What Your Pill Problem Has Done To Me.

This post was originally written and posted on May 30, 2011.  I would like to add that while my relationship with my mom still feels strained at times, we are on much better ground with life than we were at the point when I wrote this, and she is in a much healthier place.

Dear Mom,

First, let me say that the apologies don't really count when they're covered with enabling excuses. I know you were in a car accident. That happened 30 years ago. I know you had breast cancer. That happened 13 years ago.

Maybe I don't understand.

But let me tell you what you don't understand.

I remember lying in my bed in the middle of the night, and listening to you upstairs, getting up every half hour (oh how I wish this were an exaggeration) and going to the pill cabinet. Until I finally crept up the stairs and took the bottle I knew you were going after. I took it and hid it in my bedroom. And then I got to listen to you get up every half hour and dig with more frantic sounds through the pills, dropping bottles everywhere as you couldn't find it. I don't even know what the pills were.

I remember my high school boyfriend finding your pills in my jacket pocket and looking at me angrily. Until I had to explain to him that the only reason they were there in my pocket, was simply so you couldn't find them.

I remember coming home after a date to popcorn spilled all over the floor, and knowing that you had just stumbled from the couch to your bed, not caring or perhaps not comprehending the mess you were creating.

I remember you trying to talk to my friends in slurs and fragmented sentences. And the drift that was created between my brother and me because I stopped bringing my friends home, and thus stopped being home.  He's blamed me for not being there for the family ever since.

I remember coming home after a date and telling you I was home. You were in bed but asked me about my night and we would stumble through a 15 minute conversation. Only to have you scold me the next morning for not checking in when I got home. You didn't remember anything about our conversation.

I remember the letter you tried to write me... that was nothing but scribbles and illegible words. Until it finally just dropped off.

As an adult I remember taking my brand new baby to visit you. And as you held her you weaved and stumbled, and then got angry and threw a fit when we took her away from you.

And how you faked the seizures in the kitchen until we hauled you off to the hospital. What you don't know is that Dad and I took the E.R. doctor aside and told him of your medication problem. He said he wouldn't give you anything that would "affect" you. But once you knew you had your medicine, you started acting "loopy". Being flippant with the nurses and calling loudly across the hall at the doctor. When my 8 month pregnant body screamed for bed after hours in the ER I decided it was time for me to leave.  I don't remember the degrading remarks you made to me for leaving, but I remember they were made. And I remember how embarrassed Dad was by them.  And how empty it made me after all that I had done for you that night.

Every conversation was slurred. And full of chronic diseases. And I finally stopped answering your calls.

And now you need a place to live. With a pending neck surgery and a bag full of pills. And I don't think I can do it.

I can't have my Circus watching it. I can't have them living it. I can't listen to your excuses as to why we should all put up with it. I can't listen to the apologies that are nothing but "feel bad for me's". I can't feel bad for you. I'm too hurt for myself.

I'm too hurt that the pills take precedent to your family.

 I'm too hurt that I raised myself, with Dad being at the fire station and you...

I'm too hurt that I can't handle a conversation with you that goes deeper than the latest mod podge project.

And I'm too hurt to bring it into my home now.

 I'm sorry, but there are some things that medicine can't fix.

And no one can fix this but you.

It's Been One Year Since I Left Him.

This post was originally written and posted on October 1, 2008.

I'm going to be completely honest with myself, about myself, because really, that's not something that I'm good at doing.

For some reason I have this need to please everyone, and not let anyone down. I have to have it all together and be on top of it all and just be simply amazing in my life. Because if I'm not, I'm certainly letting someone down. Someone, somewhere, is going to look at me and judge me incapable in some capacity and I just can't stand to think that might be thought of me.

Well guess what, and of course, I say this to myself and only to myself, I am not capable in pretty much every capacity.

I can't keep the house spotless, and the kids looking like cute little baby gap models.

I can't cook wonderful homemade meals every night and sit and do homework with three girls while entertaining the fourth.

I can't make it to the gym every night and keep my car clean inside and out.

I can't show up to work an hour early and skip lunch.

I can't follow a budget and keep up with the laundry.

And if someone looks at me and judges me incapable, then I'm okay with telling them they're absolutely right. But until they have tried being a single mom with four children under the age of eight, working 40+ hours a week, and living all on their own with no support or help whatsoever, I say they don't know how remarkable it is that I'm doing as well as I am.

It's been one year since I packed those trailer loads with half the household furniture and took my four beautiful girls and climbed into a truck with my dad and left my "eternal companion".

One year ago.

