Confrontation and bouondaries--Part one of ???

Tonight kiddo is going to spend the night at Grandma's house with the cousins. And I am going to have to set the first boundary: no baths. There was always something weird about the way my mother bathed me. I have been holding off saying anything about her bathing Kiddo, because 1) I was not totally sure anything odd was happening 2) Kiddo did not seem upset or bothered in any way by taking baths at Grandma's house and 3) I still want Kiddo to have the experience of Grandma that I had, as far as is possible.

Well, things change and sometimes become clearer. I know I tend to get creeped out easily over issues like bathing or any thing else that concerns my mother. And I know this is partially due to the fact that I don't have a good sense of what is truly creepy and what is not. However, the last time Ted went to my mom's house to pick up kiddo from an over night stay, he got creeped out because mom insisted on giving our child a bath because he got wet in the snow. In the first place, snow is not dirty. A change of clothes should have been enough. A full bath is really, really overkill. In the second place, this kid is almost 7 and has been taking showers alone for a couple of years now. And although Ted told her, a couple of times, that Kiddo should be left alone in the bathroom, she would not back off. We have been watching this behavior carefully since last May, since we were not sure exactly what was going on. Now we are pertty sure there is something odd about the whole situation.

So now I have to consider exactly what I am going to say to her, and how. THe first issue is, I need to establish my boundaries. I want to shout at her, "Quit trying to see my kid naked!" But that sounds childish, so I will porbalby say something along the lines of, "Kiddo is getting older now and he needs his privacy in the bathroom and when he is changing his clothes. Unless he has a specific problem and asks for your help, I don't want you present when he is bathing, using the bathroom, or changing his clothes. He had a bath this morning and I do not want him to have another one tomorrow." Then she will get all in a huff and ask what I am implying. This is where I usually waffle and start sputtering explanations. But I think I will just say "I don't want him to have another bath tomorrow. That's all there is to it." She will go off in a snit, but I don't care. I think that will be enough to solve the immediate problem. I am not really sure how to proceed in the long run because I am pretty sure kiddo is not being in any way harmed.

Drat. I am sooooooo dreading this.

Talent Show

I won't comment on what I thought were sub-standard performances from the other kids, but MY little darling was wonderful. We told jokes for his talent. I had to be his straight man. He was sooooo cute. And he stood still and looked at the audience and spoke into the microphone. These were the jokes:

Me: We have been studying really hard at home, and we learned a lot of interesting things. We wanted to share some of them with you. We have been learning a lot about animals. Kiddo, tell me,

What do sheep say to each other at Christmastime?
Merry Christmas to ewe!

What do sheep say to shepherds at Christmastime?
Season's Bleatings!

How do sheep say Merry Christmas in Mexico?
Fleece Navidad!

We have also been studying literature.What do you call an elf who steals gift wrap from the rich and gives it to the poor?
Ribbon Hood!

And just one geography question: Where was king Solomon’s temple?

On his forehead!

Dear Mom . . .

Dear Mom,

This is to let you know that you no longer need concern yourself with my son's education. I will never again ask you to attend any function of his homeschool group or any other group. I know your extreme self-absorption probably makes you incapable of understanding why I am angry, so I will explain it to you.

I asked you over a month ago whether you wanted to attend C's talent show with his homeschool group. First you said yes, and C was very happy to hear it. Then you decided you could not drive to the location of the homeschool group, so I would have to drive an hour out of my way each way to go pick you up and drop you off. I really should not have agreed to that, but I did. In spite of the fact that I worked extremely lat last night and did not get to bed until almost 5 a.m., I was still up at 8:30. I could have gotten at least an hour and a half more of precious sleep, had I not had to go get you. I also could have had breakfast.

Of course I was late meeting you, so I got the cold shoulder for that. I would have called and let you know I was running late, only I already know you refuse to turn on your cell phone unless you want to make a call. So even if I had tried to call you, I would not have been able to, and I still would have gotten punished for something unavoidable.

By the time we got to the McDonald's drive-thru, I was already tired, highly caffeinated, and actually trembling from the need to eat. I admit I yelled at C when he repeatedly kept me from hearing what the server was saying to me. However, it is not your place to question my discipline in front of my son.

Your displeasure at the homeschool group meeting was actually palpable. Although Ted and I made repeated efforts to engage you in conversation, you stayed hunched in your chair, arms and legs crossed, and resisted all our attempts at being pleasant. You stared around at the other home school families as if we were all a colony of child pornographers, committing the most heinous crimes against our children by opting not to send them to traditional school. And the rude way you responded to Ted, when he asked how you liked the talent show, was absolutely indefensible.

Actually, you hit it right on the head when you said "[Your wife] already knows how I feel about home schooling." I do know. I had hoped you would behave as a grown up and put C's needs and feelings first. I have asked and even begged for your help and support in many small things. I have tried to include you in field trips and activities. I have offered to design a unit for you to teach him. I have even just asked you to help him finish a simple assignment or review a poem he is memorizing. But time and again, you have subtly attempted to undermine me. This was totally the last straw. Rest assured, I will never again ask you to so much as supervise C finishing a worksheet, or to read him a story.

As long as we are on the subject, don't think I didn't notice your attempts to manipulate us into spending the rest of the day with you, and the childish way you calmmed up when we refused your offer of lunch, but only if we drove all the way to Plainfield to get it. Ditto on your insistence that C needs a new winter coat, and he needs it now. There is absolutely nothing wrong with his old one. I'd rather have that money for his college fund, if you want to know the truth. He certainly can wait until after Christmas.

I want you to know, I will no longer be tolerating this behavior. I have attempted to be polite in declining your Trojan horses, but I'm afraid I have to resort to being more direct. I have some new rules, and I intend to apply them.

1. Our visits will have an definite ending time. Whatever can't get done by the time I need to leave, won't get done. If it didn't get done first, it must not have been all that important.

2. My first loyalty is to my husband. We see little enough of each other. I will no longer be spending long Sundays with you while Ted is sitting home waiting for me. See rule # 1. And while we are at it, I will no longer be listening to your veiled criticism of Ted. He is a good man and treats me well, and that is all you need to know.

3. My son is my and Ted's responsibility. I will no longer tolerate you questioning my parenting, discipline, or judgment in front of him. I am raising my son to my own standards, not yours. I can choose whatever standards of behavior I deem appropriate. Because I am the mother, that's why.

I'm sorry it has come to this. If you continue to disregard my boundaries, my time, and my rules for my son, then I will be forced to see you less and less often.

Sincerely,
Your daughter

RUDE!

Normally I love what I do. It's fun and interesting, reasonably challenging without being terribly demanding, and you can't beat the hours. And then there are days . . . .

Today was one of them. It started out rough because I worked in two places yesterday, and didn't get into bed until 3 am. Roughly 3 1/2 hours later, I was awakened by a mighty urge to pee (this normally never happens) and a driving desire to write about recycling. And no, it's not that time, and no, I'm not preggers. Then I would up spending $77 on a doctor visit for kiddo's unrelenting cough, and $40 on antibiotics. Ted told me what he had spent on kiddo's Santa gift, and it was 3 digits. And there is another part of the gift that needs to be bought. And then I got to work late and the bar was empty of anyone but girls.

Ordinarily, I am very patient and forgiving when men say weird, bizarre, or just plain rude things. In all my years of dancing, I have learned that silence is usually the better part of discretion. But given the circumstances, I think any reasonable person can see why my fuse was a tad bit short today. Note I said a reasonable person. We had a shortage of those today. Here are some excerpts my night at work.

Me: Thank you for those two dances, I had a wonderful time. (Lie, lie, lie. This guy was handsy, smelly, and all over despicable. He slobbered on my neck.)
Him: Let's go have another drink.
Me: Let's settle up for those dances first.
Him: Didn't I already pay you?
Me: No.
Him: Yes I did.
Me: Nope, sorry. Look in my purse, I don't have any money.
He grudgingly produces payment for one dance.
Me: No, that was two dances.
Him: No, it was one.
It just goes on from here, with lots of "did not's" and "did too's" with the end result being that I did not get paid for the second dance. Funny thing is, I had a premonition in the middle of the second dance that that was going to happen.

Me: Hi
Customer: I don't want any dances, I'm here to forget someone.
Me: Sweetie, a few dances with me and you'll forget everyone.
Customer: She was a dancer. I hate dancers.
In my thought bubble: Then why on earth are you here? This is the only bar in Crown Point that has dancers.

