Lighting sparklers for Christmas with my kids in the courtyard. The smell immediately takes me to the Lake. My grandparent's summer cottage, that we spent our entire childhoods visiting.
The sparklers, the snakes on the wooden steps, the bigger fireworks for the bigger kids.
Dusk, the mosquitos attacking, Grandma's Skin So Soft which never worked, but we applied liberally anyways. Grandpa in his black leather chair with a small glass bowl of peanuts. Readers Digest, Polenta, and sausages, the lunch bell.
Lying on the single bed with my feet on the wood, playing the drums on the wood leading up the stair case. The velvet blanket on my bed, the squeaky springs.
Grandma's sewing machine, with the drawers of buttons, fishing on the dock. Getting a splinter and grandpa taking you to the office, putting on his head lamp magnifier. Thinking having said splinter removed is torture. Happy to be spending alone time with grandpa none the less.
The smell in the building, the old baby things. Sawdust, the smell of sawdust.
Playing on the potters wheel, wishing it would spin faster.
The sailboat, and the funny bugs that would sun themselves on it. Those moth things that stuck to everything. Wooden ducks. Spotting Loons.
Grandmas oatmeal with half and half and brown sugar. Green beans from the vegetable garden, grandpas Jeep. (I wanted that Jeep! May have fuelled my now obsession with them.)
The sound the water makes when it hits the bottom of the canoe, the water that splashed on you from the ores, feeling terrible when you get too tired and Grandpa had to row you all the way home.
The sound the car made going down the driveway, the linoleum in the back hall. Lying on the kitchen floor tracing the squares with my finger.
Always thinking there are bears outside after it got dark.
The hummingbirds, the light catchers, the tiny things that grandma kept.
Vanilla wafers under grandmas pillow when we left.
Her bedroom, and it being off limits to the kids, so when I got to enter, it was almost like a secret cave. Magical and smelled nice. The timers on the bedpost, the doilies, and nice pyjamas.
Big hanging pots of flowers that didn't smell so nice, but looked amazing, the feeling of the sun chairs with the hot soft mesh.
Quiet.
Tuesday 24 December 2013
Tuesday 17 December 2013
Lego "Friends" is bullshit
I am not hard core feminist. I like that men and women are different, and think those differences should be embraced, not demolished.
However, lately it seems the toy world is not only dividing my kids by gender, but pummelling it into them, and it's getting ridicules.
I was really excited Lego was coming out with a more "girly" version of Lego. It was always very much my brothers toy, and I was happy to put some of that engineering creativity to my daughter, whom is highly intelligent. She however, DOES love pink. This love was not taught. I am not overly feminine, and her brother is her idol, so where this love came from is a bit unknown to me.
I was excited that girls could have those stupid little people with cylinder heads, and could now sit for hours using their brains to create cars, and planes like their male counterparts.... Lego Friends however, is anything but that..... Lego Friends is bullshit.
Where to start? Yep, it's a bit pink, and that says to my very feminine daughter "Hooray" So I am good with that, however upon opening the box I was a bit horrified. There are no cylindrical women, but actual dolls, with disturbing hip to waist ratios. Even my husband noticed how scary skinny the girls were. We don't have enough of that? Really? If Barbie were an actual woman, she would be 5'9" tall, have a 39" bust, an 18" waist, 33" hips and a size 3 shoe. Seems practical.
The second horror for my eyes, is that right in the ad I am looking at now, the only scenes for my daughter to construct are; City Café, City Pool, Pet Salon, Beach Buggy, and Olivia's Newborn Foal....... Well I know as a female, my day isn't complete without a trip to the Pet Salon.
Haven's Lego is pretty awesome, he has an airplane, a dump truck, multiple cars, and actual homes and buildings to create. Building "actual things" Makes a bit of sense.
The third horror is that the city is called "Heartlake City." Well that's great, because girls couldn't possibly live in cities called "Gotham, Metropolis, or Cleveland." Silly thought.
Olivia's Newborn Foal is great. Why build an actual farm, when the super-skinny Olivia can feed her foal a carrot. It might be cooler to get Olivia herself a carrot... or better yet a cheeseburger. You do know boys can like horses right? My super masculine, highly intelligent and successful husband had a horse. Jumped on a friends horse one day and jumped that bitch over a fence.... Now THAT is manly. But make sure Joliet doesn't waste her time with building actual barns or housing structures. Foals are where it's at for a successful career.
I have my own bitchings about the new "boys'" Lego as well. I mean, the three advertised under the bullshit Lego Friends, completely advertised separately as to not mistake gender roles are; "Battle at the black gate, The Wizard battle, and Pirate ship Ambush." Not thinking they live at Heartlake City! What happened to just building cool stuff?
9 our of 10 Engineers are male. That's stupid. And I am thinking there is a reason. I take great pride in being a wife and mother. I find it a humans highest calling as a matter of fact. If my girls chose to not go that route, that's cool. Let's make sure they have some foundations to become successful in any career they want. I get Joliet loves princesses, but we don't know Harry or what's his name, and that shit doesn't actually look fun. I would rather she has a career she can be proud of and that uses a bit more of her brain than feeding a foal, playing at the pool, or sitting on a yacht. Yes, the Lego Friends Yacht! Haven will build the Search and Rescue Boats to come save the poor girls, who when they fall over the side of their yacht, their super sized heads, and lack of body fat, or any muscle tone what-so-ever, they will inevitably drown. So good thing Haven is there to rescue them.
However, lately it seems the toy world is not only dividing my kids by gender, but pummelling it into them, and it's getting ridicules.
I was really excited Lego was coming out with a more "girly" version of Lego. It was always very much my brothers toy, and I was happy to put some of that engineering creativity to my daughter, whom is highly intelligent. She however, DOES love pink. This love was not taught. I am not overly feminine, and her brother is her idol, so where this love came from is a bit unknown to me.
I was excited that girls could have those stupid little people with cylinder heads, and could now sit for hours using their brains to create cars, and planes like their male counterparts.... Lego Friends however, is anything but that..... Lego Friends is bullshit.
Where to start? Yep, it's a bit pink, and that says to my very feminine daughter "Hooray" So I am good with that, however upon opening the box I was a bit horrified. There are no cylindrical women, but actual dolls, with disturbing hip to waist ratios. Even my husband noticed how scary skinny the girls were. We don't have enough of that? Really? If Barbie were an actual woman, she would be 5'9" tall, have a 39" bust, an 18" waist, 33" hips and a size 3 shoe. Seems practical.
The second horror for my eyes, is that right in the ad I am looking at now, the only scenes for my daughter to construct are; City Café, City Pool, Pet Salon, Beach Buggy, and Olivia's Newborn Foal....... Well I know as a female, my day isn't complete without a trip to the Pet Salon.
Haven's Lego is pretty awesome, he has an airplane, a dump truck, multiple cars, and actual homes and buildings to create. Building "actual things" Makes a bit of sense.
The third horror is that the city is called "Heartlake City." Well that's great, because girls couldn't possibly live in cities called "Gotham, Metropolis, or Cleveland." Silly thought.
Olivia's Newborn Foal is great. Why build an actual farm, when the super-skinny Olivia can feed her foal a carrot. It might be cooler to get Olivia herself a carrot... or better yet a cheeseburger. You do know boys can like horses right? My super masculine, highly intelligent and successful husband had a horse. Jumped on a friends horse one day and jumped that bitch over a fence.... Now THAT is manly. But make sure Joliet doesn't waste her time with building actual barns or housing structures. Foals are where it's at for a successful career.
I have my own bitchings about the new "boys'" Lego as well. I mean, the three advertised under the bullshit Lego Friends, completely advertised separately as to not mistake gender roles are; "Battle at the black gate, The Wizard battle, and Pirate ship Ambush." Not thinking they live at Heartlake City! What happened to just building cool stuff?
9 our of 10 Engineers are male. That's stupid. And I am thinking there is a reason. I take great pride in being a wife and mother. I find it a humans highest calling as a matter of fact. If my girls chose to not go that route, that's cool. Let's make sure they have some foundations to become successful in any career they want. I get Joliet loves princesses, but we don't know Harry or what's his name, and that shit doesn't actually look fun. I would rather she has a career she can be proud of and that uses a bit more of her brain than feeding a foal, playing at the pool, or sitting on a yacht. Yes, the Lego Friends Yacht! Haven will build the Search and Rescue Boats to come save the poor girls, who when they fall over the side of their yacht, their super sized heads, and lack of body fat, or any muscle tone what-so-ever, they will inevitably drown. So good thing Haven is there to rescue them.
Friday 6 December 2013
Fatty Mc.Fat
I am Fatty Mc. Fat
So book sales on release date are poo. I took it completely personally. I thought my Aussie friends were really supporting me, when in reality they are being supportive in thought. But, but, I would have supported YOU, and bought YOUR book. I mean, why not think it's cool to even own a crap book written by a friend?
That's cool, but the book is $20. In Oz we blow our nose with $20. No literally, this country is so expensive you could never imagine. I went back to America and got a bagel and an orange juice at the airport. She said "That'll be $6.00" I was all "Did you get the orange juice?" She goes "You would pay $6.00 for a BAGEL??" Honey I would pay $6.00 for the orange juice!!!
It's cool, I'm trucking on.
I love food. That's why I wrote the book. For a skinny chick, my love affair with food has been an amazing love affair journey, and THAT is why I wrote the book.
I was raised right, and never drank soda, or had candy. I ate well, had a mother that cooked our meals. And then the divorce, and her work schedule, and my fathers absence, and my inability to think I am good enough, or pretty or thin. Then her death and my alcohol addiction. I went through the motions. I got heavy as a mammoth, and witnessed first hand what it feels like to be huge. I know the cycle of hating yourself for eating, then feeling so bad, and eating to make the pain stop. I got that.
In my new life with food, I don't just feed my mouth, or my stomach, I feed my soul. HOW CORNEY! I know, it's so true.
I LOVE food. I refuse to eat what I don't adore, and this was especially true when I was pregnant. My husband will never again buy me cake as I would cry if he got the wrong one. CRY!!!!!!
It's just so different and beautiful now. I cook what I desire, and feed my family food of love. Celery and rice cakes to keep up thin? Hell to the NO! I feed us amazing, exquisite, violently delicious food. I savour it, taste it, linger in it. When I have a 3 year old close her eyes with happiness of taste my heart jumps. "My mom is the best cooker!" I got tonight. I am the best cooker :)
I have gotten from a binge eating, eating for self loating, eating to numb myself Fatty Mc. Fat. To a thin, healthy, cook, who eats better than any chubba out there. I eat amazing, because I found a healthy relationship with food. DIETS DON'T WORK. Diets end. And being some super skinny size 2 is not a healthy outlook. "But I was a size 4 in high school." Bitch you 40, let that goooooo. Be happy with you now. Healthy doesn't need to be anorexic, it needs to be fed to content without excess. That's it. It looks different on all of us, so don't look at my size, or Miranda Kerr size, or your best friends size to be your size. Stop it. JUST STOP IT!!!!!
Eating.
Sometimes I don't eat breakfast because I'm not hungry in the morning. That's it. Am I hungry? Nope? OK then not gonna eat. "80% of obese people skip breakfast" Well I'm not obese. Are you skipping to "save calories?" Or are you not hungry? HUGE difference.
Lunch? I eat a sandwich, or half a sandwich, or tortilla and cheese, or whatever I want. But after half the meal I ask if I am really still hungry?
My dinner? My dinner is shared with my family. The epicenter of my universe. I will give them my love in this meal and it is planned with care.
I write weekly menus and shopping lists (In the friggin' book) So I save money and time enough to do this.
I pick food and recipes that make me salivate. Entice me to the center. THAT is what I cook.
I wont eat food that I don't love, and when I do I get teary. I get angry! We only have so many meals in our lives, so why not eat food that is amazing?!
I now have learned to cook, because after a few "omg Laura, this is psycho good." You get a kick from cooking. You keep trying harder and harder to get your family to give you the thumbs up and empty plate. It's OK to learn to cook for vanity! Hell, whatever works.
I don't look at food with my kids as other mothers do. Kids go through growth spurt and have ZERO misconceptions about food. No matter how good or high calorie, or fatty, they are programmed to eat when they are hungry, and stop when they are full. Their palates are virgin, and enjoy pure, clean tastes. YOU have issues with food, they don't. Some days my kids eat 4 meals a day, they finish their plates and ask for more. Most days, they eat 3 bites at dinner, and bring home half their lunch. This is normal. This is listening to your body, and only eating when you need. The Food Pyramid was made my Kellogg. If you can't digest that sentence, please ponder it until you do. A corporation profiting in FOOD, can not tell you what to eat. Anyways it's batshit upside down. Fuck a food pyramid. Fuck a Three meal a day and 2 snack consisting of 3 veg, 4 fruit, 1 meat diet. You eat what your body tells it to when it tells it to. Emotions have no place in food. Except when you can love it.
When you love every meal you eat, you are never deprived by a smaller portion, because your brain knows the next meal will be just as amazing as the last. This is the best food you ever had? That's cool! Next meal will be just as good, so eating more than you need is unnecessary.
I decided not to be a celebrity chef, or a nutritionist, or a doctor. I am just a mom, and an ex-fatty, that figured it out with non-bullshit ideas and ways to live. That's it.
I hope you can get to this place too. And if you need help? laurasfoodfight.com, and $20 can help!
Merry Christmas!
Laura
So book sales on release date are poo. I took it completely personally. I thought my Aussie friends were really supporting me, when in reality they are being supportive in thought. But, but, I would have supported YOU, and bought YOUR book. I mean, why not think it's cool to even own a crap book written by a friend?
That's cool, but the book is $20. In Oz we blow our nose with $20. No literally, this country is so expensive you could never imagine. I went back to America and got a bagel and an orange juice at the airport. She said "That'll be $6.00" I was all "Did you get the orange juice?" She goes "You would pay $6.00 for a BAGEL??" Honey I would pay $6.00 for the orange juice!!!
It's cool, I'm trucking on.
I love food. That's why I wrote the book. For a skinny chick, my love affair with food has been an amazing love affair journey, and THAT is why I wrote the book.
I was raised right, and never drank soda, or had candy. I ate well, had a mother that cooked our meals. And then the divorce, and her work schedule, and my fathers absence, and my inability to think I am good enough, or pretty or thin. Then her death and my alcohol addiction. I went through the motions. I got heavy as a mammoth, and witnessed first hand what it feels like to be huge. I know the cycle of hating yourself for eating, then feeling so bad, and eating to make the pain stop. I got that.
In my new life with food, I don't just feed my mouth, or my stomach, I feed my soul. HOW CORNEY! I know, it's so true.
I LOVE food. I refuse to eat what I don't adore, and this was especially true when I was pregnant. My husband will never again buy me cake as I would cry if he got the wrong one. CRY!!!!!!
