30DoW - bitch of the day

Okay, I admit it. I’m a bleeding heart liberal. I’m also, personally, a socialist. Let me clarify. I do not necessarily support the idea of a socialist government. But personally, I’m a socialist. Example: I stop at a red light and there is a homeless person asking for money. I don’t think twice before opening my wallet and giving them half the cash I have (which I assure you is never more than $10 bucks). I have taken in a number of people who’ve needed a place to stay, fed a number of hungry people and believe in universal healthcare.

Chris and I have argued about this incessantly since the beginning of our relationship. He feels people take advantage. He feels it is enabling. And I don’t necessarily disagree. But my argument has been that it’s not the point. My personal feeling is that it doesn’t matter what they do. What matters is what I do. And I help whenever I can. I picture myself blessed and lucky and feel the need to pay that forward at every opportunity possible. I’m not much of a volunteer and I don’t tithe in church (I don’t go to church for that matter), so this is my small way of making the world a better place.

But I feel those days may sadly be coming to a close. Over the past few of years I’ve started to notice a trend. Some people whom I’ve helped, the ones that I know, have not been paying it forward. In fact, few have rarely taken advantage of the opportunity, instead, they’ve taken advantage of me (or us, rather). When I extend my hand to help those that I know, it does not come with strings attached (those kind of people irritate me). However, I do expect that it at least be appreciated. If I loan you money for food, I’d hope that you would shop for HEB Meal Deals, as opposed to going out for steak and wine. If I invite you to stay in my home, I’d hope that you’d at least clean up after yourself, not leave spaghetti-stained dishes in the bathroom.

I’m starting to believe that you cannot teach people to respect others. You cannot teach people to appreciate opportunities. You cannot teach people to pay it forward. Some people do it. Others do not. Some people actually bite the hand that feeds them. I think it’s learned in childhood, and if one doesn’t learn it, I’m starting to think they never will.

I remember a conversation I had with my dad’s best friend not too long ago (a “reformed liberal”). “I was once a hippy liberal like you,” he yelled (I had made him angry just prior). “You know what I got out of the deal? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I watched poorer people move ahead. I watched people hold out their hands. But when I needed a break, I got nothing! So you go ahead and give shit away, but let’s see where that gets you 20 years from now.”

I cannot change who I am. I will always help others and extend a hand when I can. I will continue to give money to those who ask. But politically, I feel I’m moving further and further to the right. I’ll never be “the right”, because those guys are just assholes. But while I used to describe myself as a “bleeding heart liberal”, I now find myself defining myself as a “moderate” or Libertarian. And Lord knows that has made discussions with my husband and family a little more tolerable. But let the record show (my dear husband), I’m not budging an inch on Universal Healthcare. I still remember the $1700 bucks we had to spend on 7 damn stitches, and the newborn baby we had to put on CHIPS, because we couldn’t afford $900/month for insurance. And I won’t be forgetting that any time soon.

30DoW - in loving memory of my Grandma

I have truly been blessed with the best and most interesting of grandparents, so it was hard to choose just one to write about (and I feel a strong desire to revisit this topic at a later date). There’s my paternal grandmother, who was Wiccan and drop-dead gorgeous Dolly Parton-style. There was my paternal grandfather who defined the phrase “larger-than-life”. And there is my maternal grandfather who has become a huge part of my life in the last 5 years, sharing my love of politics, finances and general life philosophies. But this entry is devoted to the woman who played such a huge role in what kind of woman I would later become.

My maternal grandmother was known simply as Grandma. She was my favorite by far, because honestly, I was her favorite. She was born a bastard child from a prostitute mother in Taunton, Massachusetts, so she was never very fond of men. Looking back on her life, I’m positive that she married for security alone, as I doubt she would ever know how to actually love a man (including her son and grandsons). She never finished school; instead she went to work in a factory at the age of 12 or so. Because of that, she was illiterate into adulthood. I believe she taught herself to read at some point, because she was always working on crossword puzzles or word searches.

