For the past several days Alex has been on vacation. It was easy to feel as if I was on vacation too, except for the pesky things like dishes still piling up and the kids calling out that we were out of clean towels, again. I could really get used to having a second pair of hands around here. It was so nice to have the “what’s for dinner?” query of every night answered when I got home by Alex cooking away. I went several times to do the dishes, only to find that he had already done them, and wiped down the counters. When the kids were hitting me up with question number 2409 for the day I could say, “Go ask your father.” Trying to be a parent, a really hands on parent, is very difficult while working graveyard shift and sleeping during the day. I know; I tried to do it for years. It is easy to feel as if you are part of a different world as a day sleeper. Alex and I also were able to spend lots of time together, which was nice. We cuddled up and watched movies; made love, talked and just spent time snuggling. There are usually only a few times per month that we even share the same bed. We spent last week going to bed together, which was wonderful. It has been very cold here lately and I felt totally at ease stealing body heat. We did have a few nights where Alex would steal all of the covers from me and a resulting tug-o-war would ensue. He claimed total ignorance in the mornings. He isn’t used to sharing the blankets anyone. Now we are both saddened by the fact that he has to return to work tonight and we are back to the hustle and bustle and the separate schedules and the days when we have no time to talk .

Also, last week, as I was reveling in the goodness of a man who awoke earlier than I and made my coffee perfectly with a beautiful head of frothed milk on the top and delivered it to me one minute before my alarm was set to go off so I could relax and sip myself awake instead of being jolted awake by a horrible buzzing sound; we heard the news from Australia that my grandmother, my nanny, as I call her, was going downhill quickly. My mother quickly tried to get a ticket to NSW. Last minute tickets were in the $4000 range and my mom was so determined to go and sit by her bedside and so frazzled by the idea that she might not make it that she couldn’t even think straight. She went round and round over the planning until I reminded her of a travel agent friend she hadn’t spoken to in some time. My mom was hesitant, but she called her, and the lovely lady who also happens to be a transplanted Aussie like my mother was able to find my mom a ticket that was significantly cheaper. My mom booked it and started packing. Saturday morning her brother called to let her know that their mom had died.

My mom drove over to my house and we sat together. We talked and cried and remembered. We shared stories of this beautiful, strong woman who made it to the age of 96. We laughed as we both recalled that nanny always had more done before 7 am than we could ever accomplish in one day. It wasn’t that everyone wasn’t expecting this death, it was the fact that being so many thousands of miles away, we were all hoping for more time, and just one more opportunity to see her.

My grandparents came to visit us here in Portland in 1980. Neither of them had been on an airplane before. I remember Mt. St. Helens erupted soon after their arrival and my grandfather commented on the welcome party. My grandfather died in 1991. A lot of people thought my nanny would follow quickly, but she continued on, keeping busy with her art and enjoying her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I had a photo of her that I wanted to share here of my nanny, but Alex’s computer died last night and most of our things were on there with no backup. Yes, we know how foolish that was.

My mom decided to cancel her flight after being notified that she wouldn’t even make the funeral in time. We are going to get together here and have a celebration honoring her life and a mass held in her honor at the grotto, which was one of her favorite places here in Portland. My mom is still dealing with the fact that she was unable to be by her side when she passed. I want to believe that she knew we were all with her in her heart, and that she knew how much she was loved. The day she died would have been her 77^th wedding anniversary. I can see why people turn to faith during times like these, as it is so tempting to believe that she and my grandfather and their son who died before both of them are all together now, sipping a cup of tea.

Yes, the holidays are over, and have been for awhile, but I have been so caught up in the aftermath that it was painful to even think about typing when I could be napping.

My house is still a mess; there are still pine needles clinging to surfaces even though I recycled the tree on Tuesday. I have gained three pounds because everywhere I turned there was yet another plate of fudge, or cookies, or a glass of brandy (thanks, Mom).

