I am Not a Bad Mother

Just because I may do things differently doesn’t mean I haven’t given every choice I make regarding my daughter a lot of thought. I’m not going to make decisions concerning my child in an irresponsible way. I think about what I do and say around my daughter, I always have her best interest at heart. I keep my kid warm when she's cold and fed when she’s hungry. I hold her when she cries and I dance for her when she’s bored. I read to her, I sing to her, I tell her my thoughts so she’ll know me better, I take any and all advice that I can get on how to be a better mom; but just because I listen to it doesn’t mean I will implement that advice.
And if advice isn’t given to me in the form of “you know what I’ve found that works”, or something similar, I don’t receive it well. My person told me today that “the way people say things are as important as how people hear them”. I don’t want to hear things like: “you’re not going to put another blanket on her?” or “I don’t know why you don’t just pick her up” or “that’s not the way I used to do it”. I don’t care how anyone did anything when it was their turn to be a mom. I’m not their redo. I’m not their mulligan. This is my turn to be a mom. And I want to do what’s right by my kid and I know that my friends and family want to help me but belittling me and my ability to know what is best for my child does not help me. It hinders me. It chisels away at me and if it weren’t for my super wonderful amazing husband to lift me up and pick up all my little pieces at the end of the day I just might do what every one seems to expect and fail.
I love to get advice from friends and family, I need all that I can get to make an informed decision on all aspects of motherhood. I need help more times than not. I appreciate any knowledge handed to me and I pray I have to wisdom to use most of it. But it does wear on me when every single move I make is second guessed and could be done better by someone else. I’m learning here and part of learning is making mistakes. So far I haven’t made any mistakes that have caused my daughter any harm and God willing I never will but in order for me to grow into the kind of mom that knows what she’s doing I need to be given faith along with the advice. I need for people who want to help me to stop and think for a moment about the fact that even though most times I’m a tough person, when it comes to my ability to be a mom I’m already halfway broken.

I Hate Tuedays

If I could have a super power I would want to be able to make Tuesday’s disappear, and force a double up on Thursdays. I can’t tell you how badly I want every Tuesday that ever was to be… what’s a good word that means: If Tuesday was a person I’d want it to be ripped out of the week by its pubic hairs and forced to sit in an acid bath with Paris Hilton in an evil spa in some seriously intense hell for all eternity? To say I want Tuesdays to “go away” doesn’t seem to really capture the severity of my dislike of that day.
I can’t even really remember the last time I had a good Tuesday, at least not one that wasn’t either preceded by a bad Monday or followed by a bad Wednesday. Every Tuesday is my own personal apocalypse with flying lion/scorpion/man beasts and everything. Each Tuesday has Armageddon reproduced for me personally. Garfield’s hate of Mondays can’t touch my hate of Tuesdays. Lasagna doesn’t even come close to fixing a Tuesday.
What I hate most about Tuesdays it that if Monday was bad, it doesn't get washed away by the new day. Tomorrows are never better if they are Tuesdays.

