We got the box of new Jessicas the other day. Ted took one with him this morning, and then brought it home, telling Kiddo that the Mexican Restaurant had called and said they had found her.
Oh, the joy! I wish we had videotaped it. First he cradled her in his hands, and said, "Jessica???" as if he really couldn't believe it. Then his whole face lit up as he clutched her to his chest. He danced around the house with her. He made up little songs for her. He was unbelievably ecstatic. He held her in his hands while we were reading, and of course he took her (and her dog) off to bed with him.
The new Jessica is cleaner and a brighter green than the last one, which he attributes alternately to someone at the restaurant cleaning her up, and her having a good bath at her home on the Forbidden Planet (like in the movie.) The new one also has a few beans in the stuffing, which he says are there because she ate them at the Mexican restaurant.
Thank God for the resilience of young imaginations!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
A day in the life
Here is a bunch of unrelated news:
Ted has been having secret meetings with the children's librarian. She thinks her daughter has a duplicate Jessica at home. If all else fails, she will help us order a sack of 50 of them from the wholesaler.
Kiddo is dealing with the loss very quietly. When it became apparent that we were not going to find her, Ted had the presence of mind to say, "Wow. She must have found a space ship and flew away." And I picked up on it right away, saying, "Yeah, but I wish she could have said goodbye first." Kiddo cried a little bit for her, but he comforts himself by imagining her fabulous life on the Forbidden Planet. I suggested he get re-acquainted with some of his other furry "friends," so now he has half a dozen other stuffed critters he is dragging all around the house. We have talked a little about grief and loss, but nothing too heavy duty. I hope to God we can find a new Jessica soon.
Kiddo had his first hockey lesson at the local ice arena. No more saturday trips to Orland Park! Yea! The new coach is very nice and suggested we put kiddo in the Saturday morning class, so he can have more one-on-one instruction.
My brother-whatever Steve called today to tell me my mom had called HIM to say she was having some kind of fluid-retention issue in her leg, and had been to the doctor. I called her to ask what was happening and why she had called Steve but not me, and she refused to answer. She is still pissed at me for something from last November of December. I don't know specifically why she has her knickers in a twist, but that was about the time I started laying down boundaries.
Kiddo wants to spend Saturday night at her house. He is ASKING to go. That just happens to be my birthday. Ted and I will discuss it later.
We have been discussing what we want to do about managing Kiddo's relationship with my mom. This is so hard because it is impossible for me to be objective where she is concerned. Ted's big issue was with the bathing and her puerile interest in seeing Kiddo in the buff. I think we have that under control. Mom really does not like that I have forbidden her to bathe my son, but I think she also understands that if she wants to see him, she will have to play by my rules.
My huge issue with my mom is that I don't want my kid to come home with his self esteem torn to shreds, with no greater sense of himself than as an object for other people to use. But I had an epiphany the other day--MY kid won't ever feel like that, because I am raising him. Every single day, I treat my child like the loved and adored kid he is--and I also make the effort to discipline him, to teach him right from wrong, to correct him when he messes up, and so forth. A few hours with a slightly batty old lady isn't going to change that. Not ever.
Many of my friends have told me that he should spend absolutely no time alone with her, but for some reason that just does not ring true with me. (Those same friends also tell me to trust my gut, which I am). The thing is, Kiddo is very open and honest. I have talked to him a few times about the odd ways his grandmother acts and why she sometimes says the things she does. He seems comfortable with "That's just Grandma." I think he gets, as far as he is able, that Grandma and I have very different opinions. I have taught him that he should respect other people's right to have their own opinion, without actually accepting that opinion himself.
I think I'll go ponder that while I drift off to sleep.
Ted has been having secret meetings with the children's librarian. She thinks her daughter has a duplicate Jessica at home. If all else fails, she will help us order a sack of 50 of them from the wholesaler.
Kiddo is dealing with the loss very quietly. When it became apparent that we were not going to find her, Ted had the presence of mind to say, "Wow. She must have found a space ship and flew away." And I picked up on it right away, saying, "Yeah, but I wish she could have said goodbye first." Kiddo cried a little bit for her, but he comforts himself by imagining her fabulous life on the Forbidden Planet. I suggested he get re-acquainted with some of his other furry "friends," so now he has half a dozen other stuffed critters he is dragging all around the house. We have talked a little about grief and loss, but nothing too heavy duty. I hope to God we can find a new Jessica soon.
Kiddo had his first hockey lesson at the local ice arena. No more saturday trips to Orland Park! Yea! The new coach is very nice and suggested we put kiddo in the Saturday morning class, so he can have more one-on-one instruction.