The week before school let out for the Holiday break Polly was given a name for her secret Santa, the boy she was supposed to buy little things for and slip said items into his locker. The name she received was a twelve year old boy, one who liked skateboarding and chocolate, or at least that is what she could gather from talking with his friends at recess. I took her shopping to buy things for this boy, but seeing how I had a problem giving him five days of candy, I begged her to find other gifts. A new skateboard was a little outside of the price range I was willing to enter, so I asked if maybe he would like some of those little techdeckdudes. Nathan used to collect them when he was younger. Polly was adamant that they weren’t cool anymore as she shot me the “you are so tragically unhip” look. After going to store after store I felt as if candy for five days straight might be the best idea after all. I didn’t even give this much thought to my own childrens’ gifts for Christ’s sake. I learned a few things about kids on our voyage. You can’t buy a twelve year old boy a stuffed animal, but uglydolls are “in” right now. Polly also selected a large plastic ring with a hideous purple stone the size of an eyeball because they are called “pimp rings” and it’s cool to wear them. Pimp rings? Who knew? I was glad when we were done.

At my daughter’s school they have banned candy and soda from the premises and from all sack lunches taken off campus. That means that if Polly notifies me at 7:15 on a school morning that she needs a sack lunch because they are going on a field trip and she forgot to tell me I can’t fumble in the fridge and grab a can of Sprite to put in the sack with her hastily made sandwich and crudely chopped carrot sticks because it will be confiscated. I have a serious problem with people telling me how to raise my kids. Have I mentioned this? Probably.

On the last day of school before the holiday break I arrived to pick her up and saw immediately a fire engine and two police cars. As the over-reactor that I am, I immediately thought that my daughter had been hurt. She came out of the school with a sour look on her face and her hand across her heart as if she had been injured, or maybe she was doing a half assed rendition of the pledge of allegiance.

I immediately asked her what was going on, my mind on all of the emergency vehicles, and she dropped her hand as she wailed, “My secret Santa bought it for me!” There on her chest was a button that said “I Love Porn.” I put my hand out and she gave it to me and as she was so afraid of the consequences of this silly button I couldn’t get her to calm down enough to tell me why the front of her school was surrounded by emergency vehicles. I swear she acts like we beat her, which we never have, at least not yet.

Once she realized that she wasn’t in trouble she told me what had happened at her school that had required the 911 phone call.

Since candy is forbidden, and many kids had candy due to the secret Santa event, a boy had skated off to a locale that he thought was safe from the prying eyes of the administrators and teachers. The particular boy had received a gift of candy cigarettes. He had one in his hand and as he stood on his skateboard he lifted it to his mouth to take a nibble. The vice principal came out and without listening to the boy protest that is was only candy, she called the police to report that she had a seventh grader smoking on school grounds, and so they came out to lecture the boy about the evil dangers of smoking as he stood there with candy between his pointer and middle finger, complete with a red tip that may or may not have looked like it was on fire. The whole matter reeks of overreaction to me. The matter could have been dealt with without Police intervention.

Christmas went well and as easy as it could have been to get myself sucked into the family dramas I did not. Alex enjoyed his present, (NSFW) a Fleshlight, and we all ate good food and relaxed.

Next on the agenda is Polly’s homework. She was supposed to read one novel which is a piece of cake for her, and write an essay on, “the ramifications of action figures on today’s society.”

As much as I wish I could speak to her teacher about this assignment, or just write it myself, Polly has begged me to not intervene.

I suggested that she use as a subject her 15 year old brother who played with action figures for years. He would hate me for saying this, but he also played with dolls, and I never tried to stop him. It was only when he started making friends at school and they came over to play at our house that he was mocked for the fact that he had an assortment of dolls in his toy box. He claimed that they were his sisters and it made me sad that he felt that he had to hide the toys that he had once enjoyed so much.

I can’t find my camera. Alex was the last one using it and I dare not wake him because he has to work tonight.

Happy New Year and thanks for reading.