My first memories of her were when I was about 4 years old. She took a job at the Dairy Queen across the street from my daycare and I was convinced she was the coolest Grandma ever. When I was 5 years old, she took me out of daycare for a week to watch Luke and Laura get married (from General Hospital). I can remember it was a big fricken deal for both of us. After, I remember spending weekends watching the Late, Late Show (this supplied me with an impressive knowledge of “cult classics” such as Cat People, Godzilla and King Kong) while eating chocolate ice cream and then eventually falling asleep on the couch with her. I always slept cuddled up with her, either on the couch or in the king-sized bed her and my step-grandfather shared. I remember her being feisty, opinionated and fiercely competitive. We often played games together, everything from Solitaire to Rumikub. My step-grandfather even built a marble board the size of their dining room table that held 8 players. I remember sitting in my Grandma’s lap while she “killed everyone” at the table and me and her laughing the more pissed everyone else became. Christmastime was the BEST. She would give me a Sears Christmas Catalog and tell me to circle everything I wanted with a red marker. I think I enjoyed the shopping more than actually receiving the presents. But with her, I always received everything I wanted. The Holly Hobby canopy bed with matching gingham curtains and rugs, the prettiest of dresses and every doll my heart desired. I later learned that she was terrible with money. She had a bad habit of bouncing checks (something I also picked up from her in my 20's). But it didn't matter to her. She wanted to give me (and my mom) the world, and it didn't matter the cost or consequences (the cops actually came to her house with a warrant once).

At one point her health started to deteriorate. I remember she had to have a double mastectomy and my shock at seeing her naked after the surgery (they were not concerned about image, only function in the 80’s.) Shortly after, she was diagnosed with Emphysema. My mom went by her house everyday to help care for her and on a number of occasions I remember helping her take a bath. I can still hear her apologizing that I had to bathe her, and seeing her feelings of embarrassment. I assured her that I didn’t mind at all, while hoping to hide how uncomfortable I actually felt at the situation. Her health quickly deteriorated and she became more frail and weak.

I was 16 years old when she died. I wasn’t seeing her as often because I was a teenager and completely wrapped in my own world. It was 1992 and Ross Perot was running for President. My mom was a huge supporter of his and took my Grandma to register to vote for the first time in her life. During her last week in the hospital, she watched the Primaries non-stop. The doctors were amazed that she was still alive as her oxygen intake was next to none. But my Grandma was not ready to go. She held on for a week, eventually losing consciousness. The day she died my mom called me from the hospital. “I don’t know that she is going to make it through the night, you need to get up here,” she said. Again, I was 16 and angry, and had a trip to the beach planned that day. “Fine,” I growled, “I’m on my way.” Mom cried and said, “I’ll tell her you’re coming.” 20 minutes later I received the call that my Grandma had died. I believe her last words were “I’m going to vote for Ross Perot.” I also believe that she did not want me there to see her die.

I’d like to say I was torn up inside, but I wasn’t. I don’t remember feeling much of anything, to tell the truth. It wasn’t until 2 years later on the day of high school graduation that it hit me. My Grandma had never missed an event in my life. She was at every dance recital, school play, awards assembly – you name it. And now it was the biggest moment of my life thus far, and she was not there. And it hit hard. The morning of graduation, my mom bought me a dozen peach roses (my Grandma’s favorite color) and said, “she would have wanted these for you.” I remember sitting in my room alone looking at the roses and finally feeling the huge hole in my heart. The same feeling took hold at my first (and second) wedding and again at the birth of my daughter. Even as I write this, I choke back tears at everything she has missed, when she more than anybody (other than my mom) would have wanted to be there.

But then I realize the impact her life has had on my own. She inspired me to be strong, feisty and opinionated. She pushed me to be better and rise above. She taught me not to be a victim, instead to deal with what life has given you and fight with everything you’ve got. Because of her, I desperately wanted to actually love a man, not just need one. I learned that the little things would matter a lot with Isabella. Random trips to get ice cream, playing board games and staying up really late to watch a scary movie. And most importantly, she never failed to show me how much I meant in this world. I felt loved and adored unconditionally. I was the most beautiful and the smartest and the funniest girl in the world. And without having that kind of love, I’m not sure I would have ever known how to give it.

30DoW - Combo post on Motherhood

I haven't had a chance to write lately, so I decided to make a combo post on motherhood for the 30 Days of Write. It's a bit long (to make up for lost time).

* The following "Parenting Job Description" is copied from the internet. I tried to find the original author to no avail. *

POSITION :
Mom, Mommy, Mama, Ma
Dad, Daddy, Dada, Pa

JOB DESCRIPTION :
Long term, team players needed, for challenging permanent work in an, often chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call. Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far away cities! Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.

