“I don’t know if I’m rushed for time or you are. I am near and you are far. You are here within arms reach. You are the one that I want to teach.”
This was the start of a poem my mother wanted me to write for her as she spoke the delicate words. This was one of her sober days where she actually seemed to enjoy my company as a child. Granted I was in my teen years at this point, but still it was nice to be the “helper” she was looking for. It was almost disappointing that this poem didn’t go much further. I guess since I’m the kind that keeps writing and writing and writing until I am done with whatever emotion or thought that I had is complete. I am not used to just writing one or two sentences for a thought. I feel whatever that needs to be said can take paragraphs if not pages.
These few words of encouragement were the highlight of my day. I tried not to wonder if they were actually about me or my siblings. Lord knows the brother was the baby and he could never do any wrong and the sister being the oldest was able to drink and smoke with mom before anyone. That was a valuable ability since when she smoked and drank is when she was laughing and smiling and you got to be apart of the family. She was destined to have a “good time” when she was having her “beer 30”. Mom’s always been a social drinker and smoker so it was a huge deal to become old enough to be part of her social circle and gain respect and “love” per say.
So when I wrote these words way down deep in my thought process I was thinking, “Well at least you do think of me when you are sober”. My heart pounded crazy with sweat rolling down my chest and my hands froze as I tried my best to make sense of the sober garble that came out of her mouth. I was important for this moment. I was the highlight of her day. She was the highlight of mine. I loved every moment that she was able to love me enough to trust me with her creative words. Every single word that followed that sentence was even more confusing that the last and I did my best to keep up and try to make sense of it for her. I have this little poem we created together still to this day. As an adult I still have problems figuring out what she was trying to say, but I think as a writer and a poet myself… I’ve made my own definition of it.
Regardless of all the smaller details I got to spend time with my mother on a few occasions and they may not have been very long occasions, but they were mine. The biggest one as I got older that she would do “with” me had to do with a car or a computer. I was the “smart” one so she had me do all her computer work. I helped her put her stuff on EBAY and CRAIGSLIST that she made. She was awesome at making Dream catchers and Scene Catchers and baskets. She put the coolest colors and products together to make things work. She was awesome at going to thrift stores or yard sales and grabbing the oddest things to put together to make some neat project. I’ve noticed as you get older, you seem to be more prone to being crafty. She would put her heart and soul into everything she did and then ask me to critique her. Sometime I had good things to say and others I had not so good things to say. I was always honest either way.
The other things we did a lot of was go “play pool” at the bar. This meant I would be a designated driver and take her to the bar and she would find some pool “shark” to gain drinks from and make bets on me. The bets of course would be if I won a game of pool against these people, she got a drink from them. Sometimes I would be blessed enough to get a Pepsi or cheese sticks out of the deal. I had to last my Pepsi for at least a couple of hours though. I was not aloud to have very many unless she got real going with the alcohol. Then I would get more than I could handle to keep me “happy”. Now part of the trick of this “winning” I had to do was dress the part. Yes, I had dress up cute or sexy or attractive to gain the interest or attention of said opponent. She got good at picking guys for me to play. I wore my tight blue or black jeans that hugged my ass just right. I wore some type of top that was either a belly shirt or gave a wanna be cleavage a good peak. I wore my black eye liner and whatever special perfume she wanted to put on me. I would top it off with some type of cute little shoes or nice high heel boots. My hair at that time was real long and went all the way to my ass. So when I bent over that pool table, you saw my hair flow down my back gracing my ass. You also saw whatever “so called” cleavage there was to see as I was bending over to make my shot. Then there was the added bonus of me bending over the pool table with those tight jeans hugging my round bottom just right.
Whew! Yeah that was an eye full to say the least. I suppose it may have not been the most spirited way to spend with your mother, but it was the life I got used to living. Mom was good at getting what she wanted from the bar. She always had a drink no matter who she was there to see and she could usually get me at least 1 Pepsi to last a couple hours. I really got into going to the bars once I realized the idea of Karaoke. Sure it was just a bunch of drunks that heard me sing and they probably heard better from themselves as they sang to the porcelain God, but I enjoyed it. I love to sing! I sang all kinds of songs from Patsy Cline to Loretta Lynn. I started with Shania Twain and ended with The Judd’s. I got a little bit of confidence and even stepped out of my little box and tried some Jewel, Seal, Pink, Alanis Morrisette, Janet Jackson, and Bette Midler.
Come to find out from some sober folk, I actually could carry a tune. Again this may not have been family game night for many people, but I enjoyed it was time with mother. I even worked myself up to some Whiskey Sours when I got of age. I was aloud to have up to 2 as long as I drank them a good hour before we left. Which we usually closed the bar anyway with her snot slinging drunk (bless her heart), but I got to spend time with her regardless.