It's just so different and beautiful now. I cook what I desire, and feed my family food of love. Celery and rice cakes to keep up thin? Hell to the NO! I feed us amazing, exquisite, violently delicious food. I savour it, taste it, linger in it. When I have a 3 year old close her eyes with happiness of taste my heart jumps. "My mom is the best cooker!" I got tonight. I am the best cooker :)
I have gotten from a binge eating, eating for self loating, eating to numb myself Fatty Mc. Fat. To a thin, healthy, cook, who eats better than any chubba out there. I eat amazing, because I found a healthy relationship with food. DIETS DON'T WORK. Diets end. And being some super skinny size 2 is not a healthy outlook. "But I was a size 4 in high school." Bitch you 40, let that goooooo. Be happy with you now. Healthy doesn't need to be anorexic, it needs to be fed to content without excess. That's it. It looks different on all of us, so don't look at my size, or Miranda Kerr size, or your best friends size to be your size. Stop it. JUST STOP IT!!!!!
Eating.
Sometimes I don't eat breakfast because I'm not hungry in the morning. That's it. Am I hungry? Nope? OK then not gonna eat. "80% of obese people skip breakfast" Well I'm not obese. Are you skipping to "save calories?" Or are you not hungry? HUGE difference.
Lunch? I eat a sandwich, or half a sandwich, or tortilla and cheese, or whatever I want. But after half the meal I ask if I am really still hungry?
My dinner? My dinner is shared with my family. The epicenter of my universe. I will give them my love in this meal and it is planned with care.
I write weekly menus and shopping lists (In the friggin' book) So I save money and time enough to do this.
I pick food and recipes that make me salivate. Entice me to the center. THAT is what I cook.
I wont eat food that I don't love, and when I do I get teary. I get angry! We only have so many meals in our lives, so why not eat food that is amazing?!
I now have learned to cook, because after a few "omg Laura, this is psycho good." You get a kick from cooking. You keep trying harder and harder to get your family to give you the thumbs up and empty plate. It's OK to learn to cook for vanity! Hell, whatever works.
I don't look at food with my kids as other mothers do. Kids go through growth spurt and have ZERO misconceptions about food. No matter how good or high calorie, or fatty, they are programmed to eat when they are hungry, and stop when they are full. Their palates are virgin, and enjoy pure, clean tastes. YOU have issues with food, they don't. Some days my kids eat 4 meals a day, they finish their plates and ask for more. Most days, they eat 3 bites at dinner, and bring home half their lunch. This is normal. This is listening to your body, and only eating when you need. The Food Pyramid was made my Kellogg. If you can't digest that sentence, please ponder it until you do. A corporation profiting in FOOD, can not tell you what to eat. Anyways it's batshit upside down. Fuck a food pyramid. Fuck a Three meal a day and 2 snack consisting of 3 veg, 4 fruit, 1 meat diet. You eat what your body tells it to when it tells it to. Emotions have no place in food. Except when you can love it.
When you love every meal you eat, you are never deprived by a smaller portion, because your brain knows the next meal will be just as amazing as the last. This is the best food you ever had? That's cool! Next meal will be just as good, so eating more than you need is unnecessary.
I decided not to be a celebrity chef, or a nutritionist, or a doctor. I am just a mom, and an ex-fatty, that figured it out with non-bullshit ideas and ways to live. That's it.
I hope you can get to this place too. And if you need help? laurasfoodfight.com, and $20 can help!
Merry Christmas!
Laura
Friday 29 November 2013
And I run...
And I run-
It's been 2 years now, so it's fully time to jump ship. I will leave again in a month. Do I hate it here? Did I not make friends? Quite the opposite. I love it here. The people in Melbourne I have met again, another family. Friends of such amazing character and love that I humble to be a part of this. These people, Haven's school, the adventures and experiences. But it's time to go again. Again, again, again.
I have never lived in the same spot longer than 2 years in my life. 2 years. Except childhood, and in that I attended 11 schools in 12 years. The new school just as scary as the last, but either good or bad it was an experience to be had and learned from.
Mom died at 18, and it was just fucking make it from then on, never feeling at "home" again for years. "Home" was where I was and I would just be until I moved to the next place.
I fallowed people on any adventure "Let's quit our jobs and go to Florida" Ok. Let's do that. 3 months later. Broke and unemployed and thrilled with my adventure, I went back to the temporary home. At some point in the trip I had let go of my fears, and just stood on the beach, with the waves crashing my feet and it was "standing in a hole." The waves would wash over them and deeper and deeper I would go in the sand. The serenity found in standing in that hole. I think I have always been chasing that feeling. Standing in a hole.
The world is so hectic and if I think of the reality of the world, and the pollution, and animals, and toxic life we leave I literally anxiety myself to delirium. It's not right. You can't have kids and think " This is gonna work out well for you!" So I want to DO as much as I can until this time here is up.
We're leaving again.
I can't tell you how many places I have lived in my life. Countless homes. Countless addresses. I said at one point I left Denver because I dated every available man in the state and had to leave to find a boyfriend. I would say that it was too hot or too cold or too expensive, so I would move again. Then I met my husband who has the same love of leaving.
But when I left before I was running. I was running away from myself and the chaos I created. I would create drama and a story of amazing proportion. I would have this insane life that was always so hard.
This is different. My life as an adult is much calmer, and not so X rated. My new life is as spontaneous as ever, but more as now I'm not broke. "Pack up we're leaving for the weekend." Where are we going? "South."
The life now is still picking a point on the map and going there to find the adventure that zip code has to offer. By doing this, I have met people you would never understand. I have seen things no one has seen. Been to a glow worm tunnel? Yea, that was a Thursday.
My entire life I have felt I was searching for something. I got off the plane in Australia and felt like this is what I was searching for. Yet 5 years on, and my 4th address, 3rd state.
This to me is an adventure, but I wonder what my kids feel about this. I see it as all a learning experience. You can't KNOW until you do. You can't UNDERSTAND until you have lived it, and it scares the shit out of me my kid's don't see it that way. Maybe they see it as instability?
Maybe I have instability or feed off of that? Why do I need to analyze it all?
I had made friends in Sydney that I would die for. Amazing family like friendships. I left. I have American friendships that I would still give my life for now and forever, but I left. I have friends in Melbourne that I would surrogate children for, and too love as family. Now I leave again.
I can justify. Our next year is living at the fucking Four Seasons in a house you can't imagine. I can justify like you wouldn't believe why I leave, but at the same time I wonder why I see living in the same place for 30 years as a death sentence. 30 years in the SAME place?
I hope my kids can see it my way, or I can find out why I need to leave always to fulfill myself. This life is amazing. Crazy and fun, and never dull.
To the next adventure! And seriously, come visit this time, as this is the coolest yet!
Thursday 28 November 2013
Thursday 21 November 2013
Longing and Death
I keep waiting for my Mom.
I'm 32 years old, and I still need my mother so desperately. I keep doing cool stuff, so I keep looking for that affirmation, reassurance, guidance, that "way to go Laura." I still need that and being sentenced to a life without it down right sucks!
I need her to see my kids, attend my wedding, read my book, look at how hot a husband I got.
I need her to taste my food, and see my successes.
I can see her eyes when they get teary from pride. I remember her being proud of me for whatever. I wasn't much of a productive member of society, so every minute reason I could give her to be proud she would be. "Hell, Laura finished her peas. Good girl!"
Whatever, I took it.
When your only cheerleader dies, that need for approval doesn't die. You just get none.
Tough S^&* sweetheart you're on your own!
When people die you have unfinished business with, it sure is a kick in the lip! That can go wither way. I still am waiting for my dead dad to apologize and tell me I was worthy of being loved, or that he loved me! Yea, that's gonna go well.
Being an adult sucks. Knowing life is only what you make it, and that no one can determine your self worth but you is very bitter. I keep looking for them and they don't seem to be making any appearances.
Lately my 3 year old has been obsessed with death and I honestly don't know why. We don't talk about it, or watch shows about it. I don't talk about my parents, but for the last 3 months she asks constantly...... I know why, she had a dream Juneaux died, and she was so hysterical we had to hold her for 2 hours in the middle of the night. She was sobbing and trembling with fear. I thought that was just a saying, but my kid was trembling with fear.
She said "Do you ever have dreams?"
Yes baby.
"Do you ever have die dreams?"
...................omg
She said they were in the bath and Juneaux went under the water. Poor kid. She was horrified.
So now she keeps asking, literally out of nowhere "Is your mom still dead?" Like creepy.
She has a way of doing that.
One day I was lying in bed on holiday and she was in a roll out bed next to me. I was almost asleep and she said "You don't want another baby, you just want Titus."
The fuck kid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So creepy it up little soul. You're right.
I don't want to leave them with some un-fulfilled adoration from me, and that may be why I abuse them with love, feel so desperately guilty when I yell, and walk around with a constant fear of screwing them up. I can't leave them not knowing how amazing they are.
I started smoking again. OK, OK, calm down. And even though I know it won't just take me out immediately, it now has this impending doom attached to it, not for me, but for my kids. Will it take me out, before I fill them with what they need? Will I ever fill them? Is filling a child even fucking possible?
You are kind, you are funny, you are smart, you are wonderful, you are great, you are perfect....
I miss my mom.
Right now... "Joliet do you know you're wonderful?"
Jo "Yes, do you know I'm wonderful?"
Yes.
Jo "Your so beautiful"................................. Go pick your pony Jo.... Go pick your pony.
I wish my mom could hear that.
I'm 32 years old, and I still need my mother so desperately. I keep doing cool stuff, so I keep looking for that affirmation, reassurance, guidance, that "way to go Laura." I still need that and being sentenced to a life without it down right sucks!
I need her to see my kids, attend my wedding, read my book, look at how hot a husband I got.
I need her to taste my food, and see my successes.
I can see her eyes when they get teary from pride. I remember her being proud of me for whatever. I wasn't much of a productive member of society, so every minute reason I could give her to be proud she would be. "Hell, Laura finished her peas. Good girl!"
Whatever, I took it.
When your only cheerleader dies, that need for approval doesn't die. You just get none.
Tough S^&* sweetheart you're on your own!
When people die you have unfinished business with, it sure is a kick in the lip! That can go wither way. I still am waiting for my dead dad to apologize and tell me I was worthy of being loved, or that he loved me! Yea, that's gonna go well.
Being an adult sucks. Knowing life is only what you make it, and that no one can determine your self worth but you is very bitter. I keep looking for them and they don't seem to be making any appearances.
Lately my 3 year old has been obsessed with death and I honestly don't know why. We don't talk about it, or watch shows about it. I don't talk about my parents, but for the last 3 months she asks constantly...... I know why, she had a dream Juneaux died, and she was so hysterical we had to hold her for 2 hours in the middle of the night. She was sobbing and trembling with fear. I thought that was just a saying, but my kid was trembling with fear.
She said "Do you ever have dreams?"
Yes baby.
"Do you ever have die dreams?"
...................omg
She said they were in the bath and Juneaux went under the water. Poor kid. She was horrified.
So now she keeps asking, literally out of nowhere "Is your mom still dead?" Like creepy.
She has a way of doing that.
One day I was lying in bed on holiday and she was in a roll out bed next to me. I was almost asleep and she said "You don't want another baby, you just want Titus."
The fuck kid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So creepy it up little soul. You're right.
I don't want to leave them with some un-fulfilled adoration from me, and that may be why I abuse them with love, feel so desperately guilty when I yell, and walk around with a constant fear of screwing them up. I can't leave them not knowing how amazing they are.
I started smoking again. OK, OK, calm down. And even though I know it won't just take me out immediately, it now has this impending doom attached to it, not for me, but for my kids. Will it take me out, before I fill them with what they need? Will I ever fill them? Is filling a child even fucking possible?
You are kind, you are funny, you are smart, you are wonderful, you are great, you are perfect....
I miss my mom.
Right now... "Joliet do you know you're wonderful?"
Jo "Yes, do you know I'm wonderful?"
Yes.
Jo "Your so beautiful"................................. Go pick your pony Jo.... Go pick your pony.
I wish my mom could hear that.
Tuesday 19 November 2013
Beauty
My children are beautiful. Deny it! I dare you. Have you seen them?
I can say that shit, as none of them look like me!
I had a woman on a plane go "I'm sorry for staring but your son looks so much like your husband it's uncanny."
"Thanks," I say "But she's a girl."
"Nooooo, your son!"
She ment Haven. Dude he's adopted!
I get that all the time. Haven looks just like James! (His adopted child)
And yea, Joliet is what happens when God get's bored making faces, so he re-printed James' face and added blue eyes and a vagina. Joliet is the re-incarnation of my husband down to his weird hands.
The Juneaux, who is this creepy, big eyes, baby that baby commercials are made from. What gives?
And what exactly is my issue if my kids are so "beautiful?"
I can look back on my insane life with perfect 20/20 vision. I can map out what happened to make which event take place, to affect which people, to cause which result into the future. Do you know, I can blame myself for a man cheating on his wife 10 years later, because of my distain for men and inability to be loved, from my not feeling good enough about myself, from a father that wasn't there? Now THAT is impressive.
I can fight you to the death, but I will go back and re-analyse after the fight to find the heart of the issue. Mostly my fault mind you.
I feel the greatest human tragedy is the inability to accept personal responsibility.
I can DO that....... maybe not straight away, but I got you.
You can even look back on a fight you and I have personally got into, and believe it or not, I have gone back and found my part....
So who care's if my kids are beautiful?
I guess I am scared for them. Everyone wants beautiful kids, but I feel it's for selfish reasons "Look how beautiful my baby is, therefore I must be beautiful to produce this."
But what does that mean in the future?
Juneaux scares the shit out of me. She has these eyes, that at 6 months, pierce through you like daggers. Like she will be able to control people with her beauty. She is seriously scary.
So what? So I don't want my kids to use that, or be taken advantage of because of that, or to do harm with that.
I am scared for what they will do with that.
Will they trust they are beautiful? Will they base their looks on others opinions of them? Will they manipulate others with that? Will they be used for that? Hell, being a parent is hard.
My kids aren't cute? Haven has 7 year old girls who want to marry him KNOWING he's trans. The kid is damn good-looking.
Joliet started off shaky, but looks like a freaky gap kid model, and Juneaux just grosses people out that I got 3 that attractive. I heard that. "That's not fair, all 3 are good looking."
So what do I do? I tell them they are everything but. Smart, strong, talented, caring, patient, kind, empathetic, intelligent, motivated, athletic.....but I still say beautiful.
With my whole life based on my appearance I am so confused how to parent kids without that being in their vocabulary. Because it was a baseline in my self worth.
Pretty and bright. I remember the first time a stranger didn't comment on my looks. It was my date to 9th grade home comings mother. She did not mention I was pretty. What the fuck. I remember because it was a constant, and when it wasn't there I was crushed. What a stupid thing to worry about! If someone thinks you are pretty!!!!
At 32, fuck being pretty, tell me I am smart, or determined. I want spontaneous, creative, and kind. I don't care if you think I'm pretty, I am a badass for lot's of reasons. Being attractive isn't one of them. With a world of beauty and measuring up, how do I stray these beautiful being away form that being their definitions?
You ARE beautiful, but you are bold first. You are creative first, you are athletic first. How do you give them a different first?
Boo hoo Laura with your pretty kids. Dude, they don't look like me, I got nothing to do with it, but I do have something to do with them becoming adults. Productive, thriving adults......
So who care's right? What do I do with beautiful?
I can say that shit, as none of them look like me!
I had a woman on a plane go "I'm sorry for staring but your son looks so much like your husband it's uncanny."
"Thanks," I say "But she's a girl."
"Nooooo, your son!"
