Nobody's Perfect, Not Even My Mother

Source: http://www.betterworldbooks.com/nobody-s-perfect-not-even-my-mother-id-0807557072.aspx

A few years ago, when dealing with antepartum depression, my therapist gave me a book called Nobody's Perfect, Not Even My Mother in which "a young child learns that nobody's perfect, yet people can be wonderful just the same." because part of my struggle was perfectionism and not being who I thought I should be, particularly as a mom.  The illustrations and moreso the storyline feel old; the book is from the 80s.  Yet, when reading aloud to a child, it helps temper the parental hero worship that lasts for such a short time in their young life, and reminds the reader that nobody's perfect, not even me.  In the words of Stuart Smalley, "...and that's...okay."

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My imperfections are not few, but I think some of the worst ones are evident when I'm in such a hurry I forego minor laws and basic human courtesy. Nothing good comes from rushing.  Case in point, several weeks ago we were thisclose to running late to an obligation and I chose to, just this once, turn right at the stoplight closest to our house, despite the prominent "No Turn on Red" sign.  Sure enough, there was a police officer in the vicinity who witnessed my mistake and pulled me over.  It was my first time ever getting pulled over and I didn't cry like I always assumed I would, even though the boys were asking me if I was going to jail.  Instead, the first thing I said to the officer was, "I know exactly what I did wrong and I'm sorry."  Fortunately, he was in a forgiving mood and I got off with a warning.

It's funny because, as R will be sure to tell you, I ordinarily won't even jaywalk because it's against the law.  And, as R will also attest, I tend towards what he calls overly-PC and what I consider walking a mile in someone else's shoes.  Kurt Vonnegut succinctly stated my life's goal, "God damn it, you've got to be kind."



Source: http://www.sadbear.net/2010/02/24.html

When I fail in that regard, I want to cry and I get an empty hurt in the pit of my stomach.  I had such an encounter today and it was all my fault.

We had a busy morning.  We went to a playdate, then a toy store to get gift ideas as we have a birthday party every Saturday for the next four weekends.  Last stop was the library.  I park and let the kids out through Curly's side of the car.  While making sure he's safe, Slim pushes the door hard to get out.  It hits the car next to us.  I register that the car is running; the driver is in the car.  I reprimand Slim, insisting he needs to pay better attention to his surroundings.  I'm mortified.  But I'm also single-minded in my purpose - we have to get in and out of the library fast, make it home to eat lunch, load up the backpack with snack, note, and folder, then meet the pm kindergarten bus.  The car that was hit by our door has its reverse lights on; the driver is leaving.  Ok then, my brain's focused on the to-do list.  We need to hurry.

Walking now, we're five cars away when I hear a loud, "What do you think you're doing?"  I know who it is.  I know they are talking to me.  But the tone of voice raises my hackles and I turn around and defensively respond, "Excuse me?"  A blonde woman, about my age, looks at me disdainfully.  She says something else caustically.  I walk towards her and ask her to please cut the sarcasm in front of my kids.  She does. She points out the mark on her door that matches the color of mine.  I hadn't noticed.  I want to melt from embarrassment.  She dresses me down calmly, deservedly. 

I profusely apologize.  I explain that my focus isn't where it should be.  I offer my insurance information.  I want to prove that I'm actually a very nice person.  She won't take it, any of it.  All she wants is something impossible.  For me to go back in time and say I'm sorry without prompting.  That it was bad enough when people walk away from things like that when the driver isn't there, but it is worse when they are.

It is too late.  The damage is done.  Literally and figuratively.  She is right and I darn well know it.  She doesn't take anything from me, but imparts a final message. Her point sounds like something you'd hear in a horror movie, "Just don't let yourself do this again."

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Blog Break's Over

Hi there.  I missed you.  I missed writing.  Life, on the other hand, provided an abundance of distractions.  Primarily health issues.  Depression reared its ugly head with me again.  And R and Slim had and have their own things.  But neither are my story to tell, so I won't.  I returned to journaling first, but I like sharing my words too much to give up on blogging.  My blog break's over.  I can't promise I won't disappear again, but I hope not.  Now that I've given thought to what I can write about while still allowing my subjects a respectful level of confidentiality, I have a lot to say!

Another Trip Around the Sun Completed

It's my birthday, I'll play Jimmy Buffet if I want to!

I am now 32.