Me: (After some random chit-chat) So, let's go have some fun!
Customer (who is around 55 years old): I don't want a dance with you. You know what I see when I look at you? I see a middle-aged woman who . . . (trails off after scathing look from me)
Me: Yes? Who what?
Him: Uh, uh. Well, middle aged, you know.
Me: And you know what I see? I see one homely m*ther-f*cker who I wouldn't even give the time of day to, if I wasn't at work.

Same customer, who is not content to let me be but chases me down and attempts to continue the conversation:
Customer: (in confrontational tone, grabbing my arm) I wasn't trying to be rude.
Me: No, you were succeeding at being rude.
Customer: What did I say? I mean I didn't want to hurt your feelings or anything. I was just being honest.
Me: I don't consider 38 middle aged. (Turning away now)
Him: Well, don't go away hurt. I don't want to hurt your feelings. You ARE middle aged.
Me: (Losing patience now) Dude, neither you nor any other man in this bar matters enough to me to hurt my feelings. Only one man matters to me right now. He is six years old and believes Santa is going to bring him a hideously expensive train set which, thanks to cheap asses like you, I cannot afford. If you want to apologize or make me feel better, you can buy a dance. C'mon, let's go.
Him: I wouldn't get a dance with you, you're old.
(This same asshole then contented himself with tormenting the bartender for the rest of the night.)

Some young guy, possibly a friend of the last guy: I can't get a dance with you, you would not be able to handle it.
Me: I can handle anything, baby. Let's go find out.
Him: If you saw my c*ck, you wouldn't know what to do with it.
Me: Eye roll and walk away
In my thought bubble: What in hell makes his schlong so different from all the other ones I have had time to see in my advanced years? Does it do tricks?

What is is about the holiday season that makes men act this way? Every year about this time, the bars fill up with mean people, the physically grotesque and socially stunted, who possibly cannot even pay escorts to spend quality time with them. So they come into bars full of attractive women who would ordinarily never have any thing to do with them and anyway who are NOT there to get a date, and act in the most obnoxious way possible to guarantee that even if there were a remote chance one of us might have once considered leaveing with a customer, it would not, in a million years, be with them.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle

Still thinking about the environmental and consumerism issues that go along with modern Christmas celebrations. This is leading me to think about New Year's Resolutions and how I can reduce waste all year round.

I have to admit, I am pretty good at that already. I produce only 1-2 bags of trash a week. The rest goes for recycling or re-use and the food crap of course goes for compost. These are some things I do:

• I save electricity and propane wherever I can. E. g., turn out lights, unplug appliances, etc.
• I use the clothes line as soon as it gets warm enough in the spring up until it gets too cold and rainy in the fall.
• Everybody in my family has a sweater or sweatshirt to put on when they are cold.
• We have ceiling fans instead of an air conditioner (although I do want to get a small window unit for the bedroom, just to use when we are in there.)
• I don't buy anything disposable if I can avoid it. I use rags instead of paper towels, cloth napkins, plastic freezer containers instead of bags, and so on.
• I donate old things to a local thrift store, instead of throwing them out. If clothes are too far gone to donate, I try to cut them up for rags.
• I hardly ever buy anything new. I shop at thrift stores and consignment shops. I love garage sales and I especially love "junking," which really means picking up stuff at the side of the road, out of other people's trash. I get some great stuff that way.
• I avoid using the plastic bags from stores as much as possible. I try to remember to carry in my own bags, or if I am buying just one or two small items, I refuse a bag altogether. When I do forget my bags, I opt for paper ones, which have other uses. If I do get stuck with a plastic bag, I try to find a way to re-use it.
• Uses for paper bags and newspapers: Of course they're good for craft projects (like my holiday wrapping paper), or for putting under craft projects to protect the floor. But then what? I have found that you can put them in the garden around the plants, cover them with grass clippings or other mulch, and ta-da! no more weeds. You can also flatten out cardboard boxes and hide them with mulch. I did this to kill a creeping-Charley problem in my garden.
• I use old plastic trays and non-recyclable carry-out containers for paint pallets.
• The plastic boxes that tofu comes in make great organizers. They are just the right size for crayons and other small objects.
• I save glass jars and their lids for storing dried foods from the dehydrator, teas, dry beans, and all the other stuff the mice like to eat out of my cupboards.
• I re-use the plastic bags that bread, apples, and so on come in from the store, to keep my own bread.
• Uses for the plastic containers that come with a pound of yogurt or cottage cheese: Start plants in them, freeze food in them (put them inside a plastic freezer bag. The bag can be re-used indefinitely.), store things in them.
• Uses for coffee cans: Line them with the inevitable plastic bags and make a small waste-paper basket (the size to keep by your desk or bedside to catch used tissues and candy-bar wrappers), store plastic bags in them for future use, plant things in them, melt candle wax or soap in them, let small children make them into drums, punch holes in the lid of one and string a shoe lace through it to practice knot tying.
• I have two plastic coffee cans that I use for counter-top compost buckets. I fill them as I am cooking, then run them outside to the compost pile during clean up. They wash up very nicely, too.

This actually started as a New Years resolution when my son was little. One of the naturalists who taught his nature class mentioned that she had stopped using paper towels. She had twin toddler boys at the time, and I figured if she could do it, so could I. That was 5 or 6 years ago. I haven't bought paper towels since. When I saw how much the trash was reduced by that one action, I started searching for more.

I love how a lot of the things we do ostensibly to help the environment actually save us money, too. For example, I don't spend anything on paper towels and napkins, mulch or fertilizer. I save money on my utility bills by conserving electricity and propane. And think of all the money I save by shopping used instead of new!

Next year I want to plant a big garden, so much that I can get almost all my produce out of it in season, and preserve a lot too. I saved and dried all the seeds from all my squash and pumpkins. Free squash from free seeds! Wooo-hoo!

As for a Resolution, I think I know what mine is going to be. Besides losing that last 15 pounds, I am going to start eliminating my use of Styrofoam coffee cups. I will have to invest in several more reusable " go-cups", enough so that no matter how many are floating around in my car waiting to come in, there are still clean ones to take with me. Then I will have to actually GET OUT OF MY CAR to go inside somewhere and give them the cup or fill it myself, rather than going to the drive-through. OK, that's gonna suck in the winter and n the rain. But consider that I bought 3 cups of coffee on the road yesterday. I reused one cup ( when you are a regular on the night shift at the Circle K, you get privileges like that) and saved myself a buck. But if I had my own cup, I could have saved about a buck and a half, and two disposable cups. That comes to maybe $5 and ten cups a week.

Some fancy road mugs from Starbucks would pay for themselves pretty quickly at that rate. Especially if I get them at a thrift store.

My anti-wrapping paper campaign

This started as a diatribe against wrapping paper. I hate the stuff. It is the biggest waste of time, money, and natural resources around. It seems to me to represent all that is wrong with current holiday thinking. How on earth did the celebration of a saviors' birth turn from a religious holiday to all-out consumerism carnage? How did spreading a little holiday cheer become an excuse to destroy the earth?

Well, anyway, I refuse to buy any more wrapping paper. Several years ago I started collecting gift bags after everyone was done digging through them. At least they get a few more runs before they ultimately wind up in the land fill. This year I found a large container of very nice fabric literally by the side of the road. (It turns out a woman was emptying out her mother's house in preparation for selling it, and I found several useful if not beautiful objects in that stash.) Some of the fabric has a holiday pattern to it. Guess what I will be wrapping gifts in this year! There were also quite a few large white pieces of pretty good quality. These turned out to be some very nice paint-stamp art projects. (see pictures) What a nice way to have re-usable gift wrap material!

We have also done paint-stamp paper made from paper bags, and finger paint paper from paper bags. Now I am wrapping presents in the paper and using, instead of bows, all those bazilion Christmas cards that get sent to me every year in the hopes of securing a donation for something or other. The cards make very nice decorations/gift tags/greeting cards all-in-one. I will save the bag paper after the presents are opened. If it's not fit to re-use, it can go in the garden to keep weeds at bay.

I'm trying to save a little wear & tear on the earth by the presents I choose, too. We are doing some home-made and some kitchen gifts. I snagged a gift for my Mom at a garage sale this summer, and a few for my kiddo, too. One of kiddo's main gifts is going to come from e-bay. I have my eye on it right now.