There are a few online journals that I have been reading for so many years that I can’t remember when or where I found them. There is Heather , who is also the founder of Scarleteen ; there is Noah Grey, who recently started writing again after the death of his husband, and Jane from JanesGuide. Jane is no longer writing a journal so when I received an email from her old notify list I was excited to click on it, thinking that she had changed her mind. She was pointing out a contest on her site where she would be giving away sex toys. I commented and won. I was shocked because I wasn’t even thinking about that when I commented. It was nice to correspond with her via email after reading about her for close to ten years. I had a similarly heartwarming moment earlier this year when Heather emailed me and offered her friendship when I was trying to decide about the hysterectomy. I’ll keep the details of the sex toys I won a secret for now in case Alex peeks in here, although he usually doesn’t read, because the package of goodies is a surprise for him for Christmas.

Jane asked me what size T shirt I wanted and I said that I didn’t have the body for the shirts, having seen her wearing one on her site. She sent me two anyway, because she is sweet like that.

As much as I think breasts are beautiful: my breasts, your breasts, all breasts; I have spent the years of my life between nine years old and today hiding mine under baggy clothes. When my package arrived I tried on one of the shirts from Jane and walked by Alex. This man has seen my breasts for almost two decades and he might be just a wee bit bored with them by now, but he actually turned away from the computer and stared at me. I felt funny, strange, self conscious.

I am trying to raise my daughter to love her body just they way it is and I can’t love myself. How does that even work? Today I took a picture of myself wearing one of the shirts. I was trying to get a close up of the words, but it’s still hard to read. The shirt says “This is Jane. (Jane likes it dirty)”

I was thinking about the women I have known who have lost their breasts to cancer. I thought about their strength and their sense of humor regarding the subject. I’ve never been able to fathom strength like that. Everyday I hope that I can get just a little bit more comfortable in my own skin; in my own mind.

Thank you Jane for the beautifully wrapped gifts. I was very touched by your thoughtfulness and the handwritten card.

 

Being in a relationship for 19 years means that certain rules are established; there is no need to speak of them, they are silently there. Since my husband works the graveyard shift things are a little wacky in the rules department, but I stupidly thought we had established rules for when it is OK to wake one another up years ago. In order for me to wake him up, it must be a true bona fide emergency. That is the only rule, and I’d better be sure that is in an emergency, not a pseudo-emergency, otherwise he’ll whine about it all day.

In order for him to wake me up the following rules apply:

1) He wants sex? Sure, wake me. 99% of the time I am game as long as he doesn’t expect any reverse cowgirl acrobatics or anything else that requires amazing amounts of physical exertion and/or stamina on my part.

2) One of the kids is sick? Yes, wake me immediately.

3) One of the animals just barfed or shit on the floor? If he wakes me I will clean up the mess, go back to bed, and then secretly wish death on him for the rest of the day because he didn’t deal with it himself.

4) He can’t find something? I say no on this one, but he does it all of the time. He can’t find the Advil? He wakes me. It isn’t on the medicine cabinet so I get up and find it sitting on the desk or on top of the fridge. I shoot him hate rays as he blames me for things not being in their place. Apparently, as wife and mother, I am responsible for the proper whereabouts of every item in the house. This has happened with things in the fridge. I have stumbled out of bed, shoved aside the milk and pointed to the mustard, and then fallen back into bed. My word on this one is look harder for said item, or live without it.

5) To ask me if I am hungry? No. I am not hungry. I am tired. That is why I am sleeping. I must admit that I have caused this one to backfire on me many times when he has set a warm plate of freshly cooked hash browns by my head in the middle of the night and I have eaten them eagerly.

This morning, before the sun had its chance to rise, something new happened. I heard a loud whisper above my head, “Are you awake?” I mumbled “mmmm hmmmm” and he asked, “Could you tell me if this noodle is done?” I looked up and saw him standing there with a strand of spaghetti over my head. I mumbled something to the effect of “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep. He used to work as a chef in an Italian restaurant for fuck’s sake.

Apparently, the rules are not yet carved in stone; there are variables. I did feel almost guilty when I finally woke up and ate his leftover spaghetti for breakfast though.