Source: http://www.loc.gov/rr/print/list/128_migm.html

This is one of a series of pictures taken by Dorethea Lange that culminated in the famous portrait, Migrant Mother.  Florence Owens Thompson is the iconic mother.  She was 32 when the photo was taken.  She is so beautiful to me.  We all wear our age differently.  I have smile lines around my mouth and eyes, but also true wrinkles thanks to my dumbass years tanning outside and in tanning booths.  I look tired a lot since becoming a mom.  I have stretch marks from my pregnancies and from gaining and losing weight and growing taller, starting at puberty.  I haven't managed any new scars in a long time, physical or emotional, but I still nick myself shaving after twenty years practice.  Every mark is a memory.  I am beautiful too.

Between a move to my hometown, a job possibility I am pursuing, continuing my first year as a La Leche League Leader, and anticipating my second half marathon, my 32nd year looks promising.

Temporary Single Mom

Since May 2011, I have been the sole parent living at home with our sons for what will total around four months.  Right now, the kiddos and I stayed put, letting Slim finish his prekindergarten year, while R moved ahead to Pennsylvania.  And his job brought him out to Kansas before we left Florida last year.  When you add up all the time that R was traveling since we joined him in the Midwest and his work kept him away so that he was usually only around for bits of weekends, it's even more than that.  It's two different challenges: he's missed out on over a half year of their lives and I have been alone with them.

I have come to appreciate single parents so very, very much.

My status as a temporary single mother is just that - temporary.  It is trite and I loathe hearing it, but there is an end to it all and we will be a family again.  The hated platitude has truth. Our family of four and a family with our parents, the kids' grandparents, living in the same town, awaits!  We've never had that. 

As I consider the upsides of this move, little things, like the ability to list the grandparents on the school emergency contact list, rather than an acquaintance met through a mom's group that intuition (fortunately) correctly predicted as a friend (oh yeah, I did that when we moved here around school start time), rank highly. 

In the meantime, the end is not here and, when living through it, does not feel near.  I have to be the one responsible for two kids, five pets, and one whole house.  I can't have that bottle of wine I'm desperate for because, again, I have to be the responsible one.  When one of the boys or one of the dogs needs to pee in the middle of the night?  I'm the one that gets up with them.  When one or all of the cats starts the hungry fidgeting as I'm clinging to sleep?  I'm the one who tries to ignore them and fails when I can't get back to cozy dreamland.  When the house gets messy?  I'm the one who leaves a lot of the mess for another day because I'm so damn tired and wind up creating more work for myself. 

Thank goodness for increasing responsibility, thoughtful friends, and coffee!  Slim and Curly grow more capable all the time, to the point that I need to remind myself that they can do more than what I ask of them and let them do.  The generous women who I am so pleased to call my friends, here and in Florida, are and were eager to ease my load when I am and have been by myself for months.  And Starbucks and Keurig might as well sponsor me on this journey.

I need a nap.  I need time to run outside, instead of on a treadmill.  I need to start off with just a glass out of the bottle of wine that I want; I imagine I'm a quick drunk right now.  I need reassurance that I'm not messing my boys up forever since I yell more and let them watch more television than I would if I had my husband, their dad, as a partner in life and parenthood with me in the house, rather than hours, states, and a timezone away.    I really need to set aside my negative emotions and soak up the time I have left in Kansas - yes, I want the moving process over with, but not at the expense of wishing away time spent with great people and in a part of the country I've come to love quite a bit.

I'm not perfect.  I reckon (shut up, I've had Firefly on the brain lately, which may make me more or maybe less perfect in your eyes) you aren't either.  How do you make the most of your life during hard times?

Just Change My Last Name to Murphy!

You know, as in "anything that can go wrong will go wrong".  Long time no post and that's because of a series of events, both frustrating and busy making, this month, topped off by this:

Welcome to my lovely abode!  Don't you just love my cement slab flooring and industrial strength flood restoration fans?

This one not only showcases the damage, but also my great housekeeping skills when it comes to wiping fingerprints off the sliding glass.  Eh.  It's one of those losing battles some days weeks, but it eventually gets done.

I think we had nearly 20 of these air movers in the house.  And around 5 of the big dehumidifiers that made the house H-O-T!

Moral of the story?  Never, ever leave your house until you're sure that the toilet has stopped running after its been flushed.  Otherwise, you'll need to replace flooring in half your home, have to set your air conditioner at the same temperature as it is outside (88 to 89 degrees - this is FL afterall) so it doesn't overload, deal with circuits tripping and not having access to the computer or *eek* the internet, feel your ears ringing for hours after you leave the house because the fans are uber-loud. 

But at least I'll get new flooring.  After the deductible.  Someday.  When that day is, I don't know yet.