clickmom

bad ass ride

It was hard for me to decide what I wanted to do today. I am really trying not to sink into a depression.

Maybe it's not a depression exactly, more like a I am completely overwhelmed and paralyzed from thinking about what the next year or two will bring. I secretly keep thinking that eventually I will be going to 3 funerals in a very short period of time. But maybe it won't be so soon, and I would hate to spend the next year holding my breath and not being as engaged as I could be if nothing horrible is going to happen "soon."

Right now I am walking around feeling like I can just obey orders. If someone asks me to be somewhere and do something at a certain time I can do it. But asking me to be as creative as coming up with my own thing to do feels impossible. We didn't have anything special planned for today (ahem husband) and I really wanted Matt to go to the gym. So I went to the gym with Matt. And it was completely weird to be next to him on the elliptical machine. Usually I tune out the whole room, but today he kept tapping me on the shoulder to share my water bottle. Which was fine, just weird.

Then we came home and showered and didn't know what to do for the rest of the day. So I thought and thought, and I had been secretly hoping for rain so we could go to the movies. That is always such an easy choice, but it wasn't rainy, and these days it is a bit of a challenge to find stuff to do that all ages of our family find agreeable, and then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. We took the kids to the near-by cheesy rinky dink amusement park.

And I got to watch my kids laugh and giggle for a couple of hours. Other than the not so proud 3 minutes of me laughing my hysterical hyena laugh of terror on the free fall ride, I had a lovely time watching my kids enjoying themselves. It was totally what I needed. Imagine the expression of pure heaven on Evan's face as he rammed his bumper car into strangers, or the tenderness of Matt as he rode the little kiddy roller coaster for Josh's sake, or the bittersweet (my baby is SO growing up) uttering of Josh, my baby, on that same kiddee roller coaster when just before the ride began he leaned in to Evan, who he was sharing his seat with and said "Evan, dude, this is going to be one bad ass ride. Am I right?"

Happy Mothers Day to all the mothers out there.

faker voice

I really hate that tomorrow is Mother's Day. I hate Mother's Day. Really want to climb into a cave and miss it.

My mother told me once that the biggest regret she had was that she didn't drop out of college to pursue a career with a big New York PR firm she had gotten a summer job with. She said she thought she would have preferred to have been a career person and lived an exciting life. Those are not comforting words coming from your stay at home mother.

It was at the moment (I was a teenager) those words left my mother's mouth that I knew in my heart that it wasn't that she merely appeared to have no interest in being my mother, but she actually truly did have no interest in being my mother. The cold hard truth was that business suits, high heels, and corporate lunches were things that I could not give her and apparently what she had always desired. Sometimes I wish that we could just stop pretending here, and part ways. Really, I do. Pretending is hard.

Boops, in an email to me, said that even the people who were never parented by their parents grieve when their parents die. I told her that was because they had to let go of the dream that their parents would one day wake up and value being a parent and the child they brought into the world and decide to step up to being a really good parent. My dream is a shriveled black char of fireplace dust right now. One good wind and it's gone forever. Which means that here I sit at 43 years old still tasting that spicy bitter after taste of not having the parents that I needed/wanted/deserved/try to be in my own personal parenting journey. Cancer is going to end that waste of time and energy dream away from me. And it will end it sooner rather than later. There will be much suffering before the end, I imagine, and I will stand tall and do the right thing, like I do, because I try to parent by example. But my heart won't be in it. Because there is no traffic coming the other way down that two way street. You can only love someone you believe loves you back. I live by that.

My kids birthday's are in February, March and April and on all of their birthdays this year I had to call my mother and pretend that it was her calling us and wanting to speak to the kids. In my animated FAKER VOICE I would say "Yes, mom the birthday boy is right here!" and give her an exaggerated moment to figure out which kid I was talking about before handing the kids the receiver. I am not about to get my kids excited about doing anything for her. She sucks. She sucked as my mother. She sucks as a daughter and she she sucks as a grandmother. She sucked when she healthy too, so the cancer doesn't account for anything. Except part of me simply cannot believe that even today as she might be sitting around wondering when her time will be up that she can't manage a phone call, a card, a little gift or anything. If I thought my time was coming to an end soon I would try to be a better person.