When I was a freshman in high school, before I hooked up with Alex, my now husband, I had a wonderful boyfriend. He was sweet, sexy and oh so kind. When we kissed I went weak in the knees and when I saw him or when he called me my heart did flip flops and my stomach got that delicious butterfly feeling. At the time I was attending a private Catholic all girls school with girls who had real problems, such as, “Should I have my daddy buy me a Mercedes or a BMW for my 16^th birthday? “ I was depressed and out of place. I tried very hard to hide, but this boyfriend was very intent on getting to know me, the real me. I had only one pair of pants, and they were filled with holes. I wore the button down shirts that were left over from my Dad’s career as an electrical engineer. My mom had kept everything after he died. He had a few nice cardigans, and I was sorry that his pants didn’t fit me in any way shape or form. I wore his old boxers and undershirts, as he called them, around the house. My mom really shut down after her husband’s death. Truth be told, she gave up on everything from parenting to cooking. After so many years in a hostage like situation I was free, and I had no idea what to do with that freedom.

After school my boyfriend would call me. My mom had used some delivery service to get cases of a few foods delivered. We had boxes and boxes of Wheaties and Cheerios, and the cupboards were filled with cans of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. Everyday when I got home I would heat a can of soup even though I knew then that I wanted to be a vegetarian. I couldn’t stomach another bowl of those two types of cereal, and we never had milk. After a few weeks of phone calls my boyfriend would say, “Let me guess, you’re eating chicken soup and your mom is watching Mary Poppins.” It wasn’t even a question as the TV blared Mary Poppins and when you’re talking to someone with “Spoon Full Of Sugar makes the Medicine Go Down” in the background what can you say? My mom watched that movie every single day after work and if we moaned or complained about it she turned the volume up.

I had been trying to hide the fact that I didn’t have much in the way of clothing by wearing a large long coat everyday. I wore that coat even in the summer, pretending I wasn’t hot when people in shorts and tank tops asked about it. It was my security blanket.

Once I was talking to weak in the knees maker with the beautiful eyes and he told me what he had made for dinner. It was something with artichoke hearts. I had never heard of or eaten an artichoke before, and at the time I thought that it was an animal. I imagined people eating the heart of this creature and I let out a “EWWWWWWWWWWW”.

“They’re really good; you’d like them.” he insisted. Being too embarrassed to admit that I had no idea what he was talking about and admitting that the most exotic thing that had ever graced my plate was an avocado I told him that there was just no way I would even try such a disgusting thing.

Eventually, I broke up with him. He was so nice and he seemed to be truly good at heart. I didn’t know what to do with nice, and so I hooked up with Alex, who was cold and standoffish and utterly obnoxious. Alex also didn’t appear to give any indication that he wanted to get to know my inner most self. I felt safer.

Now Alex and I are married with two kids and I eat artichoke hearts on everything from pasta to pizza to salad.

Timberline Lodge

The title is a comment that my mom made to her four teenagers frequently as she was raising us. With my dad gone I know it was very tough for her. Is it bad that I used to snicker at her comment, as I was usually high when she said it? That is the only anti-drug information we received, except for Nancy Reagan and the “Just Say No” campaign.

It occurred to me that I never wrote about my trip to find snow with my cousin Peter, who was here visiting from Australia for the first time. He had never encountered snow in his life and it was on his list of things to do before he dies, so I wanted to make it happen. I happen to have one of those lists myself. The photos had been sitting on my desktop waiting, but I’ll admit that things ended oddly with Peter. He is gone now, but I’ll still write about our trip because it was fun.

Peter, taking my photo as I took his. I just noticed he’s giving me the finger. Fucker.