She ment Haven. Dude he's adopted!
I get that all the time. Haven looks just like James! (His adopted child)
And yea, Joliet is what happens when God get's bored making faces, so he re-printed James' face and added blue eyes and a vagina. Joliet is the re-incarnation of my husband down to his weird hands.
The Juneaux, who is this creepy, big eyes, baby that baby commercials are made from. What gives?
And what exactly is my issue if my kids are so "beautiful?"
I can look back on my insane life with perfect 20/20 vision. I can map out what happened to make which event take place, to affect which people, to cause which result into the future. Do you know, I can blame myself for a man cheating on his wife 10 years later, because of my distain for men and inability to be loved, from my not feeling good enough about myself, from a father that wasn't there? Now THAT is impressive.
I can fight you to the death, but I will go back and re-analyse after the fight to find the heart of the issue. Mostly my fault mind you.
I feel the greatest human tragedy is the inability to accept personal responsibility.
I can DO that....... maybe not straight away, but I got you.
You can even look back on a fight you and I have personally got into, and believe it or not, I have gone back and found my part....
So who care's if my kids are beautiful?
I guess I am scared for them. Everyone wants beautiful kids, but I feel it's for selfish reasons "Look how beautiful my baby is, therefore I must be beautiful to produce this."
But what does that mean in the future?
Juneaux scares the shit out of me. She has these eyes, that at 6 months, pierce through you like daggers. Like she will be able to control people with her beauty. She is seriously scary.
So what? So I don't want my kids to use that, or be taken advantage of because of that, or to do harm with that.
I am scared for what they will do with that.
Will they trust they are beautiful? Will they base their looks on others opinions of them? Will they manipulate others with that? Will they be used for that? Hell, being a parent is hard.
My kids aren't cute? Haven has 7 year old girls who want to marry him KNOWING he's trans. The kid is damn good-looking.
Joliet started off shaky, but looks like a freaky gap kid model, and Juneaux just grosses people out that I got 3 that attractive. I heard that. "That's not fair, all 3 are good looking."
So what do I do? I tell them they are everything but. Smart, strong, talented, caring, patient, kind, empathetic, intelligent, motivated, athletic.....but I still say beautiful.
With my whole life based on my appearance I am so confused how to parent kids without that being in their vocabulary. Because it was a baseline in my self worth.
Pretty and bright. I remember the first time a stranger didn't comment on my looks. It was my date to 9th grade home comings mother. She did not mention I was pretty. What the fuck. I remember because it was a constant, and when it wasn't there I was crushed. What a stupid thing to worry about! If someone thinks you are pretty!!!!
At 32, fuck being pretty, tell me I am smart, or determined. I want spontaneous, creative, and kind. I don't care if you think I'm pretty, I am a badass for lot's of reasons. Being attractive isn't one of them. With a world of beauty and measuring up, how do I stray these beautiful being away form that being their definitions?
You ARE beautiful, but you are bold first. You are creative first, you are athletic first. How do you give them a different first?
Boo hoo Laura with your pretty kids. Dude, they don't look like me, I got nothing to do with it, but I do have something to do with them becoming adults. Productive, thriving adults......
So who care's right? What do I do with beautiful?
Thursday 14 November 2013
Don't scroll down
Don’t Scroll Down-
The internet is amazing for so many reasons, c’mon. I remember watching a commercial 15 years ago
that said “one day you will give an email address instead of a phone number.” I laughed.
Yea, the internet is amazing.
The issue, is this alter ego people assume that for some reason, has the audacity
to say things that they would be punched in the face for in reality. Anonymity
is not a positive, when those that chose to hurt, can hide behind it. So what
baseline do we judge ourselves with, when determining our childrens ability to express themselves? How much do you
take in when living your life with a trans child?
Jack Fuck Face wrote
under a beautifully written article about a trans child, “Worst form of child
abuse.” (This was my moment of
enlightenment.) This comment I read cut
me like blades in my eyes. But, Jack Fuck face would not say that if 2 things
had happened. 1. He spent 2 minutes in
my house or 2. He was saying that to my face, as I would groin kick him to the
point his kids had belly aches. Jack Fuck Face isn’t real. At what
point do you hear the opinions or not?
Another one, was a man being interviewed saying trans kids
should be put to death. Right. Way to be informed. Even though this shit is
stupid, it still hurts! It hurts because
your friends and family hear that crap too!!!
I challenge you to stop scrolling down. Rolling that thing on your mouse does not
change your reality. The people in your
life who accept or do not, will not change by reading others’ stupid ignorant
opinions. I no longer scroll down.
The last time I scrolled down I read “Worst form of child
abuse.” Screw you Jack Fuck Face. You are as important to my life as I am to
yours. You don’t know me! Feel free to say that like a gangster! You don’t know me! Empower yourself with the fact, their opinion
is as relevant as yours is to micro worm farming in Japan. You don’t know shit about it.
So please stop scrolling down. We are amazing and equal, and relevant, and
happy and healthy as anyone.
One quick comment.
Have you realised which kid of yours was trans? Not the fragile one huh? God did not chose the weaker, fragile
child. He chose the badass!
Tuesday 12 November 2013
My new eyes
My new eyes-
The gift from a transgender son
When you list off all the things you wish for your beautiful
baby lying in your arms, conflict with their body is not one. You pray for their happiness, their love,
their career. You pray they are healthy,
and have an easy transition at school and make friends easy. You pray they find
peace, and fit in, and do well in school.
Not this. Not to be in conflict
with their body.
I can say with some assurance I have always supported my
child. Supported? Yes, wanted this and accepted this
fully? No. “Your child has gender identity
disorder.” Huh….. That’s not right. So my baby is that? 80% of
kids grow out of it….. Ok then, we will support until he decides this was
all just a big mistake.
Maybe when we shave
his hair off, he will feel strange and decide to be a girl…. Well that
didn’t happen.
Maybe when we let him
shop in the boys department, he will feel uncomfortable and decide maybe he is
a girl….. No. Not that either.
When we start using
the male pronouns at school, and when everyone says “he” this will all change,
and he will be my daughter….. Instead.
He is free.
Supportive, yes.
Scared as all hell for the future his life will hold…yes…. Oh God
why?!
So we changed. I
always say that we transition, not our child. They are just being them, we have to
change. I said it, and ment it, and
tried it, and faked it… Until one day, I woke up with new eyes.
I used “he” with a smile and a cringe inside. I sent him to school that first day, crying
the whole way home believing I sent my child to the wolves and was about to
ruin his life letting him do this! I
can’t just let him use the boys toilets when everyone knows he’s female! I can’t just let his friends outcast him and
bully him and make fun of this kind, sweet child! I must be the worst mother
ever! But listening to his pleas to be
male since 18 months old. His
convictions of his reality. His begging
with God and me to make him male, and when will his penis grow, and how God
made a mistake. The kid said if I don’t
let him be boy he’s moving to
Canada. Canada? Really?
It has been a year, and my new eyes are here.
I was faking it until I made it. And I have made it. So has he.
I could use “he” and “his” with fluency, and only mildly
contemplate it in my brain. But now, one
year later. A new woman has
emerged. This child is finally my
son.
Not just my son, but the son I always wanted! If I could write out my perfect kid on paper…
THIS WOULD BE HIM. Not only do I now
have a son, I have a perfect, amazing boy, who I adore and cherish and fawn
over. These are my new eyes.
I meet new parents of the little kids, and ache again for
them, because I will remember the weight of the reality forever. That time of uncertainty and fear. This ache on your heart and guessing yourself
and your child. I remember that. That is why I will always be a part of
whatever support group I can. I will be
here for any parent, until they get the gift of their new eyes.
See, God didn’t make a mistake when creating my child. God knew this kid was just badass enough to
go through this, learn from this, and teach others with it. Including me.
Me! The one who thought she was
all open-minded and go with the flow, and accept everyone…until it’s your kid,
and the knowledge the world SUCKS and you don’t want your kid thrown in that!
Me. He is badass enough to teach me.
So please parent’s be patient. Do not be upset or guilty with the questions
you have and pain you feel. You don’t
want this for your baby. That sleeping
baby in your arms. But your child too,
is badass enough to do this. You are
amazing enough to support them. We are
all here together, and can go at it as one.
I love my new eyes.
The eyes that see a happy, healthy, outgoing, funny, annoying, pestering,
cheeky little monkey of a child. The
eyes that after much deliberation, fear, guilt, pain, ache, and trepidation……
are now open, to the fact I have a son….
Thursday 7 November 2013
Joy, love, goodness, kindness, patience, self control, peace, faithfulness, gentleness.....
I am learning, not "Why me?" But "What do you want me to learn from this?"
I am also learning that every temptation, or obstacle- gives you the ability to chose one of these gifts. I have to chose to react with joy, love, goodness, kindness, patience, self control, peace, faithfulness and gentleness. It's a choice.............That sucks.
My new obstacle is that I just got 250 books from the printer, completely screwed up. $2,300 worth or recyclable paper in my garage. Worthless.
I tried to react with patience and self control. I tried kindness, and it didn't work. They refuse to do anything.
During this book- I hired a photographer who agreed to photograph for portfolio work. After shooting, holding my pictures hostage- demanded $2500...... Really?
I got an editor, who I trusted-charging me $2500 when I come to find out the going rate is about $600..... Really?
Now, the printer.... and I'm sad.
So I cried out "What lesson do you want me to learn from this?"
First thing that comes to mind is that I need to protect myself, make wiser decisions, be more careful, get contracts? I hate that the level of integrity in 2013 in the whole of the world is so low, you need contracts! Why is trusting people such a bad virtue to carry? I trust people therefor I am an idiot.
Why does this lesson have to cost my husband so much money? It makes him give me the look of disappointment. That mom look, of "Really?" Not anger, he respects that I trust people, but I am sure he is over getting stuck with the bill.
Do I just give up? I worked sooooo hard. This idea came when I woke up one morning and I was compelled to write this. Fully out of my control, giddy with excitement, grabbed a notebook and filled it laughing and screaming how excited I was to do this. I hit some road blocks, but pushed my ass through.... I am pretty sure the lesson is not to give up on the last lap.
I wish I could teach my children trust. I would NEVER do this to you, so I assume you wouldn't do it to me. That's not the case.
Joy, Love, Peace, Kindness, Goodness, Patience, Self Control, Faithfulness, Gentleness.............
God what am I supposed to learn from this?
I am learning, not "Why me?" But "What do you want me to learn from this?"
I am also learning that every temptation, or obstacle- gives you the ability to chose one of these gifts. I have to chose to react with joy, love, goodness, kindness, patience, self control, peace, faithfulness and gentleness. It's a choice.............That sucks.
My new obstacle is that I just got 250 books from the printer, completely screwed up. $2,300 worth or recyclable paper in my garage. Worthless.
I tried to react with patience and self control. I tried kindness, and it didn't work. They refuse to do anything.
During this book- I hired a photographer who agreed to photograph for portfolio work. After shooting, holding my pictures hostage- demanded $2500...... Really?
I got an editor, who I trusted-charging me $2500 when I come to find out the going rate is about $600..... Really?
Now, the printer.... and I'm sad.
So I cried out "What lesson do you want me to learn from this?"
First thing that comes to mind is that I need to protect myself, make wiser decisions, be more careful, get contracts? I hate that the level of integrity in 2013 in the whole of the world is so low, you need contracts! Why is trusting people such a bad virtue to carry? I trust people therefor I am an idiot.
Why does this lesson have to cost my husband so much money? It makes him give me the look of disappointment. That mom look, of "Really?" Not anger, he respects that I trust people, but I am sure he is over getting stuck with the bill.
Do I just give up? I worked sooooo hard. This idea came when I woke up one morning and I was compelled to write this. Fully out of my control, giddy with excitement, grabbed a notebook and filled it laughing and screaming how excited I was to do this. I hit some road blocks, but pushed my ass through.... I am pretty sure the lesson is not to give up on the last lap.
I wish I could teach my children trust. I would NEVER do this to you, so I assume you wouldn't do it to me. That's not the case.
Joy, Love, Peace, Kindness, Goodness, Patience, Self Control, Faithfulness, Gentleness.............
God what am I supposed to learn from this?
Tuesday 5 November 2013
Don't let me break her,
I believe this life is a lesson. Lessons to take to eternity. You will get the same lesson until learned
.
I have a transgender child.
What lesson could be harder than living in a body that doesn't match your soul? Anything? Fucking anything? This has got to be the most challenging, difficult, soul destroying lesson, and I am so blessed and grateful I get to guide and nurture a soul with this lesson. Bring it on.
You are mighty and powerful and strong and brilliant just the way you are. You will be loved, and cherished, and adored for you as a soul not a body.
I'm sorry for your pain, but I will bear your cross and nurture your being for the beauty it is regardless. You are spectacular. You are great.
I don't worry about the child with the hardest life path imaginable. I worry about Joliet.
Joliet is soft. Delicate, fragile, precious. I get upset with her and she crumbles at my touch. "I'm so sorry mom, I am so sorry." No question, no justification, just pure fear of my anger.... I fear for her. I need my methods questioned. I punish you, I need you to make sure my ruling is justified and accurate. Please don't take me at my word, as I am just a mother trying my best. My best may not be right.
Joliet, if I say "no." respect me, but please don't cower at my word. I too make mistakes...
"Haven don't eat that."
"But why? Have you eaten it? How do you know I can't eat that? Maybe you ate it and it was different than this. Maybe you are wrong."
The questioning makes me steadfast in my deliberation, and when not questioned, makes me fall short of real parenting.
If they don't resist I become a dictator.
I don't "Rule" you, I direct you, please question the direction of me any EVERYBODY.
If my child doesn't question me, how will I know she wont question the masses? Question EVERYONE! Your teachers, the cops, the courts, the church. Question until you have no more questions than question again! Please baby girl of light, fear only yourself, and not my authority. Everyone wants obedient children, but when a child refuses to question, and cowers at your authority, it kills me! It kills me she submits with no distinction. My baby, my beauty, my light. I will tell you my course and ideas and ideals, but my God child, I am not perfect. Please don't take me as such.
Joliet is kind, and sacred. Her soul so pure and delicate that a stern look turns her to jello. My baby,
I will get upset as a mother, but please don't take this as a definition of your character. My anger will pass, your beauty and uniqueness will not.
I don't know how to parent a soft willed child. I can do my child with the hard life path. I can do my son with a non-conforming body, and fear of toilets, and partners, and secrets. I can do the hardest of the hard. I don't know how to do the submissive. The gentle, the delicate. How do I do the sensitive soul too kind for the earth?
How do I protect a being so graceful and sweet, the world would break? How do I put this baby in a bubble?
Yea, yea, you are trans and society wants to burn you at the steak. Fine, we will work through that, bring on the pitch forks! I will beat some asses and take names son, and you are strong enough to fight with me....
How do I do the people pleaser?
Joliet you are perfect. When people say otherwise how do I calm her? How do I reassure her? How do I protect her?
I fear for my baby. Not the one with the hardest life path on earth...we got this.... but my baby with the sensitive soul.
Please pray for Joliet. Keep her spirit with you, and keep her close. She needs support through this crazy maze. I get locking girls in towers, but she would be too lonely so that's out.
Pray for my daughter.
Pray for my guidance for her.