Christmas Stuff

I am alone in the house today 'cuz Super Ted is at work, and Kiddo spent the night at Grandma's. We went to Ted's company Christmas party yesterday and meant to go out and do some Karaoke afterward, but in a fit of largess I bought a round of drinks that used up most of our cash, and we didn't know where to go singing anyway. The party was kinda fun, but it was not as much fun as previous years, and would have been much less fun without the benefit of copious amounts of wine. The after party was really boring, so we came home and took advantage of the empty house.

I am going to get motivated to take inventory of all our gifts and start wrapping soon. It's a good day for it, since Kiddo is not here to get underfoot.

All this gift giving and materialism at Christmas really irritates the shit out of me. If you read accounts of Christmas 100 years ago or even 50 or 60 years ago, it was nothing like it is now. People gave each other a couple of things that they had bought or made or even--horrors--something that had once been their own, that they were now passing of to someone else. People decorated a little, had a nice dinner, and maybe visited with some friends or relatives. Santa Claus dropped off some fruit and nuts and maybe a little candy. And that was it.

Oh yeah--people thought about Jesus, whose birth is ostensibly the reason for the celebration.

I wonder how things got to be the way they are today, with this insane drive to spend more money, give better gifts, light more lights, spend more money, decorate more garishly, go to more parties, do more activities, and SPEND MORE MONEY every year. I hate it. I can't afford it. I get sick to my stomach every year when I think about it.

And this year, I quit. Contrary to Super Ted's reasoning, I don't really believe my in-laws will hate me if I can't afford to do a lavish Christmas Eve dinner AND give amazing gifts in the month when work is the most difficult and tips are the lowest. I don't think anyone will resent that I chose to buy propane and make my house payment instead of spending an extra 30% on gifts. This is a lean year, and that's that. I may have to once again resort to gifts from the kitchen, and you know what? It's OK by me.

This year, I am also trying to teach my kiddo something abut the true spirit of giving. He wants to make Squid kites for his cousins. A candle for his auntie. A birdhouse for Grandma. Another birdhouse for Daddy. I really really believe that this sort of giving is far superior to the semi-random distribution of store-bought gifts.

I am also trying to reduce the amount of trash that goes along with gift-giving. I have been saving and re-using gift bags for years. Eventually they do fall apart, but what the heck. Better to get 5 or 6 uses out of them than one. And better to get them for free than to pay for them, too! ;) *wink*

Faith and the Bible (and laziness and Bible-thumping)

I grew up Catholic and went to a Catholic school for the first eight years. I can't say I learned much about religion, God, or prayer, even though those things were forced on me every day. The only part of religious instruction I found interesting was the Lives of the Saints, because I liked learning about how other people lived.

In the Lives of the Saints, at least in the versions I have read over the years, equal emphasis is placed of the prayer and spiritual lives of the Saints, and on their public lives of good works. In fact, it is often easer to place more emphasis on their works, simply because the lists can be so long. My family's patron saint, for example, St. Brigid, is known for founding a huge double monastery (male and female dormitories) in Kildare, Ireland; for her kindness to the sick and poor, and for influencing many of the missionaries who spread out over Europe during the dark ages. Few details are known about her prayer life or her spirituality.

I only learned a few Bible verses in school, and Bible reading was not encouraged. IN eight years of Catholic school the only things I took away were this:

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.'

"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.' (Matthew 25 34-40)

And this:

"The most important [Commandment]," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." (Matthew 22:37-39)

Call me crazy, but these two verses, which made the most impact on my religious life, sound to me like a call to action. We are meant to do something. I myself am not a shining paragon of virtuous action, but I do what I can. Most of the time. I don't do stuff because I want something in return, and I don't do it because I am trying to work my way into heaven. I do it because, as near as I can tell, it's the right thing to do.

I have always been perplexed by people who claim you don't have to actually do anything in order to be a good Christian. I think everybody knows a few hypocrites like this. They have convinced themselves that all they have to do is proclaim to themselves and whomever will listen that they believe in Jesus--usually in the loudest, corniest, or most obnoxious way possible--and then all their sins will be forgiven and, without further effort or exertion on their part, they will be taken bodily up to Heaven at the time of the Rapture (the end of the world). People like this creep me out for a number of reasons, but mostly because I find this view to be a poor excuse for laziness and hatefulness and a perversion of what is really a very simple faith.

People like to quote bits of scripture, taken out of context, to justify the most atrocious things. If you take any bit of text out of context, you can make it mean almost anything. Here is a good example, that lots of people like to use:

So Jesus said to them, “Because of your unbelief;^{[or little faith, or lack of faith]} for assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.(Matthew 17: 20)

So people say, "I have faith. My faith is much bigger than a mustard seed, really. It's so big that I can't even contain it. I have to tell it to everyone I meet. I believe in Jesus Christ as my own personal savior. I need do nothing else. " All too often, this line of reasoning runs on like this: "My only Christian duty is to now try to force everyone else around to this same way of thinking!" which sometimes leads to "Jesus wants me to force everyone else to believe in him and his way of thinking, and I will be richly rewarded with the spoils of my crusades!" Which sometimes leads to TV evangelism, and sometimes leads to wars.

People of this ilk are overlooking a few things. In the first place, Jesus preached and lived a life of love, kindness, and forgiveness. He taught; he did not force. Furthermore, an entire Chapter of Matthew (Matthew 6) is devoted to the idea that people should pray and do good works in secret; indeed, those who blow their own horns about their own righteousness have already gotten enough fun out of being seen and heard. They will get nothing else from God.

And the most important part of all:

A mustard seed is a living thing. If you have faith like a mustard seed, that is a living faith. It may seem small from the outside. (In fact, many modern translations of the Bible focus on the size, putting in Jesus' mouth the words "If you had faith only as big as a mustard seed. . . ." which seems to me like a self-serving bend of the truth.) But the thing to remember is, it grows. It makes a mustard plant which in turn makes more seeds. A living faith, like a child (another often mis-used quotation (Matthew 19:14)) will grow and change and eventually go out into the world and do things.

People who have faith like a mustard seed, get it. They get that a living faith means acting as Jesus did when he was among the living. They get that we are called to help each other. To be good to each other. To tolerate each other. To act with love.

People who have mustard-seed faith, even a tiny little bit of it, get it. They get that believers are called to do more than just believe. A person who truly believes in Jesus and the Bible, understands that believers are compelled to do good works, because the Bible tells them so.

But do you want to know, O foolish man, that faith without works is dead? (James 2:20)

Cooking up some Christmas Cheer

There was a big huge ice storm this morning, so we couldn't go to church. The 4-H Christmas party also got canceled, so I had a whole long day which did not involve running around. What a treat. What did I do with my whole long day? Why, I baked, of course!

I do a big formal Christmas Eve dinner for Ted's family every year. I have to start early because it is a lot of work, and I hate trying to do it all in the last few days before Christmas. So today I leaped on the opportunity to get ahead. I made:

Cookie dough for 5 dozen cookies (to be rolled out and baked tomorrow)
Home-made applesauce from 3 lbs of apples (Made slightly more than a quart)
Butternut Squash bread from Holly's recipe
Pumpkin Butter
Honey-Wheat bread.

Then I made Spaghetti Squash and Tofu for dinner.

My Holiday menu will also include:

Maple-brined turkey (This is Ted's thing. I try not to look)
Cranberry sauce made from real cranberries (Already made and in the freezer)
Pumpkin bread (Already made and in the freezer)
Marbled mashed potatoes (White and sweet potatoes prepared separately and swirled together)
Some kind of vegetables
Apple cider and peppermint sticks for the kids
Wine and coffee for the grownups.

Coffee and cookies and the chocolates my kid had to sell for 4-H for dessert.

Am I missing anything?

Santa letter

Here is my Kiddo's Santa letter. He is asking for a Geo-Trax train for his little doll, Jessica, whom he says is his daughter. And he is asking for passenger cars for his own train set. We are going to e-mail a Publish Postletter to Santa. Later: Kiddo is on the Nice list, of course.

Snow Day

So, I blew off out homeschool group today, even though we have are supposed to turn in our orders for the fund raiser, and even though it is Scholastic Book Order Day, because it snowed today.