For those that are familiar with the game, Canasta became a great pastime for my mother and I as well when I got even older. This is a game with a lot of numbers and big amounts of cards to hold onto. It was a bit of a challenge at first, but I was destined to make sure I could play. I was going to do anything I could to spend time with mother as it didn’t come very often. Times got fewer and fewer as I got older since every time we had company whether friend or family, it was always “grown ups at the table”. This meant you don’t matter anymore get lost. Believe it or not my own sister was a part of this. She was able to drink and smoke and made mom laugh at all her stupid blonde jokes and that was everything to her. I took note pretty well at how she made mom laugh and started my own train of jokes and sarcasms as I got even older. I got real good when I actually had time to spend with mom.
Spending time with mother was a treasured moment no matter what we were doing just because it was mother. I got to hear certain praises here and there that made my day better sometimes, but mostly it was “that doesn’t become you” or “it doesn’t make you a hero” or my personal favorite “You are not above that”. Besides these somewhat heartless remarks, I loved every moment I could make her laugh or smile or proud though few it may have been.
Time spend with family these days is more along the lines of fitting in some Redbox movie on a day off, helping with homework, or going to whatever sport event the children are apart of. Again it may not be much, but it’s sober fun with encouragement involved and lots of pure smiles for the right reasons. So when the state has some stupid idiot make a phone call saying there might be abuse in a child’s home and the first thing they say is, “you don’t spend enough valuable time with your kids”, I’d love to say, “Every moment I see my kids is valuable to me, what are you talking about?”. I’d love to point out the families that they pay so close attention to who work 50 + hours a week to survive because they do love their kids. I’d love to point out the fact that the school calls and emails flow in almost daily communicating about children’s actions because they do love their kids. I’ve love to point out the new coats, hats, shoes, school supplies, and bikes that are purchased for the children because they do love their kids. I’d also love to point out that a lot of us adults are alive and well and we got our butts spanked as a child when we did wrong. We got our mouth slapped when we swore or screamed at our parents. We ate what was in front of us or we went with out and we learned to appreciate what we had real quick. I’d love to point out we had real chores and had to do those real chores and it wasn’t considered “child labor” for making us do those chores.
With all that being said, I can faithfully say I’ve been reading a lot of articles lately about parents abusing their children with sexual abuse, physical abuse, and emotional abuse. I’ve been reading a lot of so called excuses from these parents why they are doing what they are doing and I’ve been reading a lot of “excused” cases of those parent who were drunk or high while doing this abuse. Seriously!!?? The state is worried about us real hard working parents who bust our asses for a measly 290 dollars a week on a 50 some hour paycheck for fear of us not spending enough time with our kids and take our kids away for neglect, but these fucking high ons with sexual inabilities get off on REAL abuse with their children and they get pardoned? How the fuck does that make any sense? I’ve seen case after case of mother’s killing their children and yet they get nothing but a slap on the hand and told not to do it again. We as good parents can’t as much as slightly correct our children with out the state standing there for 30 days criticizing every little thing we supposedly did to abuse our children. Yet these other Bull Shit excuses for parents get pardoned for their stupidity and heartlessness.
I’ve been dealing with a Psychotic child for about 7 years now. I’ve been deal with all the tests, appointments, med changes, mental break downs, Psychotic breaks, behavior changes and patterns, and exact routines that have to be in place to keep anything happening. By anything happening I mean head banging, stabbing, self mutilation, screaming, shaking, black outs, anger spouts, and countless other things my child does to keep the voices in his head from hurting him and the dead people he sees from haunting him. Lately he’s been showing different personalities. I’m not talking about just acting like some one else in “dress up” for a day. I’m talking about walking, talking, and completely becoming an entirely different person down to different hand writing and gestures. I’m talking about distinct personalities that come out during different parts of the day. There’s a dominate personality that comes out when he “blacks out” who talks straight sentences, walks very stern with a gangster type attitude, completely confident, makes eye contact all the time, and sits up tall. There’s a little girl personality who comes out who’s funny, cute, loves to dance, adds a smart ass type tone to her conversations, and loves to smile and impress. There’s also a little boy personality who comes out that wines all the time and thinks the whole world is against him. He feels he doesn’t do anything right and he’s constantly trying to hurt himself so “others” don’t have to. He likes to draw “creepy” things to make sense of his emotions.
All this barely touches the surface of this wonderful child. I haven’t even mentioned the Epileptic Seizures we dealt with for 3 years or the several times he tried to kill myself, himself, or a sibling out of anger. This child has been a very large challenge for all of us. You don’t know how much you can take or love a child until you actually have one with a disability to love and cherish no matter what they do or say. This whole scenario itself can cause anyone to drink, do drugs, or just give up and NEWS FLASH…. I haven’t and I won’t!!!
Then there’s these homework assignments that these kids are being given. Wow! I don’t remember having to do such intense work when I was this age. My youngest is learning Spanish and typing at 20 wpm. Granted he’s doing great at it, but holy cow. I didn’t learn typing until I was in High school. Then it took me two years to grasp it. Although this child is the one who enjoys playing a good game of chess. Yes, my seven year old child reads fifth grade work, loves numbers, writes comics, plays chess, and now types. I thought hacking a cell phone at three years old was bad… sheesh! So spending time with this child is a challenge on it’s own. I have to keep his brain as busy as his hands. This results to reading in front of me and tell me what he read, playing mind games on my cell phone, or his watching me play some game and then ask to play so he can and will do it better than me. LOL! I can’t win.