We drove up to Mt. Hood the day after a blizzard. I was expecting him to be excited, but I guess I underestimated that excitement due to the fact that he is 29. As soon as we could park somewhere where there was snow he wanted to jump out of the car and play. I was ready to be hit by a snowball or two, but holy shit, 29 years of waiting for a snowball fight came flying in my direction. I ended up turning my back to him because I was worried he would ruin my camera which was hanging around my neck. He finally jumped back into the car, ready to drive further up to Mt. Hood. I stood outside stomping my shoes and trying to shake the snow out of my hair and brush it off my coat. Also, to be honest, it had filled my bra and gone down the back of my neck and I wanted to shake off as much as I could before we got back into the heated car and it melted. The silly guy, he was watching me through the car window, and he jumped out and put his arm around me, asking if I was OK. I laughed and said that I was just brushing myself off a bit. He said that he thought I was angry with him and I was having some kind of tantrum. You know the foot stomping kind?

Polly was along for the trip, and she seemed utterly bored until I mentioned that The Shining had been filmed up at the lodge. She perked right up and asked why I hadn’t mentioned it sooner. When we went in and looked around there was a restaurant (two, I think) so they wanted to eat. We went and sat down and the waitress took forever bringing water and our menus. I saw that the food was pricey and before I had the time to say to myself, “You are about to spend $20. on a salad.”, Peter had declared the menu ridiculous. He said he’d rather eat at a Subway on the drive back home and I didn’t care, because I was wet and tired, not hungry, and if he’d asked if we could get a couple of rooms and stay the night I probably would have shrugged and said, “Sure.” Sometimes the meds work a little too well, methinks, but I figured it was his trip. I’ve been to Mt. Hood countless times. I must admit that if I spend any amount of time in a bar, restaurant or store I always feel as if I should drop some money. We ordered cocoa and Peter grabbed the check before I could and then I tried to argue with him about who would pay until he finally relented and told me to leave the tip because they don’t tip much in Australia and he didn’t know how to do it. We then went to the gift shop and I really wanted to buy myself a stuffed St. Bernard because we had one when I was a little girl but I was good and I kept my purse closed.

After we left the lodge we walked around for awhile before getting back in the car. More snowballs, more photos, except I actually hit him a few times. I thing he let me though because my arm? I’ve been told by my husband that “I throw like a girl”. Whatever! I am a girl. And, I’ll never play catch with my husband again.

We stopped at Subway for sandwiches that we ate in the car because Peter can’t have anyone look at him while he eats. This guy, he is related to me! I don’t like eating in front of others either.

Next we headed off to Hood River and then on to Multnomah Falls. I used to have a friend from NY who used to laugh at our little Multnomah Falls because he grew up next to Niagara Falls and I never felt like I had a witty comment but hell, at least we don’t have to suffer through the winters they have in Buffalo.

No one was interested in hiking to the top of the waterfalls, and once again I didn’t care. Been there, done that. My Dad always dictated what we did on every family outing and if he had told us to hike to the top of the falls on hands and knees over hot rocks or broken glass we would have done so without so much as a whimper. Now? I’m pretty calm about things 99% of the time and the rest? I am hoping that no one will notice my anxiety before the Klonopin kicks in.

On the drive back Peter seemed elated to have experienced the snow and I was happy that I had gone along for the ride. A few years back I was afraid to leave the house. Look at me now, taking road trips and all!

Peter let it slip while driving; there was something else he wanted to do while here in America. He wanted to see a bear. I thought that I had heard him wrong at first; then I did the next thing. I promised to take him to the Zoo the following weekend. That is a story for another day. I’ll upload some photos and call this finished.