My brother-whatever Steve called today to tell me my mom had called HIM to say she was having some kind of fluid-retention issue in her leg, and had been to the doctor. I called her to ask what was happening and why she had called Steve but not me, and she refused to answer. She is still pissed at me for something from last November of December. I don't know specifically why she has her knickers in a twist, but that was about the time I started laying down boundaries.
Kiddo wants to spend Saturday night at her house. He is ASKING to go. That just happens to be my birthday. Ted and I will discuss it later.
We have been discussing what we want to do about managing Kiddo's relationship with my mom. This is so hard because it is impossible for me to be objective where she is concerned. Ted's big issue was with the bathing and her puerile interest in seeing Kiddo in the buff. I think we have that under control. Mom really does not like that I have forbidden her to bathe my son, but I think she also understands that if she wants to see him, she will have to play by my rules.
My huge issue with my mom is that I don't want my kid to come home with his self esteem torn to shreds, with no greater sense of himself than as an object for other people to use. But I had an epiphany the other day--MY kid won't ever feel like that, because I am raising him. Every single day, I treat my child like the loved and adored kid he is--and I also make the effort to discipline him, to teach him right from wrong, to correct him when he messes up, and so forth. A few hours with a slightly batty old lady isn't going to change that. Not ever.
Many of my friends have told me that he should spend absolutely no time alone with her, but for some reason that just does not ring true with me. (Those same friends also tell me to trust my gut, which I am). The thing is, Kiddo is very open and honest. I have talked to him a few times about the odd ways his grandmother acts and why she sometimes says the things she does. He seems comfortable with "That's just Grandma." I think he gets, as far as he is able, that Grandma and I have very different opinions. I have taught him that he should respect other people's right to have their own opinion, without actually accepting that opinion himself.
I think I'll go ponder that while I drift off to sleep.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Goodbye, Jessica
We really did it this time. Kiddo took Jessica into a Mexican Restaurant, and when it was time to go, she was gone. It was a fast-food kind of place, where you order you food at the counter and then take a tray to your table. We searched everywhere, even pulling out the trash cans and poking around. We left a sketch of her and my phone number with the staff, but I don't have much hope. It's a sad night here in central Illinois.
How could we let this happen?
How could we let this happen?
I want this as a poster . . .
To put on my front door:
I love Doonesbury. It's the only comic strip I read. And this just so suits me.
I love Doonesbury. It's the only comic strip I read. And this just so suits me.
Talking to strawberries
Tomorrow is the Cub Scout Banquet, and there is a father-son cake decorating contest. the guys are making a 14-inch round cake, with a Chinese checker board for decoration. The cake is French Vanilla, with fresh strawberries in between the layers, and M&Ms for checkers. I am NOT allowed to help, only to supervise. So I am hanging out in the office, fooling around on the computer and trying to stay out of the way.
Here are some of the conversations:
Ted: Oh, shit! Help! Help! Oh, oh man! ERIN! Help! HELP! Erin, really, come out here! HELP ME NOW!
Me: What's wrong, honey?
Ted: Oh, man! There's a big f'ing hole in this cake!
Me: Where?
Ted: Oh, never mind, I'll just stuff some strawberries in it. And frosting! Look! Frosting fixes everything!
Me: Yeah, frosting is just like Spackle.
Ted: Fuck! Fuck! You little shit, you fucking piece of shit!
Me: Ted! Cut that out!
Ted: It's OK, I bet everybody swears at their cake.
Ted: Stupid strawberry! I'll fix you! (apparently he eats the strawberry.)
Kiddo: What happened to the strawberry?
Ted: It's being punished, in my stomach. That's what it gets for not co-operating.
The fun part is figuring out how to make the Chinese checker board. It's 2 overlapping equilateral triangles, like a star of David. So how do you make the equilateral triangles? Well, here's what does not work:
Then you decide Mom's paper pattern doesn't work, scrap everything, break out the steel yardstick, and try to draw the damn things freehand, while attempting to cuss the cake into submission.
Here are some of the conversations:
Ted: Oh, shit! Help! Help! Oh, oh man! ERIN! Help! HELP! Erin, really, come out here! HELP ME NOW!
Me: What's wrong, honey?
Ted: Oh, man! There's a big f'ing hole in this cake!
Me: Where?
Ted: Oh, never mind, I'll just stuff some strawberries in it. And frosting! Look! Frosting fixes everything!
Me: Yeah, frosting is just like Spackle.
Ted: Fuck! Fuck! You little shit, you fucking piece of shit!
Me: Ted! Cut that out!
Ted: It's OK, I bet everybody swears at their cake.
Ted: Stupid strawberry! I'll fix you! (apparently he eats the strawberry.)
Kiddo: What happened to the strawberry?
Ted: It's being punished, in my stomach. That's what it gets for not co-operating.
