Let me be plain. I love modern medicine. I love that my child is vaccinated against diseases that wreak havoc on tiny bodies. I love that several of my family members are alive despite having cancer at one point or another in their lives. I love that my labor was not really unpleasant, thanks to the lovely anesthetics running through my peripheral nervous system.
However . . .
I'm kind of at a loss as to the biggest problem my son's pediatrician has with his health. It's his weight. James is in the 2nd percentile for weight for his age group. I could go into why I think this is a load of crap because he was breastfed and we didn't start him on solids for six months and blah blah blah. The real issue I have with this notion is that I am being asked to go against my child's own desires to try to get more food into him.
Because James is now two standard deviations away from the mean weight of children born on his birthday, we are now having to supplement his diet with Pediasure (which sucks, because so far James has really hated Pediasure). It's got 240 calories per bottle and I am supposed to give it to him all in one sitting, once a day. Our previous approach of "feed him more" didn't work so well. He needs to drink more whole milk and get more iron. I am kind of baffled.
Why am I feeding my son when he is not even hungry? Why am I trying to give him a certain amount of food that is completely unrelated to his own appetite? Why am shoving a nasty drink he dislikes in his face to drop straight fat and calories into his system when he is already satiated? What is that going to accomplish? So he can be more like the other kids? Do we even want that? What if these kids turned out like most adults? I certainly wouldn't want that.
Did you know that heart disease is the biggest killer in America? 25% of deaths every year are related to heart disease. Do you know what the biggest risk factors for heart disease are? Having diabetes, being overweight/obese, having a poor diet, and being physically inactive. So, basically, being a fat, lazy American is killing 25% more people than we would have had normally.
Is this the standard I am trying to fulfill? I'm trying to fatten my kid up so he will be "normal," but do I even want him to be normal? The only thing I could do to ensure my child a more quick death would be to give him cigarettes, according to the CDC. Do medical professionals see the irony that they are telling parents to give their kids "x" amount of food, even more food if their child is underweight, and they turn around and tell adults they need to scale back their diet. Am I the only one who wonders if the two are actually related?
So I spend the next few years conditioning James' metabolism and appetite handle more food. I go against his base instincts to bring him up to the standard by which we judge all kids (each other), but when he stops growing and still wants more food, I wonder why my child is getting overweight?
I'm not saying it's going to happen. I am just postulating the fact that maybe one of the reasons we are so freaking fat in this country is because we think we have to have our children weigh something that is based on something arbitrary and stupid. Of the other kids on that chart, how many parents are feeding their kids candy and pop and ice cream and pizza and all kids of other crap that are just packing on the pounds? And my child looks smaller because of it.
Maybe it is time to rethink the paradigm that we should go against a child's base urges to fit them into an unrealistic mold that clearly just results in him being unable to run up a staircase without being winded. Or lose his ability to see his feet over his gut by the time he hits 40. Or whatever. Doesn't his little body, which pumps blood, secretes hormones, converts oxygen into ATP, and eliminates toxins from the system deserve to be trusted in knowing how many calories it needs? And when to stop eating?
I dunno. Guess not.
Showing posts with label complaining. Show all posts
Showing posts with label complaining. Show all posts
Friday, January 23, 2015
Friday, November 21, 2014
Why the Stay-at-Home Mom vs. Working Mom Debate Exists . . .
The mommy wars are always ridiculous. I say this knowing full well that I have, at one time or another, contributed to them. But I think the worst mommy war topic is staying home vs. working. People can be so wretchedly mean about their opinions. So I started thinking about why such animosity exists between these two, fairly similar groups of people. Here's what I came up with.
1. Everyone wants to be validated
Basically all moms want to provide the best life possible for their children. This, however, can mean different things to different people. Sometimes it seems like the best way you can make your child's life better is to earn more money. Some circumstances mandate that you need to make more money for your child to make their life better (see #3). Sometimes people think giving their child a stable, consistent home life is the best start. Either way, we make our choice, and we hope we are doing the best thing.
And we want people to know that we are indeed doing the best thing.
So we seek validation. If saying how hard being a stay at home mom is on Facebook, someone will probably comment "Amen" or something. But it also makes us feel better about our own circumstances to trash whatever group of people is doing the opposite. Pointing out the flaws in others' plans can make us feel better about our own. This is true for many life circumstances, not just parenting, and not just this specific aspect of parenting. We want to feel like what we are doing is best. So we make a war out of it.
2. Knee jerk responses are real
This one is related to the first. If you were a working mother, and someone had the audacity to say that stay-at-home moms give their child the best start at life, or they somehow are superior, wouldn't you get defensive? It is easy to pile on the criticism either way. I have heard both. "Stay-at-home moms are lazy!" (I have seen some pretty damning videos that show just what the world thinks stay-at-home moms do all day.) "Working moms are selfish!" Whatever. Obviously neither of those things are true. But when you feel attacked, it's what you will come up with. Mostly to make yourself feel better about your situation.
3. Sometimes circumstances are out of our control
I am a stay-at-home mom by choice. Mostly. Honestly, I could probably get a job; I have decent qualifications. I know there is good day care in my area. But I would rather not. I do find my experience raising my child day-to-day rewarding.
But...
This wasn't exactly my plan. I grew up in a household that strongly rewarded academic achievement. My parents raised two valedictorians (note: there are only two kids in our family). My mindset has always been one of work and school and getting that paper. But my husband got a great job opportunity in our small hometown, and the university doesn't have a Master's program I'm interested in pursuing. (My poor choice of undergraduate degree doesn't help this situation.)
So this is what I do. I stay home and raise the baby so we can save money on daycare and because I am kind of out of options right now.
I don't think I am the only person to end up working or not working because of circumstances out of my control. And when you feel kind of stuck, you feel kind of defensive. Some working moms are working moms by choice, and some are not. Maybe most are not entirely sold one ways or the other. But if you do feel stuck, it might ease the pain of being stuck by lashing out a bit. Angry Internet rants aside, when you put down others (see #1) or boost yourself up, you may be able to make yourself feel a bit more in control in your situation.
4. There is good and bad to both circumstances
I worked a small number of hours a week from the time my little one was 7 weeks old until he was 4 1/2 months old. There were a lot of reasons to stop working that I won't get into. But it came as kind of a relief to not have to worry about juggling being a caregiver and, well, being a caregiver (ironically, that was my actual job title).
I thought the stress of life would immediately melt away because I didn't have to worry about working anymore. It didn't. Shocking, I know. Turns out there is a lot of stress in being home all day. The trouble with being a stay-at-home mom is that you are stuck at work 24 hours a day. At least if you work at home and work at work, your environment changes a bit. I see the same tasks facing me from the moment I get up in the morning 'til the moment I lay down at night. In addition, being a stay-at-home mom was challenging in all the wrong ways. You aren't tackling anything monumental or life affirming, you are just doing the mundane things that every household has to accomplish in order to function. And your co-workers (babies) are pretty demanding.
However, being a stay-at-home mom is pretty great at the same time. I have taken a greater interest in my old hobbies since I stopped working. My co-worker is dang cute and funny! And I am in remarkable control of my hours, especially now that baby is older.
There is good and bad.
I felt the same way working and raising a child. It was hectic to coordinate baby-sitters. It was exhausting to leave one job to come home to more work. But it is so rewarding to earn your own money and accomplish things outside of laundry and cleaning. Good and bad co-exist here, too.
I think that's where the root of the war comes in. Neither circumstance is perfect. Unsurprisingly, since there is virtually nothing on earth that is perfect. However, nitpicking, complaining, and unrestrained use of Internet commentating allow us to say whatever we want to whatever end we please.
So the war takes more victims.
I was not the first stay-at-home mom to be offended by someone else's slander. Nor will I be the last. But I think it helps to identify with something other than such a narrow framework. I am a stay-at-home mom, currently. I probably won't always stay home. There will be a good 30 years after the kids have gone before I die. Who knows what will happen then. And who knows what will happen when all the kids are old enough to be in school.
The point is, it doesn't freaking matter.
You do the best you can with the circumstances you are in. You try to make good choices for your family. And you shut the @#$% up about so-and-so's choices because it has absolutely nothing to do with you.
Okay, moving on.
1. Everyone wants to be validated
Basically all moms want to provide the best life possible for their children. This, however, can mean different things to different people. Sometimes it seems like the best way you can make your child's life better is to earn more money. Some circumstances mandate that you need to make more money for your child to make their life better (see #3). Sometimes people think giving their child a stable, consistent home life is the best start. Either way, we make our choice, and we hope we are doing the best thing.
And we want people to know that we are indeed doing the best thing.
So we seek validation. If saying how hard being a stay at home mom is on Facebook, someone will probably comment "Amen" or something. But it also makes us feel better about our own circumstances to trash whatever group of people is doing the opposite. Pointing out the flaws in others' plans can make us feel better about our own. This is true for many life circumstances, not just parenting, and not just this specific aspect of parenting. We want to feel like what we are doing is best. So we make a war out of it.