Next May when mother's day rolls around I hope to be thinking about me being a mother and not about the mothering I never got from mine.

wishing it was Jen's guess

Lil sis's husband went to federal prison on Monday.

Yeah, let that sink in for a minute.

Or two.

The short version goes like this: a mobster coordinated a dinner with small business owners. During that dinner the mobster tells the other business men (husband of lil sis included) who his clients are and then tells the other business men that he won't pursue their clients if they stay away from his. Kapeesh? Does the husband of lil sis have a choice here? We think not. He says okay. Because really, are you going to fuck with the mob? We think not again.

Well....

Guess what, the mobster was under investigation, the dinner was tape recorded and the FBI charged lil sis's husband (along with all the other small business owners who had no other choice but to go along with the mobster's request) with racketeering. PPfffftttttt!! Because obviously lil sis's husband had a choice in the matter, right? Did I mention that one guy was stupid enough to say No (initially) and his car mysteriously blew up a week later? (He got 12 months and 1 day so he can't get early release) My car blows up all the time, so I don't know why that would strike me as odd, but these coincidences... well, that's life for ya!

I always say "When someone who does not live by the law "suggests" you stay away from his clients say NO and watch your car blow up and your business burn down." Right? Let's hope that the guy who lives by his own rules doesn't hurt your wife and kids in the process, because hey, he has no rules! Or consequences! Cause he isn't in jail! Now lil sis's husband was sentenced to 15 months in federal prison. The judge wanted to make an example of him. Your tax dollars at work people, they're keeping the coach of the little league team off of the streets so we can all rest easier at night. Yeah, uh... about that....I'm not sure that's gonna be enough for me.

glare

We went and took grandma out to eat last night. There is a chain restaurant near the new nursing home and I thought that this could be our weekly venture. (disclaimer: the food was so inedible that we might have to just take her over for some ice cream and not the whole meal, I am not at all kidding) Anyways, turns out Wednesday night is clown night. (And a very sarcastic....) Woo Hoo to that. Not. There was a 4 year old birthday party. Talk about VOICES! It's a wonder I didn't bolt.

As a seasoned parent that I am, I know going in that clowns just bring out the (crazy) naughty in mostly the naughtiest of kids, and other people's naughty kids are not what I had in mind when as I wheeled my still quite confused and totally weak grandmother down the street. Nothing like tons of background noise to confuse the hearing impaired! So, we get seated, and having the wheelchair bound grandma, we did not have any choice regarding seat location as the place was pretty full and we were an always awkward amount of people, a party of 5.

Eventually the clown works his way to our end of the crowded little "restaurant" (because, the food? Yech. Did I mention the "food"?) And wouldn't you know the little raised by wolves/lives in a barn/in need of some actual parenting young boy at the table next to us goes into sensory overload and just loses any resemblance of composure. The kid approaches and kicks the clown, he hits the clown, he tries to swat, using the balloon animal from the clown, at the balls the clown is juggling. The mother barely sees the kid. This goes on and on. I am saying a silent prayer that the clown snaps and gives the kid the punch in the face he deserves. The mother occasionally looks over her shoulder and casually says "Stephenopolous don't" and then turns away from the kid and goes right back to her conversation. FInally, the young future criminal grabs a crayon off of the table and tries to scribble on the clowns big clown shoes. The damned clown still won't drop kick the kid! The mother makes a move to drag him away from the clown. He then takes his balloon animal, stands behind Evan, and begins balloon tapping Evan on the shoulder. Obviously his biggest mistake of the evening.