RESPONSIBILITIES :
The rest of your life. Must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs $5. Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly. Also, must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time, the screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf. Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets and stuck zippers. Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of multiple homework projects. Must have the ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks. Must be willing to be indispensable one minute, an embarrassment the next. Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap, plastic toys, and battery operated devices. Must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst. Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of the end product. Responsibilities also include floor maintenance and janitorial work throughout the facility.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT & PROMOTION :
None. Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE :
None required unfortunately. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION :
Get this! You pay them! Offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will help them become financially independent. When you die, you give them whatever is left. The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more.

BENEFITS :
While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered; this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth and free hugs for life if you play your cards right.

• · I stir awake with the feeling that something is right in front of my face. That something is my daughter, waking me up with “Eskimo kisses”. My anger at having to wake up at 7am is softened by “Eskimo kisses” every time.

  · I beg Izzy for “10 more minutes”, trying to entice her with my arm (she likes to sleep on my arm.) It works. For now.

  · The next time I awake, it’s to Izzy in my face saying “Mommy wake up! The sun is up. Mommy you get up too!”

  · I roll out of bed, get dressed (essential step when roommates are involved) and walk down the hall to the kitchen. I swear to myself that this will be the day I’ll stay awake and get some things done (like a 10 minute workout on the elliptical).

  · I sleep-walk to the kitchen and put some cereal in a bowl and milk in a glass. Let the dog out then in. I turn on the TV to Nick and am greeted by the Backyardigans doing a little song and dance. A small amount of guilt sets in, but is eased by the pillow calling my name on the couch.

  · I lie down on the couch, promising myself just “15 minutes”. Izzy hops up there with me and lies her head down on my arm. An hour later I wake up to Izzy standing in front of me with a gallon of milk, chocolate syrup, cup and a spoon. My heart fills with pride at how self-sufficient she is. I pour the milk into her glass, add the chocolate and watch her mix it up before she puts the milk away. I nod back off to sleep.

  · I am awoken 30 minutes later when she drives a small car over my face. It’s at this point I realize I really do need to get up and face the day.

  · I get up and change her diaper, swearing this will be the day I will potty train her (today is actually the day!!) Guilt once again sets in when I realize most kids are potty-trained at this point. The guilt subsides when I realize she won’t start college with diapers and that she is able to play computer games better than some adults.

  · I check my email, Facebook and indulge in a little bit of online time.

  · I then set about the daily task of washing clothes and cleaning house. I realize I could wash clothes with my eyes closed. Lift lid, turn knob, add detergent, add softener, stuff washer with wayyy too many clothes and repeat. Everyday at least twice a day. I wonder where the dirty clothes come from and swear to start wearing clothes for days at a time.

  · After picking up, I finally respond to Izzy’s constant begging of “you wanna go play in Izzy’s room?” I walk into her room when she quickly shuts the door behind me signaling that I will be there for quite some time.

  · I drink imaginary tea, eat imaginary eggs with peanut butter and toast and sit through her reading half of her bookshelf. I then teach her how to make a “book tower” involving stacking ALL of her books on top of one another. I am certain that she is learning some important skill here, but seeing as I know nothing about child development and quit reading the books years ago, I cannot be sure.

  · I ask her what she wants for lunch and she responds with an expectant “ice cream”. I tell her no and decide to go with carrots and ranch dip instead. While this does not seem like a well-rounded lunch, I remind myself that she is most probably a vegetarian and that this will work.

  · After lunch she sits down for the 103^rd viewing of ‘Alvin and the Chipmunks’. I wonder if Jason Lee went through a bad divorce, which is why he decided to star in this movie. I continue washing clothes.

  · At 2:30 it is time for a nap. Izzy kicks and screams the whole way to the bathroom, cries while moving her step-stool, then insists on brushing her teeth by herself.

  · We then walk to “Grandma’s room” (our room now) to lie down. We exchange kisses and “night-nights”, before she snuggles up next to me with her head on my arm. I vow that I will not fall asleep and I will use this time to get things done (like 10 minutes on the elliptical).

  · 2 hours later I wake up with Izzy’s sweat all over my arm. I kick myself for falling asleep (again).

  · I check my email, Facebook and indulge in a little more online time.

  · I start thinking about dinner. I settle on grilled cheese because I am so damn tired of cooking dinner everyday. I experience a certain amount of guilt over this (it’s my job as a stay-at-home-mom, after all) but decide to add chicken noodle soup to round out the food groups and feel better about myself.