2. Knee jerk responses are real
This one is related to the first. If you were a working mother, and someone had the audacity to say that stay-at-home moms give their child the best start at life, or they somehow are superior, wouldn't you get defensive? It is easy to pile on the criticism either way. I have heard both. "Stay-at-home moms are lazy!" (I have seen some pretty damning videos that show just what the world thinks stay-at-home moms do all day.) "Working moms are selfish!" Whatever. Obviously neither of those things are true. But when you feel attacked, it's what you will come up with. Mostly to make yourself feel better about your situation.
3. Sometimes circumstances are out of our control
I am a stay-at-home mom by choice. Mostly. Honestly, I could probably get a job; I have decent qualifications. I know there is good day care in my area. But I would rather not. I do find my experience raising my child day-to-day rewarding.
But...
This wasn't exactly my plan. I grew up in a household that strongly rewarded academic achievement. My parents raised two valedictorians (note: there are only two kids in our family). My mindset has always been one of work and school and getting that paper. But my husband got a great job opportunity in our small hometown, and the university doesn't have a Master's program I'm interested in pursuing. (My poor choice of undergraduate degree doesn't help this situation.)
So this is what I do. I stay home and raise the baby so we can save money on daycare and because I am kind of out of options right now.
I don't think I am the only person to end up working or not working because of circumstances out of my control. And when you feel kind of stuck, you feel kind of defensive. Some working moms are working moms by choice, and some are not. Maybe most are not entirely sold one ways or the other. But if you do feel stuck, it might ease the pain of being stuck by lashing out a bit. Angry Internet rants aside, when you put down others (see #1) or boost yourself up, you may be able to make yourself feel a bit more in control in your situation.
4. There is good and bad to both circumstances
I worked a small number of hours a week from the time my little one was 7 weeks old until he was 4 1/2 months old. There were a lot of reasons to stop working that I won't get into. But it came as kind of a relief to not have to worry about juggling being a caregiver and, well, being a caregiver (ironically, that was my actual job title).
I thought the stress of life would immediately melt away because I didn't have to worry about working anymore. It didn't. Shocking, I know. Turns out there is a lot of stress in being home all day. The trouble with being a stay-at-home mom is that you are stuck at work 24 hours a day. At least if you work at home and work at work, your environment changes a bit. I see the same tasks facing me from the moment I get up in the morning 'til the moment I lay down at night. In addition, being a stay-at-home mom was challenging in all the wrong ways. You aren't tackling anything monumental or life affirming, you are just doing the mundane things that every household has to accomplish in order to function. And your co-workers (babies) are pretty demanding.
However, being a stay-at-home mom is pretty great at the same time. I have taken a greater interest in my old hobbies since I stopped working. My co-worker is dang cute and funny! And I am in remarkable control of my hours, especially now that baby is older.
There is good and bad.
I felt the same way working and raising a child. It was hectic to coordinate baby-sitters. It was exhausting to leave one job to come home to more work. But it is so rewarding to earn your own money and accomplish things outside of laundry and cleaning. Good and bad co-exist here, too.
I think that's where the root of the war comes in. Neither circumstance is perfect. Unsurprisingly, since there is virtually nothing on earth that is perfect. However, nitpicking, complaining, and unrestrained use of Internet commentating allow us to say whatever we want to whatever end we please.
So the war takes more victims.
I was not the first stay-at-home mom to be offended by someone else's slander. Nor will I be the last. But I think it helps to identify with something other than such a narrow framework. I am a stay-at-home mom, currently. I probably won't always stay home. There will be a good 30 years after the kids have gone before I die. Who knows what will happen then. And who knows what will happen when all the kids are old enough to be in school.
The point is, it doesn't freaking matter.
You do the best you can with the circumstances you are in. You try to make good choices for your family. And you shut the @#$% up about so-and-so's choices because it has absolutely nothing to do with you.
Okay, moving on.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Post 6 months . . .
I heard it going into having a baby, but I didn't have any concept for it: the first six months of new parenthood is ridiculously hard. There were times when it wasn't that bad, sure, but it seemed like there was way more time spent going "oh, crap, I can't do this."
Maybe I'm just a bad mom. I don't know. I've never been a mom before, I have nothing to compare this to. But I felt like I was going to lose my shi* often. Speaking of shi*, I have sworn more in the last 7 1/2 months than I had in the entire 23 years previous. It's just hard. I like making lists, so here's a list of what is so hard.
1. Sleep. I feel I covered this extensively in the last post, so I will move on.
2. Being needed. Constantly. I think the time after you move out of your parents house and before you become a parent is some of the most me-centric time your whole life. I seriously did what I wanted 98% of the time. Yes, I was going to school and working, but when I got home, especially if the husband wasn't home, I did whatever I dang well pleased. If I wanted to take a nap, I napped. If I wanted to play video games, I played video games. Etc. But I feel like so much of my life is dictated by the needs of this small human. I mean, I can try to do something I want to do, even if it seems like it might work out for a minute. But it doesn't really last. Baby always needs something, it seems. In the past month or so, James has started napping consistently enough that I am able to shower while he sleeps. This is a huge accomplishment. Having the opportunity to shower every day, before noon! Wow. That is wild stuff. So freeing, except when I think about the freedoms of pre-baby life.
3. Expectations. They kill everything, but they especially kill the fun of having a baby. I knew from my Child Development classes that newborns slept approximately 17 hours a day. So I assumed that he would just be sleeping constantly. And he sure seemed to be falling asleep constantly, but dang, he never slept for long. And he sure liked to be awake at 1:00 AM those first two weeks of his life. But the expectations continue to kill you even after you start realize that you have become a walking zombie and that's probably how things are going to be for a while. Like expecting him to cry less as he gets older. Or expecting that bedtimes will get easier as he gets older. Or expecting him to like green beans because you like green beans. Or expecting him to sleep through the night at 4 months because many babies sleep through the night at four months. Expectations basically just set you up for failure and make you feel like you have done something wrong, when the reality is you are just responsible for this little being that hasn't been a part of the world for even a year and has no idea what the paradigm of life is out here. It's cool. He's just a baby.
4. Being a stay-at-home mom. This is obviously not applicable to everyone, nor should it be. Some families do it differently, and that is fine. It made the most sense in our family for me to stay home with James. And I am glad I do, and I don't miss my job much at all. But it is trying stuff. I get to deal with the fussiness and the poop and the spit up and the changing clothes and the too-short naps and all the like, every day, all day. There isn't a ton of opportunity for breaks. And it is hard to change the working woman mindset to one that is okay with feeling accomplished doing things in the home. It is hard to have so many hours at home spent talking to a baby and myself. Yes, I talk to myself. I kind of have to. I have too many words not to.
Okay, we'll call that a decent list. But I am here to say one thing today:
It has gotten so much better. I do not want to say that it was like we hit the six month threshold and, all of a sudden, everything was wonderful. I just slowly realized "hey, this is easier than it used to be." Maybe I am just getting better at dealing with things, or maybe James finally learned to sit up and entertain himself for longer periods of time. Or he is learning how to put himself back down when he wakes up at night. Or he stopped waking up so much after 45 minutes of napping. Whatever, it doesn't matter, it has gotten easier.
One thing parents do to each other than is unintentionally cruel is say things like, "I'm sorry things are hard right now, but just wait until he gets to [insert arbitrary age here] and things will be so much better." Because I heard those things and hit so many of those supposed "milestones," and nothing changed. (It goes back to why expectations suck.) But I do want to get the point across, that at some point in time, it will be easier. I don't know when. I think it is different for every parent-baby combination. It probably took a long time with us because the thing that I struggle with the most was dealing with sleep deprivation and the things James dealt with the worst was sleeping well. So the combination was explosive. But thank goodness, things have gotten better.
I also want to say that just because those six month were so incredibly hard for me doesn't diminish the fact that I love my baby tremendously. In fact, loving my baby was sort of a mantra to help me through those rough times. "I do this because I love him. I do this because I wanted to be a parent and raise babies and this is what raising babies looks like. I do this because I wanted this baby. I do this because I love him."
So, all in all, being a parent is wonderfully, exquisitely sucky. And, oddly, worth it. Thankfully, the suckiness does seem to diminish. Even if it never completely disappears.
Maybe I'm just a bad mom. I don't know. I've never been a mom before, I have nothing to compare this to. But I felt like I was going to lose my shi* often. Speaking of shi*, I have sworn more in the last 7 1/2 months than I had in the entire 23 years previous. It's just hard. I like making lists, so here's a list of what is so hard.
1. Sleep. I feel I covered this extensively in the last post, so I will move on.
2. Being needed. Constantly. I think the time after you move out of your parents house and before you become a parent is some of the most me-centric time your whole life. I seriously did what I wanted 98% of the time. Yes, I was going to school and working, but when I got home, especially if the husband wasn't home, I did whatever I dang well pleased. If I wanted to take a nap, I napped. If I wanted to play video games, I played video games. Etc. But I feel like so much of my life is dictated by the needs of this small human. I mean, I can try to do something I want to do, even if it seems like it might work out for a minute. But it doesn't really last. Baby always needs something, it seems. In the past month or so, James has started napping consistently enough that I am able to shower while he sleeps. This is a huge accomplishment. Having the opportunity to shower every day, before noon! Wow. That is wild stuff. So freeing, except when I think about the freedoms of pre-baby life.