Amen.
.
I have a transgender child.
What lesson could be harder than living in a body that doesn't match your soul? Anything? Fucking anything? This has got to be the most challenging, difficult, soul destroying lesson, and I am so blessed and grateful I get to guide and nurture a soul with this lesson. Bring it on.
You are mighty and powerful and strong and brilliant just the way you are. You will be loved, and cherished, and adored for you as a soul not a body.
I'm sorry for your pain, but I will bear your cross and nurture your being for the beauty it is regardless. You are spectacular. You are great.
I don't worry about the child with the hardest life path imaginable. I worry about Joliet.
Joliet is soft. Delicate, fragile, precious. I get upset with her and she crumbles at my touch. "I'm so sorry mom, I am so sorry." No question, no justification, just pure fear of my anger.... I fear for her. I need my methods questioned. I punish you, I need you to make sure my ruling is justified and accurate. Please don't take me at my word, as I am just a mother trying my best. My best may not be right.
Joliet, if I say "no." respect me, but please don't cower at my word. I too make mistakes...
"Haven don't eat that."
"But why? Have you eaten it? How do you know I can't eat that? Maybe you ate it and it was different than this. Maybe you are wrong."
The questioning makes me steadfast in my deliberation, and when not questioned, makes me fall short of real parenting.
If they don't resist I become a dictator.
I don't "Rule" you, I direct you, please question the direction of me any EVERYBODY.
If my child doesn't question me, how will I know she wont question the masses? Question EVERYONE! Your teachers, the cops, the courts, the church. Question until you have no more questions than question again! Please baby girl of light, fear only yourself, and not my authority. Everyone wants obedient children, but when a child refuses to question, and cowers at your authority, it kills me! It kills me she submits with no distinction. My baby, my beauty, my light. I will tell you my course and ideas and ideals, but my God child, I am not perfect. Please don't take me as such.
Joliet is kind, and sacred. Her soul so pure and delicate that a stern look turns her to jello. My baby,
I will get upset as a mother, but please don't take this as a definition of your character. My anger will pass, your beauty and uniqueness will not.
I don't know how to parent a soft willed child. I can do my child with the hard life path. I can do my son with a non-conforming body, and fear of toilets, and partners, and secrets. I can do the hardest of the hard. I don't know how to do the submissive. The gentle, the delicate. How do I do the sensitive soul too kind for the earth?
How do I protect a being so graceful and sweet, the world would break? How do I put this baby in a bubble?
Yea, yea, you are trans and society wants to burn you at the steak. Fine, we will work through that, bring on the pitch forks! I will beat some asses and take names son, and you are strong enough to fight with me....
How do I do the people pleaser?
Joliet you are perfect. When people say otherwise how do I calm her? How do I reassure her? How do I protect her?
I fear for my baby. Not the one with the hardest life path on earth...we got this.... but my baby with the sensitive soul.
Please pray for Joliet. Keep her spirit with you, and keep her close. She needs support through this crazy maze. I get locking girls in towers, but she would be too lonely so that's out.
Pray for my daughter.
Pray for my guidance for her.
Amen.
Friday 1 November 2013
The blind painter of children.
Looking back at baby photos is a joy for most mothers.. Most mothers that aren't me I guess.
Where do you start when your children's photos bring back everything you have ever done wrong?
I look at Haven at 3 and see how hard I was on him. Haven has always been my wisdom. This old Jewish man in a short childs body. I remember fighting with James and Haven walking James by the hand into the bedroom so he could apologize to me. Grown beyond his years since birth. Too wise and smart and good for me. I would hold him accountable to actions far beyond his ability. I still do. I see him as a wise old man, when he is still just a baby. I don't have photos of us at our hardest. Who would have taken them? Me working and then drinking the night away, him asleep. My part time single parenting as there was no one else to take care of us. Me full of resentments for the reality, and this sweet little child going with the flow. His maturity was just a reflection of my neglect and immaturity.
I am so sorry Haven.
I thought Joliet was ugly. Yes my Joliet. The 2 foot tall blonde angel of light that lives in my home. The 2 foot tall angel of God's breath; that poops rainbows and vomits sunshine. The 2 foot tall cherub that holds my face, and tells me she loves me 30 times a day, after thanking me for hugs, and telling me how happy I make her heart... That child to me was ugly..... This was just the reflection of me failing as a parent. Failing to do the one job God gave me to do... To comfort her.
I was ugly.
Joliet cried for 18-20 hours a day.. for a year. 5 doctors by the time she was 3 months. Each one stupider than the next. The second doctor saying "Well, at least it isn't 22 hours a day." Thanks mate. Doctor 5 asking if I tried a dummy......
Bitch I will stab you right here.....
We went to sleep school, a four day programme. We were kicked out after 17. "You just have a hard baby!"....... I had no support or family... I thought I had made a mistake... I was a full failure to her and it made me resent her and not see her beauty. You idiot woman....
Joliet I am so sorry.
I look at these photos and it is going so fast I HATED when people would say that. Fuck! It does go by so fast, and it doesn't come back.
Men who walk out on their kids, or people work obsessed, even though this is so hard you will fail continually, it is so amazing, and it DOES go by so quick. Just stop.
I fail and hate myself for getting it wrong. Why do the failures override the amazing unmatched joy and beauty of this parenting thing? Why do I look back at Joliet's face... This child model, blue eyes the size of 50 cent coins and breathe apologies over the pictures instead of gratitude? Fuck I'm sorrrrrry! I'm sorry I couldn't fix it, I'm sorry you wouldn't stop crying. I'm sorry James would come home to you screaming in your cot and me crying on the floor with a glass of wine next to me. I'm so sorry.
Haven I am so sorry I put thing's before you! God I took you for granted, and put you second to my career and finding a partner. I did that, and you didn't deserve it. God I am so sorry Haven...
I yell too much, I get so annoyed, and if I hear "Mom, mom, mom, mom, look at me, look at me, look at me" one more freaking time my head will literally combust. BAM like a cartoon.... I am so sorry.
I want to stare at them.
I want to be so close to my kids that they are inside of me.
I want to breathe them in. All of them, their personalities, gifts, quirks, struggles.
I lie on the children's hospital floor with Titus in the ER and a security guard comes to ask if I'm OK. "My baby is sick... he's so sick...." "oh" he says. " I thought you were hurt." I AM HURT! My baby is sick. They are hurt so I am hurt. Stab me, shoot me, take this pain away.
They are sick and I feel physical pain! I will die to take it away, I will take your broken arm, your skinned knee, your stomach ache, your cancer. I will DIE right now, right here on the floor to save you. I will give you my BRAIN. I will die right now... to save you.
When will this get easier? This love, un matched, unequal desperate love for these children, at the same time, my insurmountable guilt for the wrongs I have done to them? My mountains of mistakes? My rivers of faults and my vast measures of fuck ups. Oh man have I screwed up.
Can I get a do-over? Is that Juneaux? HAHAHA. Just kidding... But really I can see me smothering her and over compensating, just for my screw ups with 1 and 2... Damn, James better keep his good job as I will be buying lot's of ponies.
I love them.
I don't just love them, I live them and thank God that even though I screw this up like a blind painter, I love them.
That's parenting.
Where do you start when your children's photos bring back everything you have ever done wrong?
I look at Haven at 3 and see how hard I was on him. Haven has always been my wisdom. This old Jewish man in a short childs body. I remember fighting with James and Haven walking James by the hand into the bedroom so he could apologize to me. Grown beyond his years since birth. Too wise and smart and good for me. I would hold him accountable to actions far beyond his ability. I still do. I see him as a wise old man, when he is still just a baby. I don't have photos of us at our hardest. Who would have taken them? Me working and then drinking the night away, him asleep. My part time single parenting as there was no one else to take care of us. Me full of resentments for the reality, and this sweet little child going with the flow. His maturity was just a reflection of my neglect and immaturity.
I am so sorry Haven.
I thought Joliet was ugly. Yes my Joliet. The 2 foot tall blonde angel of light that lives in my home. The 2 foot tall angel of God's breath; that poops rainbows and vomits sunshine. The 2 foot tall cherub that holds my face, and tells me she loves me 30 times a day, after thanking me for hugs, and telling me how happy I make her heart... That child to me was ugly..... This was just the reflection of me failing as a parent. Failing to do the one job God gave me to do... To comfort her.
I was ugly.
Joliet cried for 18-20 hours a day.. for a year. 5 doctors by the time she was 3 months. Each one stupider than the next. The second doctor saying "Well, at least it isn't 22 hours a day." Thanks mate. Doctor 5 asking if I tried a dummy......
Bitch I will stab you right here.....
We went to sleep school, a four day programme. We were kicked out after 17. "You just have a hard baby!"....... I had no support or family... I thought I had made a mistake... I was a full failure to her and it made me resent her and not see her beauty. You idiot woman....
Joliet I am so sorry.
I look at these photos and it is going so fast I HATED when people would say that. Fuck! It does go by so fast, and it doesn't come back.
Men who walk out on their kids, or people work obsessed, even though this is so hard you will fail continually, it is so amazing, and it DOES go by so quick. Just stop.
I fail and hate myself for getting it wrong. Why do the failures override the amazing unmatched joy and beauty of this parenting thing? Why do I look back at Joliet's face... This child model, blue eyes the size of 50 cent coins and breathe apologies over the pictures instead of gratitude? Fuck I'm sorrrrrry! I'm sorry I couldn't fix it, I'm sorry you wouldn't stop crying. I'm sorry James would come home to you screaming in your cot and me crying on the floor with a glass of wine next to me. I'm so sorry.
Haven I am so sorry I put thing's before you! God I took you for granted, and put you second to my career and finding a partner. I did that, and you didn't deserve it. God I am so sorry Haven...
I yell too much, I get so annoyed, and if I hear "Mom, mom, mom, mom, look at me, look at me, look at me" one more freaking time my head will literally combust. BAM like a cartoon.... I am so sorry.
I want to stare at them.
I want to be so close to my kids that they are inside of me.
I want to breathe them in. All of them, their personalities, gifts, quirks, struggles.
I lie on the children's hospital floor with Titus in the ER and a security guard comes to ask if I'm OK. "My baby is sick... he's so sick...." "oh" he says. " I thought you were hurt." I AM HURT! My baby is sick. They are hurt so I am hurt. Stab me, shoot me, take this pain away.
They are sick and I feel physical pain! I will die to take it away, I will take your broken arm, your skinned knee, your stomach ache, your cancer. I will DIE right now, right here on the floor to save you. I will give you my BRAIN. I will die right now... to save you.
When will this get easier? This love, un matched, unequal desperate love for these children, at the same time, my insurmountable guilt for the wrongs I have done to them? My mountains of mistakes? My rivers of faults and my vast measures of fuck ups. Oh man have I screwed up.
Can I get a do-over? Is that Juneaux? HAHAHA. Just kidding... But really I can see me smothering her and over compensating, just for my screw ups with 1 and 2... Damn, James better keep his good job as I will be buying lot's of ponies.
I love them.
I don't just love them, I live them and thank God that even though I screw this up like a blind painter, I love them.
That's parenting.
Tuesday 29 October 2013
I'm a LIAR
I freaking hate liars....but the deeper I dive, the more I am seeing I'm a liar!
I know darn well I used to lie when I was younger, everything I did was illegal! Of course I lied, or I would be in big trouble!
I don't blatantly lie now, but as I listen to myself tell stories.... I embellish.
It's not like my life and stories are so boring I need to lie, but my creative juices flow, and a story may get better and bigger than reality.
There's no room for the truth in a good story.
I think because I like my words and excitement, I may feel my stories need to get grander than they are. Life with 3 kids is anything but boring, but my literal available span to leave the house is strictly calculated down to the minute of 11am-1pm, and from 3:30-5pm. Come hell or high water my baby will be in her cot for a nap on time! It's not an option. So I guess because my time for acquiring experience and stories becomes more limited, the stories may become bigger.
The fish was THIS big.
Sometimes if the conversation is boring or I want to end it, if someone assumes something, I will just agree. No harm no foul, even if it's not the truth.
Haven is my arch nemesis when telling stories, as if every word I say is not verbatim he will call me out like a casino snitch! "That's not what she said!" Ugh! Haven! That was the punch line!
So no, don't go cutting me off thinking I am not trustworthy or dishonest, but when I do have to admit, I am a bit of a liar. :)
Babe, watch out, the last time I thought the back up sensors were "Being dramatic" I hit a curb! So James says "You told me the car didn't beep when you backed into the curb!!!!" Well, I don't think it beeped..... well I didn't hear it beep, but maybe I just wasn't listening. Or maybe it did beep and I just thought it was being dramatic. The last scenario was just a story of something like the truth.
"Well did it beep or didn't it beep?" For God sake I have no recollection and can't remember so I just told 2 different versions of the story, ONE of which is true, but both you and I won't know which, as I honestly don't know.
I know darn well I used to lie when I was younger, everything I did was illegal! Of course I lied, or I would be in big trouble!
I don't blatantly lie now, but as I listen to myself tell stories.... I embellish.
It's not like my life and stories are so boring I need to lie, but my creative juices flow, and a story may get better and bigger than reality.
There's no room for the truth in a good story.
I think because I like my words and excitement, I may feel my stories need to get grander than they are. Life with 3 kids is anything but boring, but my literal available span to leave the house is strictly calculated down to the minute of 11am-1pm, and from 3:30-5pm. Come hell or high water my baby will be in her cot for a nap on time! It's not an option. So I guess because my time for acquiring experience and stories becomes more limited, the stories may become bigger.
The fish was THIS big.
Sometimes if the conversation is boring or I want to end it, if someone assumes something, I will just agree. No harm no foul, even if it's not the truth.
Haven is my arch nemesis when telling stories, as if every word I say is not verbatim he will call me out like a casino snitch! "That's not what she said!" Ugh! Haven! That was the punch line!
So no, don't go cutting me off thinking I am not trustworthy or dishonest, but when I do have to admit, I am a bit of a liar. :)
Babe, watch out, the last time I thought the back up sensors were "Being dramatic" I hit a curb! So James says "You told me the car didn't beep when you backed into the curb!!!!" Well, I don't think it beeped..... well I didn't hear it beep, but maybe I just wasn't listening. Or maybe it did beep and I just thought it was being dramatic. The last scenario was just a story of something like the truth.
"Well did it beep or didn't it beep?" For God sake I have no recollection and can't remember so I just told 2 different versions of the story, ONE of which is true, but both you and I won't know which, as I honestly don't know.
Thursday 24 October 2013
How much to give?
I used to live by the motto "See a need, fill a need." If you can help....just fucking help! Ughhhhhh, as I get older this get's so much harder. Yes you have a need, yes I can fill it, and would like to, but reality is I get so completely screwed and taken advantage of in MOST the endeavours, I have become a bit jaded.
There is a girl at Haven's school. Mind you, something like 80% of his school is immigrant, living in housing flats (projects.) There isn't money except for a very few families. There are needs everywhere in this school, you could never get to them all, however we do our part.
This girls mother is having a really hard time. She always reeks of alcohol, at school pick ups. Mind you it's 3pm. Her nails are stained yellow, and she just looks unwell. Her daughter is the sweetest, kindest thing, but she get's picked on at school..... Oh the need... They have no hot water.......