I had been the "Stepford Wife". I kept in shape and got up every morning and got ready from head to toe, even when I wasn't going anywhere. I made all the meals, cleaned the house, took care of the car and yard, payed all the bills, handled all insurance matters, was PTA President Elect and Community Council Secretary, and I was in the Relief Society Presidency.

Let's not forget the four girls.

And I was completely battered to an empty shell.

My family marveled at my perfect marriage and life; I was sinking and lost in darkness.

Finally, one year ago, I did the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I walked away from the only thing I had ever wanted to do.

And now... ha ha. Wow. Go back and read the first paragraph again.

BUT!

I am alive!

I remember how to laugh.

I can look in the mirror and really believe that I'm someone worth knowing.

I do work 40+ hours a week. I cook (I know every shortcut in the book now) and I clean (not well and not everyday, but it's still a presentable house most days). My children may not always look like they belong in a baby Gap commercial, but they are clean and clothed and smiling. I still struggle with homework, but somehow we manage to get it all done.

Room for improvement?

Sure thing.

Am I up to it?

Sure thing.

After one year I can say with out doubt or hesitation that I did the right thing for my life, and for my girls' life. And I have found ME again.

Even though I will still continue to put up the front that I can do all things, at least I can admit to myself that some nights I'm just overwhelmed and leaving everything unfinished and undone, and crawling into bed and turning the lights out on all of it for another day.

But even with that, I'm in so much the better place in life than I have been for a very long time.

dealings

I find the thought interesting that one day my kids will be grown with kids of their own, and they'll be able to look back and see how it was from my point of view with them.

So a few things, mostly I just want to record what I'm "dealing" with right now at this stage in life.  I regret how much of my life is "missing" from memory.  I want to keep it all, even the not so pleasant. I'm by no means complaining, I might vent a little, forgive me, but mostly, I just want to keep track of it.

We've been battling lying at our house.  It seems the kids take turns with it though.  Once we get one to start fessing up and telling the truth, it seems another slips into the lies.  And what's beyond me is that they lie about the silliest things.  Like completing chores and homework.  Or who's wrapper is on the counter. 

Apparently these things are lie worthy?  I can't imagine that they're afraid of telling the truth about not doing a chore or leaving a wrapper on the table because the only consequence is to simply have them take care of it. 

Until they lie about it.  Then they get extra chores for the lie.  Was it worth it?  Usually it only takes a couple of times dealing with not so pleasant extra chores before they figure out that when I ask a simple question like "did you do you chore?" the best answer is to say, "no, but I'll go do it now."  Really, that's good enough for me.  But do not lie to me.

I can only hope that soon we'll have broken the bad habit from our home.

My ex husband has quit his job to be self-employed.  While I can't blame him for following dreams, and hope the best for him, it leaves me anxious for the future as child support is half my income.  And even now I'm wondering if I'll get the check that I was banking on this week. 

It frustrates me to no end that he still has a certain extent of control over my life.

But I have to thank my ex because it seems that every time he throws a loop into my life, it throws me into action and I come out better for it.  Though it sucks that it takes something like this to get me off my butt and live up to my potential. 

I have a plan to counter this event.  He will no longer have this control over me.  We'll see if it pays off.  Literally.

I'm tired of pee.

Bed wetting is not my friend and if we look at the big picture we'll see that I have been dealing with pee for 12 years now.  I am so tired of it.  I can't keep up with the laundry when we have two loads of regular clothes to do a day and now a bed or two of peed blankets and sheets.  And you can smell it through the whole house. 

I know that they can't help it.  And sometimes I lose my cool with them.  But all I can really do is just clamp my mouth shut and make sure the laundry is getting rotated as quickly as possible. 

Which is hard in and of itself since I work full time and am not there to watch it.

My man loves me and we've just turned a large closet into a second laundry room.  Hopefully this will help.

Cas came upstairs last night after they were told to go to bed, but the look on her face told me I had better listen to what she felt she needed to say.

Apparently she had just been waiting for a quiet time alone with me.  It was only a matter of seconds before she was in tears and telling me that she felt she ought not to be hanging out with D anymore.  This is something that I had felt all along but asked her why.

The story is that D had bragged about getting drunk because she was bored. (Where are the parents for this girl?)

And this bothers Cas.  Which I'm grateful for.  I'm also grateful that she knows it's not something that she wants to hang around.  We expanded the conversation with talk of upcoming middle school and how she's going to be able to meet and make so many new friends. 

She desperately just wants good friends.

We talked about other girls in her class that she's never hung out with and that perhaps she just needs to ask them for their numbers and try hanging out with a new "group."

We talked about alcohol and how it will eat her brain.