3. Expectations. They kill everything, but they especially kill the fun of having a baby. I knew from my Child Development classes that newborns slept approximately 17 hours a day. So I assumed that he would just be sleeping constantly. And he sure seemed to be falling asleep constantly, but dang, he never slept for long. And he sure liked to be awake at 1:00 AM those first two weeks of his life. But the expectations continue to kill you even after you start realize that you have become a walking zombie and that's probably how things are going to be for a while. Like expecting him to cry less as he gets older. Or expecting that bedtimes will get easier as he gets older. Or expecting him to like green beans because you like green beans. Or expecting him to sleep through the night at 4 months because many babies sleep through the night at four months. Expectations basically just set you up for failure and make you feel like you have done something wrong, when the reality is you are just responsible for this little being that hasn't been a part of the world for even a year and has no idea what the paradigm of life is out here. It's cool. He's just a baby.
4. Being a stay-at-home mom. This is obviously not applicable to everyone, nor should it be. Some families do it differently, and that is fine. It made the most sense in our family for me to stay home with James. And I am glad I do, and I don't miss my job much at all. But it is trying stuff. I get to deal with the fussiness and the poop and the spit up and the changing clothes and the too-short naps and all the like, every day, all day. There isn't a ton of opportunity for breaks. And it is hard to change the working woman mindset to one that is okay with feeling accomplished doing things in the home. It is hard to have so many hours at home spent talking to a baby and myself. Yes, I talk to myself. I kind of have to. I have too many words not to.
Okay, we'll call that a decent list. But I am here to say one thing today:
It has gotten so much better. I do not want to say that it was like we hit the six month threshold and, all of a sudden, everything was wonderful. I just slowly realized "hey, this is easier than it used to be." Maybe I am just getting better at dealing with things, or maybe James finally learned to sit up and entertain himself for longer periods of time. Or he is learning how to put himself back down when he wakes up at night. Or he stopped waking up so much after 45 minutes of napping. Whatever, it doesn't matter, it has gotten easier.
One thing parents do to each other than is unintentionally cruel is say things like, "I'm sorry things are hard right now, but just wait until he gets to [insert arbitrary age here] and things will be so much better." Because I heard those things and hit so many of those supposed "milestones," and nothing changed. (It goes back to why expectations suck.) But I do want to get the point across, that at some point in time, it will be easier. I don't know when. I think it is different for every parent-baby combination. It probably took a long time with us because the thing that I struggle with the most was dealing with sleep deprivation and the things James dealt with the worst was sleeping well. So the combination was explosive. But thank goodness, things have gotten better.
I also want to say that just because those six month were so incredibly hard for me doesn't diminish the fact that I love my baby tremendously. In fact, loving my baby was sort of a mantra to help me through those rough times. "I do this because I love him. I do this because I wanted to be a parent and raise babies and this is what raising babies looks like. I do this because I wanted this baby. I do this because I love him."
So, all in all, being a parent is wonderfully, exquisitely sucky. And, oddly, worth it. Thankfully, the suckiness does seem to diminish. Even if it never completely disappears.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
My little man . . .
I guess the appropriate beginning to my return to the blog would be talking about James. He's my baby. He's kind of awesome. Of course, any mom is probably partial to their own creation, but I do love my James. He is a fat, happy, giggling, cuddly (sometimes), loud, soft, sweet baby, who is growing up way too fast. Here are all the good things about James:
~He loves to laugh. And be happy. And smile. And all things that are good. This is one happy baby. Not necessarily always "content" (he is a wiggler), but he is pretty easy to keep happy. He is also ticklish, which is adorable. He really doesn't cry much at all.
~He loves all the things other babies hate. Bath time. Getting his diaper changed. His car seat. His crib. Etc. This baby is just so . . easy. I have seen so many other babies scream at the very notion of getting bathed or changed, and I feel so blessed that James is totally cool with so much of the things we have to do.
~He is a good eater, and has been for a long time. Not necessarily forever. But after about week five, he totally got the hang of breastfeeding and decided he was going to be a totally awesome eater. The same seems to be true for solids. He was a little hesitant at first with the solids (and rice cereal doesn't agree with his belly, but we moved on from that), but he eats really well now. Except green beans. But everyone is allowed to have something they don't like, food-wise.
~He goes down so easily for sleeping. This baby was HAAAAARD to sleep train (and I use that word referring only to conditioning a child to the circumstances under which you would like them to sleep. I am in no way referring to cry-it-out. Let's get that straight.) But all our work and effort has paid off beautifully and this baby is a dream to put down. Just a little bit of holding for a nap, and for bedtime, you can pretty much just drop him in the crib after he is calmed down and he will just fall asleep 100% on his own. Pretty bomb.
~His amazing ability to make everyone around him happy. I don't know if I have ever seen a baby that has quite this level of therapeutic capabilities. I mean, many people like holding babies. And a lot of people smile instinctively whenever they see one. But this boy, he just seems to bring people joy. Pure joy. He is so generous with his smiles and laughter that he puts people at ease. He helps people feel better when they are having a bad day. I have a therapy baby.
~The cuteness. Seriously. It is just too much:
Now, the thing that is not-so-great about James. Yes, I said the thing. As in singular. As in, I have had one bane to my existence for the last seven-and-a-half months, but, thankfully, only one. Sleeping. Yes, I realize I previously stated that this baby went down easily. Which he does, and has done so relatively well for several months. It is the staying asleep. I think we had about three months of normal, consistently getting better sleep habits. I daresay that we even had a few seven or eight hour stretches there. Before things got bad. Really bad. Like, what-the-crap-is-wrong-with-this-baby bad.
It just started one night. Just totally out of the blue, no warning. He woke up. So I went in and put him back down.
And he was up again an hour later. And an hour later. Every hour.
All night long. And it just kept going.
Every night. For months. And months.
Until I though my brains might explode out of my head from exhaustion and frustration and fatigue and desperation and all of those terrible, awful emotions that exist in so many mothers. The emotions that make you feel so guilty for feeling them, because they are about a small, helpless child that, despite all the awful things that happen, you still love so much, somehow.
So, I say that it continued for a very long time, but it did gradually get better. Bit by bit. I mean, in the grand scheme of things. I could look back on a week of his nights and see no improvement, but over the course of a month, there was a general ease of the exhaustion. It got easier for him to go back down at night. And it happened (maybe a little bit) less often.
But of course, this bane of my existance could not be a complete bane without disruption in all facets of his sleep. So about a month to a month and a half after the sleepless nights came, so did the sleepless days. Again, I am not referring to difficulty in putting him down. The ease in putting him down for naps has been consistent for a very long time.
I am talking about the 45-minute intruder. And intruder is the nicest term I can think of because it really deserves a lot more vicious label. Because it is a life-ruining monster of death and destruction.
Basically, it goes like this. James goes down for a nap (any nap, it doesn't matter). Then I go down for my nap (because let's not forget his night time sleeping is still awful and I am still tired, too). Then, right around 40-45 minutes into the nap, he just inexplicably wakes up. Sometimes he would be chatty and happy, sometimes it was like someone flicked him and he was very unhappy. Either way, it would always result in an overtired, unhappy baby and an overtired, unhappy mama.
I half-heartedly fought the battle to try to get him to go back to sleep. This was hell on earth. Sometimes I would be in his room for an hour and a half, just trying to get him to sleep, or stay asleep longer than five minutes, just to run out of time for a nap and have to get him up to feed him. Ugh, I shudder to remember those dark days. Worst.
Fortunately, we are at a happy place now. The best possible thing I did for his night-time sleep was stop feeding him in the night. I don't think I could have done it any earlier than when I did, because he was still taking a generous feed until we started him on solids at six months. Then he didn't seem to be eating much in the middle of the night. When I cut him off, he had a couple nights of a lot of waking up, but then he snapped right out of it and it became the norm to just have him wake up once or twice and just need a binky and a pat on the chest, then off again to dreamland.
The naps drastically improved after we dropped the third nap of the day. Again, I don't know how I could have made that work any sooner. We started doing that after his solid meals were getting enough inside him (instead of just on his face) that he was getting enough to make whole meals out of solids and not a combination breastfeed/solid feed.
Now he is pretty reliable. We even got to the point, after much trying and crying (me crying, not him) that he goes back down for naps pretty easily if we wakes up too early.
So, yeah, a little rant about the most difficult thing about James. But things are pretty good now. I will continue talking about things being good in the next post :)
~He loves to laugh. And be happy. And smile. And all things that are good. This is one happy baby. Not necessarily always "content" (he is a wiggler), but he is pretty easy to keep happy. He is also ticklish, which is adorable. He really doesn't cry much at all.
~He loves all the things other babies hate. Bath time. Getting his diaper changed. His car seat. His crib. Etc. This baby is just so . . easy. I have seen so many other babies scream at the very notion of getting bathed or changed, and I feel so blessed that James is totally cool with so much of the things we have to do.
~He is a good eater, and has been for a long time. Not necessarily forever. But after about week five, he totally got the hang of breastfeeding and decided he was going to be a totally awesome eater. The same seems to be true for solids. He was a little hesitant at first with the solids (and rice cereal doesn't agree with his belly, but we moved on from that), but he eats really well now. Except green beans. But everyone is allowed to have something they don't like, food-wise.