  · I wash dishes and clean the kitchen (we dirty dishes like we dirty clothes, apparently.)

  · I start dinner when Izzy comes running with her little pink step-stool wanting to help. I wash her hands and let her put the cheese on the sandwiches, thanking God she wanted to help on an “easy dinner” night.

  · We sit down to eat dinner (on any given night this can involve 2 to 5 people, as we have quite a busy household), while Izzy exclaims how much she “LOVES grilled cheese”.

  · After dinner, I let Izzy play her games. She sits down at the Mac, opens Safari, goes to the Favorites and finds her online game (nickjr.com). She plays until it’s time for a bath while I proudly envision her being a web developer and taking care of me in my old age.

  · During bath time, she uses her bath crayons to draw circles all over the bath tub. I make a mental note to be sure to clean the bathtub before company comes over. But it can definitely wait until then.

  · After her bath, she gets naked time. Whether we have company or not. I suspect this makes some people feel uncomfortable.

  · The time comes for her to get dressed and go to bed. This is a battle every. single. night.

  · Upon finally getting her to her room and in bed, we read 3 Rainbow Fish books. At this point she has 2 of the 3 memorized (including the cover page info. Involving publishers).

  · After reading the books, I turn out the lights. She counts a few of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the wall, says her prayers and makes me promise to “sit” while she goes to sleep.

  · I sit for about 3 minutes and then tell her I have to do something and I will check on her in a few minutes. On a good day, this works (though I have to check in every 2 minutes for about 30 minutes). On a bad day, she becomes worked up and cries for several minutes (to an hour) with me checking on her intermittently.

  · After an hour she is usually asleep. It is then that I clean the kitchen again, finish the clothes and decide that I MUST get a job outside the home as soon as possible.

30DoW - Screen CAPTCHA

Write in favor of something I dislike immensely. That is today's task. At first I thought "No problem." I'm Libra, after all. I see two sides to everything. Turns out, age does make you set in your ways. Conservative Christians? I couldn't even if there was a new car in it for me. Republicans? I could do it, but I'd have to go into political philosophy and Chris would surely correct me along the way. The pro-life movement? I don't even want to think about it.

So instead I'm going to go against my general nature and keep it light. I'm gonna go with word verifications, otherwise known as CAPTCHA's. I'm an old school blogger and commenter, so the uprising of the CAPTCHA has gone from a random annoyance to a regular irritant. But wait, I'm supposed to be writing in favor.

According to Wikipedia "a CAPTCHA is a type of challenge-response test used in computing to ensure that the response is not generated by a computer." Basically, it aids in filtering out unwanted ads, spam and automated postings to email, blogs, forums or wikis. The term "challenge-response" should not scare you away. They are designed so that "most humans can solve" them. Of course, you might not be able to read the first, second or third CAPTCHA, but eventually you will get the random letters and numbers correct. Unless of course you can't due to a disability or because it is simply too difficult to read. But do not worry. CAPTCHA creators have designed an audio CAPTCHA for your convenience. No doubt that anyone who has ever had voice activation on their cell phones are overjoyed to hear about how easy an audio CAPTCHA will be! So rejoice in the technology that serves as a constant reminder of how irritating us humans have become in this technological age. Be free of spam and trolls! But please remember that CAPTCHA's do not actually have to be real words, nor are they an internet fortune cookie. Do not make the mistake of trying to use them in a sentence or find meaning in the one you have been provided. They mean nothing and yet they do everything! (Unless the spammers are employing cheap labor or have developed character recognition software. Which is not only possible, but probable in this day and age. But let's not think about that!)

30DoW - Full circle

So here we are. Back at the beginning. It feels like that in a lot of ways, but I'm sure I'll go more into that later this month. As for now, my intentions. Honestly, they are similar to before. I'd like to branch out in my writing style (the last 30DoW was a branching out FAIL). I'd like to improve what little style I have (because admittedly a wordsmith I'm not) and I'd like to finish what I start.

As for me, I'm a tightly refined mess. But I'm working on it...

opting out

I'm going to opt out of the last couple of days of 30 Days of Write because I completely suck at poetry.  I think, I try, I suck.  And I just can't pretend otherwise.

