Me 'n My Laptop

Clarification

Correction of my mis-statement.  SonOne didn't ask me to make cookies.  I asked him before he got here, during the 2-3 day reprieve of feeling somewhat better, what kind of cookies he wanted.  I was gonna make them Friday nite, when it was cooler, while they were at the fireworks.  Cept I fell asleep for several hours before, woke up, took the dogs out and discovered it was cooler.  Started remembering past 4th of July's, where our town doubles in population size because they're touted as the best fireworks this side of Mississippi.  I happen to love the hype and the crowds, so I decided to meet up with them at the river. 

He left his friends to meet up with me to watch the fireworks with me.  Surprisingly, but maybe not, cause this disease is so f*cking unpredictable, I was "okay" - able to walk surprisingly well for the most part.  But that in itself is one of my problems.  I feel like a fraud to even myself, because, it makes no sense how one minute I can be normal, and the next minute, be spinning out of control.  Sometimes, it feels like it has got to be all in my head, I have to be making it up, because it's so ridiculous.  I don't care that it's normal for MS - it's not normal to people who don't have it, and it's not normal to ME. 

He made breakfast the next morning.  That nite, when they came home at 2am something, I was in the midst of a wanting to vomit episode, and dizzy as hell, and there was no hiding it.  I had given up on the cookie making cause of the heat, and when I started making breakfast the next morning, he offered to do it, but I ignored him.  He offered to make the cookies, but I said I wanted to - it's important to me, even tho he tells me I don't need to.  But you can bet he certainly did bake the cookies, after my pre-heating the oven turned into a fire gone bad situation.  And he hugged me when I cried about it. 

He did tell me once that I think "it's all about me".  I'm not sure what he meant by that, whether it was about the MS, or everything in general.  I do tend to be the center of attention in a crowd, or the one that communicates excruciatingly clearly about what I'm feeling or thinking to the nth degree or the one trying to "help" the other person recognize their true feelings, so I use my own experiences as an example, (which I was taught was the fastest way to get the clients in a support group to relate, and it would trigger their own discussions or memories).  He also tends to be the center of attention with his friends, but I don't see that as a negative - I only wish I was as hilarious and quick-witted funny as he is. 

But the point is ... with him, I am extra-sensitive to my MS.  I was the big strong single mother in his growing up years.  The first couple of years of the diagnosis, he was supposed to move to Connecticut to be with his girlfriend, SweetieGirl, but he stayed with me.  She told me she thought it was because he didn't want to leave me.  When I told him that it wasn't his job to take care of me, that oddly enough, Idaho would be paying for my housing and my meds ... I would be better off than it would seem, and losing my house was a blessing in disguise.  I think it was 2 weeks later he told me he was moving to Connecticut. 

I got over the sensitivity of the "it's all about me" remark.  I'm proud of the people in the various support groups that were able to tell their story, because I told mine.  I'm proud of my intuitiveness when it comes to people.  I'm proud of how "right" I usually turn out to be, but maybe not so proud of how it would come across sometimes - "if you would just listen to me dammit, your problems would be over" frustration/attitude.  Oddly, the women related and were grateful.  I have the thank-you notes, and emails and job recognition awards to prove it.  But the males in my life, son included, didn't appreciate my knowledge!  I haven't decided if it's because I was stupid about males, expecting them to be more like the women, or that the males species just doesn't "get it".  Snort.

But I HATED the feeling, and would continue to hate it if I felt he was taking care of me at his own expense ever again.  I would hate me not at least making the effort to do what I want to do when it comes to doing things for him.  Because that's what I want.  Not what he's asking from me or expecting anything from me. 

I am my own worst enemy when it comes to MS, and so far, he's smart enough not to argue with me about it.  Smart boy, that. 

Another member of my family bites the dust...

SonOne is at the Indianapolis 500.  Of course, it tickles me that he's at a race, because he normally mocks me for my Nascar passion.  I don't care much for open wheel racing, but just the fact that he was watching race cars go around and around in circle pleases me. 

I must admit to paying just a teeny tad more bit of attention to the open wheel seriers, thanks to Helio Castroneves, who danced in "Dancing with the Stars" last season (and won), and Danio Patrick, a woman driver, who placed 4th in the Indy last year.  Feeling like you "know" a bit about the drivers makes a difference. 

But today?  A text message from SonOne, who said he's sitting in the third row on the backside of the track, said "It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen". 

Snicker. 

I bet he's hooked...

It's a proud, proud moment for da Mama. 

*

Mother's Day Monday instead of Sunday

Today's the 12th of May.  Do you realize what that means?  Well, besides the fact that I missed "Hurray for the 8th of May, National Outdoor Intercourse Day", it also means that I "missed" Jacob's birthday. 

Jacob ... Born May 6th, 1983.  Which would make him, had he lived ... egads.  25 years old.  Why do I have to figure that out each year? 

I didn't actually forget his birthday.  I thought about it for several days before the 6th, because there was a sign in the lobby saying so & so was doing haircuts on May 6th.  So every time I walked by that sign, I thought about Jacob.  But the actual day ... someone took the sign down, as it was no longer needed, so ... I forgot. 