~He goes down so easily for sleeping. This baby was HAAAAARD to sleep train (and I use that word referring only to conditioning a child to the circumstances under which you would like them to sleep. I am in no way referring to cry-it-out. Let's get that straight.) But all our work and effort has paid off beautifully and this baby is a dream to put down. Just a little bit of holding for a nap, and for bedtime, you can pretty much just drop him in the crib after he is calmed down and he will just fall asleep 100% on his own. Pretty bomb.
~His amazing ability to make everyone around him happy. I don't know if I have ever seen a baby that has quite this level of therapeutic capabilities. I mean, many people like holding babies. And a lot of people smile instinctively whenever they see one. But this boy, he just seems to bring people joy. Pure joy. He is so generous with his smiles and laughter that he puts people at ease. He helps people feel better when they are having a bad day. I have a therapy baby.
~The cuteness. Seriously. It is just too much:
Now, the thing that is not-so-great about James. Yes, I said the thing. As in singular. As in, I have had one bane to my existence for the last seven-and-a-half months, but, thankfully, only one. Sleeping. Yes, I realize I previously stated that this baby went down easily. Which he does, and has done so relatively well for several months. It is the staying asleep. I think we had about three months of normal, consistently getting better sleep habits. I daresay that we even had a few seven or eight hour stretches there. Before things got bad. Really bad. Like, what-the-crap-is-wrong-with-this-baby bad.
It just started one night. Just totally out of the blue, no warning. He woke up. So I went in and put him back down.
And he was up again an hour later. And an hour later. Every hour.
All night long. And it just kept going.
Every night. For months. And months.
Until I though my brains might explode out of my head from exhaustion and frustration and fatigue and desperation and all of those terrible, awful emotions that exist in so many mothers. The emotions that make you feel so guilty for feeling them, because they are about a small, helpless child that, despite all the awful things that happen, you still love so much, somehow.
So, I say that it continued for a very long time, but it did gradually get better. Bit by bit. I mean, in the grand scheme of things. I could look back on a week of his nights and see no improvement, but over the course of a month, there was a general ease of the exhaustion. It got easier for him to go back down at night. And it happened (maybe a little bit) less often.
But of course, this bane of my existance could not be a complete bane without disruption in all facets of his sleep. So about a month to a month and a half after the sleepless nights came, so did the sleepless days. Again, I am not referring to difficulty in putting him down. The ease in putting him down for naps has been consistent for a very long time.
I am talking about the 45-minute intruder. And intruder is the nicest term I can think of because it really deserves a lot more vicious label. Because it is a life-ruining monster of death and destruction.
Basically, it goes like this. James goes down for a nap (any nap, it doesn't matter). Then I go down for my nap (because let's not forget his night time sleeping is still awful and I am still tired, too). Then, right around 40-45 minutes into the nap, he just inexplicably wakes up. Sometimes he would be chatty and happy, sometimes it was like someone flicked him and he was very unhappy. Either way, it would always result in an overtired, unhappy baby and an overtired, unhappy mama.
I half-heartedly fought the battle to try to get him to go back to sleep. This was hell on earth. Sometimes I would be in his room for an hour and a half, just trying to get him to sleep, or stay asleep longer than five minutes, just to run out of time for a nap and have to get him up to feed him. Ugh, I shudder to remember those dark days. Worst.
Fortunately, we are at a happy place now. The best possible thing I did for his night-time sleep was stop feeding him in the night. I don't think I could have done it any earlier than when I did, because he was still taking a generous feed until we started him on solids at six months. Then he didn't seem to be eating much in the middle of the night. When I cut him off, he had a couple nights of a lot of waking up, but then he snapped right out of it and it became the norm to just have him wake up once or twice and just need a binky and a pat on the chest, then off again to dreamland.
The naps drastically improved after we dropped the third nap of the day. Again, I don't know how I could have made that work any sooner. We started doing that after his solid meals were getting enough inside him (instead of just on his face) that he was getting enough to make whole meals out of solids and not a combination breastfeed/solid feed.
Now he is pretty reliable. We even got to the point, after much trying and crying (me crying, not him) that he goes back down for naps pretty easily if we wakes up too early.
So, yeah, a little rant about the most difficult thing about James. But things are pretty good now. I will continue talking about things being good in the next post :)
Monday, September 16, 2013
Being a woman . . .
Let me start out by saying that I am not a feminist. There are very few points from the feminist viewpoint that I agree with, and generally I feel like their approach to the world is not how I would go about doing things. But we do have one common opinion: I hate chauvinists. Any man who thinks he is metaphorically bigger and badder than a woman can only hope he can remain so blissfully buried in self-delusion because it takes a hero to navigate being a woman successfully.
More than anything right now I am thinking about surviving life within this womanly body of mine. It is difficult. We can skip over all the fun stuff a female deals with during the maturing years and just go straight to being an adult. It is still difficult. I am so sick of hearing about how "emotional" women are. This tagline comes with the connotation that there is something I can do about it. There is not. A better term would be "hormonal," as my body is so full of raging hormones that may never be totally harmonious with one another and I am occasionally at the mercy of said hormones. (Granted, my husband is at the mercy of me when I am at the mercy of my hormones, so really everyone suffers.) Growing up in a family that didn't excel in showing healthy emotions, I can tell you that it is an extremely frustrating thing to feel like my emotions are out of control. I hate that every once in a while, I just plain feel like crying. I can't identify a reason; there is no problem solving I can do to make it go away. I must cry. And not only do these feelings exist inside of me, but I must also continue to live my life as normal while doing so. Speaking from the perspective of society, crying is bad, but working and being productive are good. So onward I must press.
I am also thinking about another biologically-based aspect of womanhood that does not get the recognition it deserves: pregnancy. Yes, some men do applaud their wives for the "great miracle" of being able to create life. It is amazing, but beyond that, it can be very difficult. Most women experience some degree of misery during their pregnancies. Most women will tell you how ill they were during their first trimester. I was very fortunate in having a relatively smooth first trimester, but right now I am in the throes of my third trimester. And it sucks. I can't sleep. I can only eat a little, but everything gives me heartburn and the thought makes all food sound terrible. Sitting, lying, and standing are all uncomfortable. My feet swell so bad that my ankles cease to function properly. My back kills from holding my massive frontside. I feel winded all the time because my lungs are smashed. Basically, I don't feel good. 100% of the time, I don't feel good. But, again, I am expected to work and function and get ready for baby. Straight up misery. And I haven't even gone through childbirth yet . . .
Basically, any man who thinks he is "strong" because he can bench press a cow or whatever can kiss mine. You don't know what strong is. You don't know what it's like to live inside this body.
Speaking of this body, I have destroyed it. Over the course of nine short months, my body is stretched, distorted, and completed sacrificed to the developing of my baby. And yes, my "hot" body is now gone. Forget bikinis, forget lingerie, I will never look good in any of them again. I built a human being inside me, and I have paid the price of forever being condemned as "ugly" by the world. Even after I lose the weight, my stretch marks and saggy boobs will remain. So I am sorry, men of the world, that I don't appeal to your tastes any longer. But I brought a life into this world, and the vehicle that brought it here will always show signs of the journey.
So there is my rant. I am tired of being considered weak. I am tired of being seen as pathetic and helpless. I have been brought here to complete tasks that a man can't, and I am proud that I was strong enough to do it.
More than anything right now I am thinking about surviving life within this womanly body of mine. It is difficult. We can skip over all the fun stuff a female deals with during the maturing years and just go straight to being an adult. It is still difficult. I am so sick of hearing about how "emotional" women are. This tagline comes with the connotation that there is something I can do about it. There is not. A better term would be "hormonal," as my body is so full of raging hormones that may never be totally harmonious with one another and I am occasionally at the mercy of said hormones. (Granted, my husband is at the mercy of me when I am at the mercy of my hormones, so really everyone suffers.) Growing up in a family that didn't excel in showing healthy emotions, I can tell you that it is an extremely frustrating thing to feel like my emotions are out of control. I hate that every once in a while, I just plain feel like crying. I can't identify a reason; there is no problem solving I can do to make it go away. I must cry. And not only do these feelings exist inside of me, but I must also continue to live my life as normal while doing so. Speaking from the perspective of society, crying is bad, but working and being productive are good. So onward I must press.
I am also thinking about another biologically-based aspect of womanhood that does not get the recognition it deserves: pregnancy. Yes, some men do applaud their wives for the "great miracle" of being able to create life. It is amazing, but beyond that, it can be very difficult. Most women experience some degree of misery during their pregnancies. Most women will tell you how ill they were during their first trimester. I was very fortunate in having a relatively smooth first trimester, but right now I am in the throes of my third trimester. And it sucks. I can't sleep. I can only eat a little, but everything gives me heartburn and the thought makes all food sound terrible. Sitting, lying, and standing are all uncomfortable. My feet swell so bad that my ankles cease to function properly. My back kills from holding my massive frontside. I feel winded all the time because my lungs are smashed. Basically, I don't feel good. 100% of the time, I don't feel good. But, again, I am expected to work and function and get ready for baby. Straight up misery. And I haven't even gone through childbirth yet . . .
Basically, any man who thinks he is "strong" because he can bench press a cow or whatever can kiss mine. You don't know what strong is. You don't know what it's like to live inside this body.