Multnomah Falls

For the first time this year, I had two children who didn’t want to celebrate Halloween with me. Last year Nathan and I were moving my Mom out of the house she had sold and into her new apartment and so my sister Monica took Polly trick or treating. This year Polly wanted to go to a friend’s house to pass out candy and Nathan wanted to go with his girlfriend to help her take her little brothers trick or treating. I had always heard how fast it would go, those years with the little kids, and to cherish those moments while they lasted, but I don’t believe it really hit home until this year when I knew they would rather be with their friends. So I let them go.  I stayed home with the puppy Maggie and the cats. Alex had to work so we had the whole house to ourselves. I baked an apple rhubarb crisp. Maggie waited for me to drop peels as I worked on the apples, the way way she waits when I peel potatoes. We played fetch in the backyard in the dark, with nothing but the back porch light to go by. I thought of my kids over the years in their different costumes. Nathan was a clown, Barney,a clown again, Batman, a skeleton, Superman, Darth Maul, Zorro, Darth Vader, Scream, Leatherface and an assortment of masks that could only be described as yucky, or scary. Polly was Pooh Bear, A Bunny, a Princess and then came years of different variations of the princess theme. She was a ballerina princess, an ice skater princess, a fairy princess, a Glinda the good witch princess. Every year a princess, and I let her just go with it. Alex would wail,”A princess again?” and I would just shake my head at him to be silent. Then one year she announced she wanted to be a cheerleader. A dead cheerleader. That was a fun year because I got to go back to the way I wore my makeup in the 80s when I created her face. Most of those years Alex was unable to go with me to take the kids trick or treating because he had to work. Two of those years I was unable to go because I had to work, and for a baker, Halloween spells the beginning of the hell that is the holiday season. The first time Alex took the kids trick or treating while I was working I cried while I loaded sweets in and out of the oven. By my third year at that job I said to my supervisor before Halloween, “I’ll be in late Halloween night!” and she wasn’t even bothered by that.

Two groups of kids in costume were all that showed up at our door. When Nathan came home he said that there weren’t many kids out in the neighborhood he was in and predicted that Halloween as he used to know it would be dead within three years. Polly had a good time passing out candy, but she seemed to miss having some to eat ,because she wanted to go to the store to buy some. No one wanted apple rhubarb crisp. Maybe next year I’ll have made a friend or two and I’ll have someone to hang out with.

 

 

 

When I first wrote about Brett Reider here I had just seen the documentary BRETT KILLED MOM: A SISTER’S DIARY on HBO and I wanted to write about my feelings and also to encourage everyone to watch what I thought was a very important film. I wasn’t even thinking that other people, who were, like me, wondering what had happened to Brett, would be searching the internet and coming to my site for answers. I posted what I had been able to find out here. I was saddened by the site that stated that Brett had committed suicide. I wanted a happy ending for this young man. As much as I wanted to know the truth I never imagined that I would receive an email from Brett’s wife Sara. She had heard about my site from a friend and wrote to let me know that not only is Brett alive, he is married with two beautiful boys and another baby on the way.

 

 

 

 

I emailed her back expressing my gratitude for her taking the time to not only contact me, but for providing photos so that I could see for myself that Brett now has a beautiful wife and two darling little boys. I also asked her if she would mind if I wrote a little note on my site stating that Brett was OK. I promised not to use any of the photos and to respect their privacy as it was clear that they have moved on. To my surprise she kindly gave me permission to not only pass on the information but to post the photos as well.

 

In Sara’s own words (I will place them in italics to make it easier for you, the reader, to differentiate between her words and my own),

“Brett and I just celebrated our 10 year wedding anniversary. He turned
30 this year. I am 37. We have two boys - Gavin (3) and Garrett (1). We
also have another (of unknown sex) on the way. Our oldest, Gavin was
diagnosed with Autism at 13 months old - so our lives revolve around
that. Parenting an autistic child is very challenging. Brett is a
wonderful father and Gavin has come along way because of all of the
time and attention Brett is able to give him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Brett just lives a normal life. We moved from Nebraska to the coast of
North Carolina and he enjoys his anonymity. The documentary was filmed
when Brett was 16 years old - and they still air it now and again. We
did ask for them to put a written update at the end - but they never
responded and Brett has no rights or control over the program.”

 

 

 

“…we have received thousands of emails, letters and phone calls over the years
with horrific stories of abuse. Some similar to Brett’s - some much
worse. It really gets to be too much sometimes…because it is so sad
how common it is and can be very depressing. Brett also couldn’t
possibly respond to them all - which is why he doesn’t.”