The fun part is figuring out how to make the Chinese checker board. It's 2 overlapping equilateral triangles, like a star of David. So how do you make the equilateral triangles? Well, here's what does not work:
- You can't draw them freehand.
- You can't use the steel yardstick you have been using on your train layout.
- You can't stand there and cuss at them, hoping they will get their shit together and become a star.
Then you decide Mom's paper pattern doesn't work, scrap everything, break out the steel yardstick, and try to draw the damn things freehand, while attempting to cuss the cake into submission.
Friday, February 8, 2008
So I can sleep tonight
I have to get this out, so I will be able to sleep tonight.
My mother does not love me.
It dawned on me earlier today, as I was driving to work. (And yes, I've been reading more about narcissism lately.) She really doesn't love me. She does not act the way a loving mother acts. She never has.
This is a weird feeling. In a way, it's sort of liberating. I mean, look, I'm not crazy. I always sort of knew this, but I didn't really accept it because, well, who wants to accept a shitty thing like, My mother does not love me. And then, she always said she loved me. And she did a lot of surface stuff that seemed like stuff a loving mother would do. And mothers are supposed to love their daughters, for goodness sake. Who would have ever thought that an ordinary suburban mother who quit work to raise an adopted child, would provide the child with a clean pretty house and clean pretty clothes and and private school, would somehow fail to provide the child with love? It just makes no sense.
But there it is. She used me for her own purposes. She showed me off, and showed off what a great mother she was, but she never loved me. I was just a thing to show off. A possession. An object. I always knew it, and now I have my evidence. Narcissists use people. It's just what they do. I always knew it, and I was not crazy or deluded or selfishly looking after my own issues. I knew it, and I was right.
In a way, its a good thing to know that not only am I not nuts, I am also not character disordered, ungrateful, or hateful. I am not deficient in any daughterly virtue. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change the fact. The woman does not love me. She never has, and never will. She is unable.
She is the one who is deficient, not I.
It's her problem, her issue, her shame. It is she who is the pathetic, lazy, cowardly, selfish individual living in a fantasy world, not I. I bust my ass in the real world, attempting to make as real and genuine a life as I humanly can. I am not deluded in thinking that I am an honest and genuine person. She is the deluded one, thinking she is better than everyone else.
So it's kind of liberating, knowing that I am not nuts and I am not wrong, and there really is nothing I can do to make her love me, so now I can stop trying.
And it's kind of sad, too, knowing that, no matter what I do, my mother will never really love me. So depressing to think that she has made such an emotional cripple of herself, she will never be able to love her own child. She will never feel for me what I feel for my son. There is nothing left to try, to hope, or to dream. Nothing.
You just can't get love out of an empty shell.
My mother does not love me.
It dawned on me earlier today, as I was driving to work. (And yes, I've been reading more about narcissism lately.) She really doesn't love me. She does not act the way a loving mother acts. She never has.
This is a weird feeling. In a way, it's sort of liberating. I mean, look, I'm not crazy. I always sort of knew this, but I didn't really accept it because, well, who wants to accept a shitty thing like, My mother does not love me. And then, she always said she loved me. And she did a lot of surface stuff that seemed like stuff a loving mother would do. And mothers are supposed to love their daughters, for goodness sake. Who would have ever thought that an ordinary suburban mother who quit work to raise an adopted child, would provide the child with a clean pretty house and clean pretty clothes and and private school, would somehow fail to provide the child with love? It just makes no sense.
But there it is. She used me for her own purposes. She showed me off, and showed off what a great mother she was, but she never loved me. I was just a thing to show off. A possession. An object. I always knew it, and now I have my evidence. Narcissists use people. It's just what they do. I always knew it, and I was not crazy or deluded or selfishly looking after my own issues. I knew it, and I was right.
In a way, its a good thing to know that not only am I not nuts, I am also not character disordered, ungrateful, or hateful. I am not deficient in any daughterly virtue. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change the fact. The woman does not love me. She never has, and never will. She is unable.
She is the one who is deficient, not I.
It's her problem, her issue, her shame. It is she who is the pathetic, lazy, cowardly, selfish individual living in a fantasy world, not I. I bust my ass in the real world, attempting to make as real and genuine a life as I humanly can. I am not deluded in thinking that I am an honest and genuine person. She is the deluded one, thinking she is better than everyone else.
So it's kind of liberating, knowing that I am not nuts and I am not wrong, and there really is nothing I can do to make her love me, so now I can stop trying.
And it's kind of sad, too, knowing that, no matter what I do, my mother will never really love me. So depressing to think that she has made such an emotional cripple of herself, she will never be able to love her own child. She will never feel for me what I feel for my son. There is nothing left to try, to hope, or to dream. Nothing.
You just can't get love out of an empty shell.
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