Speaking of this body, I have destroyed it. Over the course of nine short months, my body is stretched, distorted, and completed sacrificed to the developing of my baby. And yes, my "hot" body is now gone. Forget bikinis, forget lingerie, I will never look good in any of them again. I built a human being inside me, and I have paid the price of forever being condemned as "ugly" by the world. Even after I lose the weight, my stretch marks and saggy boobs will remain. So I am sorry, men of the world, that I don't appeal to your tastes any longer. But I brought a life into this world, and the vehicle that brought it here will always show signs of the journey.
So there is my rant. I am tired of being considered weak. I am tired of being seen as pathetic and helpless. I have been brought here to complete tasks that a man can't, and I am proud that I was strong enough to do it.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
It gets better . . .
I can't sleep. I slept in too long this morning to go to sleep by midnight. But I also have something on my mind. Something I would like to talk about with someone, but no one has the time to hear it. Nor is it something enjoyable to hear.
What happened to my life? I don't even feel like I am living one right now. I am just drearily moving on from one day to another, one task to the next. I don't think I could remember how to have fun if I even had the time to try. Everyday is just wholly consumed with work. Since I got my second job, I have worked more 50 hour weeks than not. I just get up in the morning, go to work, work all day long, then come home and do nothing because I am too freaking tired to do anything else or because it's midnight and Jacob wants to go to bed.
I thought these were supposed to be he best years of my life. I thought I was supposed to spend every waking second with my husband just consumed in lovey dovey bliss and live a life of absolute carefree joy until we decided to grow up and have kids. What a load of nonsense that is. Every passing moment just seems to get busier than the last. There is so much to do; I am barely keeping my head above water.
I am totally at a loss as to what to do. I can't quit one of my jobs, and Jacob can't just stop student teaching. And unless he can find a new job in this terrible economy, he is just going to keep working those same horrendous hours at the restaurant.
I realize people go through rough patches. I realize that people get busy. But does it ever get better? I don't hear of people getting less busy. I just so desperately hope that there is something more fulfilling out there than this. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life just completing tasks on a checklist like I do now. My whole brain is consumed with thoughts of the next shift and the next work project, I never think about anything else. I don't know how much longer I can live like this. I feel so unfulfilled my life is just a meaningless list of tasks with no pleasure and no enjoyment. And I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel assuring me that it's going to get better. I wish I had something like that to look forward to, but, to be honest, I don't have anything to look forward to in my life right now.
Sonething's gotta give. I can't live this life anymore.
What happened to my life? I don't even feel like I am living one right now. I am just drearily moving on from one day to another, one task to the next. I don't think I could remember how to have fun if I even had the time to try. Everyday is just wholly consumed with work. Since I got my second job, I have worked more 50 hour weeks than not. I just get up in the morning, go to work, work all day long, then come home and do nothing because I am too freaking tired to do anything else or because it's midnight and Jacob wants to go to bed.
I thought these were supposed to be he best years of my life. I thought I was supposed to spend every waking second with my husband just consumed in lovey dovey bliss and live a life of absolute carefree joy until we decided to grow up and have kids. What a load of nonsense that is. Every passing moment just seems to get busier than the last. There is so much to do; I am barely keeping my head above water.
I am totally at a loss as to what to do. I can't quit one of my jobs, and Jacob can't just stop student teaching. And unless he can find a new job in this terrible economy, he is just going to keep working those same horrendous hours at the restaurant.
I realize people go through rough patches. I realize that people get busy. But does it ever get better? I don't hear of people getting less busy. I just so desperately hope that there is something more fulfilling out there than this. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life just completing tasks on a checklist like I do now. My whole brain is consumed with thoughts of the next shift and the next work project, I never think about anything else. I don't know how much longer I can live like this. I feel so unfulfilled my life is just a meaningless list of tasks with no pleasure and no enjoyment. And I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel assuring me that it's going to get better. I wish I had something like that to look forward to, but, to be honest, I don't have anything to look forward to in my life right now.
Sonething's gotta give. I can't live this life anymore.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
I am 22 . . .
So. What.
I think we have a problem here in Utah. Everybody wants to get everything done so quickly. Married at 19. Baby at 20. Another baby at 21. What is with that? Oh, and graduating in 2 years so you can have your degree. What is with the Mormon women and having to get life started so dang soon. I feel like everyone is just making plans and hurrying to get things done so quickly. Why? Because you have to have 10 kids before you hit 35?
I hate that everyone is pressuring me to have a baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Could someone please talk to me about something other than a baby? If they are not talking to me about a baby, it's about grad school. I have had my Bachelor's for two months, and it is officially time to go to grad school. Get my butt to grad school. People always seem so condescending when I tell them I am taking a year off. Like, oh, you're going to work for a year? At your minimum wage jobs? Ugh. How pathetic.
What's wrong with taking my time with my life? Why do I have to have a family by the time I'm 23? Just because I'm LDS doesn't mean I want to pop out babies for the rest of my days. Maybe I want to experience life before I settle down completely. Maybe I want to take things slower so I don't have a nervous breakdown in grad school.
I will do it my way, thank you very much. I'll get there when I get there.
I think we have a problem here in Utah. Everybody wants to get everything done so quickly. Married at 19. Baby at 20. Another baby at 21. What is with that? Oh, and graduating in 2 years so you can have your degree. What is with the Mormon women and having to get life started so dang soon. I feel like everyone is just making plans and hurrying to get things done so quickly. Why? Because you have to have 10 kids before you hit 35?
I hate that everyone is pressuring me to have a baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Could someone please talk to me about something other than a baby? If they are not talking to me about a baby, it's about grad school. I have had my Bachelor's for two months, and it is officially time to go to grad school. Get my butt to grad school. People always seem so condescending when I tell them I am taking a year off. Like, oh, you're going to work for a year? At your minimum wage jobs? Ugh. How pathetic.
What's wrong with taking my time with my life? Why do I have to have a family by the time I'm 23? Just because I'm LDS doesn't mean I want to pop out babies for the rest of my days. Maybe I want to experience life before I settle down completely. Maybe I want to take things slower so I don't have a nervous breakdown in grad school.
I will do it my way, thank you very much. I'll get there when I get there.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
This semester . . .
My goodness. I am tired today. Oh, wait, I was tired yesterday, too. And the day before. This semester has been outstandingly exhausting. I always, always, always have something that I have to do. Something that needs to be taken care of. One more item off a to-do list that has no end, no end whatsoever! I feel like I am battling my own life. I never thought that working part-time and going to school was a big deal, I have been doing it for 6 out of my 7 semesters here at SUU. There is just something particularly overwhelming about this semester. I think I know a few reasons.
First, printmaking. To all those people who said, "Just finish that art minor, you won't regret it." Oh. Do I ever. This class has been so extensively hard on me that sometimes I just feel like never going and failing it. We are constantly, constantly working on something. I work my butt off for two straight weeks trying to finish a monster of a lino-cut, just to immediately start searching for an image for my duotone. I finished that in two days, then he immediately starts encouraging us to find an idea for a hand cut film. I just found an image a week ago. I don't have any other ideas. As for Photoshop: I hate you. You never do what I want.
Second, work. Yes, I have had this job for almost a year and a half now, you'd think I'd be used to the insanity that goes down here. I'm not. This semester, I get to waste tons of gas driving to different schools to teach children about art. I drove 150 miles in the first two weeks of October just for the education program. Kill me, this thing still has like 3 weeks.
I feel about as exhausted as I usually feel one week before the semester ends. We just barely passed midterms. I can't believe the toll this semester has taken on me. Come on, December 15th, just get here already!!!
First, printmaking. To all those people who said, "Just finish that art minor, you won't regret it." Oh. Do I ever. This class has been so extensively hard on me that sometimes I just feel like never going and failing it. We are constantly, constantly working on something. I work my butt off for two straight weeks trying to finish a monster of a lino-cut, just to immediately start searching for an image for my duotone. I finished that in two days, then he immediately starts encouraging us to find an idea for a hand cut film. I just found an image a week ago. I don't have any other ideas. As for Photoshop: I hate you. You never do what I want.
Second, work. Yes, I have had this job for almost a year and a half now, you'd think I'd be used to the insanity that goes down here. I'm not. This semester, I get to waste tons of gas driving to different schools to teach children about art. I drove 150 miles in the first two weeks of October just for the education program. Kill me, this thing still has like 3 weeks.
I feel about as exhausted as I usually feel one week before the semester ends. We just barely passed midterms. I can't believe the toll this semester has taken on me. Come on, December 15th, just get here already!!!
Monday, October 10, 2011
Losing you . . .
Saturday I lost my grandparents. I know this is a more appropriate way to start a eulogy than what this post is really about, but they may as well be dead.
I have never really written anything too personal on this thing, but I have to put these thoughts somewhere. And since I have no followers, why not?
Things have been bumpy with my maternal grandparents from day 1: parents start dating. I have always known my dad's feelings towards my grandpa, and when I was too young, I sided with my mother (gender-identified role model). However, as time has gone on, and I have dissected my childhood summers of spending time with them, I have realized something. My grandpa is pretty much a douche bag.