We have made a half hearted attempt to ignore the brat this whole time, but at the curious balloon tapping Evan makes eye contact with me. I whisper "It's the kid". Evan slowly rotates around in his chair and locks eyes with the boy. They stare. After a long minute the boy cautiously takes a few steps back. After another minute the boy steps sideways towards his own table. After another long minute the boy slides into his seat and appropriately hangs his head. He does not move. Evan turns back to our table, demonstrates his glare technique (learned from the master, ahem) and we polish off our banana splits with out fear. Both the clown and my family are naughty boy free for the rest of the meal. Evan gets even more of my undying gratitude.

Also, you should know that when he wasn't visually disciplining the way ward youth of a neighboring town, he was doting on grandma, encouraging her to eat, making her smile, and being as awesome as he could possibly be. (I am pretty sure he did it to make me happy) Score Evan.

command

I talk to myself. All the time. Pretty much non stop. As a matter of fact, when I am not singing out loud in the car, I am often engaging in a lively chat with (pause for effect) myself. But these days I can wear a head phone and people peering through my wind shield will think I am connected via cell phone to another person. I like it that way. This way I agree with most of my own suggestions, am nearly always supportive, and know when to shut up too.

Sometimes I catch myself doing the talking aloud thing with the kids nearby and I pretend that my chatter was directed towards whoever happened to be in the room, but the truth is that I mostly do not expect an answer. So, you might wonder where I am going with this, the other day when I happened upon Josh's corrected spelling homework I did not like the comment that his teacher wrote on the top of the page.

And I actually (yes, I am brain dead) forgot that the husband was sitting at the table with me. And I said something like, "In my day "Spin me." and "Slap me." were considered complete sentences. It used to be called a command before they changed everything to confuse the parents." And I said it with the bad girl a.t.t.i.t.u.d.e. that I save for private conversations with myself. And I was pretty shocked/surprised to hear A VOICE (hello husband) present me with a suggestion. I now present to you, dear readers, the corrected with the suggestion version of Josh's more complete spelling sentences. Ta da..

PS Come on folks, I know you are out there, I checked my stats. Scroll down to yesterday's post and play along! The new game can be called "Top Jen's suggestion!" Please...

guess

me: Evan you have to change from the raunchy stand up comedy channel on the satellite radio before your friend gets in the car. His mom is strict. He doesn't even get to see PG13 movies.

Evan: N.O. W.A.Y.

me: Yup, it is true. She feels very strongly about that and I don't want us to be the bad influence. (Naturally I forgot that we might have let him see an R rated movie once at our house -whistle - whistle - look casual and gaze off into space)

Evan: Wait. Is that even HEALTHY?

Speaking of satellite radio, they have ads!! Ads which I find incredibly disappointing (aren't I paying for ad free radio?) and annoying and most of all. Those ads are giving me quite the complex. It seems that the target audience for satellite radio has bad credit, can't get their penises up, have tiny penises anyway and isn't good in bed anyway, has excess weight around the middle (wait, that is me....) and something like spackle in their intestines (oh no!), can't bother traveling to a business meeting, can't do their own taxes, or manage their money, actually believe that they can make money selling goods over the internet that they never have to see, and live in fear of becoming an identity theft victim. How could someone (who is hopefully spackle-less) such as myself, my meetingless, penisless, not interested in sales, set with an accountant, and secure in my own identity stand listening to these ads? I can't. Someone tell XM they aren't sticking to their part of the bargain and folks like me (cause you all feel the same, right?) are thinking of jumping ship. At least when I listen to lame ads on FM it's free.

PS You know up there in the header it suggests that I have been lying by omission and you guys are all probably wondering if that could be true. Could it all actually be worse than what I have been telling you? Doesn't seem it could get worse right? Can one family take another hit? I mean, maybe in the fictional television soap opera world, but in reality? Nah... Wrong! You better sit down, cause there is more. But I am just taunting you here, because I am still working on that tell-more (as opposed to tell-all) post in my head. You guys are going to need to gear up for that one. Hopefully I'll get my act together for tomorrow or the next day. Yeah, I am going to promise to have it to you by Friday. In the mean time, please guess! Let me have some fun in these trying times! (and if you are a real life friend and you know what I am talking about - don't guess!) I'll give you two hints: it does not involve an alien abduction or another fatal disease.