 

“We are grateful to all of the people who have reached out to Brett over
the years - many of whom wrote the parole board and were critical to
his early release. We would like everyone to know this. We would also like for people to know that our focus now is on our son and advocating for Autism awareness. It truly
consumes our life.”

“We really aren’t hiding – we have just moved on and have so many other things to deal with now.
Hopefully, people searching from here on out will find your site and be
able to get the information they are seeking.”

 

Sara also let me know that Brett’s sister, “Alissa, is married and also has two boys aged 2 and 4″.

 

Sara also closed her email with a link to a website dedicated to autism http://www.generationrescue.org/

 

I myself have a nephew with autism and I have seen first hand the time and effort my sister and brother in law have put into making sure that their son lives the best life possible.

 

For me, this whole experience has been a lesson in hope and the ability of a person to not only survive horrifying abuse suffered at the hands of the ones who should ultimately protect us, our parents, but to rise above the idea that the cycle of abuse can’t be broken by going on to become wonderful spouses and parents.

 

My sincerest thanks to the Reider family for not only sharing this information and these photos with me, but also for allowing me to share them with the thousands of people who have been searching the internet to find out what happened to Brett Reider after his release from prison.

For those of you who have commented or emailed me with your stories of abuse please know that you are not alone. So many of us unfortunately share this common bond. If you are currently in an abusive situation don’t be afraid to ask for help. If you are out of the abusive situation but still finding it difficult to deal with the pain and/or the low self esteem that often follows there is help out there for you too. So many suffer in silence.

11/21/07 Edited to add that Brett’s wife Sara saw that people were curious about Brett’s current occupation, and she wrote me to say “Brett is a construction foreman who works on multi-million dollar projects.”

 

 

 

I had originally planned on starting this off with an explanation as to why I haven’t written but why?

I recently mentioned that we had decided to get a new fence. The old fence on the North side of our property was falling down and the wood was in extremely bad condition. After getting price quotes Alex and I decided to do a lot of the labor ourselves. Since I am not exactly as handy as he is, I took over the demolition. Prying off the fence boards was easy. Digging out the posts wasn’t. We only dug out the ones that had to be removed and decided to offset the new ones to save on labor. I wanted to do as much of this work as possible because I felt guilty knowing that the majority of the building of the new fence would fall on Alex. So I took the old fence down. As you can see from this photo, it was past time for this project.

There is something that I find extremely rewarding about physical labor. I like to see a job through from start to finish. I loaded the dumpster with Nathan and enlisted Polly to help with Maggie as she has grown extremely fond of me and whimpers when she can see me but not be near enough to satisfy her mommy love. Maggie, not Polly. I was worried that someone would step on a rusty nail but it was only me who managed to do that. I ended up needing some help from Alex with the removal of the posts because digging that concrete out was hellishly hard. Alex did seem happy that I did as much of the labor as I had and he explained that he hadn’t thought that I was going to do so much on my own.

After I had trimmed the shrubs and things that were blocking access to the property line I started cleaning up the mess and preparing to go inside for a warm shower. A neighbor came by and inquired as to what we were doing. I explained and she frowned at the dumpster. “Couldn’t you have used that wood for something else?”, she asked. “No”, I replied, “it was totally rotten and there were a lot of termites and ants in it.” “Well you could have burned it in your fireplace!” she said, all huffy and superior. I explained that we don’t have a fireplace. The chimney on the top of our house is for the furnace. “Well you could have given it to someone to burn!” she responded and Alex stepped in and told her that the wood couldn’t be burned because it was painted and then made sure to let her know in no uncertain terms that she was in our way.

I have never understood the inclination of people to approach others and mock their decision process regarding personal decisions.If that would could have been reused I would have done so.Even if I felt like throwing away perfectly good wood, what business is it of hers. There is so much intervention into our personal freedoms. After spending the years since my eighteenth birthday as a Democrat I have found myself more and more disenchanted with the two major political parties and more curious about libertarianism.