I have been overly bitchy lately ... but I've been blaming the weather.  And Mother's Day.  Don't really like Mother's Day much the last 2-3 years.  Mother's Day, Jacob's birthday, and Idaho's May weather contributes to me being bitchy and alone in order not to inflict myself on happier people who drive me nuts with their chirpy-ness.

Both my sons have been on my mind alot these last few days.  A couple of times, in the last 3 years, when having difficult discussions with SonOne, I had asked him if he'd ever read the Jacob Poems ... having forgotten his answer the previous time/s I've asked him.  I had interrupted and/or side-tracked whatever it was that we were arguing about to ask, because I wondered how he could be acting like I was the stupidest, dumbest person alive - as if were someone who didn't know a thing about life, and how could he be treating me like that if he had read the poems and knew what I had gone thru all by myself at one time.  I thought going thru that life experience, SonOne should respect me for it, knowing I wasn't talking out my butt - I knew a thing or two about losses, etc.  I eventually realized it was a moot point ... I think SonOne should be more respectful simply because I gave birth to him, and am his mother, and I wasn't a bad mother - which was the message he was giving me. 

Motherhood has been a land-mine for me the last 3 years.  SonOne did something wrong - a rather large something wrong, and since then, he's not been the kid I knew all the years previous.  He used to call me most Sundays, and actually talk without prodding, or me doing most of the talking.  He was considerate, asking me if I needed anything, etc.  He'd laugh.  He was easy to talk to.  But since the bad thing that he did, and keeping a rather significant secret ... he's been ... mean and thoughtless at times.  It's been okay on the surface for the last several months because I've chosen not to address the damage as I need to before I'm okay about it again.  For me not to talk a problem out is like asking me not to breathe.  He knows that, but he can't get past his own ... guilt? and anger at me for calling him on his shit, and expecting an apology (sincere being the key word there), and/or a promise that it won't happen again (the lying to me).  That trust needs to be rebuilt and the way to do that was not to continue with hiding the very secret (for 2 more years) that caused the original damage in the first place.  He didn't "man up" certain decisions he made - and had he ... I would so much have respected his decisions much more than having to live with the damage I do now - damage that affects most every conversation we have now, no matter how benign, or how I feel about his girlfriend, whom I can't help but blame more than I should.  On the outside, it looks like he was a good, happy person before he met her, but since then, he's lied, and hid things, and been mean and thoughtless.  I wonder who the real SonOne is at this point, and can I believe anything at all.  He doesn't realize that I would MUCH rather had been angry for 5 minutes or 5 days ... but instead it's been distrust and distance and avoidance going on for 3 years now.  The fact that his girlfriend lied to me also doesn't help the situation at all - I find myself refusing to know her because it feels like it was all such a sham in the first place and the way he brought her into his life doesn't reflect all that is good and happy and truthful and sincere where relationships are concerned. 

He doesn't understand that I don't judge him for the decisions he made ... they are his decisions to live with.  He does seem happy.  Even tho it seems on the outside, to outsiders, that what he has now is not any different that what he had before.  I keep my emotional distance in order not to be hurt again - not to be lied to again.  Since he doesn't talk to me like he used to, I'm an outsider, so I don't understand his happiness, since it looks so much like he used to have before.  Mostly because I can't trust that he tells the truth when I ask how he is.  After the bad thing he did ... I would imagine he's got to save face by being happy even if he's not.  But like I said ... he SEEMS happy, and I really, really hope that he is.  I believed he was before, and I was wrong, because he was always "fine" when I asked.  A land-mine, I'm just say'n.  He wants to be treated like an adult, yet his excuse was "all kids lie to their parents".  Yup, they do.  Keyword being "kid", twenty-seven year old son of mine. 

If he understood to what level the distrust affects me ... I wonder if it would bother him, or if he'd want to fix it between us.  But at this point - all that I got when I attempted to talk to him is anger, so I've left it go for the time being. 

It's painful to not know the boundaries - is asking "How are you?" too nosy?  Do I have a right to expect the truth?  Is "I'm fine" acceptable, when I know that's what he told me before ... only it turned out he wasn't really fine?  Is a surface "I'm fine, how's the weather out there" normal between parents and grown-up children?  Will he tell me when something is wrong and he needs help/to talk about it/advice/support/unconditional love, like he used up up until 3 years ago? 

Besides that ... he hit below the belt by telling me that I was a no better parent to him than the father that ignored him for 23 of the first 25 years of his life.  Ironically, the whole episode has brought his father back into his life, and for that ... I am grateful.  Now my son knows he's got 2 parents for the first time in his life, and that is worth all my current angst about being a mother these days.  I'll especially be glad about it on Father's Day, but this Mother's Day?  Selfish, I know, but it sucks. 

It didn't used to matter, because I knew he loved me - this Mother's Day thing.  We're not the sending presents or flowers type of mother/son relationship.  But the last 3 years?  I don't like wondering whether he'll even bother to call.  Painful.  I spent most of the day gearing up my Strong Mom Shield - in case he didn't call.  I even let him off the imaginary hook - leaving the phone outside while I worked in the garden all day.  I don't like the hurt part inside of me that thinks flowers would be appropriate ... considering the damage that needs to be healed. 

