Anger, love, and fear

I am a reasonably calm person most of the time, road rage being the regular exception. Because I am a better driver than everyone else, naturally. But really, I am calmer than I was thirty years ago. I am slow to anger when I know it will matter next week, next month, next year; I do not want to regret what may come out of impulsively and unthinkingly. But sometimes another part of me wins, particularly when I feel put aside. I try to be the best partner to my boyfriend. I give hugs and kisses, try to be considerate, try to listen, and try to know what he may need from me. He does his best to show me love the way he knows how, but I sometimes do not see that, and instead want him to show me love the way that I do it. While I have worked hard to know I am lovable, the little voice in my head sometimes gets the best of me. She tells me that no matter what I do for others, no matter how much I try to please, I will not be worthy nor worth much. When she is winning, I become selfish, petty and mean. That's easier than to look at myself and accept his love, knowing I am worthy and that he loves me, no matter what. Just because he is not paying 100% attention to me 100% of the time he is with me does not mean I am not worthy of his love. The voice tells terribly insecure me the world should revolve around me because that's proof of love. Only someone nuts believes that, but sometimes that part of me wins, and I become a yelling, whiny, egocentric brat who too late realizes the stupidity of the outburst. Then I am wondering about the damage I have done, and despite accepted apologies, I fear that I have trodden upon my young man's emotional generosity one time too many and the next argument may be the last one. I know that when I am putting forth the message that what I am receiving is not good enough, it's really only that I don't feel worthy to receive it. My mother used to have one of those plaques from the 70s in her bedroom that said "Happiness is being content with what you have." What I have with my boyfriend is sweet, funny, stimulating, tender, and full of love. I am happy with him, and I need to remember that I am deserving of that happiness.

Nothing

I've got nothing tonight. I started a post about community band but it was terrible. Sometimes the muse just points and laughs, but I hope for the muse's return tomorrow. Now to go look for a cookie recipe...

Blessings

Today I choose to focus on the wonderful parts, the warm fuzzy bits of my life that comfort my heart. My child is forever my number one. My love for my formerly-tiny, now-my-height human never ceases to amaze me. He is a sarcastic, whip-smart, talented, sensitive, annoying, tender, and funny, funny, funny. He knows when and how to cheer me up, and when he wants to, gives me the best hugs ever. I melt when I hold his little frame, and I pray to whatever is out there that my only baby will always be safe. My parents and my sister are indispensable. I can be the biggest pain in the ass and they forgive me. It might take a while, but they take pity on my sorry self when I screw up. My father never ceases to say that family is all we have. As I have gotten older, this statement has evolved in my mind to include my closest friends. Those are the women I can call at any time, who try to understand words I have drowned in tears, who cheer with me when I triumph, who drink with me and behave raucously, and who always listen. Always. Those same women urged caution when I told them about my love, as they recognize my tendency towards recklessness. I listened to them and my heart, and for that I cannot be happier. He has decorated my life with music, flowers, sweet notes and cards, hour-long phone calls, tender kisses, and a love I thought would always elude me after the end of my marriage. We laugh together, and his smile is a prize. When we dance, I look at those beautiful eyes, hear his heart beat, smell the smell of him, touch his strong, talented hands, and taste the beautiful mouth I stared at the night he first kissed me. I am blessed.

Parents & aging

I feel flip when I say that being a child of aging parents is difficult, but like pregnancy and parenting, one really has no idea until the ride has begun. My parents were young when they had me, in their early twenties, and so in a fashion we grew up together. This is not at all to mean that they behaved more as friends than adults who were supposed to teach me to be a decent human being. My childhood was an odd combination of old-school Latino parenting, minus the chancla, and empowerment to do what I felt was right and do good for the world. My sense is that I emerged from my formative years relatively unscathed, though some may argue that point. As an adult, I looked to my parents for support and guidance, which they have always given freely. My relationship with them has not been without strain at times, but in the end, family cannot be broken. At least for us. At times I have had to take over as the older daughter, using my social worker skills to make sure my parents are well. When my father became quite ill with what turned out to be diabetes and my mother was out of the country, I argued and stood my ground more than firmly to make sure he went to hospital, and then made sure he did what he needed to do to avoid a return trip. Given that my father and I have extremely similar personalities, you can imagine what a standoff between us looked like. A long time ago I wrote about being given lessons I have not wanted to learn. The test now is about patience. This is not a virtue I possess in great quantities, but since I do not want to commit matricide, I am learning. My mother seems to be in the initial stages of some kind of dementia, where she asks the same question repeatedly and something as elementary as my re-entering a room after more than ten minutes leads her to ask me where I went, even though she looked at me as I told her I would be outside. This is not what I wanted for my mother, not anything a loved child of a loving mother would want to see. My mother has always been strong. She came to the US a week before her 28th birthday, not knowing the language nor anyone besides me and my father. She endured an incredibly painful rough patch with my father when I was in high school, in the end making choices she felt would benefit her family, not just her. Seven months after I finished graduate school she underwent treatment for cancer and has thankfully been healthy for almost twenty five years. I know my mother's fortitude, and to see what is happening to her right now, seemingly without her knowledge, is terrifying, painful, maddening, wrenching, and supremely unfair. I need my mother. The one I have always known. I need for her to be my father's partner, not someone who he may have to care for if, when, this nightmare worsens. I feel selfish and childish saying this, but I want them to be as they were. I don't want this life for them, as I always saw them in my imagination as growing old together and enjoying one another's company. They have been married almost fifty one years and deserve to enjoy quiet and fun. I don't know what is coming, but I can only ask the universe for strength, patience, and love.

