13

Yesterday my furry baby was 13.



Last year he had a tumor cut off his leg. I cried the whole day.

The year before that he had a stomach bug for three days that I was sure was the beginning of the end.

I really never expected to see my sweet pup enter the "teen years". Especially after our first vet told us we'd be lucky to get ten given his pedigree Labrador status. I cried that whole day too because after only three days I was completely in love with him.

Ezra is a good old dog. He's going strong for 91. He still enjoys fetch although he has to rest a lot more. He still tattles on the kids if they are doing something wrong. He has another huge tumor on his leg that we've decided not to remove because, well, he is 13 and, well, we're still paying for the last one.

The odds are he won't make it to 14, but who knew he'd make it to 13, right?



One thing I do know is that we all love him. So much.

Why?

Why are kids so fucking mean?

I thought things were going better since I went up to that wretched school and demanded he not be bullied. Oh, he isn't bullied so much anymore. Well, in the let-me-shove-your-face-in-the-dirt kinda way. Oh no. They've just decided that Jacob can be no where near them at any time so now he's the kid who sits alone with the random straw paper thrown at him. In front of his mother no less.

The very saddest thing about this is that he thinks this is all a-ok. He thinks its great actually.

I. Do not.

Jacob befriended a new kid who showed up the last day of school before Christmas break. A very fat, not too smart, trip-over-his-own-feet kinda kid. The rest of the class had nothing to do with him so Jacob bent over backward to make this kid feel welcome. For the past few weeks things have been hunky-dorey with said kid until last Thursday when Jacob climbs all innocently into the backseat to tell me that Kid told him he didn't want to talk to him at school because the other kids told him they'd make fun of him if they did and guess who's sitting with the popular kids now? Jacob? Was okay with that. He has absolutely no idea how to be treated right that he has no idea he's being treated wrong.

When I went in this afternoon to fetch him from after-school care (which, long story, he shouldn't have been there) Kid and his new side-kicks were sitting in a pack at a long table shooing Jacob even farther, farther, no a little farther away all while my 178 IQ kid just nodded and grinned stupidly thinking this is what all friends do. In fact, he stated as much. Not one child would meet my gaze when I inquired just what in samhill was going on there. Even when he got up and said good-bye to each and everyone of them they all looked away. They wouldn't even respond to me. Little bastards.

Needless to say we had a long discussion again about reading social skills until finally I just had to tell him. THEY. WERE. BEING. MEAN. PERIOD. He still thinks Kid will be his friend tomorrow. I am still beating my head on the granite.

Christian school = Christian behavior. At least that's what it says on the website.

NOT.

Fucking not.

I really want to take him out of that school but I am so, so, so, so afraid it will be so, so, so, so worse in a new place. I just don't know what to fucking do. God I wish my kid was normal. Just a little bit. I wish he had one iota of a social skill so he wouldn't be treated like this. Why does God not help him? Why does God continue to allow him to be treated that way? Does He want him to commit suicide one day? Does he want him to learn THAT way of treating others? I am so damn confused and conflicted I don't even know what to believe anymore. I understand how adults can be put through trials, but children? Why the hell is that good?

Six years. Still not getting better. I want some answers.

And on Thursday....

It is funny how God works....

Today, my co-worker was taken by EMT to the hospital after experiencing dizziness, sweatiness, and severe chest pain. Thankfully, all children had been dismissed by then. Mine were there but she downplayed it and had me take them home before the ambulance arrived. Always thinking of others she is.

I can't remember any of my own problems right now even though I am running a fever and likely have the flu as of 3 pm. Do I even have real problems?

Got a text ten minutes ago that she DID NOT have a heart attack but she is being admitted. They think she is fine but they have to do those things you know.

If you pray, remember her. She has been so good to me these past few months and Elizabeth absolutely adores her (she's her teacher).

My Life is What *I* Make of It

I can't stand seeing the gloom on my blog. That was never what I intended when I started it. I don't want to use the spot I created to celebrate my children to focus on the shortcomings of my life. My marriage isn't perfect. It never was. I really had no business airing it on the world wide web, although your support has been appreciated.

Instead, I bring you more of this:



This.

Is why I continue to find happiness.

I love my kids. So much so that sometimes just looking at them makes tears roll down my face. They are the reason I do everything I do. I am not a perfect parent but those kids know they are adored.

I love my job. So much so that I don't even mind waking up at 6:30 in the morning to prepare for it. If you've read for me for long, you know this is big stuff. It is probably the worst paying job for the work I put into it, but this is why I do it:
(Sshh...don't tell...It's probably not kosher to post this & I'll delete it soon, but I adore them too)



I am far from unhappy.

Confused and frustrated...yeah, sometimes, but I learned long ago you can't rely on anyone else to make you happy and you also can't make someone happy unless they really want to be.

I choose to be happy as often as I can and that's why I needed to get my whine-fest off the top of my blog.

I Just Want You All To Know....

I got my serving bowl back.

Monday

Aahhh....Monday.

It really is my favorite day of the week. My day off, the husband takes the kids to school, and I don't usually have any errands to run aside from fetching the school boys at noon and three. I am currently watching some strange new show on Nick Jr. with Elizabeth in our pajamas. Did I mention we slept until 10? Love me some Monday.

I am also so very relieved Sunday is over for another week. The husband came home from church and locked himself into his study until 5:30 when he went next door to be wonderful to the neighbors at their annual Super Bowl party. He even gave them my great-grandmother's serving bowl because he's so nice to others like that. Can we say passive-aggressive?