But I do think that because I am what I am.  Today, Mother's Day ...  a mother who hurts because it feels like she's lost 2 kids now. 

*

Edited to add - he did call.

A Letter To My Body

About a month ago, I came across this Letter to my Body from Blogher, inviting me to write a letter to my body.  It was then I applied to be a volunteer to Blogher '08, because I could smell San Francisco while reading the post, evidently.  Any excuse for San Francisco ...

First off, I didn't know my body was even WANTING to receive a letter from me, since it seems we live pretty close together, and why not save on the stamp?  Specially since me and my body spend so much time on the Internet - going to all the same places together - in this day and age ...why would I want to snail mail a letter to my body?  Besides, wouldn't that be adding insult to injury - the very fact that this body still remembered what snail mail even was ... was exactly why I wanted to avoid my body in the first place.  Cause in the last year, this body turned 50.  I wasn't liking it turning 50, because my mind felt like life was just beginning again, with all the wisdom gained in the last 20 years.  I'm going to write this as it comes out of my head - no censoring, so it'll be all over the place.  Hopefully, it'll make sense. 

For most of those years, me and my body had a truce.  I would leave it alone if it would leave me alone.  I pretty much ignored it.

By virtue of being a girl, my body garnered me unwanted attention from inappropriate adults when it was a child.  A grade-school janitor molested it when it was in 2nd grade.  A baby-sitter when it was younger.  A father when it was a teenager.  Those are the memories  my brain knows for sure.  There's another shady memory of pine trees and a cabin in the woods, but my brain has never been able to trust my body, so we're not quite positive on the cabin in the woods incident/s.  Just as well, as remembering what I did remember got me dis-owned by the people who were closet to me.  Thanks, body.

Later, when dating boys, I panicked at the thought of physical contact.  If a boy complimented me on something I wore, I wouldn't wear it again, not understanding why it made me feel dirty.  I remember feeling self-conscious about EVERYTHING, including wearing a swimming suit at age 4 and 5.  I hated family reunions, because they didn't feel safe to me, and someone was always critical about something on my body ... either my own embarrassment over my clothes, or a grandmother's criticism about the acne on my face.  In front of everybody.  Or my father's teasing about my "itty bitty titties".  In front of everybody.  I had a VERY good-looking cousin, who was VERY popular in my school, and it was excruciating for a teen girl to be singled out for critical attention in front of him - as if my body belonged to others to comment/criticize. 

I didn't date because going thru the discomfort of getting to know someone new was too dangerous.  So I stayed safe with one boy all thru high school and 2 years after.  I believed I shouldn't sleep with him in order to be a good girl, and that's what I thought was expected of me.  After 4 years of going out with him (I think it was 4 years), my mother asked me if I needed birth control, and I was shocked at the question.  I think she said something along the lines that she didn't know how I could wait that long.  That nite was the first time I had sex.  I don't remember it - except for the embarrassment that he went down to the barn to get some Vaseline, and his best friend was there milking the cow, and he knew what was going on.  And I remember being relieved - finally we could quit fighting about the "make-out sessions that never lead to anywhere".  For 4 years, I had been a good girl, mostly because I was terrified of crossing that line - as long as we didn't have sex, that meant he loved me for my mind... right? 

I know now that the reason I don't remember anything about sex in those early years is because I disassociated in order to get thru it.  Sex also hurt because I tensed up so much.  I thought something was wrong with me.  My body hated sex, not so much because it hurt, but because I simply hated my body, and the power it seemed to hold over men - making them idiots.  I wanted to be loved for my mind, by hell. 

Having a baby was excruciatingly embarrassing to me.  All those doctor appointments in my private parts.  The shame I felt, giving birth, because so many people (doctors, nurses) SAW me. 

The point is ... it's not normal to feel the level of shame I felt for my body.  I disassociated from it more and more.

My body betrayed me hugely by giving birth to a badly hurt baby with Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus.  No matter how intellectually I understood that it wasn't my fault ... it was MY body that failed Jacob, and the self-hatred settled in for permanent residence. 

After the babies ... there was "fat" to add to the hatred.  I gained 70 pounds with my first baby.  Then I was almost anorexic with my second pregnancy because my husband and I were separated at the time. 

There was divorce.  Then there was dating, with a c-sectioned body.  With triggers of certain touches sending me to the ceiling.  Two abortions - one because it had been 3 years since I had sex, and I got woken up with someone on top of me, and my body responding, even tho in my head I was screaming NO.  Another was much earlier, before I married, as a teenager, newly moved out of the house, newly broke up with the 7 year high school boyfriend, with my second boyfriend/sexual partner.  The abortion fell on my father's birthday, which I found oddly appropriate.  I know now that one of the things that doctor did on a follow-up appointment was sexual abuse.  I hated my body.  It seemed to make men do horrible things to me. 