Suffering From a Severe Lack of Noise

It’s a sad reality for me that I need music in my daily life to function on a normal level. I’ve known this about myself for a while though it’s never been tested; until this morning. I went until 9:30 without any music whatsoever and I was so lost. I was totally and utterly lost. I’m sitting at my desk knowing that I need to work; but what am I supposed to be working on? Is it what’s in front of me? Because that obviously needs to be done, I just don’t have the motivation to do it; there is no beat in the background to type to. But I need to do my job, so I start doing it, but then I space, and when I focus back on my desk I wonder, what am I supposed to be doing? Is it what’s in front of me? Because that obviously needs to be done... Oh my lord, it has been a long morning. And it wasn’t until and hour and a half of my day was wasted wondering why I’m wasting my day that I realized Holy Tuna Fish Sandwiches, it's silent in here! I hate the silence. Hate it.
But here’s the thing, it can’t be just any music, I need music to fit the situation I’m in or job I’m doing, but not necessarily the mood I’m in; if that were the case more often than not I’d be listening to some weird mix of Stabbing Westward and Fraggle Rock.
Like today, once I figured out why I was sitting in the Doldrums I turned on The Fratellis and BAM! Let the enthusiastic dive into my day begin! I was rockin’ that work on my desk; that was in fact what I needed to be working on.
Now I’m thinking about the other aspects of my life in which I must have music.
Driving of course needs good music, unless you want me to put you into the wall I need to have seriously good distracting-from-the-stupid-people music. Typically it’s something I can dance to, however dangerous some people think that is. Girls Aloud, The Sounds and Dance Hall Crashers are perfect for driving.
Cooking needs music, Something kind of mellow and yet something that I can bop to, something that will make me want to sway just enough to be considered dancing but not enough to slosh what’s in the pot: She Wants Revenge, Kings of Leon and Timbaland all work for the kitchen.
Cleaning needs something less rhythmic, no dancing is necessary in cleaning, but it does need to be something that will keep me moving: Bad Company and ACDC are some of my favorites for around the house work.
But I need different music for cooking and cleaning, it makes it difficult when I am trying to cook and clean up the kitchen at the same time because a mix of Justin Timberlake and Lynard Skynard gives me a headache.
When I’m reading a book I enjoy having music in the background. Something interesting enough for me to want to have it on in the first place and yet forgettable enough so that it allows me to pause in my reading to daydream a bit about how I would change or rewrite that last paragraph, without getting sidetracked by lyrics; creative imagination inspiration music if you will: Bond, Vanessa Mae, Yann Tiersen and the like.
And when I’m working I need something with a fast beat. Like I said, The Fratellis will make me really want to get down with my bad ass programming self, also Dragonforce; because speed metal is an amazing aid to speed typing.
Then there’s Family Fun Time. No music has of yet made me feel like it had earned the right to be played along side to the love noises we make. Though Skankin’ Pickle does come dang close.
Laine seems to prefer HIM, The Rasmus and Apocalyptica to anything else I’ve played for her while she’s awake and active. When she is ready to go to sleep then Eisely works best, or me singing to her, which I hope she never grows tired of.
I guess that’s about it. Except for me time. That’s the only time I listen to music that corresponds to how I’m feeling. Right now it happens to be Twisted Sister.

I'll Trade a Rainbow for Your Tears

I hate that I can’t fix other people's problems or heal their hurts. I would rather take their pain as my own then see them suffer, especially when I have felt the same pain.
When a friend is mourning you grieve with them for their loss, when they are hurt you join in their agony and when they are sad you share in their sorrow. But never can you take it away. You sit in the dark room, on the cold floor, on opposite sides of a telephone and you hold them if you can and you cry with them if they let you, but you can’t minimize the hurt; which is probably why it’s so hard to find the right thing to say when someone you care about is hurting. The defect of the friendship I try to give is that I want to say the right thing all the time; I need for my friends to be happy. I need for my words to encourage them to move forward, to make them feel better, so when there is nothing to say that is uplifting or helpful my mind goes blank. I want so badly to help. To have that one great motivational speech that makes my friends feel as if even if they must go into that proverbial battle that they know that every thing will be fine and good will overcome the evil and all hurts will be healed and all sadness will fade. I want to be that person for my person. I want to be her William Wallace, blue face paint and all.
What I can say is that sometimes precious things are taken away from us, and sometimes we lose what we didn’t even know we wanted but it doesn’t mean you can’t try again and again until that thing you want, that wonderful beautiful phenomenon is in your hands. Nothing in life is free and the things that mean the most need to be bought with blood and bone and though sometimes its scary moving forward after you feel like you failed keep in mind that it’s not brave if you’re not scared.