Could someone explain to me how an old man could possibly feel good about himself screaming his lungs hoarse at children under 10 years of age? How do you not feel like a dick? And I'm not saying that you couldn't do it if the child had actually done something wrong, but that's the thing. I remember getting yelled at for the most inane, absurd reasons. We would go camping in their trailer, and my brother and I would have to sleep on the floor in the main room. When we would roll over in the sleeping bags, the trailer would rock a little. Because its a trailer. It's on wheels. But I remember my grandpa screaming from the bedroom, "YOUR ROCKING THE WHOLE DAMN TRAILER!!!" Okay. What the crap am I supposed to do?
I also remember when I was stuck without my brother on a trip with them and they left me in the trailer with their stupid dogs while they went somewhere. I was probably 12. I sat on the couch and drew pictures. I glanced up at the room after about an hour and noticed that the dog had "done its business" all over the rug. I immediately tried to get the rug outside and try to clean it up, but seconds after I had noticed the "incident," my grandparents arrived. Boy, was the subject of ridicule for the rest of the trip. That was about three days. I was a "stupid" child who couldn't notice anything going on around her because she is so busy watching TV and being a retard. Apparently. I'm sorry I can't hear the sound of pooping?
Besides getting yelled at every single day I spent with them, there is also the way my grandpa deals with the world. Everyone is wrong. "Why are you doing it like that? You should do it like this. This way would be better and faster. I don't care if I don't know anything about it or know what your preferences are, you are wrong. Shut up." This was the thing that drove my dad crazy for so many years. My dad likes doing things right. My grandpa likes doing things fast. These ideas do not often align.
So we have been dealing with this nonsense for about 30 or so years. My brother has finally had enough. I don't blame him. Last summer, my parents remodeled a house, and my grandparents came over from Texas to stay for a few months to get it underway. My brother spent many hours out there helping. Or should I say, my brother spent many hours out there being criticized. It would drive any person crazy.
A few months ago, my grandpa sent my mother a hate-email. I don't know the exact contents, but I know that it basically slammed on my family big time. Key points: Dad and Cory are worthless and don't do anything right, Cory and I are ungrateful grandchildren, grandpa wants nothing to do with us. This made everyone really upset, especially my mom. She went several weeks without talking to them.
Then, last week, my grandma called my mom to announce that they were coming over to see Kimball, my new nephew. Whaaaat?? Didn't you say you hated us?
So they show up. My grandpa is acting like absolutely nothing has happened. Everything is peachy-keen and delightful. No one is buying this. My brother and sister-in-law are really upset that my grandpa has said all these really hateful things, but still shows up expecting for them to hand over the baby for them to coddle like they are decent great-grandparents or something. Not going to fly in this family.
So we all gather at Cory and Brittany's house under the guise of "meeting Kimball." But before Brittany hands him over, she says, "We wanted to bring you two here today to talk. You sent us a really hurtful email, but you still show up here acting like nothing has happened. We are still really hurt by the things you said, and we want to understand what is going on here better. We want to put hard feelings behind us."
Immediately my grandpa is like, "I don't know what email you are talking about. I didn't send a hurtful email." My parents immediately start saying some of the things the email said. (I applaud my dad for keeping his temper. He has been wanting to tell my grandpa whats-what for years.) Suddenly (and yet not so suddenly at all, because I was expecting it), my grandpa stands up and heads for the door saying, "Well, I can see that we have just been called here for an inquisition, so I think I'm leaving." My brother, who had been successfully holding back until that point, stands up, heads for the doorway and blocks my grandpa's path. "You're not leaving." Grandpa vs. Cory. (Grandpa: 5'6", Cory: 6'3"). Yeah, he sat back down. But continued to pout throughout the whole thing.
Cory then lights into him with as much self control as could be expected of someone who has been harboring hatred for 25 years. He basically told him the things I have already listed as background in this post. We have spent our whole lives being yelled at and being told we do everything wrong. He treats everyone like they are below him and he is the most disrespectful person in the world. Cory wanted an apology and wanted him to stop treating everyone around him like idiots. My grandma was really offended when Cory brought up being yelled at as kids. She said, "Geez, I didn't know spending two weeks with us could possibly screw you up so badly." (She was putting words in Cory's mouth like crazy; neither grandparent has any fair fighting skills.) My grandpa said, "All I see is a room full of ungrateful people." Oh, I didn't realize we were supposed to thank you for treating us like vermin. Gotcha.
I stayed out of it. This is in a metaphorical sense, because I was in the middle of the room, and, therefore, quite in the thick of it. I couldn't muster up the nerve to say anything at all, except once when I said, "He never said that" when my grandma was putting words in Cory' mouth. Basically, I was shaking and terrified of saying anything. I have a really irrational fear of getting hit when people get mad at me. I don't know why. I wasn't hit as a child.
Anyway, things escalated a lot, and by the time my grandma was just as ready to leave as my grandpa, Cory was just mad enough to let them go. I had left the room to try to find a tissue (I was bawling), and my mom came dashing from the room with inconsolable tears. What in the world is happening? I though. This cannot possibly be real. Things usually work out, even after they have gotten pretty hard. We can't possibly be losing our grandparents. They care about us more to walk out of our lives.
They don't.
I could hear my brother yelling after them as the ascended the staircase to the front door.
"You will never have anything to do with Kimball. You're walking out of our lives. I hope you're happy."
I hope you're happy. That sentence has been ringing in my mind constantly for these two days since it happened.
I hope you're happy.
In retrospect, it's not really the worst thing in the world. My grandparents only showed their faces every once in a while. They call my mother every few weeks, but mostly, I don't hear from them. I have realized that my grandpa is even more of an arrogant a** hole than I thought. Gosh, I have never met anyone so stubborn and conceited. He said, "I'm sorry I ruined your life." Cory said, "Are you really sorry?" And grandpa spat back in his face, very much like a 2-year-old, "NO!"
They blamed Cory for being miserable all those summers ago. "Why didn't you say anything?" "Why didn't you tell your mom you didn't want to come?" Really? You blame a 5-year-old kid for not thinking rationally enough to come up with that, rather than own up to your own stupid problems? What arrogant people.
I am slightly glad it happened. It gave my dad the chance to say some really nice things about us. He was referring to the email where my grandpa called us worthless and ungrateful. My dad said that his children are his favorite people in the world, and that he wouldn't trade us for anyone or anything in the world. He also said that he respects the people we have become and loves being around us. I must say, despite all the ugliness of that day, it was really nice to hear.
I have decided to use my psychology-brain to call them out on their personality disorders. They have to have them. They are too obnoxiously oblivious to themselves to not have one. Grandpa has Narcissistic Personality Disorder and grandma is Codependent. Look it up.
I hope you're happy.
We'll see what the coming months bring. But I am not particularly hopeful.
I have never really written anything too personal on this thing, but I have to put these thoughts somewhere. And since I have no followers, why not?
Things have been bumpy with my maternal grandparents from day 1: parents start dating. I have always known my dad's feelings towards my grandpa, and when I was too young, I sided with my mother (gender-identified role model). However, as time has gone on, and I have dissected my childhood summers of spending time with them, I have realized something. My grandpa is pretty much a douche bag.
Could someone explain to me how an old man could possibly feel good about himself screaming his lungs hoarse at children under 10 years of age? How do you not feel like a dick? And I'm not saying that you couldn't do it if the child had actually done something wrong, but that's the thing. I remember getting yelled at for the most inane, absurd reasons. We would go camping in their trailer, and my brother and I would have to sleep on the floor in the main room. When we would roll over in the sleeping bags, the trailer would rock a little. Because its a trailer. It's on wheels. But I remember my grandpa screaming from the bedroom, "YOUR ROCKING THE WHOLE DAMN TRAILER!!!" Okay. What the crap am I supposed to do?
I also remember when I was stuck without my brother on a trip with them and they left me in the trailer with their stupid dogs while they went somewhere. I was probably 12. I sat on the couch and drew pictures. I glanced up at the room after about an hour and noticed that the dog had "done its business" all over the rug. I immediately tried to get the rug outside and try to clean it up, but seconds after I had noticed the "incident," my grandparents arrived. Boy, was the subject of ridicule for the rest of the trip. That was about three days. I was a "stupid" child who couldn't notice anything going on around her because she is so busy watching TV and being a retard. Apparently. I'm sorry I can't hear the sound of pooping?
Besides getting yelled at every single day I spent with them, there is also the way my grandpa deals with the world. Everyone is wrong. "Why are you doing it like that? You should do it like this. This way would be better and faster. I don't care if I don't know anything about it or know what your preferences are, you are wrong. Shut up." This was the thing that drove my dad crazy for so many years. My dad likes doing things right. My grandpa likes doing things fast. These ideas do not often align.
So we have been dealing with this nonsense for about 30 or so years. My brother has finally had enough. I don't blame him. Last summer, my parents remodeled a house, and my grandparents came over from Texas to stay for a few months to get it underway. My brother spent many hours out there helping. Or should I say, my brother spent many hours out there being criticized. It would drive any person crazy.
A few months ago, my grandpa sent my mother a hate-email. I don't know the exact contents, but I know that it basically slammed on my family big time. Key points: Dad and Cory are worthless and don't do anything right, Cory and I are ungrateful grandchildren, grandpa wants nothing to do with us. This made everyone really upset, especially my mom. She went several weeks without talking to them.