Spending time with our children these days involves technology in so many ways. I remember when spending time with your children meant getting off your lazy ass and taking them to the park to play catch (not that I got that kind of time), shutting off the games and cell phones that were as big as bricks back then and playing card games (go fish, old maid). Of course mine were Rummy, Canasta, Bridge, Spades, and King Around The Corner. So who can say this week that they have honestly spent time with their kids at least 2 hours a day this week? I can say this only because I was sick at home for a week. So my time was spent in bed playing games as each child one by one came in and sat next to me. We played whatever game there was to play, looked at whatever homework there was to look at, talked about whatever school activity there was to talk about, or even sang to whatever song was on the radio that we both liked.
The middle child loves his car games. I love to see his excitement when he tells me the cars he won and how he had to go through so much to win them. When he explains everything in detail I think to myself, “holy cow that’s a lot”. If I happen to open my mouth about, he will usually respond, “not really”. It’s been quite the stressful week lately with all this time we try to spend with the children and get things done too.
I did do something “new” per say this week. I watch My Little Pony with my daughter and middle child. Nothing like a bunch of adults and two children watching this kid’s show to pass the time. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to partake with all the hubbub going around about the show. I’ve been doing research on this show and what it supposedly involves. I have noticed what they call “Bronys” getting into the show and honestly thought to myself, “that’s fucked up”. I am trying to sit back and see for myself and be open minded with everything; however it’s real hard with all the hidden messages and subliminal teachings of witch craft and devil worshiping I am supposed to be looking out for. What weird dirty messages are being engrained in our kid’s minds’ with this show? Well I can say I watched three episodes of the show and other than slightly falling asleep waiting for something intense to happen, It seemed pretty entertaining for say… (a child). I have heard this is only the first season and I need to really get into is and watch the second season to really get the “adult” factor that seems to be played in it. …. We’ll see….
I will tell you I miss the show “True Blood” so much! I noticed right off the bat that is was about LGBT equality. I think that’s what drew me in so much to begin with. Anyone who watched the show and actually got into it, knows if you pay attention to the details there was a lot of intense issues that show went through. I loved how RAW it was. I love the mix of characters and how they almost acted HUMAN. It didn’t really seem like they were reading from a script to be as cute as possible or as sexy as they could be. It didn’t seem like the director was in the back saying, “Cut! You are showing enough real emotion! I want to see your pain!”. It was like the pain was real and almost allowed your own emotions to portray what they were going through. You got so involved in the characters that whenever something happened to them, it was like a family member got hurt or fell in love. You could feel your sexual desires jump when theirs did. Not because you saw a big cock or because there was a nice set of perky tits bouncing just right. Not because “she” moaned in the right octave or because “he” was dominate enough to seem real. It was deep, sensual, real, down to earth, intense, and spoke volumes about real life today. Honestly I think it scared people because of how real it was. It didn’t have Pedophiles! It didn’t have Incest! It didn’t have all that 4chan shit people get off on today! It had life. Sure there was sex, but life has sex… good sex if you do it right!
Recently had a surgery that was long needed. I’ve been talking about my Endometriosis problem for quite some time. I’ve been dealing with the pain problem for a good 5 years maybe? I’ve tried shots, pills, exercises, and different doctors and diets. Finally I just got the damn thing removed and oh boy is it nice to have female hormones coming back again. I actually feel human. Sounds weird right? I was taking this Lupron shot that pretty much ended life as me immediately. I had serious mood swings, really bad starving cravings, hot flashes, cold sweats, body pain all over, head aches, no sleep, and oh boy was a taking a good handful of meds and vitamins to make me feel normal. This went on for a good year. Never again!!! Ovary is gone! I have one left and honestly I feel that’s all I need. I’m getting my female urges back. I’m able to laugh freely once again. I’m not agitated all the time. I’m not taking a handful of meds anymore. I’m hoping I will lose the 24 pounds I’ve gained. Yes!! I gained a ton of weight. Pretty sad when you go put your work pants on that were a tad big when you got them and you can’t get them over your thighs. So off to the scrubs store I went. Now, not so bad feeling… however I will lose that weight one way or the other.
So what do you do when you have that one person you have to see a good 3 or 4 four times a week that absolutely drives you nutty beyond belief? I mean the kind of nutty that you catch yourself going to the bathroom, getting drinks you don’t need, and doing checks of the building so often you should have every nook and cranny memorized. The kind of nutty that makes those long uncomfortable silences meaningful for once. The kind of up the wall, down the hall, through the double glass doors, up to the big tall officer screaming, “Help me God she’s lost her mind and took mine!” kind of nutty. Just curious… I don’t know anyone like that…. really…. 😉