Filed under: Uncategorized
I am required to love my children, and I do. I am culturally obligated to want what is best for them, and I do. I will do whatever it takes to hoist them toward success. I am not, however, required to like them.
Filed under: *whinge*, Dewicate feewings, Grandparents, He'p meh He'p meh Oh Lawzy He'p meh, Not another Change!, family, say it isn't so!
“turn and face the strange…”
Yeah. Because of that I am writing a post at 5 am. Here’s the back story. Due to monumentally wimpy decisions on my part over a year ago (I hate confrontation, that’s what it boils down to), CJ has been holding us hostage with his mercurial moods, threats and feral behavior. “I’ll fuck you up and I’ll fuck up this house, too” is his favorite one, with hate in his eyes and fists drawn back. Counseling is out of the question, he refuses to consider it. Back in January he dropped out of school because he thought it was bullshit. However, it turns out the girls he wants to date won’t consider seeing a dropout, so now he wants to go back. Anyway, the whole thing is a mess, and we were both kind of at our wits end, figuring we’d just put him out (but not wanting to) when he turns 18 at the end of this month (if he wasn’t in a school and if he misbehaved one more time)
The thing of it is, when CJ is good, he’s very very good, but when he his bad, he is horrid. The good parts are about 3/4 of the time, the bad, 1/8, the horrid, about 1/8. enough to keep us on pins and needles as to when he’ll have another “episode”. And yes, we have considered the psychiatric ramifications of this, but he absolutely refuses to see a doctor, and I can’t make him.
So, what to do, eh? Well, his uncle, a former Navy Drill Instructer and Submariner, has offered to let him come live with him up in North Georgia. Gratitude is not a strong enough word for what I am feeling toward The Navy Dude right now. CJ will listen to him. He hasn’t yet lost respect or regard for him. The school up there has an ‘alternative’ school aimed at dropouts and all, and CJ can finish up, save face because no one up there knows him as a dropout. The Navy Dude lives on 10 acres in the middle of nowhere (CJ loves the country) and will let CJ keep his dog.
I want what’s best for CJ. I believe this will be it.
However (you saw that coming, right?), after what we went through with Will 3 years ago, it is working hard at making me feel like a really crap parent. What have I done wrong to produce 2 children who are so recalcitrant? I’ve always thought that loving your children and doing what you think is best for them is enough. I guess I’m wrong there. Having 1 child who takes “a different path” can be a fluke, a result of his personality , not of your bad parenting style. Having 2, however, is a reflection on *me* as a parent, not on them as children and independent thinkers. Yeah, I am feeling like a real loser right now. Last night it kind of hit home that I’ll probably lose what little respect my in-laws had for me. Terry said I shouldn’t care, that he long time ago quit caring what his mother thought about him. I can’t help it. I know what she says about her other daughters-in-law, and the thought of her talking about me that way sits in my gut and churns. I want what’s best for CJ,and I am not going to let my fears about what other people will think of me prevent me from doing what’s best for him. That doesn’t mean I have to look forward to it with cake and balloons.
Right now, at 5:17 am, I feel like a crap parent and a crap wife. If Terry’s arm wasn’t broken (guess what, my fault, ultimately. Yes I feel like crawling in a hole an dying,. No, I am not going to tell you why,) and he needed help, I’d be giving my car to David and taking his car to disappear into the sunset because I’m really feeling like everyone would be better off without me. Honestly, David could handle helping Terry out right now except for that bit in the Bible about a child seeing his father’s nakedness and Terry needs help showering. Yes I’m feeling sorry for myself, no you can’t really help. I’ll work through this just like I’ve worked through every other wrong thing I’ve done in my life.
I’ve spent 10 minutes looking for an appropriate cartoon to lighten the mood, but can’t find one. Don’t mind me, I’ll be fine. I’ll sit here and feel sorry for myself until I get over it and someone needs something. Moods are always worse at 5 am.
