore. I had one fucking drink and it made me puke. I can have a glass of wine on rare occasions. When we run out of what is in the house I should probably stop buying it. Noah likes his rum and that’s his call. My body doesn’t like it. I had horrible diarrhea for more than 24 hours. It is time to recognize this limit. Yes, body. You win.

Ok. Time to go start the day.