So instead I'm going to paste the most awesome Missed Connection I've ever read.  I want to meet and know the guy that wrote this, but alas, I'm a mother and housewife and I think it's safe to say I'm the exact opposite of what he's looking for.  Still, props to him for putting it out there so eloquently...

The obviously intoxicated girl in class this morning - m4w - 23

---

Reply to: pers-yctca-1227167366@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}
Date: 2009-06-17, 10:32PM CDT

You stumbled into the classroom this morning, the sunlight in the doorway wreathing you like an angel that had been shooting tequila for eight hours. 

I could only watch breathless as you seductively managed to lurch into your seat without falling down (barely). Your eyes sparkled like diamonds as you visibly tried not to vomit, and your heavenly aroma wafted over, conjuring images of a brewery on fire in my mind. 

I was inspired by your rampant substance abuse, and I longed to be the one holding your hair back as your system rejected the poison you'd cheerfully imbibed. I wished I could have seen the shot glasses touch your luscious lips as you lost count of how many drinks you'd had at 5:30 AM. 

My only regret was that fate had cruelly separated me from the bad decisions you made the night before. Please email me so that I too can know the joy of your company, and the excitement of alcohol poisoning at 8:30 on a Wednesday morning. 

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1227167366

30DoW - Home Sweet Home

you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone

on the deck watching my plants grow

essential oils burning

not answering the phone

sleeping on my couch

rocking in chair

recycling

good friends

home

30DoW - Oh, I seize it alright...

This is a topic I can actually muster up the energy to write on…

My personal philosophy is clichéd and simple.  “Your life is what you make it.”  All of us have heard that line millions of times and no doubt we all think we believe it to be true.  But from where I’m standing, very few people actually know it to be true enough to practice it in every choice they make.

To be more detailed, I am not a victim.  No way, no how.  You will not ever hear me playing a victim.  Even when my car has broken down for the umpteenth time, I realize that it’s because I made a choice to have dinner or shop as opposed to putting it into my lame ass vehicle.  Or because I partied my ass off in my 20’s and my credit had to pay the price for 7 years, resulting in a crappy car.  Or because Chris and I chose life over money.  Regardless, my car broke down again because of bad choices I’ve made in the past.  I’m that way with every bad thing that has happened since we moved to Austin (which is when this philosophy went into full effect).

In relation to that, bad things have happened due to no bad choices on my part.  That’s life.  It can be a bitch sometimes.  But you will never hear me whine about it.  I’m too busy planning my next course of action.  I’m a doer and a thinker.  Not a moaner and groaner.  When I finally run out of actions to take with said situation, then I simply let it go (or try like hell while lying in bed thinking up new solutions).  When a solution finally presents itself, you better believe that I am hustling to make a change.  If there is no solution to be found, then eventually I will let go.  Turning my back on the situation all together.

It’s because of this philosophy that I live such a "charmed life".  You will never find me sitting in shit bitching about how it smells.  Which brings me to my favorite quote:  “You would rather live in shit than let the world see you work a shovel.”   My ass knows how to work a shovel.  In many ways I’ve worked a shovel my whole life (as I’m sure many other successful people would agree.)  I grew up witnessing some serious dysfunction.  Divorce, mental and physical abuse, some crazy ideas (my uncle slays dragons in his spare time).  And that dysfunction bled over into my own life and choices.  I was married and divorced by the age of 23.  I’m a recovering slut, pill head, pothead and quasi-alcoholic.  But one day I had a true-blue epiphany.  It was the day after I'd had an abortion, which literally killed my soul.  My soul had been dying a slow death to begin with.  But that event did it in.  I was tired.  I was hollow.  I felt worthless, guilty, crazy, sad and suicidal.  I was pathetic.  And on that night, with a bottle of pills in my hand, I fell to my knees and prayed.

Now keep reading my non-believing friends.  This story has nothing to do with God.  Instead, this story has everything to do with Scarlett O’ Hara.  In that moment when I was on my knees and praying, it came to me.  This is my life.  I can be whoever I want to be.  I can turn it all around.  I can redefine it.  I. Can. Change.  As God is my witness, I will never be dysfunctional again!!!