So, I’m sitting in Terry’s office right now, not the home office, the one at work. He had to come in today, as there’s just too much going on, too much political and backstabbishness happening and he Had To Be Here. I get that. His is the type of job that you simply can’t let someone else do, and the longer you stay away the worse it is to return to. So I am sitting in his nicely air conditioned office whilst he paces the mill floor, toting rolls of cloth and being the Big Man. I told the Mouth of the South the story of him yanking his arm back into place, so it will get spread around about how big his balls are. That is the kind of thing that goes on here. Chest thumping and who’s the silverback and all that. Men. At least they’re predictable.
the hope is he can be here for just a couple of hours, then conduct the rest of his business via email and phone from home. Yeah right. The doctor told him to stay away from work for a week. instead, I changed his dressing and brought him in today, 3 days later. His wounds look clean, 2 8-inch long cuts on his arm where they put the plates in, no smelliness or anything. Instead of a cast, he has a molded plaster splint that can be removed to clean and air his arm, all held in place with an ace bandage. Tis a good thing, in the South Georgia humidity, to be able to air his arm from time to time, lest he grow mold and get all itchy.
As for me, I see the whole event as an opportunity for reciprocity. This morning he was apologizing for me having to help him get dressed, and I reminded him of 6 weeks of him helping me get up in the night to use the bathroom, of him emptying the chamber pot and putting up with temper tantrums. A little bit of pulling up the pants is No Big Deal. I truly don’t mind a bit. He expressed some frustration here at work when he realized it took 2 hands to start his computer, and I laughed at him. I can’t help it, it was kind of funny.
I’ve had to revamp the menu a bit, to feature foods than can be eaten one-handed. Hotdogs yes, hamburgers no. Pizza yes, lasagna no. Last night I grilled a london broil, cut it up on salad greens and he could balance the bowl on his pillow and eat that way. (the dinner table is still piled up with the detritus of 2 weeks travel. I’ve got to get it cleaned off so we can eat in a civilised manner again). Tonight I’ll grill chicken and onions, and make a chunky tomato salad with feta cheese, all bite sized things so he doesn’t have to suffer the humiliation of asking to have his food cut up.
Oh well, life goes on, we suffer indignations and humiliations when they happen, and be grateful there’s someone to take of us.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Southern women know their summer weather report:
Humidity
Humidity
Humidity
Southern women know their vacation spots:
The beach
The rivuh
The crick
Southern women know everybody’s first name:
Honey
Darlin’
Shugah
Southern women know the movies that speak to their hearts:
Fried Green Tomatoes
Driving Miss Daisy
Steel Magnolias
Gone With The Wind
Southern women know their religions:
Baptist
Methodist
Football
Southern women know their cities dripping with Southern charm:
Chawl’stn
S’vanah
Foat Wuth
N’awlins
Addlanna
Southern women know their elegant gentlemen:
Men in uniform
Men in tuxedos
Rhett Butler
Southern girls know their prime real estate:
The Mall
The Country Club
The Beauty Salon
Southern girls know the 3 deadly sins:
Having bad hair and nails
Having bad manners
Cooking bad food
More Suthen-ism’s:
Only a Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit, and that you don’t “HAVE” them, you “PITCH” them.
_____
Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up “a mess.”
_____
Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of “yonder.”
_____
Only a Southerner knows exactly how long “directly” is, as in: “Going to town, be back directly.”
_____
Even Southern babies know that “Gimme some sugar” is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table.
_____
All Southerners know exactly when “by and by” is. They might not use the term, but they know the concept well.
_____
Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who’s got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor’s trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin!
_____
Only Southerners grow up knowing the difference between “right near” and “a right far piece.” They also know that “just down the road” can be 1 mile or 20
_____
Only a Southerner, both knows and understands, the difference between a redneck, a good ol’ boy, and po’ white trash.
_____
No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.
_____
A Southerner knows that “fixin” can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.
_____
Only Southerners make friends while standing in lines, … and when we’re “in line,”… we talk to everybody!