But made sure to reiterate that if she ever found herself in a place and situation with alcohol, to call me and I would pick her up, no questions asked.  Even if she'd drunk it.

She needs to know that.

Hopefully she won't.  These are things that adults should face.  Not eleven year olds.

And lastly, Brynn showed me a progress report from her teacher this morning.  She's missing 50% of her homework assignments.

How did this happen? 

This plays into my feelings of being an inadequate mom.  And my conversation with her teacher didn't help.  I sent a note with Brynn asking her teacher why she hadn't sent me a progress report the week the assignments went missing like she said she would do for her students.  Now it's the end of the term and I had no idea that it was going on.

Her teacher countered with the fact that 4th grade is a hard transitional grade.  A lot of students struggle in 4th grade if they don't have a "sound homework routine at home."

I know I'm not a good mom when it comes to monitoring homework. 

And I feel it's my fault that my child is struggling in school.

But I don't understand how a teacher will let it go on for so long with out letting me know about it.  She said she'd been working with Brynn to get it caught up for awhile.  It was too late to do more about it.  She's too overwhelmed with grading piles of homework to send out the progress reports.

I don't think it's just my fault.  I should have been made aware before it was "too late to do anything more for it."

And I'm frustrated beyond all.

I guess I need to create a homework lineup at the kitchen counter while I'm making dinner after work.  I guess I need to see everything that the child has done to know that it's getting done.

I feel terrible guilt that I haven't already been doing this, but I also know that it doesn't matter what measures I take, if Brynn doesn't tell me about even having homework how am I to know if the teacher doesn't let me know there's a problem?

And to top it all off I have cold.  The kind where you cough all night and don't get any sleep.  I'm tired. 

I've been putting all my efforts into painting and decluttering and reorganizing the kitchen  for the remodel that my own bedroom is a disaster and my master bathroom needs to be scrubbed.  Badly.  I feel like I'm falling behind.  Actually, I am falling behind.

At least the kitchen is almost done.

And I can still claim that dinner is made every night.  Last night I just sat and took them all in as they sat around the dinner table talking and smiling with each other.

I get frustrated, but I sure do love them.

Our brush with kidnappers

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving I received a phone call while at work.  Someone tried to kidnap Cali.



And time stopped for a second.  What?
Cali had been playing in the front yard of our next door neighbor's house with their granddaughter.  A common occurrence.  According to Cali, and then West who had heard it from the mother of the other little girl, the scene played out like this:
Cali and her friend were in the neighbor's front yard playing.  A white van pulled up (what is it with white vans? Is it a requirement for this sort of thing?) and a man got out and told the girls to "get in the van."  They, being the smart girls that they are, then rushed into the neighbor's garage.  Now, what I got from West, the mother of the neighbor girl said it was at this point that she showed up at the house and was able to get the license plate number, and she called the police.  I imagined them driving off and her somehow having the notion and the frame of mind to write the plate number down.
I left work and B.A.W.L.E.D.  I completely and utterly broke down with giant tears and racking sobs as I drove.  Everything that I had ever deemed important, everything I had every prayed, or pleaded, or begged for in my life, suddenly seemed so petty compared to the safety of my children.  A safety I took for granted, and now that it was threatened in a very real way... I begged for forgiveness for ever thinking that anything meant more than the safety of my family, a blessing that I no longer take for granted.
I called one of my co-workers, an investigator with Medicaid Fraud where I currently work, but former P.D.  I asked him if charges would be placed for just trying to take my daughter, or if this was one of those "oh well, they didn't actually get her so there's nothing that we can really do about  it" situations.  Apparently attempted kidnapping is a big deal.  As in, a first degree felony big deal. 
So I called the police department to find out what was going on.  After I got home and hugged the living daylights out of every one of my circus, let alone Cali.  I couldn't hold them long enough.
I was told by the officer that the charge was not going to be attempted kidnapping, but would be charged as suspicious vehicle.  I was a little confused and more than put off, and though I tried to stay polite, I think the officer could tell I wasn't pleased. So he asked if he could explain why. 
Firstly, the man who got out of the van came into my yard.  Cali pointed out to the policeman, and to me exactly where he stood.  It was almost to my front porch.  My thought is, if someone wants to kidnap a child, they wouldn't come clear in to a yard, they would stay closer to the street for a get away.  According to what the officer learned from Cali, the man never actually made a move towards the girls.  There was about 30 feet between them, and a waist high wood fence. 
Secondly, there were two men.  One that stayed in the van, and the second who came into our yard.  It's not clear who said "get in the van" to whom.  It very well could have been the man in the van speaking to the man in the yard.  Not either directing it to the girls.  It's not known, nor is there anyway to tell.  The officer interjected here that the girls did exactly what they should have done.  They didn't stop to question the situation.  They saw a strange van, a strange man, heard the words "get in the van" and the took off to safety. They did it right.
Thirdly, when the mother of the other girl drove up, the van didn't leave.  It hung around for a little bit.  As in, they didn't act like they were being caught doing something wrong.  Had they been caught doing something wrong, they would have driven off as fast as they could.  But they hung around, and this is how she was able to get the plate number.
After hearing this explanation, I realized that the neighbor had probably fed off the excitement of the girls, and blown the situation a bit out of proportion.  To my relief.
We have since set into action stricter measures, as in, no playing in the front yard.  Back yard only now.  And the kids understand the need for it.  Which is good. I am so thankful that my child knew to not mess around with that situation.  She stayed calm and collected, and didn't over react.  She answered the police man's questions with exactness, telling him where the van had parked, where the man had stood, and was able to give a description of the color of his hair and the clothes that he was wearing.  And then she told the officer that she just wanted to "kick that man."
Oh Cali.
We don't know exactly why that van was there.  We probably never will.
I'm thankful for the police officers who came to help, but who were able to be realistic about the situation, and were able to help me to be realistic about it also.  I'm thankful for their patience with my phone call and their concern for the well being of my child.  I'm thankful that my daughter is home.  Safe.  And not just her, but the entire circus, every day.  I can not express it enough.  My family is safe.  And I hold them a little longer at night, and speak a little kinder to them in the rush of my day.  Because, along with all the other life's lessons in this, the number one is that I have learned in a very deep and real way, that nothing, nothing, matters more than they do.