Sad is the Lullaby from a Mothers' Heart

When I see my daughters face I can’t believe how utterly retarded I am for her and how I truly believe there is no other child as beautiful. And that breaks me. Because for every delightful thought I have for Laine I have a heartbreaking memory of my son. I see my daughter and I have such love for her that I feel sometime I’ll burst with the joy of it. But I can’t keep that joy; it’s always followed by a slap in the face with the unforgiving callused hand of my past. I don’t feel that I’m allowed to love my daughter the way I do because I’ve never had that love for my son. Jacob gets a different love from me. Jacob gets the heart in me that was broken, and Laine gets the one that was made whole again. My two hearts are at war it seems. Love can only come from one at a time. I don’t want Laine to ever see that in me. I don’t want Jacob to ever know that about me. No child needs to see their parent broken. But how do I look at her with a love so great it threatens to suffocate me and then turn and not even be able to look my son in the eye. What kind of a mother doesn’t know how to love her son with a happy heart?
But don't underestimate the spine in a broken woman's back. I can stand tall when Jacob looks at me and I can smile and laugh with him, and I can tell him over and over that I love him with my whole heart and that I’ve never regretted doing the “right thing” for him. And I can lie and lie and lie. I do regret it, now more than ever. Laine has opened parts of my heart that I thought I’d torn out years ago. I want to have the memory of Jacobs first laugh, I want the memory of the first time he tried rice cereal in his formula. I want the memories that I gave to someone else; like an old shirt I didn’t feel like wearing anymore. I just gave him away. And why? I’m not better for it and how do I know he is? I’ve got a good man, a great man who is a great father who loves Jacob like he’s his own son, I have a home and a good job and friends a family that would have supported me and I gave him away. If I would have just held out, waited for a year, I would have seen that I could have given him everything that I was terrified he couldn’t get from me. I could have done it. I would have been a great mom to him, now I’m only a fraction of one.
It takes many hard years to completely understand the word bittersweet, but I do now. My love for my children is bittersweet. And it tears me apart to know that.
I am, however, aware that I have two beautiful children that I am allowed to love whereas others may not be so fortunate. I get to love these babies. It’s a privilege to do so. They were given life while others are taken away. I recognize the blessing that both of my children are. My love may come from a broken heart but I see the value of whatever love I am able to give them. And I know the significance of the fact they are here at all to be loved, not just by me but by any and all that can.

Bibliophilia

With my love of literature being what it is, I wonder if it can be passed on genetically. I’m on the fence with my ideas on that. Both Erik’s and my parents have a very healthy respect for good books, but while I will read anything in paperback it’s like pulling teeth to get Erik to read a flyer for the neighborhood lawn service. So what I wonder is whether or not my daughter will get my love of books or her father’s extreme dislike of them. I hope she will enjoy the act of reading for pleasure, not just for education, though that is good too.
I got to thinking about this yesterday while I was reading to her from my latest love affair with bound paper; have you ever read a book that was so captivating, so entrancing that by the time you get half way through it you already know you are going to re-read it? A book that makes you feel that it doesn’t even matter if you ever get to the end if you could just stay with these characters in this place for as long as possible? A book that doesn’t just suck you into its universe but that actually makes you believe that somewhere these people really are alive and that you are looking into their lives like you would a reality television program; and when you close that book you truly believe that they go on without you reading the word of their futures. That at that point they no longer need you to be real, they are real. I love those books. I search out those books, and when I find one I wonder why I ever frittered my time away with any other. If I could, I would quit all other pursuits in my life and just find a comfy spot and read my life away.
Typically a book will take me less than one day to read. The book I am currently reading has so far taken me three days and there is still a ways to go. I keep flipping to the beginning to re-read passages and I end up not flipping back to where I was, I’ll just re-read the whole thing over again.
Three days. I don’t know if you can understand the significance of this. There have been few books to ever take me longer than a day to read. Each of those books I now own. Each of those books have been revisited with the same enthusiasm as when it was first opened, each and every one of those books are forever in that back room of my mind where I keep all things precious to me, that’s where those books are.
I really hope Laine will share this love with me.

Love and Easter

Everyday Laine’s face changes; which I wasn’t expecting. You would think something so flawless couldn't be perfected and yet every morning I wake up and it has been.
The other night she almost slept the entire night away. Five hours of uninterrupted wonderful sleep. I’m not sure if it’ll happen again anytime soon and I’m not all that worried about it. One night of good sleep and I’m ready to go anther two months without any sleep again. I’m a pretty tough broad, I can handle it.
Living with an infant is simpler than I thought it was going to be. Maybe it’s because of the awesomeness of the Laine or maybe I just got myself a little too psyched out before she was born. Either way I’m glad, because besides the midnight feedings and the day care bill this whole experience has been pretty darn great but I’m pretty sure that it’s mostly because Erik is a great partner, better that anyone else’s that’s for sure. And I defy anyone to argue me that point.
Erik is the most amazing father. He does so much to help me that sometimes it seems like he does most of the caretaking of Laine himself and it’s me that’s helping him. I’m lucky that he wanted to be a father. He looked forward to being a parent just as much as I did and he’s not taking any of this experience for granted. He understands that we have to recognize the value of everything about her infancy because she won’t be like this much longer. He is even aware of the beauty of the sound of her cries; he knows that sound will change soon. I have a greater appreciation of him as my husband the more I see him with our daughter. No woman could ever love a man more because no man could ever love a baby more.