Then, last week, my grandma called my mom to announce that they were coming over to see Kimball, my new nephew. Whaaaat?? Didn't you say you hated us?
So they show up. My grandpa is acting like absolutely nothing has happened. Everything is peachy-keen and delightful. No one is buying this. My brother and sister-in-law are really upset that my grandpa has said all these really hateful things, but still shows up expecting for them to hand over the baby for them to coddle like they are decent great-grandparents or something. Not going to fly in this family.
So we all gather at Cory and Brittany's house under the guise of "meeting Kimball." But before Brittany hands him over, she says, "We wanted to bring you two here today to talk. You sent us a really hurtful email, but you still show up here acting like nothing has happened. We are still really hurt by the things you said, and we want to understand what is going on here better. We want to put hard feelings behind us."
Immediately my grandpa is like, "I don't know what email you are talking about. I didn't send a hurtful email." My parents immediately start saying some of the things the email said. (I applaud my dad for keeping his temper. He has been wanting to tell my grandpa whats-what for years.) Suddenly (and yet not so suddenly at all, because I was expecting it), my grandpa stands up and heads for the door saying, "Well, I can see that we have just been called here for an inquisition, so I think I'm leaving." My brother, who had been successfully holding back until that point, stands up, heads for the doorway and blocks my grandpa's path. "You're not leaving." Grandpa vs. Cory. (Grandpa: 5'6", Cory: 6'3"). Yeah, he sat back down. But continued to pout throughout the whole thing.
Cory then lights into him with as much self control as could be expected of someone who has been harboring hatred for 25 years. He basically told him the things I have already listed as background in this post. We have spent our whole lives being yelled at and being told we do everything wrong. He treats everyone like they are below him and he is the most disrespectful person in the world. Cory wanted an apology and wanted him to stop treating everyone around him like idiots. My grandma was really offended when Cory brought up being yelled at as kids. She said, "Geez, I didn't know spending two weeks with us could possibly screw you up so badly." (She was putting words in Cory's mouth like crazy; neither grandparent has any fair fighting skills.) My grandpa said, "All I see is a room full of ungrateful people." Oh, I didn't realize we were supposed to thank you for treating us like vermin. Gotcha.
I stayed out of it. This is in a metaphorical sense, because I was in the middle of the room, and, therefore, quite in the thick of it. I couldn't muster up the nerve to say anything at all, except once when I said, "He never said that" when my grandma was putting words in Cory' mouth. Basically, I was shaking and terrified of saying anything. I have a really irrational fear of getting hit when people get mad at me. I don't know why. I wasn't hit as a child.
Anyway, things escalated a lot, and by the time my grandma was just as ready to leave as my grandpa, Cory was just mad enough to let them go. I had left the room to try to find a tissue (I was bawling), and my mom came dashing from the room with inconsolable tears. What in the world is happening? I though. This cannot possibly be real. Things usually work out, even after they have gotten pretty hard. We can't possibly be losing our grandparents. They care about us more to walk out of our lives.
They don't.
I could hear my brother yelling after them as the ascended the staircase to the front door.
"You will never have anything to do with Kimball. You're walking out of our lives. I hope you're happy."
I hope you're happy. That sentence has been ringing in my mind constantly for these two days since it happened.
I hope you're happy.
In retrospect, it's not really the worst thing in the world. My grandparents only showed their faces every once in a while. They call my mother every few weeks, but mostly, I don't hear from them. I have realized that my grandpa is even more of an arrogant a** hole than I thought. Gosh, I have never met anyone so stubborn and conceited. He said, "I'm sorry I ruined your life." Cory said, "Are you really sorry?" And grandpa spat back in his face, very much like a 2-year-old, "NO!"
They blamed Cory for being miserable all those summers ago. "Why didn't you say anything?" "Why didn't you tell your mom you didn't want to come?" Really? You blame a 5-year-old kid for not thinking rationally enough to come up with that, rather than own up to your own stupid problems? What arrogant people.
I am slightly glad it happened. It gave my dad the chance to say some really nice things about us. He was referring to the email where my grandpa called us worthless and ungrateful. My dad said that his children are his favorite people in the world, and that he wouldn't trade us for anyone or anything in the world. He also said that he respects the people we have become and loves being around us. I must say, despite all the ugliness of that day, it was really nice to hear.
I have decided to use my psychology-brain to call them out on their personality disorders. They have to have them. They are too obnoxiously oblivious to themselves to not have one. Grandpa has Narcissistic Personality Disorder and grandma is Codependent. Look it up.
I hope you're happy.
We'll see what the coming months bring. But I am not particularly hopeful.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Let me tell you about this piece here . . .
Something I have noticed while working in an art gallery: Art brings out the pompous, know-it-all in some people. Often times, this makes them appear like a blithering idiot (Harry Potter insult). Maybe I just don't know these people and they are actually like this all the time, but it sure seems like a lot of people come into the gallery and feel like they need to explain everything to the poor people in their insufferable company.
"Now this artist, he has mastered this technique. . . you can tell where he has done blah blah blah blah . . ."
"This painting here, it is obviously of the Grand Canyon." (Not a painting and clearly labeled "Cedar Breaks")
"This one, this is obviously a Jim Jones." (Not a Jim Jones - you have to be alive to be invited to participate in an Invitational)
"The gallery was named after this artist here." (No, the gallery was named after the building it is located in, and that building was named after the man in the giant painting you obviously missed while coming in)
"This is a photograph, but the artist enhanced it after it was printed by adding watercolors." (Nope, just a really crappy printer. You also might read the label, which reads "photograph," not "watercolor and photography" or "mixed media.")
Besides these conversational wonders, people act so snooty when they come in. Maybe its the inherent nature of those people who care to venture to art galleries, but seriously? These people always talk like the artist personally told them about how the art was created. "It was done like this." The assurity in their voice is astounding, especially considering how often they are wrong." And they always seem to act like they are so much better than me. You can acknowledge my existence when I welcome you to the gallery. You can at least look at me. Maybe if you did acknowledge me and ask me a question, you could find out that everything you're saying is wrong.
I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but mostly I just wanted to document these rare treasures.
"This piece here, it speaks volumes. What is the figure a captive of? His own desires? Western society?"
Thanks for that.
Also, who in their right mind touches the artwork at galleries? What kind of pretentious idiot thinks that they get that right. I truly do not get it. The sad thing is that it is 90% adults who do this. Kids are actually smart enough to understand that they don't get to touch the expensive, shiny stuff. But adults feel privileged I guess. It's even worse when the person is an artist and works in the same medium. If you think you can make it, surely you have the right to pick it up? I don't know, I don't get it.
UPDATE
Something else that boggles my mind about when people coming to an art gallery is the shock factor (which, really, shouldn't exist). Apparently, when people think of art galleries, they think of finger paintings and happy trees or something. "Let's bring our four-year-old!" Unfortunately for these unsuspecting parents, university art galleries are not filled with finger-painting and happy trees. In fact, sometimes we have nudity. Gasp! Nudity!! Can you believe it? (watch this come up under a Google search of "nudity" haha that would up the reputation of my blog). I am just baffled when people bring their kids in, walk around for a minute before they see the nude figure painting, and then rush their kids from the gallery, giving me looks like I am a pervert or something. Hello? UNIVERSITY gallery. We offer a life drawing and anatomy course here. People. Paint. Nudes.
I guess they think that we shouldn't hang something like that in our open-to-the-public gallery. Well, angry moms, there's this little thing called the First Amendment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's in the Bill of Rights. It basically means that we can't prevent anyone from hanging what they want in here without some serious ethical and legal issues coming up. Trust me, artists who paint nudes are well aware of their Freedom of Speech rights. We legally cannot prevent this.
So there you go, reasons why working at an art gallery can be almost as frustrating as working at a gas station. Almost.
UPDATE
Wow, apparently the summer is a gold mine for people coming into the gallery doing really obnoxious things. It's been a whole year since I posted this, but I have more to say.
Right now, I mean, literally as I type this, there are two very strange creatures in the gallery. I mean, strange in just certain ways. Of course, they are your typical, presumptuous know-it-alls who hang out in art galleries on Saturday afternoons, but instead of making asinine comments about "how well they know art." They are just condescendingly ripping every piece they walk by. It's kind of awesome, actually. I mean, yes, it is horribly disrespectful to these great people who exhibit in our gallery, but it's a nice change from the regular asinine comments.
(About a piece meant to parody "Tangled" by showing a women wrapped up in a gardening hose) "What is she, stupid? She gets herself all wrapped up like that for show? She dressed up to go get tangled in a garden hose?"
(Looks at price: $3,500) "Pssssh"
"Where would you even hang that?"
"Sandy beach where you take the kids and the wind blows so bad they can't see anything." (?)
I guess the best thing about that is watching their relationship dynamic. It seemed to be a fun outing for them to go out and make fun of stuff together. To be rude. Together! I'm glad they found each other. Heartless people, in love forever.
"Now this artist, he has mastered this technique. . . you can tell where he has done blah blah blah blah . . ."