I lived with my third boyfriend for 2 or 3 years before we married.  Our sex life was great mostly because I wasn't present for it.  Then we married, and for the first 4 months of our marriage, I refused to have sex.  I started counseling because I had realized DURING THE WEDDING CEREMONY that I was doing the wrong thing by marrying my drug addicted, drug dealing, alcoholic husband.  The memories started to come of my childhood.  I slept with a knife or a crochet hook under my pillow.  The ONLY saving grace of being with my husband was that he helped me heal sexually.  He understood the disassociation, and refused to have sex unless I stayed present.  He was patient and kind.  He respected my wishes, even tho it meant he seemed to have married a wanna-be virgin all of a sudden.  He nurtured the hurt little girl inside, without taking advantage of her. 

It took years of therapy and then counseling others for me to heal from the abuse, and for it to let go of the noose it had held around my neck for so long. 

But I kept getting fatter.  Every time I lost weight, getting too many admiring glances or wolf whistles would trigger old issues, and I'd gain weight again.  I was going to be loved for my brain, by hell.  Being fat was protection from unwanted attention. 

I was 40 years old when I could tell I was emotionally healthy for the first time in my life.  I was single again, and dating smartly.  I was having sex because I WANTED to, kinda like a kid in a candy store.  Discovering.  In my prime, so they say.  Me and my body had come to terms, and had an agreement - I'd be nice to it - if it was nice to me.  It seemed to work well.  I gave it sex, and it gave me the freedom to enjoy it for real.  It was FUN, that time of my life.  I was LIKING myself, and my body - finally giving it the respect it deserved.  I OWNED my body - nobody else did.  That's a huge statement for someone who grew up believing my only worth was how my body looked, and either giving it away without my consent, or having it taken from me without my consent.

I was happy. 

And then?  Another huge betrayal.  My body betrayed me by doing things against my will.  It stumbled and fell.  It hurt all the time.  It peed my pants.  It didn't make sense.  Things didn't work.  I couldn't explain it.  The doctors said it was a herniated disk in my neck.  I had the surgery, believing I was doing the best thing to take care of my body.  It lied to me.  It wasn't a herniated disk - it was MS.  Multiple Sclerosis.  Again, I had no control over my body - outside forces took over and used it for it's own purpose.  It was familiar territory, and old issues were stirred up in a frenzy-filled pot of pain and confusion. 

After about 3 years, the depression nearly killed me, and I took the advice I had told so many clients ... WALK.  Get out and MOVE.  I joined Curves, and I died each day for the next 2 weeks.  But after those 2 weeks of pure, sweaty hell, I began to gain control over my body again.  I concentrated on health, making my health my full-time job, since I could no longer work a real job.  I saw the changes in my arms and legs, gaining some muscle definition.  I liked how it moved, especially in bed.  I made my body lose 50 pounds, and reveled in the self-confidence it gave me.  I was no longer self-conscious of how it looked naked.  Still embarrassed by the drunken MS'y stumbles, but I could live with that, as long as I was a more graceful, thin stumbly MS person. 

In one way, MS was a blessing because it made me finally tune in to my body and learn to listen to it.  I HAD to pay attention to it, in order to be able to walk in a straight line, or get to the toilet on time.  After years and years of ignoring it, I finally paid attention, and learned to appreciate it for what all it went thru.  I learned to give it the respect it deserved by taking care of it so WE could be healthy TOGETHER.  This was/is big. 

Now?  I've gained 20 pounds back, and haven't been exercising the way I used to.  Me and my body are just getting back into it, with a goal of running in a 5K in August, and a half marathon in October.  We've come to an acceptance of each other finally - at 50 years old, I know now that it's not about how my body LOOKS ... it's about how I feel.  And to hell with what anybody else thinks.  My body and I ... we like it this way. 

*

I just realized this wasn't so much a letter TO my body as much as it is a letter ABOUT my body.   Hmmmm ... I wonder if that MEEAANS anything ...  issues, anyone? 

*

Home again

I'm back home, only to leave again this coming Thursday.  Going to go babysit Duke ! while my son goes to Vegas for the weekend.  With his girlfriend ?! 

The kitties are still at Wheelie's house, so she can test out taking care of them while I'm gone.  Found a kennel for the dogs, and will spend the next few days stressing about leaving them. 

VetMan and I went to a Halloween party.

Him:  Wear denim.
Me:  Denim? 
Him:  As in jeans.
Me:  Jeans?  I don't have jeans.  But I do have denim pants.  And denim shoes.  And a denim shirt too.  Or a denim skirt.  No, can't wear the denim shoes with a skirt. 
He:  Okay.  Pick you up at 8 o clock.
Me:  But ... what am I going as?  Levi?  A ... blue ... sausage?  What?
He:  Never mind, I'll tell you when I see you.
Me:  Well, at least it's easy.  But I don't know these people so you better not make me look like an idiot by not having a costume after all.
He:  Bye.

So I wore denim.  He wore denim, including a cap, which I stole.  Then he slapped a name tag on me with "Jean" on it.  He had a name tag with "Gene".  We went as ... a pair of jeans.  Haha.  We were a hit, but didn't win the prize. 

As it turns out, VetMan and I have a previous connection.  As I listened to him and his friends reminisce about the past, the parties and parking on Steptoe Butte, I about fell over in my wine cooler.  SonOne was born in Colfax, Washington, lo those 26 years ago.  I told the group that fact, and that we lived at the base of the butte in a little white farm house.  VetMan about fell over in his beer at that point, saying "We own that house".  !!!  I misunderstood and assumed that it meant my husband had worked for his family, but no, his family had bought that house and land 20 years ago.  Small world. 