What your pill problem has done to me

Dear Mom,

First, let me say that the apologies don't really count when they're covered with enabling excuses. I know you were in a car accident. That happened 30 years ago. I know you had breast cancer. That happened 13 years ago.

Maybe I don't understand.

But let me tell you what you don't understand.

I remember lying in my bed in the middle of the night, and listening to you upstairs, getting up every half hour (oh how I wish this were an exaggeration) and going to the pill cabinet. Until I finally crept up the stairs and took the bottle I knew you were going after. I took it and hit it in my bedroom. And then I got to listen to you get up every half hour and dig with more frantic sounds through the pills, dropping bottles everywhere as you couldn't find it. I don't even know what it was.

I remember my high school boyfriend finding your pills in my jacket pocket and looking at me angrily. Until I had to explain to him that the only reason they were there in my pocket, was simply so you couldn't find them.

I remember coming home after a date to popcorn spilled all over the floor, and knowing that you had simply just stumbled from the couch to your bed, not caring or perhaps not comprehending the mess you were creating.

I remember you trying to talk to my friends. In slurs and fragmented sentences. And the drift that was created between my brother and me because I stopped bringing my friends home, and thus stopped being home.

I remember coming home after a date and telling you I was home. You were in bed but asked me about my night and we would stumble through a 15 minute conversation. Only to have you scold me the next morning for not checking in when I got home. You didn't remember anything about our conversation.

I remember the letter you tried to write me... that was nothing but scribbles and illegible words. Until it finally just dropped off.

As an adult I remember taking my brand new baby to visit you. And as you held her you weaved and stumbled. And the got angry and threw a fit when we took her away from you.

And how you faked the seizures in the kitchen until we hauled you off to the hospital. What you don't know is that Dad and I took the E.R. doctor aside and told him of your medication problem. He said he wouldn't give you anything that would "affect" you. But once you knew you had your medicine, you started you started acting "loopy". Being flippant with the nurses and calling loudly across the hall at the doctor. When my 8 month pregnant body screamed for bed, I don't remember the degrading remarks you made to me for leaving, but I remember they were made. And I remember how embarrassed Dad was by them.

Every conversation was slurred. And full of chronic diseases. And I finally stopped answering your calls.

And now you need a place to live. With a pending neck surgery and a bag full of pills. And I don't think I can do it.

I can't have my circus watching it. I can't have them living it. I can't listen to your excuses as to why we should all put up with it. I can't listen to the apologies that are nothing but "feel bad for me's". I can't feel bad for. I'm too hurt myself.

I'm too hurt that the pills take precedent to your family. I'm too hurt that I raised myself, with Dad being at the fire station and you...

I'm too hurt that I can't handle a conversation deeper than the latest mod podge project.

And I'm too hurt to bring it into my home now. I'm sorry, but there are some things that medicine can't fix.
And no one can fix this but you.