Jana hit the nail on the head when she suggested he's just a little pissed off every Sunday because he is not a part of the perfect family. It's sad, really, because in comparison to many, we have a pretty decent life. Our kids are extremely healthy, we live in a nice home in an even nicer neighborhood, and we can barely afford to send our kids to the school of our choice. We eat and have heat and have the choice of hundreds of television channels. That, of course, is never enough. What's that they say? Money can't buy happiness? I am not saying we are rich, far from it, but we don't struggle to put meals on the table. Oh, I had to go back to work to afford our health insurance, but damn, at least we have some huh? That's a whole other can of worms which does, to some extent, contribute to some of our problems, but I'll get to that another time.

Anyway, my husband would love to have the perfect life. I think it's something he's wanted all his life because goodness knows his childhood life was not even close. His mother is mentally ill. It won't matter how many medications she takes or even if she takes them religiously, she will always have problems. She will never be able to hold a job, drive a car, or make a complex decision. She hasn't been able to do that since Derick was a toddler. She's different. And weird. And it's very noticable. His dad has different issues that I have sworn never to divulge in this blog. We don't even talk about it, it's that distressing to him. I am sure it was all pretty embarrassing to the teenage husband. I'm thinking this is when his imaginary perfect life began.

So many people we meet tell me how great my husband is, because, well, to them he is. He's helpful to the neighbors, he can carry a great conversation, he plays with children, and he really would offer them the shirt off his back. Or, even my great-grandmother's serving bowl. I just smile and nod and resist the urge to tell them, yeah, he CAN be a super guy. We'd LOVE to see more of that ourselves but I think by the time he gets home and done putting on his perfection front, it's too exhausting to keep it up. Just a guess.

Today is Monday. My husband left a cup of coffee for me and made sure the boys were quiet enough so that the girl and I could sleep in. I saw him for just a bit and he told me to have a good day. Sunday is over. His demons are gone. Today.

I wonder often if he is in the beginning of his own mental illness. Maybe he's struggling with is own inner demons. Maybe he works too much. Maybe he wasn't taught how to be real with people, I mean who was there to teach him? Maybe he's just an ass.

Hopefully 2011 will bring us both some answers.

Sunday

I hate Sunday.

I dread it all week long and not because it's the end of the weekend, no. In fact, I am a pretty big fan of Monday. It's my favorite day of the week.

I hate Sunday because it's church day.

I quit going to "our" church many years ago. I don't like it there. I like church allright, but just not this one. I left high school 23 years ago. I don't want to do it again on my weekend. My husband, though, goes every. single. week. You'd think that would be a good thing, but no. It's not.

I don't know what it is, but on Sundays my husband becomes very nasty and mean. He wakes up screaming and goes down screaming every. single. week. That is, if he even speaks to any of us at all that day. The days my husband hates his life are always on a Sunday. Right after services.

Now, I thought maybe he was being pissy because I wasn't going to church with him so I got dressed one Sunday and was happy to try it again and he told me in no uncertain terms that he didn't want me there. Another Sunday argument ensued and I haven't attempted that again. Once bitten, twice shy I think they say.

Isn't church supposed to make you more at peace? Godly? If anything, my husband comes home a demon. I wouldn't call his actions at all Christian. Why do you suppose that is?

This has been going on for yyyeeeaaarrrss. It does not change. Ever.

The only thing now, is that he drags the kids into it. He insists they go with him yet *I* am the one responsible for getting them ready. I know I should make him do it, and I have in the past, but trust me when I say he's even worse if I don't. So this morning I dress Elizabeth and he comes stomping out bitching because she doesn't have a bow in her hair. Elizabeth has no hair...remember? In fact, it's even worse because she gave herself a small trim at Christmas so what grew back is no longer there. A bow will not stay in her hair. Period. He knows this, but it's Sunday and he has to prove it. He barked at me to find a bow. I didn't budge. He stomped up to her room mumbling the whole time about how fucking lazy I am and came back with a ten dollar yellow bow that in no way matched the pinkness in which she was decked out. I removed it. He threw a fit worthy of the rottenest two year old and stomped out of the house screaming how she would NOT go to church with him with her ugly hair like that, no way, no how, and I am a complete dumb-ass and slammed the door.

Now. The thing with my husband is that you never, ever know when to believe him. Super Nanny would have a field day with him because he rarely follows through with a threat. I guess I should've realized that before I started taking her fancy clothes off, but damn, I was pissed. I just wanted that behind us. So about a minute later he comes crashing back in and sees me undressing the girl and the shit hit the fan. Mr. Christian threw some shit and slammed some doors and refused to take any of the kids with him. The boys just stood there not knowing what the hell happened. And now he's gone. I know he's in that church schmoozing with the other fake Christians pretending he's the most wonderful person. He's probably praising Jesus with his hands in the air and hugging the congregants with a hearty "God Bless You" and we'll be punished for that when it's all over this afternoon.

Why the hell does he do this?

The past month he has been pretty pleasant. When he was here. He spent a week in Vail and a week in Louisiana, but between those times we were happy. We had fun even. He actually seemed to enjoy being with us. I started sleeping without medication again. It was nice. Why did I not realize he was decent because he hadn't been to church in a solid month? Why is he NOT decent when he goes to church? What the damn bloody hell is that about?

I work at a church. I teach at a Christian preschool. I pray with my kids and teach them about Jesus and come home at peace about that most days. In fact, it has helped me become more tolerant and calm with my own kids. Most days. I mean, isn't that what church is SUPPOSED to do for you?

Why does my husband hate us every Sunday?

I hate Sunday.