Someday, I'll have to delve into all the coincidences in my life. 

Anyways, VetMan stayed an extra week so he could go to the party and also my birthday.  He's leaving for parts unknown to Argentina tonight.  Again without Internet.  I tease him about being a boy toy (not my boy toy, I am as pure as the driven snow at this point) without a real job and he needs to get a life.   The fact that he travels the world, learning how to vet zebras and tigers and elephants sounds too exotic - certainly no life to have.  I've often wondered how he could afford his lifestyle - now I know.  Maybe I should become Mrs. Land Baron. 

It's a toss-up.  I've often said my next love will be with a Harley and the man that goes with it, so I could claim to be a "biker chick".  Wearing leather. 

San Francisco reared it's head again in my life by popping up in unexpected places.  Twice on TV, the shows based in SF and also a book that I picked up is based in San Francisco.  As I told SanFranMan, it's strange feeling homesick for a place I've never lived, but it's as real can be.  He's not understood "the dream", but he seems to have found the place he belongs too.  Hopefully ... someday we'll both have what we want. 

I've had a bad couple of days with the pain.  I'm up two more doses of meds than normal.  With every little flare-up, I get scared that it's going to go back to how it used to be, with the fatigue making me not be able to do anything.  On the other hand, looking so damn normal and healthy makes it really hard for people to understand that I really do have limitations.  I tend to hide it for the most part, but my voice and face give it away to the people who know me well.  Which blows the facade, damn it. 

More on MS later.  I've got to unpack from being at Wheelie's for the last two weeks, then I need to pack for Spokane.  And figure out how PPGuy is going to get his "supplies" while I'm gone.  Getting him an aide is not going as hoped for - and I'm getting burned out.  I struggle with the whole issue anyways, and now he's pissing me off.  It's just plain laziness not flushing the toilet.  He puts his beer cans in grocery sacks, and they surround him in his chair.  The futon mattress is saturated with urine, and he's now sleeping on the floor.  He thinks he and I can put the futon on a grocery cart to get it out of there, when the damn thing weighs a ton being soaked.  He can barely walk.  The other day, I walked in and he was crawling on the floor, heading for the toaster so he could light his cigarette.  I told him he needed to be in assisted living if he was crawling on the floor, but he said it was because he stood up too fast.  Whatever.  His caseworker and I formulated a plan to turn him into Adult Protection, where they can just take him to someplace that will care for him because he's not taking care of himself.  Since he owes me money, and hasn't got his check yet, I asked if we could wait and "threaten" him with being turned in, and that if he didn't start eating, flushing, and taking his beer cans to the garbage, we'd call them.  I told him yesterday, and he says he'll do it.  I know he won't.  It's the bare minimum he can do, and I know he won't.  I think I'll have another talk with him about dying.  It dawned on me that last time, when he said he didn't want to die, that he thinks that I'll report him being suicidal if he tells me he wants to die.  In the counseling world, by law you're supposed to report anyone who is suicidal.  Then they get sent to the Behavior Health Center.  He knows this.  I think I need to tell him I won't report it if he tells me that he's knowingly starving himself to death.  Because I need to know if I walk in there one day to find him on his last legs whether I'm to call the ambulance or not.  And he needs a Living Will stating he wants "DNR".  Do Not Resuscitate". 

Heavy issues, this.  I seem to be drawn to them.  Because I'm good at it.  Most people are uncomfortable talking about death, but to me, it's part of life.  Ironic - that sentence.   

Jacob has been on my mind alot for the last couple of weeks.  Probably because I turned 50 years old, and don't like it one bit.  Too much looking back.  And just now, I suddenly remembered that Steptoe Butte is where I spread Jacob's ashes. 

*

Just Call Me Contemplative

.

August 22, 1983

August 22 always gives me pause.  I'm rarely conscious of the actual date, only the fact that a couple weeks before I seem to dip into the blues - not the normal dip I do on other occasions.  Is it odd that I can recognize that I have 3 different kinds of depression?  Or is that just knowing what the depression is usually about? 

The August depression can't legally be called a depression, to be honest.  It's more of a sadness, a wispy sensation that something is amiss.  This year marks the 24th year since Jacob died.

I cannot help but think of Shannon and Deels of CharmingBitch today also.  They lost their baby Jackson just about a year ago, after a month of being in the hospital.  Since then, they've learned that they can't have anymore biological children - not that that would ease the pain of losing Jackson, but in the sense that ... isn't enough enough and life is not fucking fair because Shannon lost her entire house in Katrina, and just how much is one person supposed to handle?  They also recently moved to Oregon - a world away from the South in so many ways, and so hard to get used to.  She writes very well, because she brings back the same feelings of anger and rawness that I felt 24, 23, 22 years ago.  One might ask why I'd WANT to remember?  It's not a matter of wanting to, really.  It's about finding someone who can express the same way I felt and I realize that I wasn't such a freak back then.  My anger in particular - I was so ashamed of it, and then that would make me even angrier, because wasn't I supposed to be 'learrrnning' something from all of it, such as how to be more sweet and saintly in the face of such suffering?  Even now, I get a sneer of disgust in my head, remembering how I tried to mesh my need to be "normal" under such circumstances, when the reality was that I wanted to eat people's heads and spit them out.