It wasn't a big snow, only a few inches. The plows were going all night, and by morning all they had to do was scrape the new slush off the roads. But when we woke up this morning, the whole yard and the field behind us and everything we could see was covered with a blanket of fresh white snow. It was beautiful. Kiddo wanted to run outside in his jammies and play in it. As it is, he went out in a rugby shirt and his cub scout uniform pants, and snow boots with no socks, before I noticed he was gone.

I bundled up more carefully, but went out and joined him. We played Frisbee in the snow. Had a snowball fight. Loaded his sled with snow only to move it across the yard and dump it again. I also put up some Christmas decorations, brought the lawn chairs in to the garage, filled the bird feeders, and stacked bricks around the base of the chimney. (The previous owners finished the outside of the chimney with particle board and plaster, and of course it has not held up to the winters. The bricks are not a complete solution, but they are better than a gaping hole at the base of the chimney.) I decorated my front porch for Christmas and put away all the autumn things. I never thought I would have a house with a front porch, and I never ever thought I would be able to decorate it seasonally. But it looks lovely out there.

A Novermber (Not) to Remember

I am quite proud of myself because this month I knocked myself out and paid $2000 worth of one-time only and unexpected bills that HAD to be paid this month or else. Can I also say I am exhausted! The last bills are due today and I am about to go out and make the calls to get them taken care of. HOORAY! I feel so much better today, in spite of the fact I have been going on 4 or 5 hours of sleep all week.

And, I never thought I'd say this:

I am soooo sick of coffee!

This week at St. Brigid's

So we went back to a normal (for us) routine at the beginning of the week. This involves morning quiet time, morning play time, reading Alice in Wonderland at the breakfast table (a tradition we started in pre-school and both have always loved) and then on to lessons. This weeks lessons included:

• The Bible story of Samuel
• Grammar & Handwriting (nouns and proper names.)
  
• Memory work (From a Railway Carriage by Robert Louis Stevenson and a bit of Shakespeare)
• Math (addition facts)
• Story Time (Greek Myths and Legends)
  

They made an Advent Calender out of Reece's Peanut Butter cups for Library Reading Club.

Super Ted says at Cub Scouts they did some bullshit repetition of stuff Kiddo already did at Day Camp.

We skipped ice skating this week because kiddo has a horrible cough.

Our art project was making cloth "wrapping paper" for Christmas. We also baked some yummy pumpkin bread. Service Learning was helping out at the local Main Street committee.

No lessons yesterday or today because kiddo's cough medicine knocks him out. He is going to Grandma's today to have dinner with her and her friends, and hopefully his cough will be sufficiently under control for him to go to hockey tomorrow.

I am resigning myself to not getting a bunch of actual lessons done this coming month, because we will be doing a lot of crafts and kitchen gifts for the holidays. Super Ted and Kiddo will be doing a bunch of decorating. Of course, I will need to start preparing the Christmas Eve dinner, and there will be a bunch of parties to go to. It's all good.

Where did my son learn to talk like this?

Wednesday in Service Learning Day here at St. Brigid's. We help out with the Main Strerrt program in our town. This week, the lady who is in charge of it took Kiddo with her to help sell some raffle tickets. Kiddo was a bit confused about the concept of a raffle. He wanted so hard to understand it.

Kiddo: How much is the raffle?
Me: Tickets cost $25 each.
Kiddo: But how much is the raffle?
Me: Twenty-five dollars. That's how much it costs to buy a ticket.
Kiddo: No, no, no. I'm not asking about the tickets, I'm asking about the actual price of the raffle, itself.

Where does such a little kid learn to use such grown-up words, in such long and complete sentences? Maybe he hangs out with me too much?

This week at St. Brigid's

I am starting a new feature here on my blog. Every week or so, I will be writing what we did this week. It will make a nice record of stuff I can't keep in a portfolio.

This week was a little weird because it was a short week.

Monday: We did our normal lessons. This means that we read our chapter book (Alice in Wonderland) during breakfast, then we did some grammar, memory work, math, and I think reading of ancient myths. Kiddo wanted to make hand turkeys, so that was art. Super Ted took Kiddo to the library reading club, where they read a story together and finished their cookbooks that they started last time. Each kid told a recipe for a thanksgiving food and drew a picture, and the library lady had them all made into a little book. So cute!

Tuesday: Kiddo wanted Play-Doh for morning playtime. He played with it for over an hour and was still having a good time with it, so I just let him keep playing. He played with it all morning and I actually had to force him to put it away so we could leave for our field trip. There was supposed to be a special exhibit on animal habitats at the Children's Museum, but it was junky. So we just hung out at the museum and goofed off. I meant to take him on a short nature walk after the museum closed, but I didn't take into account how early it gets dark. Oh, well. We came home and had supper, then I took him to 4-H. He's in the Cloverbuds, which is like a little-kid version of 4-H. I got to taking to the leader, and it turns out that she has no idea what she is meant to be doing. She just has the kids color or make a little craft each time they meet. Shoot. I can have him color at home. They are meant to be doing projects that build character and so forth. So I am going to volunteer to be his Cloverbud leader.

Wednesday: Wednedsay was service-learning day. Our little town is part of the Main Street program, which is meant to help re-vitalize little towns that are having problems. I volunteer with them and serve on the Economic Revitalization Committee. Wednesday we did a mailing, sending 300 fliers to people who live out of town and have expressed an interest in our town, to tell them about the Christmas program. Kiddo worked with focused attention (more or less) for 3 hours. I am so incredibly proud of him.

Friday: Today we had another learning-by-living experience. Kiddo has been planning a "Train Festival" for a couple of months. It was supposed to be a day for him to get all his friends over here to play trains all day. Unfortunately, most of the people he invited couldn't make it, but it turned out to be a fun day anyway. His 3 cousins came over and they had a wonderful time playing all afternoon. This was Kiddo's first experience in planning a party. He had to help with cleaning the house and getting ready. Then he had to greet his guests when they got here, entertain them, and be sure to say goodbye appropriately and thank everyone for coming. We had a little issue because I had told him before the party that the kids were to remain in his two rooms, and not to go into my exercise room or the bedroom. Well, the first time I heard noises coming form the exercise room, I went upstairs and found the kids swinging on my stripper pole. I had told Kiddo earlier that I did not want them using the pole because it is dangerous. So I had to chase the kids out of there. Later on, I could hear them up there again and found they had been in my exercise room AND the bedroom, and Kiddo was JUMPING ON MY BED. They had gotten out all my exercise DVDs and tossed them all over the floor, without the cases. They all got a stern talking-to. I made certain to impress upon Kiddo that we have boundaries, and as the host of his party, he is responsible for making sure that his guests follow the rules of the house. All in all, he was a fairly gracious host, and the party went well overall.

So that is our week in home schooling. Next week we will return to a more regular schedule.

My blog is R-rated!

Check this out:

I found this little jem here: http://www.justsayhi.com/bb/blog_rating. Another little piece if internet nitwit silliness.

Also got this:


$4715.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth.

and there are some more stupid things on that same site.

I am wasting time this way cuz I am also participating in Buy Nothing Day. Actaully, I just don't have any money cuz it was a hellish week at work, otherwise Super Ted would be racing through Target with a shopping cart. But now I can make it sound noble. I will, however, be ordering a pizza cuz my kid is having his cousins over for a "Train Festival" in which he will display every train he wons, and the kids will play with all of them. So we will be ordering some pizza. . . . oh well.

Sometimes life imitates the Simpsons.

In between a somewhat disappointing trip to the children's museum (am I the only one who notices the stuff is falling apart?) and running to 4-H (Where I will now be volunteering as a leader of my son's Cloverbud group), I made a quick supper and sat down to watch the Simpsons with Kiddo and Super Ted.

This was the episode where Marge and Homer go on a tour of wine country, and Marge starts drinking as much as Homer. In the course of it, Homer does something Really awful to Marge. He sits in the local bar where the bartender, Moe, asks him some variation of "Why the long face?" This is what happens next:

Moe: You can tell me. I've heard everything.

Homer whispers in Moe's ear.

Moe: That's awful! That's the most horrible thing I ever heard! You . . . why, you deserve to drink watered-down beer out of a chipped mug, while sitting on a stool with a big sharp nail sticking straight up!

Moe now smacks Homer's mug on the edge of the bar--chipping the entire rim-- then pours a cup of water into Homer's half-finished beer. He relocates Homer one stool over onto a stool with a big pointy nail sticking out of it.