"This painting here, it is obviously of the Grand Canyon." (Not a painting and clearly labeled "Cedar Breaks")
"This one, this is obviously a Jim Jones." (Not a Jim Jones - you have to be alive to be invited to participate in an Invitational)
"The gallery was named after this artist here." (No, the gallery was named after the building it is located in, and that building was named after the man in the giant painting you obviously missed while coming in)
"This is a photograph, but the artist enhanced it after it was printed by adding watercolors." (Nope, just a really crappy printer. You also might read the label, which reads "photograph," not "watercolor and photography" or "mixed media.")
Besides these conversational wonders, people act so snooty when they come in. Maybe its the inherent nature of those people who care to venture to art galleries, but seriously? These people always talk like the artist personally told them about how the art was created. "It was done like this." The assurity in their voice is astounding, especially considering how often they are wrong." And they always seem to act like they are so much better than me. You can acknowledge my existence when I welcome you to the gallery. You can at least look at me. Maybe if you did acknowledge me and ask me a question, you could find out that everything you're saying is wrong.
I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but mostly I just wanted to document these rare treasures.
"This piece here, it speaks volumes. What is the figure a captive of? His own desires? Western society?"
Thanks for that.
Also, who in their right mind touches the artwork at galleries? What kind of pretentious idiot thinks that they get that right. I truly do not get it. The sad thing is that it is 90% adults who do this. Kids are actually smart enough to understand that they don't get to touch the expensive, shiny stuff. But adults feel privileged I guess. It's even worse when the person is an artist and works in the same medium. If you think you can make it, surely you have the right to pick it up? I don't know, I don't get it.
UPDATE
Something else that boggles my mind about when people coming to an art gallery is the shock factor (which, really, shouldn't exist). Apparently, when people think of art galleries, they think of finger paintings and happy trees or something. "Let's bring our four-year-old!" Unfortunately for these unsuspecting parents, university art galleries are not filled with finger-painting and happy trees. In fact, sometimes we have nudity. Gasp! Nudity!! Can you believe it? (watch this come up under a Google search of "nudity" haha that would up the reputation of my blog). I am just baffled when people bring their kids in, walk around for a minute before they see the nude figure painting, and then rush their kids from the gallery, giving me looks like I am a pervert or something. Hello? UNIVERSITY gallery. We offer a life drawing and anatomy course here. People. Paint. Nudes.
I guess they think that we shouldn't hang something like that in our open-to-the-public gallery. Well, angry moms, there's this little thing called the First Amendment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's in the Bill of Rights. It basically means that we can't prevent anyone from hanging what they want in here without some serious ethical and legal issues coming up. Trust me, artists who paint nudes are well aware of their Freedom of Speech rights. We legally cannot prevent this.
So there you go, reasons why working at an art gallery can be almost as frustrating as working at a gas station. Almost.
UPDATE
Wow, apparently the summer is a gold mine for people coming into the gallery doing really obnoxious things. It's been a whole year since I posted this, but I have more to say.
Right now, I mean, literally as I type this, there are two very strange creatures in the gallery. I mean, strange in just certain ways. Of course, they are your typical, presumptuous know-it-alls who hang out in art galleries on Saturday afternoons, but instead of making asinine comments about "how well they know art." They are just condescendingly ripping every piece they walk by. It's kind of awesome, actually. I mean, yes, it is horribly disrespectful to these great people who exhibit in our gallery, but it's a nice change from the regular asinine comments.
(About a piece meant to parody "Tangled" by showing a women wrapped up in a gardening hose) "What is she, stupid? She gets herself all wrapped up like that for show? She dressed up to go get tangled in a garden hose?"
(Looks at price: $3,500) "Pssssh"
"Where would you even hang that?"
"Sandy beach where you take the kids and the wind blows so bad they can't see anything." (?)
I guess the best thing about that is watching their relationship dynamic. It seemed to be a fun outing for them to go out and make fun of stuff together. To be rude. Together! I'm glad they found each other. Heartless people, in love forever.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Friendship is . . .
. . . I don't know. Can't think of a word that encompasses it all. Probably because the state of friendship varies so much from person to person, friendship to friendship. I have been thinking a lot lately about those people that were such a large part of my life a few years ago, and what in the crap happened to them.
I hate losing touch with people. But sometimes I feel like its inevitable. I can't think of a single person that I remained friends with for more than 6 or 7 years. Why is that? Maybe its that people can't stand being around me after that long. I don't know. It bothers me.
Someday I very much hope to track down some friends that will actually stick with me. Not these people who are "fair-weather" friends. There when things are fun and exciting. Disappear when your world is falling in. Why can't people just be consistent? Why can't people "be there for you?" People can't be bothered, I guess.
People change. This is nothing new. One person in particular was stalwart and amazing when I first came to know her. She was valiant and strong in her convictions, fearlessly honest, and knew where her priorities were. Where is she now? I don't know. Somewhere far away, making half-hearted suggestions that we should "get together sometime" (could a statement be more vague?). Married to a guy she shouldn't be married to because her mind is fleeting and she doesn't care what she does anymore. She's not responsible for anything. I don't even know her anymore. This is why I don't really follow through on the "getting together" suggestion.
Even some of the friends I have managed to stay in contact with, I am bewildered by. Who are you? Do I even know you? You weren't like this when I knew you.
So now I am here. My best friend is my husband. My next closest friend is hundreds of miles away with very limited contact. When my husband is working, I clean the house, watch The Office, and read Harry Potter. Hoping one day I will find someone who is actually worth getting to know and actually worth inviting over. Someone who won't leave when the trauma comes, when I am sobbing, when I need them most.
I hate losing touch with people. But sometimes I feel like its inevitable. I can't think of a single person that I remained friends with for more than 6 or 7 years. Why is that? Maybe its that people can't stand being around me after that long. I don't know. It bothers me.
Someday I very much hope to track down some friends that will actually stick with me. Not these people who are "fair-weather" friends. There when things are fun and exciting. Disappear when your world is falling in. Why can't people just be consistent? Why can't people "be there for you?" People can't be bothered, I guess.
People change. This is nothing new. One person in particular was stalwart and amazing when I first came to know her. She was valiant and strong in her convictions, fearlessly honest, and knew where her priorities were. Where is she now? I don't know. Somewhere far away, making half-hearted suggestions that we should "get together sometime" (could a statement be more vague?). Married to a guy she shouldn't be married to because her mind is fleeting and she doesn't care what she does anymore. She's not responsible for anything. I don't even know her anymore. This is why I don't really follow through on the "getting together" suggestion.
Even some of the friends I have managed to stay in contact with, I am bewildered by. Who are you? Do I even know you? You weren't like this when I knew you.
So now I am here. My best friend is my husband. My next closest friend is hundreds of miles away with very limited contact. When my husband is working, I clean the house, watch The Office, and read Harry Potter. Hoping one day I will find someone who is actually worth getting to know and actually worth inviting over. Someone who won't leave when the trauma comes, when I am sobbing, when I need them most.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Life is unfair . . . sometimes . . .
I don't know why I can't focus on writing my essay. I guess I just want to write other things. This is why I am here.
Life can be so dumb sometimes. And really unfair. I really dislike it when people don't suffer the consequences of their choices; the suffering gets deferred to someone else. Like me. I am not saying that I am suffering, trust me, I love my life. But I do have to deal with the issues of someone else because they won't man-up and do it themselves.
Once upon a time, I dated a guy who turned out to be a jerk. That ended in the most ugly way imaginable and I am still suffering the emotional consequences of his . . . jerkiness. But I will have you know that he is the one who destroyed our relationship. I mean, really, obliterated it. Stuck a hand-grenade in the middle of it and ran. And yet, I am the one who's still cleaning up after it.
(I don't know why I am being so secretive about the details, it's not like anyone reads this.)
Anyway, I find it incredibly annoying that even though I am the one who was hurt by everything he did to me, I am still the one cleaning up after him. I am the one who doesn't get invited to things because he might be there.
He's the one who still talks crap about me to our friends. He's the one who runs away from me when he sees me. He's the one who has so much hatred for me. He's the one who left me dying, face down on the floor.
Personally, I think he is the one who should sit at home when everyone is out having a good time. He should be the one dealing with the consequences of his own decisions.
But I am just a little bitter.
Just a little.
Life can be so dumb sometimes. And really unfair. I really dislike it when people don't suffer the consequences of their choices; the suffering gets deferred to someone else. Like me. I am not saying that I am suffering, trust me, I love my life. But I do have to deal with the issues of someone else because they won't man-up and do it themselves.
Once upon a time, I dated a guy who turned out to be a jerk. That ended in the most ugly way imaginable and I am still suffering the emotional consequences of his . . . jerkiness. But I will have you know that he is the one who destroyed our relationship. I mean, really, obliterated it. Stuck a hand-grenade in the middle of it and ran. And yet, I am the one who's still cleaning up after it.
(I don't know why I am being so secretive about the details, it's not like anyone reads this.)
Anyway, I find it incredibly annoying that even though I am the one who was hurt by everything he did to me, I am still the one cleaning up after him. I am the one who doesn't get invited to things because he might be there.
He's the one who still talks crap about me to our friends. He's the one who runs away from me when he sees me. He's the one who has so much hatred for me. He's the one who left me dying, face down on the floor.
Personally, I think he is the one who should sit at home when everyone is out having a good time. He should be the one dealing with the consequences of his own decisions.
But I am just a little bitter.
Just a little.
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