Shannon's got ongoing health issues too that have landed her back into the hospital, after a month of taking care of her sister's kids - life sucks for these people, people! 

A couple of weeks ago, Shannon wrote of her goal to complete a marathon.  I can't remember now if she meant a whole, entire marathon (CrazyBitch would be more like it) but I do remember having that goal once or twice myself over the years.  I thought, Yea! Me too!  I wanna do that!  Then I instantly remembered "Oh wait, I have MS, never mind".  But my reaction has been bothering me - it's not sitting well.  Recently, Carmen, of The ELFF Diet, has been matching up support partners via her site, and she matched me with CharmingBitch.  At first I was horrified, thinking oh no, shit, now I have to do a marathon alongside my damn partner, ACK!  Of course I realize that wasn't the point - support is support whether one is doing a marathon or walking around the block for the first time if one hasn't done so since age nine.  But the more I think about it ... the more I want to do it, to at least try, and to get as far as I can, rather than to immediately have the mind-set of "Oh no, I can't cause I have MS". 

I sometimes remember I have an angel to live with, and he wouldn't be proud of that attitude. 

So Shannon, get your ass out of the hospital cause we can get to it.  Maybe Carmen is a genius - we both have health issues to contend with - forgettaboutthatdeadbabyshit - it didn't happen to me either.  Get better so we can nag at each other soon!

So 24 years later, I'm babbling about wanting to do a marathon when once there was a time when I couldn't get out of bed, or that I wanted to be dead.  That I'm not is an accomplishment enough, in my mind.

In other news, SFM's kid's go home to their mom in Connecticut tomorrow, and they do not want to.  They want to stay with dad, which makes it 7 times harder on all of them.  So a special thought goes out to him, not having his kids where they belong.  Whether in heaven, Oregon or Connecticut, not having our kids is just wrong and it sucks and I'm thinking of you.

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Just Call Me Fellow Life Suckers

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That's my boy

The other nite, about 11:30pm, I received an email from PayPal.  I almost ignored it cause they send me garbage mail all the time. 

My son's name caught my eye - was he sending me money??? Always a mom, I looked at the clock for the time ... he's still up?  He should go to bed at this hour ... oh wait, he's all grown-up now, never mind. 

Lo and behold, he had donated some money to my San Francisco quest - the ChipIn thingy-bob in my sidebar.  Several thoughts ran thru my mind, in this order:

1.  Oh my gosh, my son is reading my blog, he does love me!

2.  Goodness, does my PayPal even work?  Evidently it does.

3.  Oh my gosh, my son is reading my blog, I better watch my mouth! 

It was late, and it made me cry just a little.  I sent him a thank-you note via email, and I was so tickled.  But it's a very weird thing, knowing my child is reading my blog.  I mean ... he KNOWS me, more than anybody else.  Am I being real in the blog?  Does he think I'm a goof?  I will have to try to portray the kittens are just a blip in my life - not a slippery slope into The Crazy Lady With All The Cats Syndrome. 

Anyways, I'm on my way to San Francisco, thanks to my SonOne. 

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Just Call Me Proud

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It's Jacob's Birthday and he would have been 24 ...

Today is Jacob's birthday, and I thought maybe I should say so in a separate post and be all dignified and respectful about it.  But there really isn't anything I'd rather be doing to "celebrate" it - a beautiful day outside, and a NASCAR race.  Perfection.  The steroids are knocking the pain back down to something I can live with, so there's that also to be happy about. 

NASCAR got rained out last nite, so the race is today after all.  In Richmond, Virginia - here's the link.  I just love to read about the track before each race.  It makes me sound really intelligent when I'm discussing my favorite sport with anyone.  Unfortunately, I've yet to find anyone who shares my interest.  Dumb, boring peoples. 

Goodness.  I just did the math (cause I don't remember from year to year), Jacob would be 24 this year had he lived ...

ba da ba dum.

So, Internet, let's sit back a bit and talk.  Today is a good day not to be alone and to talk.  Here, you take the

   

and I'll take the couch.   

Could you turn on the

lamps while I fix us a snack?  Be right back. 

How do you like my new furniture?  Pull up a

 

and grab your beverage of choice   

.

But don't touch my special mug or I'll have to kick your ass. 

I've got some

 

slow-cooking in the crock-pot

for dinner later on.  I've already

 

set the table cause I just love to show off my salt and pepper shakers.  Too adorable.

Have to admit that the cookie jar kind of creeps me out tho.  Something about the mustache ...

Have I mentioned that 24 is my favorite number and Jacob would have been 24 this year, and it's time for Jeff Gordon to win another championship?  Oh, would you like some

?

I suppose I should have offered some pop rather than coffee - coffee is kind of stupid with popcorn and pretzels, huh.

There's beer as well as 7-Up and of course, Pepsi.  I'm sure you know Gordon's Busch sponsor is Pepsi, right?  Well of COURSE you know - you're the Internet and the Internet knows everything, silly me. 