I pray about what I should give to them.... God said "everything.".............. My brothers and sisters in faith will say "No brainer! Give it up biotch!" My friends of self would say "Not your issue!" My husband... the capitalist with a good heart, but a knowledge I don't posess that people can screw you over would say "I wish I had your heart...but no." I haven't asked him.
This issue I think is plumbing, not money, but they have less than no money. What do I do?
I guess I would rather be taken advantage of by many, and help one, than help none..... As we get older this is still so hard!
The little girl came by after school and was just obsessed with our shower... Too much! It's just too much.
It would be easier to just "give everything" Maybe if I had some boundries? Be able to say no? I know in my hardest times, I was a user and abuser, and would take advantage of whomever. I think this may be my repentence. It's harder when my husband is the sole provider of the family, and filling him in I lost $ because my heart told me too, may not seem like a rational endeavour to him.
So I pray again "God how much do I give?"
"Everything."
Wish me luck!
There is a girl at Haven's school. Mind you, something like 80% of his school is immigrant, living in housing flats (projects.) There isn't money except for a very few families. There are needs everywhere in this school, you could never get to them all, however we do our part.
This girls mother is having a really hard time. She always reeks of alcohol, at school pick ups. Mind you it's 3pm. Her nails are stained yellow, and she just looks unwell. Her daughter is the sweetest, kindest thing, but she get's picked on at school..... Oh the need... They have no hot water.......
I pray about what I should give to them.... God said "everything.".............. My brothers and sisters in faith will say "No brainer! Give it up biotch!" My friends of self would say "Not your issue!" My husband... the capitalist with a good heart, but a knowledge I don't posess that people can screw you over would say "I wish I had your heart...but no." I haven't asked him.
This issue I think is plumbing, not money, but they have less than no money. What do I do?
I guess I would rather be taken advantage of by many, and help one, than help none..... As we get older this is still so hard!
The little girl came by after school and was just obsessed with our shower... Too much! It's just too much.
It would be easier to just "give everything" Maybe if I had some boundries? Be able to say no? I know in my hardest times, I was a user and abuser, and would take advantage of whomever. I think this may be my repentence. It's harder when my husband is the sole provider of the family, and filling him in I lost $ because my heart told me too, may not seem like a rational endeavour to him.
So I pray again "God how much do I give?"
"Everything."
Wish me luck!
Friday 18 October 2013
40 Days off Facebook
Well if JESUS could do it!
HA! Pretty sure he gave up other shit I am not as well, including food.... Really Jesus? Really? You gotta make us all look that bad?
Fucking Facebook. My little brother likes to mock me, calling me "Queen of Facebook" It's not like I'm always on it, but it's kinda like wake up; check Facebook, get the kids off, check Facebook, vacuum; check Facebook. Fucking Facebook.
So it's day 9, and I broke my code only to get a phone number. I got in my messages and saw one from a friend I haven't spoken to in 6 years that ended in a horrible terrible fight. Since becoming an adult and child of God, I have attempted to make amends with everyone I have ever hurt; except when omissions or contact would hurt that person. She was one of the last on my list.
So being Facebook free has been very interesting. I found I am a bit lonely at times. Virtual friends, even if they live minutes away in person, are still friends. Even though my best friend lives blocks from me, getting together with three kids and nap schedules, and soccer games is easier said than done.
I also have pretty meaningful relationships with people who live in different countries, and family I never see. I get to watch American friends have babies, and get married. I get to see friends in Canada, and Mexico, and Russia, and Ecuador. It's amazing, but how many of us are plugging into this sight on a religious almost worshipping basis?
Humans are hard wired to worship, and if it isn't God, you worship other things. Money, yourself, your kids, T.V.....Facebook.
So I have taken a break, and have decided to read A Purpose Driven Life. I am on a daily spiritual journey replacing things with God's presence instead of virtual friends. I pray, write, and am back doing the things I was created to do, not just waste time being entertained by train wreck friends' relationships, or funny pictures of cats. (Don't get me wrong, in 31 days I'll be back!)
I am remembering why I am here, and what I really want out of this life. In 9 days, the book got finished and is just waiting to print (Next week) the house is cleaner, the baby is hugged more, the husband is fed better, the girl is played with on the floor a little longer, and the boy is spoken to with more attention and eye contact.
What do I really want out of this life?
When you ask people "What does life mean to you?" You get a million answers. What does life mean to me?
Life is lessons to be learned from, to take to eternity.
So what does that mean? I need to get to work. I want to write, and cook, and love. I will blog, and bake, and use the telephone to call instead of text. I will meet who I can, love who will allow me, and feed those that are hungry.
40 days.
HA! Pretty sure he gave up other shit I am not as well, including food.... Really Jesus? Really? You gotta make us all look that bad?
Fucking Facebook. My little brother likes to mock me, calling me "Queen of Facebook" It's not like I'm always on it, but it's kinda like wake up; check Facebook, get the kids off, check Facebook, vacuum; check Facebook. Fucking Facebook.
So it's day 9, and I broke my code only to get a phone number. I got in my messages and saw one from a friend I haven't spoken to in 6 years that ended in a horrible terrible fight. Since becoming an adult and child of God, I have attempted to make amends with everyone I have ever hurt; except when omissions or contact would hurt that person. She was one of the last on my list.
So being Facebook free has been very interesting. I found I am a bit lonely at times. Virtual friends, even if they live minutes away in person, are still friends. Even though my best friend lives blocks from me, getting together with three kids and nap schedules, and soccer games is easier said than done.
I also have pretty meaningful relationships with people who live in different countries, and family I never see. I get to watch American friends have babies, and get married. I get to see friends in Canada, and Mexico, and Russia, and Ecuador. It's amazing, but how many of us are plugging into this sight on a religious almost worshipping basis?
Humans are hard wired to worship, and if it isn't God, you worship other things. Money, yourself, your kids, T.V.....Facebook.
So I have taken a break, and have decided to read A Purpose Driven Life. I am on a daily spiritual journey replacing things with God's presence instead of virtual friends. I pray, write, and am back doing the things I was created to do, not just waste time being entertained by train wreck friends' relationships, or funny pictures of cats. (Don't get me wrong, in 31 days I'll be back!)
I am remembering why I am here, and what I really want out of this life. In 9 days, the book got finished and is just waiting to print (Next week) the house is cleaner, the baby is hugged more, the husband is fed better, the girl is played with on the floor a little longer, and the boy is spoken to with more attention and eye contact.
What do I really want out of this life?
When you ask people "What does life mean to you?" You get a million answers. What does life mean to me?
Life is lessons to be learned from, to take to eternity.
So what does that mean? I need to get to work. I want to write, and cook, and love. I will blog, and bake, and use the telephone to call instead of text. I will meet who I can, love who will allow me, and feed those that are hungry.
40 days.
Why do I only hear about it on Facebook?: The Messy House Phenomenon
Why do I only hear about it on Facebook?: The Messy House Phenomenon: If life is about learning lessons, and that you will keep getting the same lesson over and over until you learn it, I have mine! Why is it,...
The Messy House Phenomenon
If life is about learning lessons, and that you will keep getting the same lesson over and over until you learn it, I have mine!
Why is it, that certain types of people only seem to turn up, when the house is a wreck, you're screaming at the kids to stop breaking plates as "Science Experiments" The dog has diarrhoea, the baby literally wont stop crying, the dishes are piled and you were too busy to put on deodorant, let alone brush your hair?
Why did they not show up literally 12 hours prior when the kids were hugging and one was sleeping, you had make up on, and the place was spotless? Why is it always the one person who shows up in your hour of chaos, who is the one person you seem to be desperate for their approval?
And why is the one person you are desperate for approval from, a nasty person you want to be nothing like? Seriously, this MUST just be me. This must be a lesson.
I have this neighbour....... She looks like a troll. I'm not kidding. I'm not jealous of her, and would hate her life..... and for some reason I am desperate for her approval. Not outwardly, it takes a lot of soul searching to pull this out of yourself, that she makes me so upset, because for some reason I must be desperate for her approval?
Why?
This woman has no children, and for some unknown reason has to tell me about her happy decision not to procreate. Not just, "Yea, we chose not to have kids." But a continual "Your life is my nightmare." Why does this bug me so bad? Do I really care what Troll lady says? I don't want her life, I would hate it actually. Why do I care??????
There must be some life lesson here. She is the only one who happens to ring the bell, just when Chaos 2013 just happens to be unfolding in my home. It just happens to be her, who comes around at the very moment of the day I don't wish others to appear. It seems I need to prove myself happy to her. That she messed up in some way, and she is confused what happiness looks like.
Maybe she is trying to prove her level of happiness to justify her decisions? Why are we even competing?
I get not having kids! How fun is all that disposable income!? How did you sleep last night? How good is your weekend at the winery?! That's awesome and I get it. I don't look down on people who chose not to parent. Good on you! Why does it hurt so much that she choses to look down on my decision?
I feel like we can't see in people., what we don't possess in ourselves. This means, you and I can't get murdering someone. We can't see liars and cheaters, because we don't lie and cheat. People can blind side us, because we don't see that. What we DO see in others is their nastiness. We see nit picky little issues when people are selfish, or mean. The reality is those traits are in us. You don't want to admit it but they are.
I remember one day in a class, this woman wouldn't shut the fuck up. She was dominating the conversation, and complaining. I went crying to my friend "She is so selfish, and making such a pity party! I needed to talk! " Her response was "What are you doing right now?"..................shit.
So I am working through, why Troll lady bugs me. This reoccurring lesson I am not learning. That I feel the need to prove my decisions and to prove my happiness. Prove I have a clean perfect home, perfect happy kids, an adoring husband and no stretch marks. Well that's a load of shit! I know I'm happy, but if she only irritates me because she is a reflection of me....... I think this means I am trying too hard to prove myself to others.
I should probably stop that. I like me, but I do feel out of place at times. I don't look or act the part I am in, and that bothers me. I feel I have to prove that I am worthy of this life, and that I am proud of my decisions.
Reality is, this life is hard, yet amazing, terrible and joyful, sleepless and fulfilling. I can't let others opinions dominate my existence.
But my good God would it be nice for her to ring at just the moment of peaceful, blissful, happy children, adoring husband, dishes done, hair straight, make up on, 40 minutes a day of my real life. Wishful thinking!
Why is it, that certain types of people only seem to turn up, when the house is a wreck, you're screaming at the kids to stop breaking plates as "Science Experiments" The dog has diarrhoea, the baby literally wont stop crying, the dishes are piled and you were too busy to put on deodorant, let alone brush your hair?
Why did they not show up literally 12 hours prior when the kids were hugging and one was sleeping, you had make up on, and the place was spotless? Why is it always the one person who shows up in your hour of chaos, who is the one person you seem to be desperate for their approval?
And why is the one person you are desperate for approval from, a nasty person you want to be nothing like? Seriously, this MUST just be me. This must be a lesson.
I have this neighbour....... She looks like a troll. I'm not kidding. I'm not jealous of her, and would hate her life..... and for some reason I am desperate for her approval. Not outwardly, it takes a lot of soul searching to pull this out of yourself, that she makes me so upset, because for some reason I must be desperate for her approval?
Why?
This woman has no children, and for some unknown reason has to tell me about her happy decision not to procreate. Not just, "Yea, we chose not to have kids." But a continual "Your life is my nightmare." Why does this bug me so bad? Do I really care what Troll lady says? I don't want her life, I would hate it actually. Why do I care??????
There must be some life lesson here. She is the only one who happens to ring the bell, just when Chaos 2013 just happens to be unfolding in my home. It just happens to be her, who comes around at the very moment of the day I don't wish others to appear. It seems I need to prove myself happy to her. That she messed up in some way, and she is confused what happiness looks like.
Maybe she is trying to prove her level of happiness to justify her decisions? Why are we even competing?
I get not having kids! How fun is all that disposable income!? How did you sleep last night? How good is your weekend at the winery?! That's awesome and I get it. I don't look down on people who chose not to parent. Good on you! Why does it hurt so much that she choses to look down on my decision?
I feel like we can't see in people., what we don't possess in ourselves. This means, you and I can't get murdering someone. We can't see liars and cheaters, because we don't lie and cheat. People can blind side us, because we don't see that. What we DO see in others is their nastiness. We see nit picky little issues when people are selfish, or mean. The reality is those traits are in us. You don't want to admit it but they are.
I remember one day in a class, this woman wouldn't shut the fuck up. She was dominating the conversation, and complaining. I went crying to my friend "She is so selfish, and making such a pity party! I needed to talk! " Her response was "What are you doing right now?"..................shit.
So I am working through, why Troll lady bugs me. This reoccurring lesson I am not learning. That I feel the need to prove my decisions and to prove my happiness. Prove I have a clean perfect home, perfect happy kids, an adoring husband and no stretch marks. Well that's a load of shit! I know I'm happy, but if she only irritates me because she is a reflection of me....... I think this means I am trying too hard to prove myself to others.
I should probably stop that. I like me, but I do feel out of place at times. I don't look or act the part I am in, and that bothers me. I feel I have to prove that I am worthy of this life, and that I am proud of my decisions.
Reality is, this life is hard, yet amazing, terrible and joyful, sleepless and fulfilling. I can't let others opinions dominate my existence.
But my good God would it be nice for her to ring at just the moment of peaceful, blissful, happy children, adoring husband, dishes done, hair straight, make up on, 40 minutes a day of my real life. Wishful thinking!
Thursday 17 October 2013
Why do I only hear about it on Facebook?: Losing Titus
Why do I only hear about it on Facebook?: Losing Titus: Losing Titus- I know what it feels like to be the saddest person in the world. I knew at that moment in time, I was the saddest person st...
Losing Titus
Losing Titus-
I know what it feels like to be the saddest person in the world. I knew at that moment in time, I was the saddest person standing on the earth. The pain was so much, that I couldn't stay in my body, it was like my soul was perched on the airplane seat infront of me, curiously staring at this broken shell of a woman, blankly looking forward. Her chest raising and falling in breath, as if it's the only thing she could physically do. Even blinking too much an effort.
Breath in........now it's time to breathe out Laura..... now breathe back in.
I don't remember getting back to Denver. I don't remember anything but trying to breathe.
What the fuck just happened?
I haven't been able to yet speak of what really happened with Titus. It was, the hardest thing that I have ever been through, and even my husband doesn't know the whole story. I know the way I grieve, and I also know, writing this will help heal me as well. I guess I will just start and see where it goes!
I always knew I had a son. I had a black son, as a matter of fact. You can see the strangness in that statement. Adoption is in my family, and it was another thing I just knew would happen.
Let me start, by letting you know that the process, cost, length of time, and effort you need to go through to adopt a child, is phenomenoal. I am floored with the number of families that actually take the task into completion. If you know an adopted child, you can look at that child and know for a fact their parents worked their asses off for them. It was a full time job for almost a year. When we were finally approved it was great.
Who knew, that my good intentions, and journey of love would end in me lying on a Childrens Hospital waitingroom floor, screaming.
When I saw Lisa's profile (named changed) I was stoked. African American, boy, due in 7 weeks. She had placed a baby before. There was known cocaine in her pregnancy, however I studied endlessly about drug exposure in pregnancy and was happy to accept cocaine. The scariest is actually alcohol (and it's legal!) I didn't know too much about her, but James and I agreed this was the one.