_____
Put 100 Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they’re related, even if only by marriage.
_____
In the South, y’all is singular, all y’all is plural.
_____
Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.
_____
Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.
_____
When you hear someone say, “Well, I caught myself lookin’,” you know you are in the presence of a genuine Southerner!
_____
Only true Southerners say “sweet tea” and “sweet milk.” Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it — we do not like our tea unsweetened. “Sweet milk” means you don’t want buttermilk.
_____
And a true Southerner knows you don’t scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say,”Bless her heart” … and go your own way.
_____
To those of you who are still a little embarrassed by your Southerness: Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart!
_____
And to those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this Southern stuff, … bless your hearts, I hear they are fixin’ to have classes on Southernness as a second language!
_____
And for those that are not from the South but have lived here for a long time, all y’all need a sign to hang on y’alls front porch that reads “I ain’t from the South, but I got here as fast as I could.”
Southern girls know men may come and go, but friends are fahevah !
Filed under: aaawwwww
This award is given to the writers of blogs that “are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”
So, Tracey bestowed an award on me! How nice! I love a pretty thing to put on the sidebar! So, now I’m supposed to pick 8 bloggers to pass it on to. Let’s see…
JerseyChick at Daily Drudge
Atilla the Mom at Cheaper Than Therapy
Antiprincess at I Shame The Patriarchy
Northern Girl at Whaling Season
Ok I’m supposed to pick 8, and eventually I will, but these are the first ones that come to mind…the ones that really are a daily read (even if they don’t post every day.)
so, because he was bored of the TV, and bought groceries with me (probably shouldn’t have but he wanted out of the house), I took Sweet Daddio to go see “up”. Cute movie. Anyway, halfway through he started to turn a little pasty and closed his eyes some. I’m guessing we should have saved the movie for a later day. I’m also guessing he might not be ready for work tomorrow, but he wants me to take him anyway. Theoretically, I’ll be there and will keep him from doing too much.
Ok, a story about the whole thing with the arm. He and Cj were wrestling, and CJ fell on his arm, breaking it. We all sort of looked stunned for a second as his arm just kind of flopped at an unnatural angle, bone protruding from the skin and all. SD, being made of Testosterone and Bear Hair, looked at his flopping arm and bone, says “Oh Shit”, grabs his hand and yanks it all back into place, then turns pale and lays down. (Later I asked him why he did that and he said that he just couldn’t stand to see his arm looking so strange.) I run around in circles for a second, then find a pair of wooden spoons and an old towel, an ineffectually splint his arm to get him to the hospital. Later on when the pain meds kick in, he falls asleep. At one point during his slumber, he lets out a snort, sits up and says “I need a steak!” and promptly falls back asleep. Bless him, he hadn’t had breakfast and it was noon. Turns out the lack of breakfast was a good thing because it meant he could go straight into surgery.
He’s doing fine. He’s only taken the Percocet a couple of times, because it makes him sweat and flush. He is finding that Aleve and Motrin work just fine without the weird side effects. However, he isn’t ready to do a full days work, or even a half day’s It’s a strain on the system, all this medical stuff. He has also been told “no alcohol and no cigars” as they cause healing to slow. Bless his heart.
I’m trying to be helpful, but honestly I’m not the world’s most empathetic person. I just try to remember how he treated me after I had the hip replaced. But y’know, I love him, and I married him “in sickness and in health, for better and for worse”.
Now work is harrassing him. Apparently someone I’d like to take a switch to is taking advantage of him being gone, and stirring up shit with a stick. It’s all very political and backstabbish and you’d think that grown men would know better, but they don’t. Now he’s feeling a deep obligation to be at work tomorrow and frankly, he’s not ready. *sigh* I’m going to go with him, sit around and look impatient and tell the story of him setting his arm and asking for steak, to make a point of how big his balls are, because that’s the kind of thing it takes at that place.