 

You asked me how I felt about

his new wife, Ingrid.  Ingrid, Bngrid, Schmgrid - what a stupid name, don't you think?

There is no consolation knowing he cheated on his first 

  his first wife, Brooke, I had a really hard time accepting he was a jerk, but I got over it.  I figure his crappy season year before last was good enough payback. 

I had to swallow my pride when Little Miss Ingreed oops, I mean Ingrid came up

.

I decided that the best thing to do would be to make the baby a

for Christmas.  It's nice to think something of mine will be in their household, and I'm sure it'll be appreciated.  I mean, homemade and all...

I'm positive I'll be invited to the baby shower, and this is what I bought just yesterday

and I'm thinking about this too,

but I dunno - do you think that might be a bit much? 

I mean, after all, after I get down with

the quilt, I'll have spent quite a bunch of time and money into something that privately causes me alot of grief - despite the brave face I put on.   

I have a littel secret tho, that keeps me warm at nite.  I'm sure he had to

think long and hard about sending

this little trinket to me, but the desire to do so overwhelmed his common sense - I tend to have that effect on men ... I think he's gonna name the baby after me. 

For the most part tho, I try not to

 

hear any of his happy, gaga new life and stick to the racing facts.  He's gonna break all the records before his career is done, you know. 

Anyways, it's

time for you to go, dear Internet, I hope you don't mind, but it's going to take forever to blog this, and I must get to it before I get out of my

clothes, feed the

I spose the dogs are going to want to sleep in their

 

sleeping bags or they'll pitch a big doggy fit.  Hey, take a look at the litte

I bought for them to use as a doggie bed.  Once Duke came along, we needed something bigger and this fit the bill.  Isn't it the coolest thing? 

Your

are on the

in the

 

I'll get them for you. 

Or wait, Internet!  Maybe you'd like to stay the nite in the guest bedroom?

Let me turn on a

light for you, it's hard to see the beauty that is #24 in here without a light, and I KNOW how much you love Jeff Gordon, Internet, cause when I Googled 'Jeff Gordon', you had 13,900,000 hits on his name alone.  I didn't even try googling the #24 or Dupont sponsorships, or NASCAR champions, etc, etc, etc. 

You're more than welcome to take a

 

as long as I don't have to pick up your

or wet

 

towels in the morning! 

I'll probably take one myself to wash off all the

sunscreen, since I ended up not taking the dogs on a long

walk today.  Duke's gonna be a total pain in the ass about it too.  He'll drive me nuts wanting to play with the tennis ball.  No matter how many times I tell him to go lay down on the

rug, he'll bring me the fish or the tennis ball, and look at me with those big brown eyes - I can't stand it!  He's such a snob most of the time, when he looks at me like that and wags just the tip of his tail ... I'm a goner.  Maybe if I 

feed him a little bit extra, his belly will be too full to nag me, ya think?  Internet, maybe you could take him outside later on and throw the

Frisbee for him for about 7 hours?  That ought to tire him out good enough. 

You brought me a gift, Internet?  How sweeeet of you!

Unbelievable - I didn't know there was a Jeff Gordon Barbie Doll!!! You mean I could have started adoring him from afar when I was a wee child?  Hmmm ... I wonder why my mother never bought me one ...

Well, it's time for me to brush

The Teeth, and change into my

pajamas.  How about when you're done with Duke, we cuddle up on the

couch with a couple of

blankets, and some

 

pillows?  I'll even let you have the

remote control, because I'm sweet that way.  But you have to take Duke first, otherwise he won't leave us alone, and I want to watch 'Desperate Housewives' without his eyes looking at me.

Oh, and Internet, if you do end up staying overnite?  I'll need you to take off your

off... and while I'm waiting for you ... I'll

  light a

and turn off the

 

Do hurry, dear Internet.  I don't spend enough time with you during the day - the night should be ... interesting.  Cause you know I only read the articles. 

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Happy Birthday, my little baby.  It takes my breath away to think of having a 24 year old son.  I've not been conscious of the fact that your birthday was coming up.  But for the last month, I've been reading blogs by mothers who have handicapped children, and just now I realize why - it's all about Jacob.  I'm almost 50 years old, well past my child-raising days, even tho I would love to have a baby again, or live with children and start all over.  So it's been curious to me why I read all these parenting blogs - aren't I past all that?  Evidently not.  I've been reading Charming Bitch, who recently lost baby Jackson.  Her anger is familiar to me, and plowing thru life no matter what - is what I did, too.  Dream Mom has a teenage son who is in a wheelchair.  Then there's Holland and Eden, who were born premature, and have different degrees of Cerebral Palsy, and are now about 2 years old.  Then there's David of Growing Up With a Disability, who is in his early 20's with Cerebral Palsy. 

Obviously, I'm trying to work out something.  Still.  Still?  Good grief.  Since I don't have him, I have no idea what life would have been life with him - so I read vicariously, the blogs of mothers with handicapped kids, or of young teens and young adults who are disabled.  And wonder if I'm lucky or unlucky, and then feel guilty or cheated - both equally.