You have to apply. That means you send in your profile book, this is pictures and stories of your family for the birthmother to look through. I will always remember the email "Congratulations! Lisa has accepted you to adopt her baby!" I was thrilled! And scared to death. Yes, you can become a parent over email. I was finally able to speak to her on the phone, 10 days before my flight was booked to America. What do I say? Making that phone call was the most nervous I had ever been. Hi, I'm Laura, I am going to raise your baby as my own thanks! What do you say?! I called, she answered. She was so sweet, and funny, and we got along right away. She asked to name the baby Preston, which floored us, as James and I were going to name the baby Preston! She finally said she had to go, but to call her later. So I did, and never got a response. I called 3 times a day for the rest of the week, and never got a response. The facilitator told me she most likely has changed her mind, and that I should not fly. The reality, was we were going to America anyways, so I was going to go and pray.
I got on the plane still not have spoken to Lisa, for a 26 hour flight into the unknown. I just had faith I was supposed to go. After finally getting to Denver, I got a call that her phone had been shut off, and she wanted to proceed with the adoption. PHEW!!
The next few days were scary as Joliet had gotten pneumonia and was terribly ill. She was admitted to the hospital and was the most sick I had ever seen her, or any kid for that matter. James wasn't going to come for a few more weeks, but after seeing a photo of Joliet in the hospital, he and Haven came to America early.
Not knowing about the baby was actually good, as Joliet needed me. It was a nightmare to watch. She was SO sick. Two days later, Joliet was released from the hospital and I got a phonecall. "Her water broke, and she is in labor." ......Huh... James wasn't here, Joliet was still not great, and Lisa was delivering my baby in Pensicola Florida, whial I was in Denver.... No worries!!!! The excitement was unreal. I got a lastminute flight, but the best I could do was an 8 hour layover in Charolette. I had no choice! I left Joliet with my friend in Denver, got on a plane to Charolette, and my friend picked up James coming in from Australia a few hours later at the airport... easy!
I have never been to the south. I was alone this entire time, but when you are in the south, you are never alone. I didn't get what "southern hospitality" ment until Charolette... I had hours, so I sat in these rows of rocking chairs.. My baby being born just hours away, and I could not get there. I walked to every counter asking if there were any flights to pensicola, I even considered driving, but wouldnt make it sooner. So I sat. A million emotions, on these rocking chairs, alone. At least I was alone for about 2 minutes until the woman next to me asked to take my picture. "Huh?" Barbara was her name, and she was taking 365 picture that year, and I was her picture of the day. She sat and spoke to me for about an hour... just spoke. Then, just as she came, disappeared. The next was a man named Peanuts Taylor from Barbados. He sat and spoke with me for an hour as well. Just speaking. Just being kind. This was an amazing experience.
When my flight to Pensicola FINALLY arrived I was a wreck. It was the tiniest little plane, with 2 seats on each side of the row. I was the last window seat on the end. The woman who came next to me... was about 400lbs. The second I saw her coming I screamed in my head "Don't you dare judge her Laura!!!" It isn't the funnest however sitting next to a person that big, when they need to lift the divider and sit halfway in your seat. Whatever, the point was, I am glad I didn't let my thoughts pass judgement because by the end of the hour and 1/2 flight she was literally holding me whial I was crying in her arms.... The south, go figure. I don't remember her name, but she was on her first flight ever, going to meet her granddaughter. I told her I was going to meet my son, and we ended up having a tear fest in the back of the plane!
10pm. I finally get off in Pensecola. My diaperbag, and empty carseat in tow. Off to the hospital.
I walked into the hospital on tip toes. I was so scared of what to expect. What will she be like? How will this go? My baby is in this building, will I love him? Will we bond?What does he look like? I went to the nurses station and said who I was. I asked that the nurse go tell Lisa I was in the hall so I didn't just barge in. She had a visitor when I arrived at the door. I promise you I wasn't breathing. The nurse says "Lisa, Laura is here." and I hear and audiable gasp. Still not breathing... The next thing I see is this small, beautiful, wonderful woman run into the hall and throw herself on me. We both burst into tears and held eachother crying. The nurses started crying and left us alone. She just kept saying thank you, and I kept saying I was sorry I wasnt here earlier. We probably hugged and cried in the hall for 10 literal minutes.
We went into her room and she told me she was sorry, but she had done cocaine that day. She told me so much, and that her mom hated the adoption plan, but this was my baby. Then she got really excited and asked if I wanted to see him. She phoned for the nurse to bring the baby in.
Can you REALLY Love a baby that's not biologically yours? He sure wont look like you. What if I don't love him?
I would love to write some eloquent description of the moment I saw that child. There are no words.
I picked up the child I had been waiting for, for 15 years. A baby born in my heart 15 years ago, and there he was. "I have been waiting for you." That's all I could get out through the silent tears streaming down my face. Wow. I loved him the exact same overwhelming love, as though I had just given birth to him. I had been looking for you child. My son, my baby. I fed him, and held him, and stayed with Lisa for hours until I had to leave.
I can say that first day, I knew there was something going on with Titus. He was twitching a bit. He was eating and doing OK, but I knew something was off. He would jerk in his movements, and I knew immediately there was something.
I came back the next day, and whial Lisa slept, I sat outside the nursery window for 2 hours. The nurses all had jokes about me. The poor pathetic woman staring through the glass. I sat just staring at him. Crying, taking pictures. But again, I saw him twitching. They released Lisa, and she asked me to stay with her whial she said good-bye to Titus. She said she wasn't sure she wanted to see us again. I understood completely.
Again, there are times in your life, when the english language does not possess the words to describe reality.
Watching this young, brave mother. Part from the baby she loves, because she is strong enough to know it's best. What words are there for that? I sat there silently, praying for her. Yelling prayers for her peace. God take her pain. It was unbareable. I was screaming prayers to God to take her pain in that moment. My pure joy, was based on her devestation. How is that fair? We hugged and cried and I probably told her I loved her 30 times. She left that hospital alone.
The doctors told me to come back the next morning as Titus will be released then. I went back to the hotel, sad, but excited. I sat outside and smoked, and agian in the south, you are never alone. I met an old woman whose husband was at the hospital dying from cancer. I met a marine on his way home to see his wife. The hotel staff knew me by name, and reason for visit. The staff at the hotel were all just as excited as I was for Titus' arival. I woke up the next day with the receptionist praying for me, and everything. Seriously...the south.
I took a before picture of the carseat, with an intention of the after later in the day.
To the hospital!!! The taxi driver's name was Micheal. I asked him why everyone in the South is so kind? He said "We just get excited because we don't get to meet strangers." By the time I reached the hospital and had told my story, he was wiping tears, and praying outloud for us. He gave me his personal number because he needed to know how it all ended. He said he would have us over to meet his family after the adoption. The SOUTH! Was there a happier person on the planet? Um no, I was disgustingly happy. I was skipping to the nursery. And when I got there waiting for the social worker, I looked though the window and he wasn't there. Until I signed the papers, I had no rights to him, so when I called in to see where he was, the nurse was unable to keep the look of horror off her face, but could only tell me he was there, just in the back. Huh.... Ya know, I knew there was a problem, but I wasn't going to aknoledge it. So I sat on the floor. Carseat and diaper bag. And I waited. I saw Josie come into the nurses station through the glass. I knew it was the social worker because she went straight to the nurse watching Titus in the back, then looked at me through the glass. Shit. I knew that look wasn't a "Hey that's great, come get your son!" look. About 5 minutes later she came out from around the corner. "I know who you are. I have seen that look a thousand times." Josie said to me. I tried to smile, but knew bad news was coming. She proceeded to tell me Titus had a seizure and they were bringing him to the NICU. Ok. Change of plans. This eerie, quiet fear entered my body, but it wasn't terror, it was just uneasy. Why is this happening? This isn't the plan. They had to do a video EEG to monitor his movements with brain activity.
The next time I saw him was an overwhelming moment. Walking into a NICU for the first time is like being in the saddest/scariest place on earth. You scrub and scrub, and steralize, and check badges,and names. Then you go through the doors to the overwhelming sound of beeping. Then you see the rows and rows of incubators. That's not scary, until you see what's inside them. I walk to Titus, and was paralised with fear. He was bandaged and wired and monitored like I have never seen on a human. He looked terrible, and I just wanted to grab him and run. My first instinct was to just take him and make it stop. I looked away from him, and my eyes landed on a man sitting next to me holding a 2lbs baby. Now you can think you know what a 2 lbs baby looks like, but ya don't. Jesus, it's scary. I couldn't take my eyes off her. It was terror. Incubator after incubator of teeny tiny babies.
From this test on, for the next two weeks, it's all just about the same everyday. Tests, and not one doctor able to give us a rational diagnosis.
To skip back, I am an American citizen living in Australia. I fallow American adoption procedures, but Australian immigration procedures. Australia has free healthcare, and you can NOT adopt special needs babies, or babies with pre-exisiting conditions. Everyone in our process knew that. It's the cornerstone in our story.
Nothing was diagnosed, so there was no reason to think there was any real issue. It was like blessing after blessing whial I was in the NICU. The Ronald McDonald house took me in. If ever there was a better charity on earth, this place was a true miracle. You have these families going through what you are and more. These volunteers always there with a hug, and food and a place to sleep. You were not alone, you had family. I never paniced that Titus wouldn't come home, because there were always positive reports. However, there was no diagnosis, and it would be an entire awesome day with him, then I would come in the morning to reports of another seizure, or a new medication, or another test they needed to perform. 3 nights, turned to a week, into 10 days, into more.
I chose for the kids and James to stay in Denver from day one of going to get Titus. 48% of mothers change their mind, and there was no use us all being heartbroken if the worst were to happen. I decided to go at it alone, because it would be pointless to hurt the whole family if that happened. In hindsight and the pain I still feel, it was the best decision I had made.
Titus and I had a routine, he would only cry about 30 seconds before I walked in the door. He would smile constantly, and we were great together. The nurse made fun of me, because I bragged to EVERYONE about how beautiful he was. I guess my words were "I am so lucky! Look how lucky I am!" I don't remember, I was just infatuated. Titus my love. I waited for you. I knew you were coming. My beautiful child. If you were to ask what it feels like to have a child, I say it's looking for the love of your life and finding him. I was inlove. Adopted or not, I was inlove. His perfect little face, his smile, his hair that felt like feathers. He was the most beautiful baby, and I guess I wasn't afraid to tell everyone the reality of him being the most beautiful and best baby in the hospital. I was very proud of my "Hercules" He was 7lbs 7oz, and since he was one of the only full term babies he looked like a giant. Oh my handsome baby.
So besides me loving him as fully as a mother could love a baby, it was always paigned with the reality we were in a NICU still. We will have the results "tomorrow." You can sign the adoption papers "tomorrow." We will have another specialist come down "Tomorrow." The beeping is what got to me first I think. The hideous beeping from even sicker babies. Babies stop breathing, babies get sick. Some of the babies weren't going to make it. It was horrible.The beeping. Changing him with all the wires might have gotten me next. Every time I picked him up, I just wanted to rip them off of him. How is he even sleeping strapped to 4 machines at once. The reality of my last day, was the compounding of how many times this baby was hurt by the doctors. Titus had to get blood taken everyday. He had little bandages all over his legs. His mother tested positive for herpes and he needed a herpes medication that literally ate through his veins. They had to keep taking out his IV and putting it somewhere else. That was the worst. Knowing they kept hurting him was the worst. He smiled so much that half the time he would be smiling at the nurse before she jammed him with another needle. I was so afraid they would steal his smile for good. Titus had been through so much pain by day 10 of life, I couldn't get him circumcised. I refused to make him cry again and promised to do my best to keep him from feeling pain growing up, I had already witnessed him go through too much.
The EEG showed seizures, but the doctor predicted he would grow out of them. A second EEG however, showed more seizures and they put him on phenobarbitol. Yuck, poor guy. Another blessing was my doctor was an adoptive parent. I told him these seizures had to be an "episode" they could not be a "condition." Or Ty couldn't be adopted. It was like a miracle, when he signed his discharge papers as Titus having an episode. Miracle.
When you are in hospitals for a long time, you see doctors as what they are, just people. I didn't agree with what they were saying about Titus, but had no leg to stand on. I still don't believe what had happened the whole time or even at the end is what his true diagnosis was or is. However, you really are very powerless in the big picture of medicine. So I fallowed my orders. I pumped him full of phenobarbitol and cringed as I did it. We fallowed our routine, and finally, FINALLY was released to go home. I signed my adoption papers, and went to the hospital to pick up my son. I had grown so close to the nurses, a nurse named Laura especially that we cried as she walked me out to the taxi waiting to drive me back to the Ronald McDonald house. I gave her the biggest hug, and was never so thrilled as I buckled him in the cab. What an amazing moment. All we had just went through together, he was unhooked from machines, there was no more needles, there was no more beeping. There was just mom and son going home. My perfect, beautiful boy, was finally going home.
He must have loved that bedroom of quiet we had that day and night!! I just sat staring at him most the afternoon. I kinda forgot what it was like to have a baby! I took pictures, and James sent out his "It's Official" Email! I posted my "Mission Complete" on Facebook. This crazy journey was done, my family complete. I was waiting for you child.
During my stay, I could not breastfeed Titus, because I was not his legal guardian until papers were signed. I could not sign papers until; he was diagnosed as NOT having a pre-exisiting condition. I was able to breastfeed him that day, and was so stinking excited tht after 2 weeks on a bottle he jumped right to the breast with no issue. Oh I was so stoked. So that night I breastfed him again. As he fed, he began to shake. It started a quick jerk, then he started seizing in my arms. No.... No this isn't happening....... I held him on my chest and ran down the stairs as he jerked. This tiny baby... No not again..... A mother was in the hall and I must have gotten out he was seizing as she put us in her car and sped back to the hospital. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The receptionist brought us straight back to the ER and I knew in that moment he wasn't coming home. I knew damn well this would now be a condition and Australia would not give him a visa.... What the fuck is happening.
I was hysterical. I was screaming and shaking. I was screaming at everyone. Some resident doctor came in and asked to do a spinal tap. I'm not sure what I said, but remember him walking backwards out of the room with his arms up, as I would be damned if they were going to give this baby another needle! I'm pretty sure there was never such a hysterical woman in his career, sorry buddy, but no you will not hurt him. I promised Titus.
They needed to give him an IV and told me to go wait in the hall. That is the beginning of becoming the saddest person on the face of the earth.
I walked into the hall and collapsed on the floor. Screaming. Why did God do this?! Why is this happening? I did everything right! I called Josie, and knew she was busy, but I was screaming into the phone I can't do this. I can't do it, I can't do it. I was rocking like a child on the floor. My baby is sick, he's so sick and I can't fix it! I can't fix it and the beeping!
This beautiful woman comes out of nowhere holding a child and she takes my hand and stands there in silence as I cry. I shake and rock and almost vomit, sitting on the floor. She stands still. Just holding my hand..... Just holding my hand.
He has to eat. "He's hungry, I need formula now. Right now or I'm fucking leaving with him! Fuck! Just let me go home, please let me go home! This is a mistake, we are leaving let me go home!" I had no control over anything, except feeding that baby in that moment. So I fed him.... I sat him, rocking, and fed him.