Homer: Can I have some peanuts?

Moe: OK, but I get to poke you with this sharp stick (which he produces from under the bar).

Moe resumes the classic position of a bartender, leaning with one elbow on the bar, bar rag in hand, all the while poking away at Homer with his stick.

Moe: (poke, poke, poke) So, did ya see the game last night? (Poke, poke)

Now, that was possibly the funniest thing I have EVER seen on the Simpsons. Everybody I told that to at work last night (Yes, I went after 4-H) thought it was mildly amusing, except the bartender, who laughed so hard she almost wet herself!

See, you have to realize that the the part of this conversation in dark blue is the part that is really happening, and the part in lavender is what is going on inside the bartender's head. We who work in bars totally GET IT and love it. I have, many times, had to listen to a conversation where they guy is telling me how he beat up his kids, cheated on his wife, extorted his company's money, and stole food from starving orphans, while I smile and nod and say, Wow! what an interesting life you've had. Let's go have that dance now.

Now on to work. There were few customers and many dancers, which means, once you land a seat next to a potential customer, you stay there. To get up prematurely means you risk losing your only chance for a sale in the immediate future, and furthermore you will wind up staring at the fish tank or the silent TV, with no one to talk to. So I sat with one cheap idiot who had tipped me a dollar for a 5-minute massage ( I gave it back to him), a mooncalf who was about to go on house arrest for the second time, and this third knucklehead who started talking about how he had shot his dog.

THe whole story is, the guy had been divorced and was by his own admission sleeping with any slut that would have him. The dog had a habit of waking up the women in the middle of the night and scaring them away. Well, the dog took a liking to this one woman, and allowed the woman to stay in the house. Eventually this knucklehead married the (slut) woman, on the dog's recommendation. Eventually the (slut) woman reverted to the behavior that got her in the guy's bed in the first place, and started sleeping with the guy's boss. So this asshole shoots the dog.

I feel ya, Moe.

Happy Turkey Day!

Hand turkeys inspired by "Setting the Turkeys Free."

Why do I do this to myself?

Anybody ever hear of a stripper with a weight problem?

Probably not. We save all that griping and whining for our super-secret stripper website. We want you, the "outside world" to believe we are all perfect, beautiful, adorable Barbies (OK, in my case, Midge) every single second of our lives. It's part of the "stripper mystique." I mean, I have customers who KNOW I home school, who KNOW we do weekly nature hikes in all weather, who KNOW digging in the garden is a regular pastime for me, and who probably still THINK I do all this in full make-up and 6-inch Lucite heels.

That is why I don't give my customers this URL. It that is what they like to think, then that is what I want them to think. Give the people what they want, yanno?

But check this out . . . . I DO have a weight problem. Not just a few baby pounds that won't go away. Not just a little flab that won't tone up. I mean, I have a real, life-long issue with my weight. It goes back to grade school and having to buy dresses and uniforms in "chubbies" sizes. I was teased incessantly about my weight. No doubt, I was kind of a rotund kid, but I was NOT as grotesque as my peers made me out to be.

Anyway, fast forward 30 or so years. I was tiny and slender in the Army and afterward. I was a lingerie model (Not the Victoria's secret kind, just a girl in a bar selling lingerie and raffle tickets, but still) I was even kind of famous, for about 15 minutes. (See picture, right.) But I got in the habit of just not eating (who has the time?) and when, and age 29, I decided to get out of the entertainment biz, I really just let myself go. I ate all the stuff I had been denying myself, and as much of it as I wanted. Having ruined my metabolism by subsisting on bagels and Diet Coke, I gained at least 40 lbs in 2 years. I gained another 60 during my pregnancy. (Whoa! I just realized what I said. 100 lbs in 3 years! Yikes!)

Well, I got back into the sex-entertainment biz in August when my son was 3. Nursing him and walking around with him in a sling had helped me a lot with my weight. Also, I had just done a half-marathon for Team in Training (To raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society) so I was feeling pretty good about myself. But, I gained weight that winter and this begins the current chapter in my battle with myself.

First I spent more than two years trying to figure out how to loose 20 pounds. I am not kidding. I tried everything I could think of. I finally hit on the south Beach diet last January (Courtesy of my stripper friends) and lost 15 lbs. Then I gained back 8 of that on the vacation from hell last summer. I struggled and floundered until I went to the same doctor who did my stop-smoking hypnosis 2 years ago, and had the weight-loss hypnosis. Then I lost 10 more pounds.

Now here comes the hard part. These last 10 lbs really show. You may know from your own experiences, when you have a lot of weight to loose, at first it seems like nothing is happening. Then you feel a little bit lighter, and then--ta-da! --there is an actual difference.

Well, these last 10 pounds made that difference. Now when I look in the mirror, I see a different person. I have lost 2 pants sizes. I have a waist and hips and ribs, where I once had just an expanse of torso. Of course my boobs have shrunk, but then so has the band of fat that used to go from them to a point under my arm. My clothes fit better. My face features more cheekbone and less jowl. I feel better and fitter and I feel like a normal-sized person now. Life is better.

I am not where I want to be yet. I want to be at my Army weight (150) but my friends have half-convinced me that, if 150 was a good weight for me 15 years ago and pre-baby, then 155 might be more appropriate for me now. So I still have either 13 or 18 lbs left to loose, depending on where I want it to end. But here is the sick part: I have stopped trying.

I don't know exactly why I stopped trying, which is the bitch of it. I wake up every morning with good intentions. I know what I have to do. It's not hard, or complicated. I just don't do it. I no longer tell the bartender to mix me virgin drinks. I don't pass up the ubiquitous bits of fudge on the gas-station shelves. I don't opt for black coffee. Little by little, I have given up almost every new, good habit that helped me lose the weight wanted to lose, and gone back to the antithesis of those habits, the poor habits that packed on 40 extra pounds to begin with.

I know when I am doing the wrong things, but I don't really care. I rationalize. I tell myself,"I'll have this piece of fudge, and then I will be back on the wagon." or "I'll have one or two drinks, then I'll tell the bartender to cut me off." Or I tell myself I need the chocolate, like its some kind of medicine.

Right now, I should be working out. Am I?

I have noticed something else abut me, too. (One of the gifts of having had a dissociative disorder is, I am actually a pretty fair observer of myself. I can look at myself as if I am looking at another person.) When I started losing the "weight that matters", I stopped caring about other aspects of my appearance. I stopped caring for my hair, for instance, and I stopped taking care of my skin. I mean, I still showered daily and removed my makeup, but that is about it. I have been doing the bare minimum. I stared sneaking bites of my kiddo's baked goods, like cookies and donuts, even though I know for a fact that even a few bites of such things gives me serious acne lesions. I quit bothering with night cream, acne meds, and even sunscreen. It's been 5 weeks since I had my nails done.

The very feakish thing about all this, is that when I look in the mirror, at first I see a very pretty woman. Then I look again and I start saying things like this: "Well, you'd be pretty IF you'd quit eating things that make you break out, and IF you'd drink more tea and less coffee, and IF you'd lose those last few pounds, and IF you'd get your hair permed and your nails done . . . My God, girl, at LEAST get a haircut . . . . " and on and on.

It's as if I just can't stand to see myself looking good. I criticize myself and sabotage myself.

What is UP with that?

Wonder

Fourmother tagged me with this meme. I feel honored to get it, as I have not gotten an award in a long time, and never one for my blog! Kisses to you, Fourmother.

I had to think a bit about this before I could write about it. Today was the first day in a week I actually managed to get up at 6 so I could write, and ta-da! the ideas for this entry were already in my head. I can't make any references to the TV show at all, because I don't believe I was allowed to watch it. I had to look on Wikipedia to find out about the golden bracelets and the lasso of truth and so on.

But what I can do is talk about the sense of wonder I try to cultivate in myself and my kiddo. Super Ted has caught the spirit of this, too, which is wonderful. (Oops! no pun intended!) We love looking at little things in nature and discovering how amazing they are. The endless variety of ways the sky can look with clouds of various types, shapes and number. . . . the way ladybugs know they are safe in our house . . . an aging, one-eyes mouse in the park district green house that was patient enough to let my son watch him nose around among the plants . . . These are all sources of wonder for us.