My Mom received short notice last week that not only was one of her nephews on his way from Sydney, Australia for a visit but that the foreign exchange student she hosted in 1987 was going to be here too and could she stay, please? My Mom has just recently taken possession of her new house and was in the middle of that after move chaos with the boxes and the where the fuck is anything hell. I probably would have had a breakdown at the thought of having two unexpected guests when I hadn’t even unpacked but my Mom took it all in stride, welcoming them both into her new home and having a large party at her place last Saturday. I was originally very nervous about this get together but I managed to attend with Nathan and Polly and we had the best time. This cousin of mine, Peter, is one that I have met a few times but never gotten to know well. It was wonderful to see him and I look forward to getting to know him better. The beautiful woman from Japan looked exactly as I remembered her when she was here at 16. Her English is still rusty, but way better than my Japanese. We talked quite a bit with the aid of a little dictionary and a pocket translator she typed into. She told me that when she was here before I had refused to allow her to take any photos of me. I don’t remember doing that but I tried to make up for it by allowing myself to be photographed by everyone and trying not to worry about my appearance. I always feel so ugly, so fat, so awkward. When I see other women who have scars or stretch marks or extra pounds it never occurs to me that they are unattractive. When I see these things in my own reflection I have a hard time not feeling ugly. I am not sure why this is.

This party on Saturday put the whole of our family together for the first time in ages. All nine of my mom’s grandchildren were there, ranging in age from 22 to 2, and all 4 of her children. I haven’t seen my brother in about a year. I am usually quite nervous around him. He brought his new girlfriend. She is one of those people who puts you at ease immediately and it felt really good to sit and talk with her. She asked about my recent decision not to have a hysterectomy (news travels fast in my family) and I explained my feelings that alternative methods of dealing with it hadn’t been tried and that I wanted to explore those options first. She recommended a Naturopathic physician she is friends with. It was nice to meet someone new. I later told my brother that I was so smitten with his girlfriend that he’d better watch out for I was tempted to take her home myself. He laughed and said that he had been friends with her for over twenty years and he agreed that yes, she is wonderful. It is nice to see him smile.

My kids are doing well in school. Polly has had the flu for the past couple of days so we’ve had her resting and drinking plenty of fluids. Nathan completed the testing that was required for his new school to assess his levels and he came home beaming when he did very well on every test. It’s interesting, I have told him many times how smart he is and how much potential he has. He has always brushed me off, stating that I had to say that because I am his Mom. Now a teacher he hardly knows tells him the same thing and viola!

Alex finished the fence and it looks beautiful. He also installed a gate so the backyard is more private and we don’t have to worry about the dog escaping. We cooked dinner on the grill last night and ate together as a family.

I am feeling pretty good. My doctor is weaning me onto Paxil now and I am very tired. I took a three hour nap yesterday (snuggled up with the puppy) and felt very guilty about it. It is hard for me to learn that it is OK to take care of myself. I’ve always been so busy taking care of everyone else.

The moon sends its love.

Just as we had hoped, Maggie and Itty Bitty have become very close. Especially when they are not chasing each other around the house biting and scratching one another. They even curl up and nap together and it’s so cute I want to squeeze them but not really, because then they would be racing around the house again.

I was all scheduled to have my surgery this week. Tomorrow, actually. I have been depressed about it and thinking that it was the wrong decision, but I felt so much pressure from everyone around me (excluding my husband, who said it was my body and my choice.) I especially appreciate the phone calls from family members who said, “Get that thing ripped out!” I stopped answering my phone for a few days. They can go have their own reproductive organs removed if they so choose. So I actually canceled the surgery and I am going to look into alternative treatment options with another doctor. Yes, a third opinion.
I really appreciate the women who left comments of support and the women who emailed me to offer to lend an ear. Having agoraphobia/ anxiety/ depression can be very isolating and it meant so much to me that others were willing to share their stories, or to just listen. Thank you all. I have wished for a long time that I could develop a circle of friends around me. Maybe one day I will be brave enough to try.
I’ll be back soon with a longer entry. I have to help Polly with her Spanish homework (?!) and the laundry is piling up.