And from that point forward, I began to change.  It took time.  A lot of time in fact.  I was still psycho-crazy for a few years after that.  But the more I was able to change myself, the stronger I felt about defining my future.  The more confident I became, the more I got what I wanted.  I’ve never wanted much really.  In fact I probably set my goals too low a long time ago (something I’m working on now, in fact.)  But mostly, I wanted a healthy relationship and a happy family.  Something I NEVER witnessed growing up.  I could have sat around waiting for it to happen, waiting for someone to treat me right, waiting for someone to want the things I wanted.  But fuck that.  Screw waiting for the good to come to me.  Instead I went out looking.  And when I found a reasonable candidate (that would be Chris), I communicated my ass off.  I still do in fact.  And I’ve realized that in order to get what I want, I must give in return.  But I’m a Libra, so that only comes natural. 

I’ve set clear guidelines for what I want and what I’m willing to give.  I’m that way in all of my relationships, in fact.  It’s been said that I’m not an easy friend/wife/family member to have.  That’s most probably true.  But I don’t want people in my life who want easy.  I want people in my life who want honesty, communication, insight and clarity.  I want people in my life who are doers, changers and fighters.

This philosophy is not a popular one.  I guess people think it’s selfish, arrogant or pushy.  But those are the same people who resent the mostly happy, functional life I lead.  Don’t get me wrong.  My life is far from perfect.  I’m broke most of the time, my car is still a piece of crap and I come from one crazy-ass family.  I often say too much, offend the ones I love and check out at regular intervals.  But those are all a result of conscience choices that I have made.  I own it.  And if someone doesn’t like it, they should move on.  I know that’s what I would do.

30DoW - off topic completely

I don't know what made me think I'd be able to write everyday.  Actually, I do.  I thought I'd be bored when I came to Baytown.  Oh how wrong I was.  I do plan on going back and writing on a few of the topics, as I'd really like to visit them and see what I can come up with.  But it's just not going to be happening this week.

Instead, I need to vent.  

I hate Baytown.  I hate every single fucking thing about this god-awful place in America.  I hate the environment (refineries, smokestacks and pollution galore), I hate the music they listen to (Nickelback and Guns 'N Roses on constant repeat at the swimming pool), I hate the people who live here (Neiman shopping bleach blond chicks with their blond-tipped buff boyfriends littering the pool with their beer cans and cigarette butts) and I hate the mentality (every small thing said creates a testosterone-driven fight).  I hate that this place makes me hate.

It's been no better behind closed doors.  It's an exact replica of what it was like when I lived here.  A passive-aggressive, bullying boyfriend.  A mom who makes excuses.  And children who are beat down by the pattern.  I did well the first few days.  I remained quiet, reminding myself that this wasn't my life or my problems.  I called Chris and my friends for support who walked me through what I should or shouldn't be saying.  But too much time spent in Baytown reverts me back to the Baytownian I once was.  And last night I reverted hardcore.  I begged, I pleaded, I screamed, I cried.  I lost.

I believe I've said it before but it bears repeating again.  I know what it feels like to be the offspring of an addict.  Addiction to dysfunction is just as real as an addiction to drugs or alcohol.  Except there isn't a 12-step available.  The manipulation, the excuses, the highs and the lows.  The feeling that maybe this time will be different so you allow yourself to get caught in the loop again.  And be disappointed again.  It's painful.  It's even more painful not to repeat the process in your own life because it takes so much work.  And the resentment.  Tons and tons of it on all sides.

My mother looked me square in the eye last night and said "I'm sorry I don't have things figured out like you do.  I'm sorry my life isn't perfect like yours.  I can't wait to see how well Izzy has adjusted to her oh-so-perfect life in 15 years.  How nice it must be to be you with all the answers."  Ouch.  Again with me and my perfect life.  Again with the guilt over my "high standards".  Again with the disdain over my inability to tolerate anger and dysfunction.  Again and again and again. 

Our parent's generation was coined the "Me Generation".  How right that description was.  

30DoW - Putting today in a bottle

My energy has been sapped lately, so instead of staying on topic I was going to write about Izzy's time capsule that we've been working on and have every intention of burying sometime this year on our ranch in East Texas.  But I just read Chris' blog and I am actually speechless on the matter. There is nothing I could say that could come even close to what he wrote.  So I will just stand behind that entry and leave it at that.

Instead, I'd like to relay my very eventful day.  Let this be a snapshot that goes into the time capsule, as it were.  For those who haven’t been following along, Izzy and I are staying with my Mom in Baytown, a town east of Houston where I grew up.  My mom and her boyfriend/ex-husband recently moved into an apartment together (much to my chagrin).  She just had what was supposed to be the last of 5 surgeries in a year (she found out yesterday she needed “just one more”), so Izzy and I came down to visit, along with my Aunt and 12-year-old cousin from Mississppi.  This, in addition to my mom’s boyfriend/ex-husband’s 2 grandkids, ages 9 and 13.  Oh, and two small yappy-ass dogs.  It’s an apartment-full to say the very least.