Along with wonder comes gratitude. I am so thankful for the home I have, my husband and son, and the life we live. I am thankful for my job and my husband's job (not glamorous, but hey, they are better than some). I am also thankful for all the millions of veterans who gave thiner time, their health, their liberty, and their lives so we can live in a nation that supports our rights of free expression and our right to educate our children as we see fit.

Time to pass it on. Here are my personal wonder women:

Heather at Supernatural World, whose blog got me hooked on reading and writing blogs. somehow following a link of hers lead me to The Denim Jumper, an awesome site for secular home schoolers.

Lana at HoboStripper. Lana is an amazing woman, who follows her own unique path. She dances naked, lives in her van, travels everywhere, and lives a life I would like to have in an alternate reality. When I die, I hope I can come back as Lana.

Paris Love, ex-stripper at Stripped Bare. I love that Paris is so honest and well-informed. Actually, I read her blog to keep up on the news.

TRIMAXION. I know her as Maxine from another web site. This is another neato, amazing woman who has had an amazing life. One of my ambitions has been to tour the mid western clubs in the hope of "accidentally" meeting her someday.

Ree at Pioneer Woman. This is another woman whose life I would love to have. She is a serious photographer (serious enough to have had at least one gallery show) and a real life cowgirl living on a cattle ranch. When I get done being Lana,I would like to be Ree.

Fascist America, in 10 easy steps

I found this on one of my dancer-friend's blogs. It saddens and frightens me.

American citizens have been setting themselves up for a fall like this for years and years. I believe the public schools' attitude of "sit down, shut up, and do it like everybody else" plays a key part in the erosion of democracy in our society. Now nobody can think for themselves.

Thank God I am contrary enough to want my kid out of that mental meat-grinder. Thank God I live in a country where I still have the chance to make that decision for him.

Here is the beginning of the article

Fascist America, in 10 easy steps

From Hitler to Pinochet and beyond, history shows there are certain steps that any would-be dictator must take to destroy constitutional freedoms. And, argues Naomi Wolf, George Bush and his administration seem to be taking them all

Tuesday April 24, 2007
The Guardian

Last autumn, there was a military coup in Thailand. The leaders of the coup took a number of steps, rather systematically, as if they had a shopping list. In a sense, they did. Within a matter of days, democracy had been closed down: the coup leaders declared martial law, sent armed soldiers into residential areas, took over radio and TV stations, issued restrictions on the press, tightened some limits on travel, and took certain activists into custody. more here

Haunted Strip Clubs

Houses are not the only places that can be haunted. When you think of a what a strip club can be like--all the emotions people express there, frustrated sexuality, unrequited love, happiness, lies, anger, and sometimes even violence that go on there—It would surprise me to mind out that a majority of then were not haunted.

I have worked in 3 small regular strip clubs over the years (as opposed to bars where dancers are just part of the entertainment). Everu single one of them seems to have had a ghost. One was haunted by the ghost of the man who used to own the building. I never saw this ghost, just heard about him form the other girls. He was apparently harmless. The back-stage part of the strip club had once been a large house, and the public front part had been added on later. The former owner is said to have come down the stairs and sat in one of the dressing room chairs. According the girls who did see him, he didn’t seem creepy or weird, just lonely. The girls seemed to think he was really just hanging out for company. They would talk to him. I can vouch for the dressing room being icy cold a lot of the time, but I actually just thought the owner was too cheap to pay for the heat.

Another club I worked in had some raised separate booths on the side of the room opposite the stage. If you were up on the stage, you cold see into these booths. Frequently, I would see people sitting in those spots, and of course I would look over and smile at them. When I looked again, they were gone!

This is my best haunted club story:

The first actual strip club I worked in was this skanky little dump in Indana. The manager and the DJ were both young guys, who were also friends, and who apparently got their ideas of how to run a strip club from watching movies like “Stiptease.” One day the manager and the DJ came in with a box of clothes they said they had gotten hot somewhere and sold them to us. They claimed the things were new, but I and another girl noticed that when we took the things off, they looked like they had been worn more than a few times.

At about the same time, I started thinking I saw somebody by the door coming in, then I would look again to see if it was a staff member or a new customer, and there would be nobody there. Strangely, there always seemed to be an orange cast to the imaginary person, as if they were standing under a neon light. We had no such orange neon lights in the club. I saw this same thing once in the hallway by the VIP rooms.

Another girl had a bizarre experience while entertaining a customer in the VIP section. That club has small curtained booths for a VIP area. They only ever allowed one dancer and one customer to a booth, and there wasn’t room for more than that anyway. This dancer was sitting on the customer’s lap, facing away from him, and for some reason turned her head to the side. She saw ANOTHER GIRL'S FACE just inches from her own! By the time she recovered from the shock, the other girl disappeared.

A couple of weeks later, a girl came back to the club who had been off work for a while having a baby. She saw my gown that I had bought from the manager, and said "Oh my god, where did you get this?" When I told her, she told me that it was a gown the house mom had custom made for her, and that after she had gotten tired of it, she gave it to a new girl named Autumn. Autumn eventually became engaged to and moved in with the DJ. Shortly afterward, she was killed in a car accident on her way home from work!

Strangely, the only ones of us who saw anything unusual were those of us who had unknowingly bought Autumn’s used outfits from the DJ! Neither one of us knew her.

The (haunted) house where I used to live

The first house I shared with my husband was full of spirits. That house was also newly built, but it had been built under contract for somebody who had reneged on the deal at the last minute. That house was built on land that was once a farm. The original farm house was next door to ours, and it had even more problems. The house behind that one and the house next door to ours on the other side all seemed to be affected. In the 8 years my husband lived in that house, those 4 houses saw 3 divorces, the demise of one good friendship between 3 room mates, the financial ruin of one couple, actual psychological illness, spouse abuse, and dozens of knock-down, drag-out fights that frequently spilled out into the yards.

The five years I lived there were the most difficult of my life.

Though I had stayed with Ted on weekends before I was pregnant, I had never noticed anything weird or unusual. I would attribute that to the constant activity—(Besides Ted and me, there was also Ted’s roommate, the roommate’s 12 year old son, all their rowdy friends, and several cats) and my continual state of drunkenness, hung-over-ness, and/or post-coital bliss. Hell, I was lucky if I noticed whether my shoes were on the right feet. When I got preggers, though, we kicked the roommate and her entourage out and started fixing up the house That was the year natural gas prices were so outrageous, so we stayed in my condo and only went down to the house to work on cleaning and decorating it. That was when I began to notice things.

The house was a split-level ranch, with a short stairway in the living room that lead up to a hallway that was open on the living room side. Frequently, when I came around the corner from the kitchen or the bathroom, I would see someone standing there. It was a man, rather short, in a tan jacket and pants, and a wide-brimmed hat. He usually stood with his hand on the newel post, looking down into the living room. He would always fade away as soon as I saw him.

One time, when it was bitter cold, Ted and I went into the house to do a few things. We had to turn up the furnace while we worked (we usually left it set at 50) and left it on when we went for supper. We had planned to do more when we came back, but for some reason we stayed out several hours and decided not to do any more in the house. When we went back to turn down the thermostat, we found it had already been turned down.

When we brought the cats down to live in the house, they went crazy. One stayed under the couch for days and growled. The other ran right to the top of the stares, where the figure of the man always stood, and started to cry. (Not really crying—it’s this desperate-sounding noise she makes when she wants something and we don’t know what it is.) We put the litter box in the basement bathroom, and the older cat would sit on the steps and cry many times when she didn’t want to go down to the litter box. She would stare down the stairs with her ears pointed forward as if she could see something, and meow like somebody was killing her.

When we brought he baby home, things got worse instead of better. When I sat up nights with the baby, I could hear another baby crying. Having worked in an emergency room, I know a baby’s fever cry. Sometimes it was that, and sometimes uncontrollable bawling. I heard cats meowing. Kiddo’s electronic music toys would begin to play spontaneously. Musical instruments, like bells and tambourines, would play. Things got moved to improbably places. Things disappeared all together—especially shoes. Over the years, I threw out several single shoes and slippers, after despairing of ever finding the mates. I sort of expected to find all that stuff when we moved, but no luck.

The sprits got bolder. One time I came home and opened the front door, the find the tan-suited man standing in my living room. As the door swung open, he stared at me in surprise for a moment before fading away.