PPS For the grandma fan club- she was transferred to my first choice rehab/nursing home today. I have high hopes. Cross your fingers for good decent care.

primordial

That sound you heard, that voice? The tortured cry that sounded out loud enough for all of the garden state to hear Sunday morning? That was me. It started out simply enough. Evan and I set out to walk the devil. And we went on a street we had never walked before. And we saw a path off the street. And I took the devil off of the leash, not only for her pleasure but for to assist in the never ending battle to keep my leash holding hand's shoulder grounded safely within it's socket. And as Evan and I ventured deeper into this previously unchartered by my territory, it got wetter and wetter.
And honestly more into the woods meant more beautiful. I asked Evan if he could imagine when our entire neighborhood looked like that photo. And dinosaurs roamed the landscape. And four legged devils decided to stop, drop and roll in the primordial ooze. Oh yes she did. Several times. And then a few more. Despite my ground shaking (<- voice ->) soul shredding piercing wail of protest. And then she would drop down and rub around on some deer shit to dry off.

Guess how ineffective dog claws are in attempt to stop your 78 pound stinking self from being dragged across a tile floor and into a stall shower. Yup. They are worthless. Now the devil has the frizzies. And honestly, my conditioner turns out to be a wee bit fruity smelling, (who knew?) but at least the kids assure me that it smells better on my head than on her fur.

not paint

I first figured out that Matt had a milk allergy when he was about 20 months old. After taking him completely off of milk we had a blissful excema free year of sleeping through the night. Then I broke down from societal pressure and let him have milk again. And he still still slept through the night. So I kept letting him have milk until he ate milk all the time and was 9 years old and covered with excema and an emotional wreck and something inside of me thought that maybe I should get him off the milk again and when I did not only did the excema clear right up, but his emotions settled into a nice normal range. And that was the end of Matt's milk eating days. Today he is 15 so it has been a long run without.

This morning I was toasting bagels for Matt and the husband and the husband said he wanted cream cheese on his. Matt was trying to be helpful, so he at first put his margarine on the husband's bagel. But he realized quickly that this was not what the husband wanted, so he asked. And the husband said "cream cheese" and Matt did not hear me when I said he should take care of his own and I would handle the rest. And Matt, he who has no experience with all things dairy, took out the sour cream and attempted to spread it on the husband's bagel. Matt said "Oh wait, I think this is sour cream" and I jumped up to do some bagel scraping (and maybe snapped at Matt just a little bit). But I had to admit, that it was kind of amusing that the dairy free kid hadn't the foggiest of clues how to handle a request for cream cheese. Kind of like how my house cleaners sometimes appear to be from another planet when they do things like put the cordless phone into a bowl of fruit or toss the kids way ward socks into the toy bin.

Speaking of socks, Don't you hate it when you go on a laundry washing binge (because it's only been forever since your last load) and you are standing at the dryewr waiting for it to finish, but you don't have the patience to wait for the energy wasting anyway cool down to be over, so you try to reach in and grab all the hot dry clothes and you burn yourself on a metal jeans waistband button? Me too.

Also, someone needs to help me explain to the kids that there is a difference between "I need clean underwear" and "I want clean underwear because I am not flexible enough to go without for a day or four". My kids, as perfect as they are, can be so demanding sometimes.

And for my grand finale tonight..... also, to fulfill my "voices" NaBlaBla quota for the day I present to you me and Matt chatting in the car.

me: I see you had art today.
Matt: No
me: Are you sure?
Matt: Yup, no art today.
me: Then ..... why is there paint on your jeans?
Matt: Paint? That's not paint.
me: Looks like paint to me.
Matt: ........
me: (gulp)What is on your jeans?
Matt: Oh, that, yeah, ah that... yeah.... that's not paint. That's a funny story if you think about it. You see, I bought lunch in school today and I got some mustard up here (points to small stain near crotch) so I figured "Well, that might bring some unwanted attention to the wrong area of me." So I took some more mustard and some ketchup and I rubbed all over myself over here. Then he smiles, looking quite pleased at his keen 15 year old reasoning.
me: u...aa......m.... What?!?

other people songs

Went back to the two nursing homes to get the husband's impression.
We got a tour.
At the end we stood in the lobby. She turned to me.

she said: You look like you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

I could only nod. I was HOLDING BACK THE TEARS.

she said: You are a good person. I can tell. You care.