Now let me stop for a second and explain my usual day in Austin.  It always starts early, Izzy makes sure of that.  But if I’m honest, the day doesn’t actually start until around 10am.  That’s when we get out and about to do our activities (library, park, shopping, whatever).  We both eat lunch around noon, take a nap from 2-4:30, dinner at 6:30 and in bed by 8pm.  It’s routine, it’s structured, it’s quiet and more times than not, I’m in control.

Baytown, it should be mentioned, is the exact opposite of Austin.  It’s dirty, there are no trees, everyone is driving leased trucks or SUV’s, people think recycling involves tires only, in fact, the only thing green in this town are the stoplights.   And as it turns out, my visit here is becoming the mirror image of our lives in Austin.

I wake up at 7am to a 69-degree apartment.  There are people everywhere.  Floors, couches, and blowup mattresses.  This morning we went out to the pool for the first time by 10am.  Guns N’ Roses “Appetite for Destruction” was playing (on repeat) for at least 2 hours before we headed back in for lunch.  Making lunch was like an Excedrin commercial.  I was tripping over dogs and kids in the kitchen, the boyfriend/ex-husband was angry that I wasn’t paying enough attention to him, the TV is blaring Paula Dean, we eat and then back out to the pool.  Kids fighting, screaming, running, falling, coughing.  Dinner, rinse, repeat.  We come in for the last time around 9pm.  It’s an assembly line by now.  Pile the swim toys by the door (comprising of 3 large innertubes, 1 small swim ring, 1 pair of floaties, 3 boogie boards and 1 wagon carrying 3 pairs of goggles, 2 snorkels, 2 balls and a Backyardigan figurine), throw the towels and bathing suits over the banister on the patio (at which point my Mom always makes a comment about how the neighbors will judge) and stand in the shower assembly line.  By 10:30 everyone is showered and wanting “snacks”.  Which means more dogs and kids in the kitchen arguing about what everyone else is eating.  Then we watch a movie that everyone talks through until the toddler is curled up in a corner sucking her thumb actually begging for “nite-nite” (the 2 previous attempts do not work due to “snack” sugar highs).  By 2am the apartment finally hears silence.  By now, I have realized that silence is an actual sound.  In fact, after 3 days of the same routine chaos (with 2 more to go), it is the most beautiful sound in the world.

I realized at around 5pm today that I had become delirious.  A trip to the store needed to happen and I was the only one up for the job.  The two older kids wanted to come so we loaded up and went for it.  At one point they started fighting in the store and I lost my temper and yelled like a crazy lady.  I turned and saw myself in the pharmacy mirror and realized I had no makeup on, my clothes were a mess and I was standing in the grocery store at 5pm on a Friday in my hometown.  And I did not give a shit.  It was a major turning point for me.

It’s all been so truly insane, I had to get it all down here.  On the upside, we’ve spent so much time in the pool Izzy has learned to swim in 2 days time (with floaties, of course).  She was timid in the water on Wednesday, but by yesterday evening she figured out that she had better get in the game or she was going to have one lame ass time.  Now she gets “in the loop” of going in on one side of the pool, leisurely swimming through the chaos of kids to the other side, only to do it all again, and again and again (for hours in fact.)  I’ve enjoyed the time spent with my mom and aunt and the kids have been fabulous when they aren’t all arguing about the most mundane bullshit.  I am however now thanking God that I was an only child and have decided to share that gift with Izzy (seriously, I treasure silence far too much to have another child.  I think the decision has finally been made once and for all.)

And once I get back to the calm, green, quiet of Austin I am going to try to never complain again.  I know it’s a stretch, but I’ve never appreciated my life “before” as much as I do now.  I know there’s a lesson in here… I just hope to hell I don’t forget it.

30DoW - First assignment FAIL

This morning I was writing on today's assignment and was rather impressed with my creativity. But then I had to walk away to make our trip to the Dirty Bay, and then I walked in to chaos soup and now I'm just not feeling it.  And while I feel somewhat bad about it, I'm still writing today so all is not lost in 30 Days of Write.

