There are some days, where the passage of time is more evident than others and where the evidence is stacking up, as to just how fast it is flying by. I remember being a child and wondering if time would ever speed up to the point where I could be on my own, an adult with my own rules, living the life I dreamed of. Now, however, it seems that time is slipping through my fingers so fast that, I almost feel like a cartoon character who is trying to grasp something as it's being yanked away. You know the type the one standing there with his hands going hand over hand as if on fast forward but can't quite get a grasp on what it is slipping away.
I grew up in a house, where chaos reigned supreme, where us children raised each other, took care of each other, loved each other, fought with each other, cheered each other and tore each other down. I grew up in a house that had a mother and father, but not parents, and I could not wait to get out of there. I ran to the only place I could go and be as on my own as I could be at 18 with no skills other than raising kids, the Marine Corps.
Though, I felt I had more responsibilities then my peer group growing up, the Marine Corps taught me more about being responsible for myself and my actions. Then I wondered how slow my four year obligation would creep by. I was again wanting to be done, be grown up, and on my own, then, I found out I was pregnant at 20, and I was about to learn what responsibility really was.
Those 42 weeks I was pregnant, yes 42 because my beautiful, wonderful, amazing, temperamental, argumentative, intelligent son, decided he was going to hold out as long as he could before making his entrance, were the longest of my entire life. Longer even then the 13 I spent on good old Parris Island.
Then all of a sudden, life was on fast forward. I went from having this beautiful baby at 21 to having a toddler, to having a preschooler, to having a boy in 7th grade, a daughter in Kindergarten, and a 2 year old daughter who while they drive me up a wall, make me laugh and smile and want a remote control, so I can pause them, and rewind them and keep them small just for a few minutes longer.
Time has flown, and sometimes I don't realize it. Sometimes, I am surprised at what time has done to me and my body. I am rounder in spots, softer in others, lines in places where there never used to be. I am 33 years old, and while I know that isn't old, I still wonder where the time went? How could I have let it go by and not accomplish all those things I dreamed of?
Like most people, I wish I could go back knowing what I know now. I wouldn't change the life I live for all the money in the world, I just wish it would slow down a little bit, not fly by so fast. That I could get back those slow moments I was so sure I wanted sped up, I wish I could enjoy the moments just a little while longer, that I could make my kids stay little just for a while longer. I wish I could take back the years I spent in anger, hating myself and everyone around me. I wish I could have the time back, where I missed things. I want back the time I spent working so much I missed the little things and the big things my children accomplished.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The power of smell....
Sometimes, when I am sitting outside, watching my kids play, enjoying the cool night air, eating dinner or sitting with my husband and having a beer, the wind blows and I catch a scent of something familiar, that almost always slams me back to a place in time that is now 15 years in my past. 15 years that seem like a lifetime ago, a space in my life where, for the first time ever I was on my own, away from my family, a period in time where my life and my memories would not be shared with them, the first time that I would realize that I was separate from them.
It's the smell that reminds me of Parris Island, a smell that is distinct in it's own right. The smell of swamp gases and pine trees, it's the smell of night fire, and night humps. It takes me back to being a scared shit-less 18 year old.
The memories start with the boarding of the plane from LaGuardia Airport, the second time in my life I had been on a plane. The furthest I had ever been from home at this point, was summers in Maine with my Aunt Pennie and my cousins, and the trip I had taken almost a year before to see my brother become a Marine on the same grounds that I was about to walk. I remember the butterflies in my stomach, the baggy white t-shirt I wore. The jeans that were too tight because I was overweight, my no name Cal-dor sneakers. I remember being with a big guy who I had met during the DEP meetings, though I can no longer recall his name.
I remember going over everything my older brother had told me about what to expect, because he had made the same journey 10 months before. I remember the Marines meeting us in the airport and bringing us to a room where we would wait for more recruits and where we would had to give up all our contraband. Contraband being anything from pens, paper and gum, wristwatches, and the like. I remember the room, it had chairs and a plastic table and juice, no soda, no candy, no chips. Our 13 weeks had begun. I remember the bus ride, under the cover of darkness, and going through the gates, and my first glimpse of my new home. Even though I had been to Parris Island when my older brother had graduated boot camp but it wasn't the same as it was this night the awe and fear I felt. I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach, the nerves, knowing what was coming.
I am thrown right back to the last look at the boy who came down with me and saying good luck. I remember grabbing my things before the bus stopped, knowing I had moments before the chaos of it all began once those DI's wearing those somehow intimidating Smokey's boarded the bus. I remember the yelling, and the first time my feet hit those yellow foot prints on the asphalt. I remember being brought into receiving and placing my head on that desk like I was told to. I remember the brief phone call saying I had arrived, and my fathers sleepy voice. I remember the fear. I remember wanting to kill GySgt O'Donnell, and wondering if I really had it in me to be here for 13 weeks and make it through.