I began seeing a female form, too. She had a long pink dress. One time, I had taken Kiddo out for a walk in his stroller, and he had fallen asleep there. I simply wheeled the stroller inside and parked it in the kitchen, letting kiddo sleep. I got busy doing some dishes. When I turned away form the sink to check on Kiddo, the woman was bending over him in the stroller. It wasn’t a threatening gesture, just an interested one; the way people usually look at babies in strollers. As I opened my mouth to speak, she disappeared.

As kiddo got old enough to stand and walk, he developed the charming habit of lifting his arms and smiling at whomever he wanted to pick him up. Sometimes he would turn to what seemed to us an empty space, make faces that showed obvious pleasure and recognition, and then lift his arms to be held. He would also babble and wave to people we could not see.

Ted had his experiences, too. He likes to soak in the bath tub with a good book. Frequently while he was doing this, the bathroom door would open and shut, as if someone had passed through. A couple times, the bathroom door flew open forcefully and banged against the wall. Sometimes it didn’t open, but there was still a banging sound, as if somebody were knocking desperately to get in. When in the basement, he could hear footsteps in the empty house above.

The creepiest thing that ever happened to me there was once, while I was standing in the hall, a huge black shape flew from the bedroom at the front of the house, straight down the hall, and out the bathroom window at the back of the house. It was not a bird or a bat—this thing was huge. It was probably about as big as a person, but it seemed shapeless. It passed just inches from me in the narrow hallway and blocked out the light from the bathroom window before it made its escape. Although it was a hot summer day, I felt cold.

The oddest thing was the way the house or its spirits seemed to affect our relationship. Although our relationship was rocky in those days, we would be fine as long as we were outside the house. As soon as we came home, a fight would start. I’m not joking—sometimes as soon as we were in the door, Ted would say something, and I would take it the wrong way, and off we’d go! They really seemed to thrive on this—the worse the argument, the more activity we’d see for the next few days. Strangely, sex seemed to have a similar effect on them. Many women state in a figurative way that they herd bells and music after hot sex—we really did!

The activity seemed to calm somewhat as Kiddo grew older, but I still hated being in the house. I never felt comfortable there, and I never felt like I was alone. And we still tended to fight whenever we were together in the house.

Thank God Cook County raised their property taxes; because that was the only way I could convince Ted to move. Our new house, a restored school, is super quiet. In almost a year and a half, there has been not one single incident. The nights here are peaceful and quiet. When I sit up at night to read or work, I can relax, instead of always listening for unexplained noises and watching for God-knows-what.

The (haunted) house where I grew up

Ok, Halloween is coming, so let’s talk haunted houses. Not the kind somebody sets up in an old barn or whatever, but real houses people live in that have ghosts.

I have had lots and lots of experiences, from the tine I was a little kid. My Mom’s house is full of spirits, although she refuses to believe it. My Mom and Dad had that house built form scratch, so all the spirits there are somehow related to my family.

My brother died in 1967 at the age of 18. I was born in 1969. The house was full of his presence. I had an area in the basement where I worked on my model horses, which had also been his area for working on civil war soldiers and stuff. He was always flickering the lights and messing with the stereo and banging the pipes when I was down there. At first it scared me, but I began to get used to it. I would talk to him sometimes, and that seemed to calm the noise and lights and so on.

My Dad died when I was 13, after a lengthy illness. The last few months before he died, I could hear someone pacing the hallway between the bedrooms. The pacing would stop when my Dad would get up for any reason, and then resume when he went back to bed. I used to lie awake nights and listen to it. I became convinced that that was my brother, waiting for my Dad to come join him. I may have been right, because after my Dad passed, I never heard that sound in the hallway again.

My anniversary . . . . more mushy stuff.

I had to work Friday, unfortunately. Suck. I dropped Kiddo off at Mom's house, and she took us out to lunch to celebrate the anniversary of "the day we all married together," in Kiddo's words. (Remember, he was 19 months old when we got married.) Then I got my nails done, and had to fight traffic, all of which made me terribly late. To make matters worse, the police had set up a roadblock just half a block north from the bar. Roadblocks are so not good for business!

Well, that was a waste of time. On an impulse, I kept my work dress on under my jeans and sweater when I left. I walked up the street, around the roadblock, and to the discount liquor store, where I spent a quarter of my meager earnings om wine. Then I grabbed a baked potato at Wendy's and raced home. Including the stop at Wendy's, I made it in one hour and 29 minutes, which is a land speed record coming out of Stone Park on Friday night.

When I hit the driveway, I saw that the house was mostly dark, with only a light in the bedroom window. Well, shit. I bet he fell asleep. That would be understandable, really, since Ted gets up at 3 am to get ready for work. But even if his intentions are good, once he nods off, he's never quite the same. Even after he wakes up, he is in this weird disoriented state. So, I resigned myself to a little computer time and looking forward to the morning, when we would both be rested and refreshed.

I grabbed my wine and carried it into the house. The night light in the hall lit up the usual assortment of shoes, backpacks, and hats . . . and a trail of rose petals leading up the stairs. Hmmmm . . . . I dropped off my wine in the wine cooler ( I always wanted to be the kind of person who would have a wine cooler, and I don't mean a fruity little drink in a bottle!) and went to investigate. I followed the trail of petals up the stairs, through the playroom, over several wooden train tracks, past my pole in the exercise room, and into the bedroom. There I found the bedroom cleaned, candles burning, and rose petals strewn over and around the bed. In the middle of the bed were a dozen red roses. My dressing table chair had become a makeshift stand for a bottle of blackberry merlot and two bottles of champagne chilling on ice. In the sitting area, Ted was waiting for me, grinning, surrounded by rose petals and pink-wrapped chocolate pieces that he had scattered over the table also placed in dainty dessert glasses. He stood when I came in and took me in his arms. . . . .

The first thing that happened tome in the morning was that someone dropped a lovely decadent piece of dark chocolate in my mouth.

Along about noon we had to emerge form the bedroom, if only to raid the wine cooler. I made brunch--fried-egg sandwiches on home-made whole grain bread, with sauteed candy onions and green peppers from the garden, sliced garden tomatoes, smoked cheese, soy sausage, mustard and mayo. We washed 'em down with more wine (hey, it's not like we do this every week!) while we watched Showgirls, which Ted had brought home for me the week before. The picture of the girl with the pole on the front of it had caught his eye, and this was a particularly lovely gift set which included the DVD, shot glasses (I collect shot glasses) party games, etc.

Oh, my gawd! what a horrible movie. I had heard it was bad, but I wanted to see it for the dancing and the costumes. It didn't have enough of either, in my opinion. The main character was just . . . . awful. Completely despicable. After the first few minutes, Ted kept wishing more and more horrible fates on her--"I hope she gets hit by that truck!" he would say. "I hope she falls off the stage and breaks her neck!" "I hope Jason gets her!" The movie's only saving grace was, not only was the plot simple enough to follow even when intoxicated, but the more we drank, the more fun we had ripping on it! Hence the shot glasses included in the package.

Only, the more we drank, the more we had to take breaks to go to the bathroom, and the more my attention span wandered and then I'd come in the office and fuck with the Internet, so that the movie, which was too long to begin with, stretched out and devoured our whole day. I had had it in the back of my head to do something outdoors, since it was so nice out. Oh well. We drank some coffee and watched the sunset form our back porch, then got cleaned up and went out for dinner.

Dinner was a big flop. Ted had wanted to go to a Chinese buffet, and he had one in mind that we had never tried before. Won't be trying it again, either. The food was greasy and bland. As a vegetarian, I had a real problem because crab meat was hidden in everything. It wasn't enough crab meat to actually make anything taste like crab, because I took a few bites before I realized something was not quite right. Apparently the only reason they put it there was pure perversity. Oh, well. Live 'n' learn, right?

Last stop of the night was Carlo's in Cedar Lake for karaoke fun. I love it when we go out singing. I have had voice lessons, but I used to be too shy to ever sing in front of other people. Back in the days when we were just buddies, Ted convinced me to do the female part in Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Light." Singing is easy after you've had a few beers. Anyway, karaoke had been a huge part of our dating life and life as a couple. It is one of the things we most enjoy doing together. So, a bucket o' beers at Carlo's, and we had our entertainment for the rest of the night.

I first sang, "The Search is Over", from Survivor. I adore that song because, not only was it released about the time I met Ted (maybe a couple of years before, I'm not quite sure) but, when I sing it to him, it is absolutely the story of our relationship.