Quick weekend update:
Yesterday morning I got a nice new candy coating while trying to dress for the Easter egg hunt at my in-laws, just trying to take things slow and not rush myself.
Basically I was taking my lazy Sunday morning for exactly what it was meant to be; lazy, and I was enjoying myself. But Laine thought “Hey mom! Want to have some fun? I’ve got vomit!” and in the process of me trying to get myself cleaned up you know what she did? She peed on dad. Haha! So we did the only thing we could think to do. We took a family shower. And it is probably the sweetest memory I have of my time as a mom so far.
After church Laine had her first road trip. We went to Beaumont for lunch and then came back home for dinner. It was easy enough because she slept the whole time. With grandma holding her I got to lay down for about an hour which makes the whole three hours in a car worth it.
Pictures to come.

Understanding Others Is Not My Gift

It’s hard for me to understand how some people can live without faith. There are many people out there who do not conform to any spiritual belief system. They don’t attend a church or claim a religion or even have a moral code that they could explain to others.

I always thought faith was easy. Having faith anyway, choosing what to have your faith in is harder. Is it in the God of the Bible, the Qur'an, the Taisho, the Tanakh or the Torah? Is it in science and what can be seen and felt? Is it in the ability to keep life moving in a forward direction?
It not only confuses me but it pains me when I find someone who has no faith. None. How is that even possible? You should have faith strictly on the basis that you are living and breathing and there HAS TO be a reason for that, but dont get a big head and think it's to make the world a better place. Only a fraction of a percent of people get born with that responsibility; Jesus, Muhammad, Gandhi, Levi Strauss, Alfred Peet.
You need faith to believe that you were made, created or fashioned by something greater than you. You need faith to believer that when you die there is a reward for your faith. Be that Heaven, Moksha, Jannah, Valhalla, Tír na nÓg, or Tamoanchan. I don’t care what you believe. As long as you believe in something. Anything. There are a plethora of religions and spiritual roads for you to take; there is no reason for you to not have decided on one of them.
Far be it for me to tell anyone they cannot exercise their free will. However someone refusing to believe in anything other than the fact that they believe in nothing are not exercising their free will they are exercising their free won’t.

Introducing... Me

A little about me: I don't perform well in high stress situations, I trip over my own feet a lot, I call my son by his brother’s name sometimes, and it takes me longer than the typical high school educated adult to calculate simple fractions in my head. I'm a thinker, not a do-er, a talker, not a writer. But somehow, bcolleen talked me into blogging. Look her up. If you’re going to read my shit you’re going to read hers too.

In the past I never had any problems telling people what I think and how I feel. If you were a douche I would tell you that you were a douche. If I loved you I’d have no hesitancy with telling you that I wanted to hug you and keep you safe. But through the years I’ve become jaded, if not flat out distrustful of others. It seems impossible to completely lay yourself out to the public and not get kicked in the gut for your openness. So I’ve learned to shut up. I have my person, my ONE person that I share my heart, ideas and thoughts with and that’s all I’m willing to risk anymore.

So as you can deduce I’ve got issues with blogging. The main issue I have is telling people what I really think. I don’t think there is a way to do that in a completely truthful way without hurting at least one person and it’s hard to do that when there’s a chance that that one person will be someone you love. So I’ve never ventured into the blogging universe for that reason.

I’m of the mind that most people want to be able to tell someone how they really feel but they end up doing it without actually telling anyone anything because most people are afraid of their own honesty. When you are afraid of your own thoughts and sharing those thoughts with others what is the point of putting them out where others can be hurt by them? Why not just keep a journal that you keep in your underwear drawer and never show anyone ever?

And I notice also that most people who comment on blogs are folks that are just telling you things to make you feel better which makes me want to yell, bullshit! But I don’t and neither do most bloggers.

So here I am. Blogging. I’m going to put thoughts, ideas, plans and feelings in here. I will be as honest as I know to be. I won’t hold anything back and so help me God if one person makes a comment on here that is anything less than completely honest I will not appreciate it and I will call you on that and I will yell bullshit!