Being knocked up

It was in this month eighteen years ago that I found out I was pregnant with my kidlet. I had been wanting a baby for at least a year, and it took a bit of time for me to be able to get with child. I was in awe when I looked at the pregnancy test, not quite sure if what I was looking at was real. How amazing to know that because something changed in an activity I had done many times before, in forty weeks a small human would come into the world whom I had carried within me. My period of gestation was essentially uneventful, although I had nausea for what felt like all of the time for the first twelve weeks. My clothes fit up until about the fourth month, as in the end I only gained about 33 pounds. Maternity clothes are a lot cuter now. I often thought I looked like a beached whale. The worst things were the tent dresses. How is one considered attractive in any way while wearing something like that?? I craved hot Cheetos all of the time. And scrambled eggs, except I could not eat them once they were on the plate. They made me gag. I really, really missed beer. I don't remember what else I wanted, but I don't think I ate anything bizarre. The kid was quiet after I ate, and never really had a schedule for kicking me. The hiccups were funny, but the headstand on my bladder was not. And running. I really missed being able to run. I walked a lot, but it was never the same. I know some women run thru their entire pregnancy, but I did not want to chance that. Not sure if it's true that exercise is a way to start labor, but I truly think that my sister did it to me when she made me laugh. Not just a garden-variety guffaw, but the kind of laughter that ends in stomach pain, tears, and breathlessness. She had been trying to artfully, fashionably cut up her jeans while I was in her room with her. When she put them on and turned around, half of her ass was hanging out and I thought it was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. That night/early morning, I went into labor for what ended up being 27 hours, three weeks before my due date. I have since asked nurse friends of mine if it's possible to go into labor because to laughter, and they responded affirmatively. I was pregnant three more times after that, but all ended sadly, so I am eternally grateful I had the joyous, awe-inspiring, sweet experience of carrying my baby.

Blank

Somewhere in high school, one of my English teachers taught me about stream-of-consciousness writing, where one writes anything that comes to one's mind. I feel like that's what I am doing tonight. I cannot think of anything to write about. We had pizza tonight with Max, and it was tasty. The beer that accompanied it was great, but the fries stunk. I can make better ones. I have not been sleeping well lately, and right now I want to collapse. Wish someone would leave me a boatload of money. I think that I am cute and deserving of it. My feet are small. But given how short I am, I think that I would look funny with really big feet. I want cookies. Oatmeal chocolate chip or peanut butter chocolate chip. Or chocolate chocolate chip. All work well for me. I think I talk too much, and that's why my throat is bothering me. I had tea with honey and lemon and that helped a lot. How can people constantly update their phones? What happens to all of the obsolete phones that are not upcycled? I kept one or two old ones in case that I lose mine or that the child misbehaves to the point of losing phone privileges. My friend is returning from travels with her family in South America. I can't wait to see them again. Seriously, I think that I am done here for tonight. I apologize for being obscenely boring.

Dogs

Given my emotional state, today's brief post is gonna be about dogs. They are seldom not cute, mostly friendly, loyal to their humans when treated well, and nice to cuddle on cold nights. The kidlet and I saw an adorable puppy tonight at Target. Pretty sure he was a yellow lab, eight weeks old--precious! My dog just turned seven, and he is a hyper ball of nerves, and yet he still snuggles with me sometimes when it's just the two of us. Dogs make the world a nicer place :)