SURVIVOR lyrics

Ted sang Chicago's "Make Me Smile" and Seger's "You'll Accompany Me." Together we did "Sgt. Petter's Lonely Hears Club Band/With a Little Help From My Friends," and "Getting Better All the Time," both of which we perfected as duets 20 years ago or more, singing with a cassette tape in a boom box in Ted's 1966 Mustang convertible.

The DJ packed up his stuff at 1 am, but we were still singing when we left the bar.

The evil bastards at Ted's work scheduled him to work (yet another) Sunday, so that was then end of our fun. Oh well. I still have the roses.

My 5th Wedding anniversary

Here we are 5 years ago yesterday. Wow! Hard to believe that's us!

BTW, I still have the dress, I can still wear the dress, I do still wear the dress, and 2 years ago, I had the dress taken in!

Getting Better All the Time

BEATLES, THE lyrics

Today is my 5th wedding anniversary. Amazing. A-fucking-mazing.


That we made it this far is really tenement to Ted's amazing strength and patience. Or maybe pig-headed-ness and not knowing when to quit. Whatever, I am profoundly grateful.

We tried to have our wedding before Kiddo was born, but it was too much of a rush. I was also taking some classes (I was pre-med at the time) and working full time. The extra strain of planning a wedding was just too much, and so we gave it up.

The combination of unresolved grief and raging pregnancy hormones, combined with uncertainty in my relationship with Ted and my general emotional baggage, made me a horrible person. There is no other way to say that. I was selfish, emotional, whiny, bitchy, childish, and hateful. I blamed Ted for everything--how miserable I felt physically and emotionally, how I couldn't go on with school, somehow I even managed to blame him for Rick's death. Everything was all his fault.

That Ted didn't leave me during my pregnancy or the year or so after Kiddo was born, is testimony to his patience and steadfastness. He forgave me time and again, until I knew he would never leave me. For some reason, he even still wanted to marry me.

But sometimes it's hard to see the forest for the trees, and besides sticking around, Ted did little else to hold up his end of the relationship. He was as childish and spoiled as I was, and still wanted to live like a bachelor, in spite of the fact that he had a baby-momma and a child at home. For reasons of his own, Ted replayed some of the worst from my childhood--he objectified me, ignored me, didn't know how to cope with my emotional storms, and escaped into work or hobbies. For the longest time, it seemed like his only interest in me was "What can you do for me? In what way are you of any use? How does whatever happens to you affect me?" (Re-reading this, I recall that Ted's mom passed away when our son was about 6 weeks old. So only now, 6 1/2 years later, have I pulled my head out of my ass enough to see that Ted was grieving. How insensitive have I been? )

Each of us was desperate to get our needs met, and unable to ask like civilized people. We were both so miserable.

For those first few years, I conducted myself like a spoiled child, resorting to tantrums to try and get the attention I needed. I blew things completely out of proportion, for example throwing a screaming and bawling fit because Ted had spilled coffee on my clean floor. Ted would withdraw, or worse, resort to hurling hurtful insults that always seemed to get right to the heart of me. This escalated for a few rounds, until I would resort to hitting to make him stop. Then he would yell some more, and withdraw again.

The last time I hit Ted, I also broke his finger when he tried to restrain me. I turned around and saw Kiddo had seen the whole thing. That was one of many ah-ha moments that brought things around for us.


We've had a lot of those moments in the last 5 years.

Fortunately, we are both stubborn loners. Neither of us was willing to admit failure, and we both knew we had no one else. We were committed to creating a stable, two-parent home for kiddo, even though we disagreed violently about what that meant. So, somehow, we knew we had to hang on to each other. We didn't know how, or even where to start. Several months of marriage counseling didn't seem to have any effect until months after we had given up on it. Now bits and pieces of it still come back to us from time to time.

Love, apparently, can conquer all. Neither of us believed it at the time, but here we are. With the momentum of a speeding glacier, we have changed.

Ted believes the pivotal moment was when we moved out of our old house. To say that the old place had a bad vibe, is like saying The Amityville Horror was a somewhat creepy movie. We both firmly believe the place was haunted. It is an undisputed fact that in the 10 years Ted lived there, in that house and the 3 lots touching it, there were 3 divorces, a ruined friendship between 3 roommates, 2 couples who regularly had knock-down, drag-out fights, and 2 cases of near financial ruin--that we know of. And I can certainly say that moving out to the quiet, low stress, low traffic country has made both of us happier. So yeah, maybe there is something to that.

I like to give us more credit, though. I think, mostly, we simply grew the f* up. I think we both struggled for a long time and finally something gave, and we pulled ourselves together. Ted claims I somehow taught him how to think, which means to question logically the assumptions he grew up with. This means he thinks things through logically and with empathy, rather than just being contrary for the hell of it. He is breaking his bad habit of saying hateful things in arguments. He is more willing to work with me as a team and to accept my leadership when appropriate. He shows he loves me in ways I understand, instead of expecting me to intuitively know it.

For me, trust is the essential issue. Back in high school, Ted was really the only person I trusted. I felt he was the only one who understood me. Through the years, through our separation and all the changes in our lives, I stopped trusting even him. I tested Ted to inhuman limits. He forgave the unforgivable in me, time and again. He sometimes screamed and yelled and threated to leave me, but he never did. After a while, I became able to ask him to promise he's never leave. He had to say the actual words to me, many times over, promising he's always be there for me. And gradually, I started to believe him. I stopped trying so hard to make him go away. Sometimes when I am feeling bad about myself, I will still push him a little bit, but it's not exactly the same. Now I push because I really want him to say, "I love you. Let's make things better."--but I don't always know that is what I need, or I don't know how to ask.

I have had to learn trust in other things, too. I have always had a difficult time trusting anybody with any kind of personal (emotional) information. My instinct has always been, don't tell people anything they can come back at you with later. Never give anybody a weapon to use against you. This made an impossible situation in our marriage because there was no way Ted could avoid hurting me if he didn't know what was going on with me. But I could not tell him for fear he would use the information to hurt me.

About a year ago, I felt or herd a stirring from the un-integrated core personality, the original child who was so damaged. It was in the middle of an argument with Ted. Like so many of our arguments, it started because he had unknowingly stepped on one of my many emotional land mines. In the aftermath of resulting explosion, Ted asked me in exasperation, "How am I supposed to know what hurts you? You won't tell me!" I realized in that moment that he was right. I opened my mouth to speak, then clamped it shut again. A voice inside me screamed, "NO! NO! DON'T TELL! DON'T GIVE ANYTHING AWAY!" And I whispered, " I can't tell you. It's against the rules."

Lately I have had to tell. The pain of constantly getting my feelings trampled on by a good, well-meaning, man who was stumbling in the dark, got the better of me. I saw that the things I had done and the secrets I had kept to protect myself were now more cumbersome than helpful, and that they hurt Ted and Kiddo because I can't be a wife and mother to them when I am wallowing in my emotional pig pen full of shit. I decided that, if I wanted Ted to love, honor, and cherish me for myself, then he had to see my "self" as it really was. I used to accuse him of loving not me, Erin, but one of the alter personalities who had been his buddy in high school. But what I was doing, holding up an idealized, sanitized Erin, put me in essentially the same position. (Like The Wizard of Oz: Pay no mind to the woman behind the curtain!) And look, I can't do that for the rest of my life.

Now it's all out there. Or at least, all of it that I remember and understand. Ted now sees who he has in front of him. He sees the holes in me, and the places where I didn't grow properly, and the scars that are still so full of filth and shit that they will probably never heal right. And it's OK. He still wants me. Amazingly, he understands me. He gave me a beautiful gift the other day--he was angry at my mother for the things she did to me. Nobody has ever been angry on my behalf before.

Five years ago today, we stood in our back yard in front of our guests and promised to love, honor, and cherish each other. That has always been my fairy tale ending--to be loved, honored, and cherished. Like so many people, I looked to my marriage to make up for what I never got in childhood. Ted is a white knight guy--he really does want to save me and give me what I need. We balance each other that way--I so need to be rescued, and Ted needs someone to save.

Most psychologists would say this is not a perfect marriage. I know it's not. But it's honest, and for us that is a big step. It's strong and well-tested. It nurtures both of us and gives us both space and reason to grow. And it gets better all the time.