They tell me he has to be admitted and I carry him shaking in a wheelchair up to his room. The nurses tell me to call tomorrow.
I kissed Titus and told him how much I love and will always love him. I said how sorry I was that this was happening and I prayed over his bed. I walked away from my baby in a hospital room at 3 in the morning... I knew deep down I would never see him again. There are times when there are no words in the English language to describe something. This is one of those times.
"We will move back to America......... I will learn to handle the seizures........" This wasn't fair to Haven and Joliet. This wasn't the way it was ment to be.
I got on the plane the next day, a plane ticket for Titus and I already booked.... I remember standing outside the terminal wondering if the man next to me knew, that at that moment I was the saddest person on the planet. I wondered if it would hurt less to walk into the traffic behind me. I wondered how I was going to tell Haven. I wondered if I was going to get a divorce because I would try to force James into adopting a baby we couldn't have, and weren't able to care for. She trusted me. She will never forgive me. She trusted me with her baby and I can't take him. I can't protect him.
Breathe.... Breathe in Laura..... now breathe out.......
It has been over a year now and I miss Titus. It's not a constant tearing at my chest, and constant nausea anymore. He was adopted the next day by an American family who will be able to get access to medicare for him. He will be loved. I just know he would have been loved best by me. He was and is loved best by me. I wrote them a letter and sent pictures, but God knows if the attorney will send it. He was basically a baby broker and had the empathy of a hornet.
Within days of leaving, I knew exactly why I was there. Between prayers of yelling at God, and wondering why he would say yes so many times, only to end it with a no, why? I knew why. Losing Titus was the hardest thing I have ever been through and hopefully it was the hardest time for Titus as well. Hopefully his life is pain free and amazing from now forward. I knew God put him in my heart 15 years ago, to give me the time, motivation, and energy to go through the adoption process, to be with him for that time. God made the adoption so urgent, so I would love him, when he needed love the most. I was just a tool, and sometimes Gods plan for you isn't about you. This was one of those times. It may have hurt, more than my soul has ever hurt, but I know why it happened. I know that babies without a bond to a human within 10 days can have attachment disorders, and other disabilities. I know because he was bonded to me, he will be able to bond with his mother now. Even though the pain was so unbearable, I couldn't function. I know the why. I know God's plan was bigger than mine, and I am grateful for our time together.
It hurt so bad, I was a shell. My soul sat perched on the airplane seat in front of me. Sadly watching this woman who could barely breathe. I had lost Titus.
I know what it feels like to be the saddest person in the world. I knew at that moment in time, I was the saddest person standing on the earth. The pain was so much, that I couldn't stay in my body, it was like my soul was perched on the airplane seat infront of me, curiously staring at this broken shell of a woman, blankly looking forward. Her chest raising and falling in breath, as if it's the only thing she could physically do. Even blinking too much an effort.
Breath in........now it's time to breathe out Laura..... now breathe back in.
I don't remember getting back to Denver. I don't remember anything but trying to breathe.
What the fuck just happened?
I haven't been able to yet speak of what really happened with Titus. It was, the hardest thing that I have ever been through, and even my husband doesn't know the whole story. I know the way I grieve, and I also know, writing this will help heal me as well. I guess I will just start and see where it goes!
I always knew I had a son. I had a black son, as a matter of fact. You can see the strangness in that statement. Adoption is in my family, and it was another thing I just knew would happen.
Let me start, by letting you know that the process, cost, length of time, and effort you need to go through to adopt a child, is phenomenoal. I am floored with the number of families that actually take the task into completion. If you know an adopted child, you can look at that child and know for a fact their parents worked their asses off for them. It was a full time job for almost a year. When we were finally approved it was great.
Who knew, that my good intentions, and journey of love would end in me lying on a Childrens Hospital waitingroom floor, screaming.
When I saw Lisa's profile (named changed) I was stoked. African American, boy, due in 7 weeks. She had placed a baby before. There was known cocaine in her pregnancy, however I studied endlessly about drug exposure in pregnancy and was happy to accept cocaine. The scariest is actually alcohol (and it's legal!) I didn't know too much about her, but James and I agreed this was the one.
You have to apply. That means you send in your profile book, this is pictures and stories of your family for the birthmother to look through. I will always remember the email "Congratulations! Lisa has accepted you to adopt her baby!" I was thrilled! And scared to death. Yes, you can become a parent over email. I was finally able to speak to her on the phone, 10 days before my flight was booked to America. What do I say? Making that phone call was the most nervous I had ever been. Hi, I'm Laura, I am going to raise your baby as my own thanks! What do you say?! I called, she answered. She was so sweet, and funny, and we got along right away. She asked to name the baby Preston, which floored us, as James and I were going to name the baby Preston! She finally said she had to go, but to call her later. So I did, and never got a response. I called 3 times a day for the rest of the week, and never got a response. The facilitator told me she most likely has changed her mind, and that I should not fly. The reality, was we were going to America anyways, so I was going to go and pray.
I got on the plane still not have spoken to Lisa, for a 26 hour flight into the unknown. I just had faith I was supposed to go. After finally getting to Denver, I got a call that her phone had been shut off, and she wanted to proceed with the adoption. PHEW!!
The next few days were scary as Joliet had gotten pneumonia and was terribly ill. She was admitted to the hospital and was the most sick I had ever seen her, or any kid for that matter. James wasn't going to come for a few more weeks, but after seeing a photo of Joliet in the hospital, he and Haven came to America early.
Not knowing about the baby was actually good, as Joliet needed me. It was a nightmare to watch. She was SO sick. Two days later, Joliet was released from the hospital and I got a phonecall. "Her water broke, and she is in labor." ......Huh... James wasn't here, Joliet was still not great, and Lisa was delivering my baby in Pensicola Florida, whial I was in Denver.... No worries!!!! The excitement was unreal. I got a lastminute flight, but the best I could do was an 8 hour layover in Charolette. I had no choice! I left Joliet with my friend in Denver, got on a plane to Charolette, and my friend picked up James coming in from Australia a few hours later at the airport... easy!
I have never been to the south. I was alone this entire time, but when you are in the south, you are never alone. I didn't get what "southern hospitality" ment until Charolette... I had hours, so I sat in these rows of rocking chairs.. My baby being born just hours away, and I could not get there. I walked to every counter asking if there were any flights to pensicola, I even considered driving, but wouldnt make it sooner. So I sat. A million emotions, on these rocking chairs, alone. At least I was alone for about 2 minutes until the woman next to me asked to take my picture. "Huh?" Barbara was her name, and she was taking 365 picture that year, and I was her picture of the day. She sat and spoke to me for about an hour... just spoke. Then, just as she came, disappeared. The next was a man named Peanuts Taylor from Barbados. He sat and spoke with me for an hour as well. Just speaking. Just being kind. This was an amazing experience.
When my flight to Pensicola FINALLY arrived I was a wreck. It was the tiniest little plane, with 2 seats on each side of the row. I was the last window seat on the end. The woman who came next to me... was about 400lbs. The second I saw her coming I screamed in my head "Don't you dare judge her Laura!!!" It isn't the funnest however sitting next to a person that big, when they need to lift the divider and sit halfway in your seat. Whatever, the point was, I am glad I didn't let my thoughts pass judgement because by the end of the hour and 1/2 flight she was literally holding me whial I was crying in her arms.... The south, go figure. I don't remember her name, but she was on her first flight ever, going to meet her granddaughter. I told her I was going to meet my son, and we ended up having a tear fest in the back of the plane!
10pm. I finally get off in Pensecola. My diaperbag, and empty carseat in tow. Off to the hospital.
I walked into the hospital on tip toes. I was so scared of what to expect. What will she be like? How will this go? My baby is in this building, will I love him? Will we bond?What does he look like? I went to the nurses station and said who I was. I asked that the nurse go tell Lisa I was in the hall so I didn't just barge in. She had a visitor when I arrived at the door. I promise you I wasn't breathing. The nurse says "Lisa, Laura is here." and I hear and audiable gasp. Still not breathing... The next thing I see is this small, beautiful, wonderful woman run into the hall and throw herself on me. We both burst into tears and held eachother crying. The nurses started crying and left us alone. She just kept saying thank you, and I kept saying I was sorry I wasnt here earlier. We probably hugged and cried in the hall for 10 literal minutes.
We went into her room and she told me she was sorry, but she had done cocaine that day. She told me so much, and that her mom hated the adoption plan, but this was my baby. Then she got really excited and asked if I wanted to see him. She phoned for the nurse to bring the baby in.
Can you REALLY Love a baby that's not biologically yours? He sure wont look like you. What if I don't love him?
I would love to write some eloquent description of the moment I saw that child. There are no words.
I picked up the child I had been waiting for, for 15 years. A baby born in my heart 15 years ago, and there he was. "I have been waiting for you." That's all I could get out through the silent tears streaming down my face. Wow. I loved him the exact same overwhelming love, as though I had just given birth to him. I had been looking for you child. My son, my baby. I fed him, and held him, and stayed with Lisa for hours until I had to leave.
I can say that first day, I knew there was something going on with Titus. He was twitching a bit. He was eating and doing OK, but I knew something was off. He would jerk in his movements, and I knew immediately there was something.
I came back the next day, and whial Lisa slept, I sat outside the nursery window for 2 hours. The nurses all had jokes about me. The poor pathetic woman staring through the glass. I sat just staring at him. Crying, taking pictures. But again, I saw him twitching. They released Lisa, and she asked me to stay with her whial she said good-bye to Titus. She said she wasn't sure she wanted to see us again. I understood completely.
Again, there are times in your life, when the english language does not possess the words to describe reality.
Watching this young, brave mother. Part from the baby she loves, because she is strong enough to know it's best. What words are there for that? I sat there silently, praying for her. Yelling prayers for her peace. God take her pain. It was unbareable. I was screaming prayers to God to take her pain in that moment. My pure joy, was based on her devestation. How is that fair? We hugged and cried and I probably told her I loved her 30 times. She left that hospital alone.
The doctors told me to come back the next morning as Titus will be released then. I went back to the hotel, sad, but excited. I sat outside and smoked, and agian in the south, you are never alone. I met an old woman whose husband was at the hospital dying from cancer. I met a marine on his way home to see his wife. The hotel staff knew me by name, and reason for visit. The staff at the hotel were all just as excited as I was for Titus' arival. I woke up the next day with the receptionist praying for me, and everything. Seriously...the south.
I took a before picture of the carseat, with an intention of the after later in the day.
To the hospital!!! The taxi driver's name was Micheal. I asked him why everyone in the South is so kind? He said "We just get excited because we don't get to meet strangers." By the time I reached the hospital and had told my story, he was wiping tears, and praying outloud for us. He gave me his personal number because he needed to know how it all ended. He said he would have us over to meet his family after the adoption. The SOUTH! Was there a happier person on the planet? Um no, I was disgustingly happy. I was skipping to the nursery. And when I got there waiting for the social worker, I looked though the window and he wasn't there. Until I signed the papers, I had no rights to him, so when I called in to see where he was, the nurse was unable to keep the look of horror off her face, but could only tell me he was there, just in the back. Huh.... Ya know, I knew there was a problem, but I wasn't going to aknoledge it. So I sat on the floor. Carseat and diaper bag. And I waited. I saw Josie come into the nurses station through the glass. I knew it was the social worker because she went straight to the nurse watching Titus in the back, then looked at me through the glass. Shit. I knew that look wasn't a "Hey that's great, come get your son!" look. About 5 minutes later she came out from around the corner. "I know who you are. I have seen that look a thousand times." Josie said to me. I tried to smile, but knew bad news was coming. She proceeded to tell me Titus had a seizure and they were bringing him to the NICU. Ok. Change of plans. This eerie, quiet fear entered my body, but it wasn't terror, it was just uneasy. Why is this happening? This isn't the plan. They had to do a video EEG to monitor his movements with brain activity.
The next time I saw him was an overwhelming moment. Walking into a NICU for the first time is like being in the saddest/scariest place on earth. You scrub and scrub, and steralize, and check badges,and names. Then you go through the doors to the overwhelming sound of beeping. Then you see the rows and rows of incubators. That's not scary, until you see what's inside them. I walk to Titus, and was paralised with fear. He was bandaged and wired and monitored like I have never seen on a human. He looked terrible, and I just wanted to grab him and run. My first instinct was to just take him and make it stop. I looked away from him, and my eyes landed on a man sitting next to me holding a 2lbs baby. Now you can think you know what a 2 lbs baby looks like, but ya don't. Jesus, it's scary. I couldn't take my eyes off her. It was terror. Incubator after incubator of teeny tiny babies.
From this test on, for the next two weeks, it's all just about the same everyday. Tests, and not one doctor able to give us a rational diagnosis.
To skip back, I am an American citizen living in Australia. I fallow American adoption procedures, but Australian immigration procedures. Australia has free healthcare, and you can NOT adopt special needs babies, or babies with pre-exisiting conditions. Everyone in our process knew that. It's the cornerstone in our story.
Nothing was diagnosed, so there was no reason to think there was any real issue. It was like blessing after blessing whial I was in the NICU. The Ronald McDonald house took me in. If ever there was a better charity on earth, this place was a true miracle. You have these families going through what you are and more. These volunteers always there with a hug, and food and a place to sleep. You were not alone, you had family. I never paniced that Titus wouldn't come home, because there were always positive reports. However, there was no diagnosis, and it would be an entire awesome day with him, then I would come in the morning to reports of another seizure, or a new medication, or another test they needed to perform. 3 nights, turned to a week, into 10 days, into more.
I chose for the kids and James to stay in Denver from day one of going to get Titus. 48% of mothers change their mind, and there was no use us all being heartbroken if the worst were to happen. I decided to go at it alone, because it would be pointless to hurt the whole family if that happened. In hindsight and the pain I still feel, it was the best decision I had made.
Titus and I had a routine, he would only cry about 30 seconds before I walked in the door. He would smile constantly, and we were great together. The nurse made fun of me, because I bragged to EVERYONE about how beautiful he was. I guess my words were "I am so lucky! Look how lucky I am!" I don't remember, I was just infatuated. Titus my love. I waited for you. I knew you were coming. My beautiful child. If you were to ask what it feels like to have a child, I say it's looking for the love of your life and finding him. I was inlove. Adopted or not, I was inlove. His perfect little face, his smile, his hair that felt like feathers. He was the most beautiful baby, and I guess I wasn't afraid to tell everyone the reality of him being the most beautiful and best baby in the hospital. I was very proud of my "Hercules" He was 7lbs 7oz, and since he was one of the only full term babies he looked like a giant. Oh my handsome baby.
So besides me loving him as fully as a mother could love a baby, it was always paigned with the reality we were in a NICU still. We will have the results "tomorrow." You can sign the adoption papers "tomorrow." We will have another specialist come down "Tomorrow." The beeping is what got to me first I think. The hideous beeping from even sicker babies. Babies stop breathing, babies get sick. Some of the babies weren't going to make it. It was horrible.The beeping. Changing him with all the wires might have gotten me next. Every time I picked him up, I just wanted to rip them off of him. How is he even sleeping strapped to 4 machines at once. The reality of my last day, was the compounding of how many times this baby was hurt by the doctors. Titus had to get blood taken everyday. He had little bandages all over his legs. His mother tested positive for herpes and he needed a herpes medication that literally ate through his veins. They had to keep taking out his IV and putting it somewhere else. That was the worst. Knowing they kept hurting him was the worst. He smiled so much that half the time he would be smiling at the nurse before she jammed him with another needle. I was so afraid they would steal his smile for good. Titus had been through so much pain by day 10 of life, I couldn't get him circumcised. I refused to make him cry again and promised to do my best to keep him from feeling pain growing up, I had already witnessed him go through too much.