The only thing better than a lemon slush, when you’re feeling sorry for yourself, is a puppy. Poor thing, she dug into a yellow jackets nest and now is snoozing off a dose of Benadryl. This house, she is full of invalids today. Terry’s doing better, having discovered that if he rests his broken arm on the top of his head, the swelling goes down for a bit and he’s more comfortable. Roxy (the puppy) has discovered that yellow jackets aren’t the thing to mess with, and when she quit yelping and carrying on about their rudeness, discovered she was getting extra attention and snuggles. Poor wittle fing.
As for me, it’s laundry, buying groceries, avoiding with great vigor the bathrooms, which growl when I walk by. I fear the funky odor in the house is eminating from the bathrooms, but I truly do not feel like doing anything about it.
Anyway, Puppy pictures for you.
Lacy is dubious.
Deny that face anything, and see what happens.
Filed under: *eep!, Disease and infirmity, He'p meh He'p meh Oh Lawzy He'p meh
So, because they were wrestling and being all testosteronish (is that a word?), Terry’s arm got broke, in 2 places, requiring surgery and metal plates and large doses of morphine and percocet. I’ll be going to the hospital as soon as David is dressed to bring Terry home. Unfortunately we don’t own a recliner, so getting comfortable might be awkward.
We’ll work the issues out later, when everyone’s head is clear. Right now, I’ve got a man to take care of, egos to tend to, and a mountain of laundry to wash. plus the house smells funny and I don’t know the source of the odor. I’ve a mind to think it’s the catbox but really don’t feel like tending to that. I need another cup of coffee.
Ok, it’s 2 hours later and Terry’s home, with a bottle of percocet, a few pillows under his broken arm, and the remote. He’s already been all over the phone calling work and doing his job, alas, it’s one of those jobs that the longer he leaves it alone the moer he has to do when he gets back. Fortunately, much of the business can be done thusly.
Filed under: aaawwwww
I do. They’re soft and squishy and devoted. I can forgive them their socially unacceptable poops and barfs and stinky breath. I guess it’s the baby thing, they just don’t know any better. CJ came home with a puppy he found at the dumpster. While we were gone, of course. She’s a pretty thing, bigger at (about) 3 months than our full grown dachshunds, with soft eyes and winsome demeanor. I suspect she’s not entirely healthy, because she’s kind of lethargic. We wormed her yesterday and her gut went from almost turgid to rather starved looking over night. She may just be anemic from so many worms, and that would make anyone tired.
She loves to talk. Grunts and hoots and whistles her needs known, barks if she needs to go out (how smart is that? she’s only messed in the house once!). She is, however, timid of the pet door. I’ve poked her through it a couple of times and she made her displeasure eloquently known. I suppose that’s a good thing, as in a couple of months she’ll be too big for it.
She is CJ’s responsibility. He will have to pay for her veterinary care, shots etc. I will guide and advise as he asks, but she is his responsibility. In the mean time, I get to play with her during the day.
She loves to swim. LOVES it. She has the webbed paws of a water dog. A bit ago she was outside getting a sip of water, and tried to crawl into the water dish. I took the hint and walked toward the pool. She ran ahead and waited politely for me to put her in. Then she swam, several turns around looking happy and gagging a bit on gulps of water. Now she naps. Sweet puppy. I can see her in 6 months joyfully leaping into the water. Well, that would be December but she is a water dog.
Filed under: Another Silly Meme
Renegade Evolution tagged me to list 3 things I am really grateful for.
1. Sweet Daddio, my husband, because he makes me very happy in so many ways. Sappy? Tough.
2.American made convertibles, especially one’s with a carburator. (sp), because they sound so cool. Especially ones on a 1969 Chevelle SS or a cruiser like a ‘57 Bel Air. The 64 Chevy II has it’s merits as well. What can I say, I’m a Chevy girl.
3.Coffee. Whether it’s the daily chicory blend I have, or J.S.’s Burundian Blue (magnificent) or El’s Ethiopean Yergecheffe. As long as it’s not Maxwell House, it’s all good.