I do have this to say in regards to my day:  Time marches on but things stay remarkably the same. If silence is golden, then I am obviously tarnished silver, but this time I'm going to work on becoming at least a cheap 9-carat gold.  I'm certain I'll never make it to 24-carat, I'm not driven enough for that kind of silence.  I'm going to end with the good 'ole Serenity Prayer, because that will be my motto for this entire trip...

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can; 

and the wisdom to know the difference.

A-fricken-men.

30DoW - Because zombies lack dignity...

I’m going to slowly step away from zombies.  And violence, blood and gore.  Because as my friends and family know, that shit freaks me out beyond repair.  So in keeping with my writing style (I will break from it during this 30 days, I swear) – I’m going for a more romantic “iconic historical cluster.”  I would like to bring back the Victorian Gentleman.  Let the male generalities begin…

While I’m a fan of equality and women’s rights, somewhere along the way it seems we killed the Gentleman.  I wish morality, dignity, loyalty and intelligence would make a comeback with men today.  Not in a conservative Republican way, but rather in quiet subtleties.  I long for strong men.  Not physically, but mentally.  The kind of men that put more into reading us women, noticing the small details and making mental notes.  While I love men and their egos, it would be nice if they were able to shed their egos for the sake of productive communication when necessary, as opposed to us women having to carefully step around their paper-thin confidence.  Men with passion who stand up, take charge and fight fair.  I’m not looking to be slapped across the face (seriously, don’t even try it), but I’m also not looking to dominate.

I realize the “new woman” has really thrown the men for a loop.  We are educated, we work, we carry heavy boxes.  And in many ways it seems the men have just given up.  Retired to their rooms to get high, play games and live off their parent’s money (I’m going to extremes, but you get the point).  They feel unwanted, unneeded and generally out-of-place, so they check out.  Instead, I wish they’d just man-up and keep up.  Be stronger.  Be smarter.  Pay attention.  Bob and weave for fucks sake!  Sorry, that was an unnecessary tangent.

Perhaps I have a romanticized view of the Victorian Gentleman (it’s a pretty safe bet, in fact).  But that version is what I long to replace the zombies.  Men who stand up straight, have a dignified air to them (despite their social class) and love ballroom dancing.  Because ballroom dancing is much more enjoyable than chopping off heads, if I do say so myself.

30DoW - Telling ya something good

Part 1 – What do I want to get out of this 30 Days of Write Exercise?  Good question.  Yet another commitment?  One more thing to feel guilty about flaking on?  No and no.  I’m going to go with discipline, creativity and style.  That’s what I hope to get out of it.  I’d like to write more often and hopefully expand into a more creative style.

Part 2 – About my life as a writer…  Well, first and foremost, I love to use ellipsis more than anyone else on this planet.  Perhaps because I feel that none of my thoughts are ever really complete…  On a more personal note, I’ve fancied myself a “writer” since I was in elementary school.  In fact, I wrote my first (of many) novels in the 3^rd grade (and by novel, I mean a whopping 8 pages long).  I was boy-crazy, so Romance was the obvious way to go.  It was about a new boy in town who both irritated and challenged a young, strong girl (modeled after myself, of course), and the slow manner in which they fell in love (to the envy of all the other girls in town).  I was a regular fricken Nora Roberts.  By the time high school came around, my discipline was out the window.  I chose social over academic, as is fairly obvious in my writing style.  However, starting around that time, I began to keep a journal (I grew to hate the term “diary” as it sounded far too juvenile for my very serious self.)  In my mid-20’s, during a whirlwind of changes, my journal was the one place I was allowed to be who I really was.  Without judgment, without criticisms, without censorship.  At that time I also began writing poetry.  That venture was both exciting and embarrassing, so I will speak of it no more.  Once the internet came along (which I immediately fell in love with), I naturally merged the two and my love of blogging began.  I’ve been blogging regularly since March of 2004.  I’m glad for it, because I’m able to go back and see my progression as a woman, wife, mother and friend.  I’ve come a long way, and I might not have realized it without the detailed documentation to look back on.  My hope is that this 30DoW exercise will help me step out of my personal style (which has been all about me) and re-open the creativity I once had.  However, please know that at the height of my creativity, I sounded a hell of a lot like Nora Roberts.  I don’t have a War and Peace in me.  So set your expectations low and you just might enjoy what you read…