TEARS ROLL DOWN. TEARS, TEARS AND MORE TEARS.

she said: You are responsible. You are doing the right thing.

HORSE TEARS..

she said: She will be happy here. We will take good care of her.
She took my arm.
She smiled at me.
She was tearing too.

96 TEARS. BITTER TEARS.

she said: Go home, be with your husband, you are doing a wonderful job. You deserve some time off. You are a very caring person.

LAST TEARS.

We get into the car.
I ask the husband: Am I bad person for putting her there?
the husband says: No. You are not a bad person for putting her there. You are a good person for caring enough to go look at so many places.

I try to convince myself.

TEARS DRY ON THEIR OWN.

rocked

The x-rays on grandma came back okay. They said her finger and ankle are not broken. I don't believe that about the finger though, because when she broke her finger in the hospital during her toe amputation they said the same thing and then when I had it re-x-rayed 2 weeks later there was a break as clear as day. So, I will believe it only in two weeks if grandma is not in pain.

And that voice inside my head said: SHIT!SHIT!SHIT! shitshitshit S H I T !

I really did see this next one coming from a mile away. My phone rang this morning and Natasha was on the other end saying that she would like my grandmother to have a 24 hour a day private (as in paid for by me) aide because of her obvious risk of falling. I told Natasha we could not afford the all day and night private duty nurse on top of the oodles of the money we already pay for grandma to live at the OFH and then I hung my head and cried.

And that voice inside my head said: I really miss my grandma. My grandma is gone. I am taking care of the shell of grandma.

But the truth is that I knew it would come to this when I rescued grandma from the rehab. I knew that she wasn't going to be able to live in the OFH for long. I just hoped that she could go back there for two more kind of good months. I don't know where I got the two months number from. I just made it up. It seemed like if she could be at the OFH for two months then that would be long enough to make it a reasonable stay. I don't know what I was thinking. I was overly optimistic. I only want grandma to have some happiness, even though grandma is gone and the frightened empty shell of grandma can't really be happy any more.

And that voice inside my head just started crying again.

So, not knowing what to do because grandma, who hasn't got a penny to her name, doesn't have medicaid in the garden state, so I called grandma's doctor and I asked her what to do and she said that grandma needed to go to the hospital to get into another rehab and that she could get her hospitalized since she had been acting freaky and swatting the nurses and threatening to punch them and throwing her medicines back at them and other combative stuff like that. I imagine that the doctor is having grandma go in for a psych evaluation, but I was too nauseous at the thought to ask. I just said it would be okay.

And that voice inside my head stopped crying so it could roar. This pains me to the core.

Grandma is in the emergency room right now and soon she'll be admitted for a few days. I am afraid they will give her the same anti psychotic medicine that they gave her the last time and grandma will hallucinate again. That was really scary. Even grandma was scared over that.

And that voice inside my head started praying and begging and bargaining because in a civilized world this can not be the way to age.

Because it seems inhumane to sit around and watch my spunky fresh grandma fade into this frightened angry combative woman. And there is nothing I can do to help her. Comforting her is useless. Meaningless. Done to make me feel like I am helping. There is nothing I can really do.

And that voice inside my head said: Grandma will be fine. She is beyond this world already. And somewhere way deep inside, where I am very quiet and still I know I can get through this. It won't be easy or pretty but it can be done. I can do it. I have to. It is up to me.

And that is my truth.

Matt says: "Mom, you really need to write a song about what you are going through." Guess who wants to be a composer when he grows up.