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Just Call Me a Mom

. 

He's so smart

SonOne:  So how'd the race go last nite, I didn't get a chance to see it.

Me:  Gordon won!  Him and Stewart raced it out pretty good towards the end.

SonOne:  What do you think of the new "car of tomorrow?"

Me:  I haven't really paid attention to that, what do they mean by that anyways?

SonOne:  It has wings on it.

Me:  (Silence)  (Am confused by this.  Watched Planet Earth all day, saw lots of birds, and I believe I know what wings are ... and there are no wings on the race cars)

Me:  Huh uh.  There's no wings on them.  Wings are on the side.  (I know wings, dammit!)

SonOne:  It's on the back.

Me:  Wouldn't that be a tail?  (Snort.  I'm so clever)

SonOne:  (Silence meant to intimidate me with my dumbness)

Me:  (Silence, thinking hard ... I don't remember seeing any tails on the cars either)  I don't remember seeing any wings on the back???

SonOne (Chuckles)  I can't believe you haven't noticed it - they look different.

Me:  (Defending myself in my mind, first thinking girls don't notice minuscule changes on cars.  Which I knew wouldn't fly.  So I came up with something surefire).

Me:  I don't look at the cars, haha.  (Meaning I don't look at the cars, I look at Jeff Gordon, because I'm shallow that way).

SonOne:  You have to look at the cars, Mom, you can't see the drivers during the race. 

Me:  Oh.  Well.  That's true.  (Smartass). 

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Just Call Me Oblivious

.

Now wait just one minute here.  He sent some Google images of said cars.  How in the HELL is a girl spose to notice the differences during a race, hmmm?

Above:  Non-Car of Tomorrow, otherwise known as the 'normal' car.  Or the Car of the Past? 

Below:  Car of Tomorrow.

Now, obviously, the comment that needs to be made is yea, I notice the difference between the Car of Tomorrow, and the Car of the Past ... the colors are different!  Duh.

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Just Call Me "Nice Recovery"

.

Fine. Whatever.

I joke and jest about my denial of having MS.  I pretend I deny I have MS.  Sometimes I deny my denial even.  But every once in awhile, it becomes very clear that I do indeed, deny.

When someone leaves a comment on a blog, often, by clicking on their name, it links to their website.  As much as I'd like to have more readers/comments, I do very little in the blog world to facilitate getting more readers.  I rarely comment on other blogs, which would link to my blog.  I forget to click on commenters names, so that I can visit their website. 

Today I happened to click on one of my commenters, and was stunned to 1, see that he was a male, and 2, that he has MS.  Then I saw that he had blog-rolled me in his sidebar.  But the most shocking thing of all is that he had a whole bunch of MS blogs linked in his sidebar. 

I have, on occasion, done a Google search for MS bloggers.  And never really came up with any.  Mostly I'd get official type sites, informational about MS, not personal bloggers with MS.  Granted, I rarely dug very deep. 

I used to keep up with the research.  But once Tysabi was introduced as the new miracle drug, and then recalled, I lost interest.  I think regaining alot of my functions and the when the pain med, Lyrica started taking care of the  pain helped with losing interest in MS in general.  I tend to think "I have Pain" rather than "I have MS" these days. 

It was with great fascination that I clicked on all the links in his blog roll - people with MS.  I don't know why I felt like I was treading on sacred ground.  Why is it, considering that the Internet is my religion, my God... why is it that I have not gathered a community of MS'ers around me? 

When I was going thru the abuse stuff, I surrounded myself with other survivors.  We were taught that we needed to form a new family, to begin to pick healthy relationships.  I formed some very important and supportive friendships via the 'Recovery' era of my life.  Same when Jacob died.  I needed to know people who had traveled the same path as I was traveling - the grief journey was perilous alone.  It wasn't until I started writing about it, and sharing - then I started to get better.

But with MS?  I've avoided the support group here.  Several people said there were only old people in wheelchairs in it, and the last thing I wanted to see was wheelchairs.  But as a group leader myself, I knew better than to make a judgment without even trying it.  It worked for me to judge it tho, cause I didn't want to deal with it. 

Because Jacob died, I've lost the "right" to say such things as "The hardest thing I've ever had to do is blah blah blah".  Nothing can be worse in my life than his death, so I've lost the drama factor of being about to say having MS is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  I think in some way that perception of mine made it even more difficult to adapt to having MS, thinking that hell, I've lost a baby - MS should be easy peasy.  Snort.  It's not good to play those sort of head games with yourself.  Only with seniors who trick you. 

So anyways, I tried to do MS on my own.  There is a couple of sites that I visit whenever I get new symptoms, but I have never shared on it - just describing whatever freaky symptom I was having, and invariably, I'd get 20 responses back that yes, I was having a "normal" MS symptom, and I could stop feeling crazy.  For those you who know me, not saying anything about myself is extremely unlikely, but I just never wanted to talk any deeper about it.  It was more fun telling my sister instead and freaking her out - she always did the worrying for me, and left me free to be footloose and fancy free and able to carry on with my glee-filled life. 

So, in the next few days, watch my sidebar for a blog roll of MS bloggers - I've decided to join the ranks of the un-deny ers. 

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