The EEG showed seizures, but the doctor predicted he would grow out of them. A second EEG however, showed more seizures and they put him on phenobarbitol. Yuck, poor guy. Another blessing was my doctor was an adoptive parent. I told him these seizures had to be an "episode" they could not be a "condition." Or Ty couldn't be adopted. It was like a miracle, when he signed his discharge papers as Titus having an episode. Miracle.
When you are in hospitals for a long time, you see doctors as what they are, just people. I didn't agree with what they were saying about Titus, but had no leg to stand on. I still don't believe what had happened the whole time or even at the end is what his true diagnosis was or is. However, you really are very powerless in the big picture of medicine. So I fallowed my orders. I pumped him full of phenobarbitol and cringed as I did it. We fallowed our routine, and finally, FINALLY was released to go home. I signed my adoption papers, and went to the hospital to pick up my son. I had grown so close to the nurses, a nurse named Laura especially that we cried as she walked me out to the taxi waiting to drive me back to the Ronald McDonald house. I gave her the biggest hug, and was never so thrilled as I buckled him in the cab. What an amazing moment. All we had just went through together, he was unhooked from machines, there was no more needles, there was no more beeping. There was just mom and son going home. My perfect, beautiful boy, was finally going home.
He must have loved that bedroom of quiet we had that day and night!! I just sat staring at him most the afternoon. I kinda forgot what it was like to have a baby! I took pictures, and James sent out his "It's Official" Email! I posted my "Mission Complete" on Facebook. This crazy journey was done, my family complete. I was waiting for you child.
During my stay, I could not breastfeed Titus, because I was not his legal guardian until papers were signed. I could not sign papers until; he was diagnosed as NOT having a pre-exisiting condition. I was able to breastfeed him that day, and was so stinking excited tht after 2 weeks on a bottle he jumped right to the breast with no issue. Oh I was so stoked. So that night I breastfed him again. As he fed, he began to shake. It started a quick jerk, then he started seizing in my arms. No.... No this isn't happening....... I held him on my chest and ran down the stairs as he jerked. This tiny baby... No not again..... A mother was in the hall and I must have gotten out he was seizing as she put us in her car and sped back to the hospital. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The receptionist brought us straight back to the ER and I knew in that moment he wasn't coming home. I knew damn well this would now be a condition and Australia would not give him a visa.... What the fuck is happening.
I was hysterical. I was screaming and shaking. I was screaming at everyone. Some resident doctor came in and asked to do a spinal tap. I'm not sure what I said, but remember him walking backwards out of the room with his arms up, as I would be damned if they were going to give this baby another needle! I'm pretty sure there was never such a hysterical woman in his career, sorry buddy, but no you will not hurt him. I promised Titus.
They needed to give him an IV and told me to go wait in the hall. That is the beginning of becoming the saddest person on the face of the earth.
I walked into the hall and collapsed on the floor. Screaming. Why did God do this?! Why is this happening? I did everything right! I called Josie, and knew she was busy, but I was screaming into the phone I can't do this. I can't do it, I can't do it. I was rocking like a child on the floor. My baby is sick, he's so sick and I can't fix it! I can't fix it and the beeping!
This beautiful woman comes out of nowhere holding a child and she takes my hand and stands there in silence as I cry. I shake and rock and almost vomit, sitting on the floor. She stands still. Just holding my hand..... Just holding my hand.
He has to eat. "He's hungry, I need formula now. Right now or I'm fucking leaving with him! Fuck! Just let me go home, please let me go home! This is a mistake, we are leaving let me go home!" I had no control over anything, except feeding that baby in that moment. So I fed him.... I sat him, rocking, and fed him.
They tell me he has to be admitted and I carry him shaking in a wheelchair up to his room. The nurses tell me to call tomorrow.
I kissed Titus and told him how much I love and will always love him. I said how sorry I was that this was happening and I prayed over his bed. I walked away from my baby in a hospital room at 3 in the morning... I knew deep down I would never see him again. There are times when there are no words in the English language to describe something. This is one of those times.
"We will move back to America......... I will learn to handle the seizures........" This wasn't fair to Haven and Joliet. This wasn't the way it was ment to be.
I got on the plane the next day, a plane ticket for Titus and I already booked.... I remember standing outside the terminal wondering if the man next to me knew, that at that moment I was the saddest person on the planet. I wondered if it would hurt less to walk into the traffic behind me. I wondered how I was going to tell Haven. I wondered if I was going to get a divorce because I would try to force James into adopting a baby we couldn't have, and weren't able to care for. She trusted me. She will never forgive me. She trusted me with her baby and I can't take him. I can't protect him.
Breathe.... Breathe in Laura..... now breathe out.......
It has been over a year now and I miss Titus. It's not a constant tearing at my chest, and constant nausea anymore. He was adopted the next day by an American family who will be able to get access to medicare for him. He will be loved. I just know he would have been loved best by me. He was and is loved best by me. I wrote them a letter and sent pictures, but God knows if the attorney will send it. He was basically a baby broker and had the empathy of a hornet.
Within days of leaving, I knew exactly why I was there. Between prayers of yelling at God, and wondering why he would say yes so many times, only to end it with a no, why? I knew why. Losing Titus was the hardest thing I have ever been through and hopefully it was the hardest time for Titus as well. Hopefully his life is pain free and amazing from now forward. I knew God put him in my heart 15 years ago, to give me the time, motivation, and energy to go through the adoption process, to be with him for that time. God made the adoption so urgent, so I would love him, when he needed love the most. I was just a tool, and sometimes Gods plan for you isn't about you. This was one of those times. It may have hurt, more than my soul has ever hurt, but I know why it happened. I know that babies without a bond to a human within 10 days can have attachment disorders, and other disabilities. I know because he was bonded to me, he will be able to bond with his mother now. Even though the pain was so unbearable, I couldn't function. I know the why. I know God's plan was bigger than mine, and I am grateful for our time together.
It hurt so bad, I was a shell. My soul sat perched on the airplane seat in front of me. Sadly watching this woman who could barely breathe. I had lost Titus.
Wednesday 16 October 2013
The guide to being a perfect wife and mother
Congratulations! You are now married and with child. The easiest best job you could hope for yea? You fail! There is no way around it, you.... Will fail miserably at this job.
I know at the beginning you saw this adventure as a wistful blissful fairy tale of smiles and joy.... And then you wake up. You fail.
The prince charming starts to leave his underwear on the floor next to the basket... Like touching the fucking basket but on the floor. He pays zero attention to you, works too much, asks about you too little. His amazing hobbies which you used to adore, now take time from you and money. His dreams of being in a band were so sexy, but now are such a annoying waste of time to you.... You fail.
The kids? Those bundles of joy? Well your baby hasn't slept in 5 fucking months and if you could ever get back into jeans... Not even skinny jeans, just out of track pants, you may have enough self esteem and energy to put make up on. Your ideas of feeding your children organic fresh vegan meals and sewing their clothes by hand is over taken by praying your two year old will just stop eating sand, and hand sewn clothes; you forgot you don't know how to sew, and ain't nobody got time for that! You fail.
You were going to be the football coach and teachers aide, you were going to carpool and tutor the neighbourhood kids.. You didn't realise until now however, how much you truly dislike other people's children. You fail.
The reality is you are not alone, and you are still perfect and amazing for so many reasons. However, marriage and parenting is work. If it wasn't, 51% of people wouldn't be divorced. You wanna fight for marriage equality or non equality, its more like divorce equality! So you make a choice, and I hate to say it but to make this crazy reality that fair tale you dreamt of, YOU have to make it happen.
I know I know, if the husband was just more attentive, and the baby would just sleep, or if the boy would just stop ruining every shirt he owns..... But no..... Happiness is a choice, and it's your choice. Good news is? This can be fun. It starts with you.
I watch couples, I listen to what they say and complain about. I find the happy people are the ones that take full responsibility for their lives and their actions, they will always ask "What is my part here."
There is no perfect way to parent, or to be married. There are many ways to fillet a fish, however there seems some sure fire ways how NOT to be happy! Let's discuss.
1. Do not ever speak poorly about your spouse to friends or family. Having a best girlfriend to vent to, or asking for serious advice on a situation is nessesary. Bashing your spouse is never ok. Your friends and family will only remember what bad you told them, and they aren't there for the kiss and make up. It gets old listening to someone demean their partner. We all wanna punch our spouse in the groin, but we make up! Adding others in your marriage is not helpful.
2. Give what you want. You can not change anyone. If you need more attention, give more. If you need something, give something first. If you want your spouse to help clean up, hear what they need from you and do that first. You give first, only then will you get. That's the beauty of marriage.
3. Ask. No one knows what you want. You have to ask for it in plain English. I need you to do the dishes. I need you to tell me I look good. I need you to bring me flowers once in awhile. I find that people in love will do just about anything, if you just ask. Minus the nagging and bitching.
4. Let them do their things on your terms. When James comes home on a Friday and announces he's going mountain biking in the morning, it would feel like I was not getting a break from the kids and had an automatic 6 day work week! So, I know if James doesn't mountian bike he will not want to live, so I do it on my terms. During the week I set myself up to be prepared for him to go, get a kid to a friends and plan an outing. Then I offer for him to go. If I offer enough, he isn't deprived and I am not overwhelmed. His needs on my terms. Since implementing this, I have noticed the next weekend he always offers that I can go get a massage and spend some me time. All on his own!
This works for sex too. If you have little ones and sleeping is such a bigger turn on than sex, remember its not for him. Give him what he needs on your terms.
5. Spend time away from your kids. Your spouse had your full attention, now they have a third or fourth of it. Make dates a priority. Watching tv alone is not good enough.
6. Make a scene when he walks in the door. Your husband doesn't rush home from work? How do you greet him? With complaining and nagging? How about a hug and smile! How about a celebration instead! Make him adore coming home!
7. APOLOGISE! I apologize to my kids and husband on a daily basis. I take responsibility when I do something wrong. Since Haven was 2, I have offered to pay for his therapy when he is 30. I fully know I will not screw him up intentionally, but I will inevitably screw him up in some way. You will too. You aren't perfect, you screw up, make mistakes, yell too much, don't do enough, you fail. The good news is so does everyone else!
If we can just take a bit of the pressure off, listen to our grandparents, and focus our lives on what's important, we can have that fairy tale ending. Our happiness is only made available within ourselves first. Give yourself a break and try to enjoy those sleepless, sand eating little people, and the underwear slinging, workaholic, amazing man next to you at night!
You win!
I know at the beginning you saw this adventure as a wistful blissful fairy tale of smiles and joy.... And then you wake up. You fail.
The prince charming starts to leave his underwear on the floor next to the basket... Like touching the fucking basket but on the floor. He pays zero attention to you, works too much, asks about you too little. His amazing hobbies which you used to adore, now take time from you and money. His dreams of being in a band were so sexy, but now are such a annoying waste of time to you.... You fail.
The kids? Those bundles of joy? Well your baby hasn't slept in 5 fucking months and if you could ever get back into jeans... Not even skinny jeans, just out of track pants, you may have enough self esteem and energy to put make up on. Your ideas of feeding your children organic fresh vegan meals and sewing their clothes by hand is over taken by praying your two year old will just stop eating sand, and hand sewn clothes; you forgot you don't know how to sew, and ain't nobody got time for that! You fail.
You were going to be the football coach and teachers aide, you were going to carpool and tutor the neighbourhood kids.. You didn't realise until now however, how much you truly dislike other people's children. You fail.
The reality is you are not alone, and you are still perfect and amazing for so many reasons. However, marriage and parenting is work. If it wasn't, 51% of people wouldn't be divorced. You wanna fight for marriage equality or non equality, its more like divorce equality! So you make a choice, and I hate to say it but to make this crazy reality that fair tale you dreamt of, YOU have to make it happen.
I know I know, if the husband was just more attentive, and the baby would just sleep, or if the boy would just stop ruining every shirt he owns..... But no..... Happiness is a choice, and it's your choice. Good news is? This can be fun. It starts with you.
I watch couples, I listen to what they say and complain about. I find the happy people are the ones that take full responsibility for their lives and their actions, they will always ask "What is my part here."
There is no perfect way to parent, or to be married. There are many ways to fillet a fish, however there seems some sure fire ways how NOT to be happy! Let's discuss.
1. Do not ever speak poorly about your spouse to friends or family. Having a best girlfriend to vent to, or asking for serious advice on a situation is nessesary. Bashing your spouse is never ok. Your friends and family will only remember what bad you told them, and they aren't there for the kiss and make up. It gets old listening to someone demean their partner. We all wanna punch our spouse in the groin, but we make up! Adding others in your marriage is not helpful.
2. Give what you want. You can not change anyone. If you need more attention, give more. If you need something, give something first. If you want your spouse to help clean up, hear what they need from you and do that first. You give first, only then will you get. That's the beauty of marriage.
3. Ask. No one knows what you want. You have to ask for it in plain English. I need you to do the dishes. I need you to tell me I look good. I need you to bring me flowers once in awhile. I find that people in love will do just about anything, if you just ask. Minus the nagging and bitching.
4. Let them do their things on your terms. When James comes home on a Friday and announces he's going mountain biking in the morning, it would feel like I was not getting a break from the kids and had an automatic 6 day work week! So, I know if James doesn't mountian bike he will not want to live, so I do it on my terms. During the week I set myself up to be prepared for him to go, get a kid to a friends and plan an outing. Then I offer for him to go. If I offer enough, he isn't deprived and I am not overwhelmed. His needs on my terms. Since implementing this, I have noticed the next weekend he always offers that I can go get a massage and spend some me time. All on his own!
This works for sex too. If you have little ones and sleeping is such a bigger turn on than sex, remember its not for him. Give him what he needs on your terms.
5. Spend time away from your kids. Your spouse had your full attention, now they have a third or fourth of it. Make dates a priority. Watching tv alone is not good enough.
6. Make a scene when he walks in the door. Your husband doesn't rush home from work? How do you greet him? With complaining and nagging? How about a hug and smile! How about a celebration instead! Make him adore coming home!
7. APOLOGISE! I apologize to my kids and husband on a daily basis. I take responsibility when I do something wrong. Since Haven was 2, I have offered to pay for his therapy when he is 30. I fully know I will not screw him up intentionally, but I will inevitably screw him up in some way. You will too. You aren't perfect, you screw up, make mistakes, yell too much, don't do enough, you fail. The good news is so does everyone else!
If we can just take a bit of the pressure off, listen to our grandparents, and focus our lives on what's important, we can have that fairy tale ending. Our happiness is only made available within ourselves first. Give yourself a break and try to enjoy those sleepless, sand eating little people, and the underwear slinging, workaholic, amazing man next to you at night!
You win!
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