I remember the initial PFT, the worry that I wasn't going to pass and that I would be put in the Pork Chop Platoon. I remember the march over to 4th Battalion, I remember meeting our DI's for the first time. I remember the sight of the barracks. I remember the smell of the chow halls we passed, trying to get a mental picture of where I was from what I remembered when I had been to David's graduation. I remember the DI yelling at us to keep our eyes front as we tried to take it all in. I can still remember the feel of the Camies on my skin, the cover on my head, the Go Fasters on my feet. Learning what an ink stick was, standing in line for shots. The weight of my rifle the first time I held it. I remember clearly SDI Ssgt Thomas with her short red hair, smelling of cigarettes. I remember DI's Sgt Jones and Sgt Gordon.
I remember never moving so fast in my life, the yelling didn't affect me nearly as bad as some because I was used to it from my father. Even sharing the bathroom with 49 other females wasn't bad, I come from a big family and was used to that. Not much privacy in a house with 10 other siblings.
I remember pugil sticks and boxing, where for the first time I had my DI yoke me up by the shirt, this little black woman, who if I ran into on the street today would still make me shit my pants, and telling me that the girl who hit me better not kick my ass and to go back in and 'knock that bitch out'. I remember line training and initial drill. I remember the frustration of my DI's because my scoliosis wouldn't allow my upper body to align properly with the rest of the platoon. I remember being surprised about going to a classroom for classes and tests.
I remember Sgt Wooderick screaming at me, because I hesitated on the confidence course at the Stair way to Heaven. I remember the fear I had climbing because I was terrified of heights, I also remember the smirk on Woodericks face when I made it to the top and down again, and the feeling of triumph I had, never in the civilian world would I have believed I could have done that.
I remember the humps and the DI's yelling " AT&T" and our response being "REACH OUT AND TOUCH SOMEONE" so that we would tighten it up. I remember moving from the slow group for running during PT, the girls who would braid my hair after lights out, rifle PT, I remember the first time I weighed in at 228lbs, and getting the stripes painted on my PT clothes because I was a fat body. I remember having to call home and say I was in jeopardy of not graduating because I wasn't dropping the weight fast enough, and not even being able to tell my family, I had to call a neighbor because my house didn't allow collect calls.
I remember snapping in on the rifle range for the first time, the white elephant barracks and Sgt Jones losing her shit and throwing everyone's crap. I remember being booger platoon, I remember thinking that I was probably the dumbest individual in the world for signing up for this. I remember fighting Heather Souza in the chow hall after the rifle range. I remember Ssgt Thomas in my face screaming at me, and thinking I was done and going to be recycled. I remember the hand to hand combat training, and being good at it. I remember the repel tower and climbing the ropes, I remember the crucible. We were the second group to go through it for graduation.
I remember crossing DI bridge, and the blisters on my feet, that hurt so bad when we had to stop, and rest and then get up and hump again, the EGA ceremony at the Iwo Jima monument, and Ssgt Thomas handing me those EGA's and saying " You made it Mac, and I'm glad you did. You have potential".
I remember living chow to chow, lights out to lights out and Sunday to Sunday. I remember the letters from home, the pictures my sisters would draw of green boxes and cigarettes. I remember missing my baby brothers.
I remember having to go back several times for adjustments to be made to my dress uniforms, I remember the final PFT and scoring a high 2nd class PFT. I remember booking my tickets home, I remember the final weigh in and being amazed when they told me I was 145lbs.
I remember libo the day before graduation and my family not being there because they had flown into the wrong airport. I remember walking around enjoying my first taste of freedom in 13 weeks. I remember the parade deck, the graduation ceremony, and the sight of my father and brother running to catch it. I remember being dismissed and leaving Parris Island.
I remember the smell, and sometimes, when I am sitting outside the wind will blow and I catch the hint of a scent that can send me back in time.
It's the smell that reminds me of Parris Island, a smell that is distinct in it's own right. The smell of swamp gases and pine trees, it's the smell of night fire, and night humps. It takes me back to being a scared shit-less 18 year old.
The memories start with the boarding of the plane from LaGuardia Airport, the second time in my life I had been on a plane. The furthest I had ever been from home at this point, was summers in Maine with my Aunt Pennie and my cousins, and the trip I had taken almost a year before to see my brother become a Marine on the same grounds that I was about to walk. I remember the butterflies in my stomach, the baggy white t-shirt I wore. The jeans that were too tight because I was overweight, my no name Cal-dor sneakers. I remember being with a big guy who I had met during the DEP meetings, though I can no longer recall his name.
I remember going over everything my older brother had told me about what to expect, because he had made the same journey 10 months before. I remember the Marines meeting us in the airport and bringing us to a room where we would wait for more recruits and where we would had to give up all our contraband. Contraband being anything from pens, paper and gum, wristwatches, and the like. I remember the room, it had chairs and a plastic table and juice, no soda, no candy, no chips. Our 13 weeks had begun. I remember the bus ride, under the cover of darkness, and going through the gates, and my first glimpse of my new home. Even though I had been to Parris Island when my older brother had graduated boot camp but it wasn't the same as it was this night the awe and fear I felt. I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach, the nerves, knowing what was coming.
I am thrown right back to the last look at the boy who came down with me and saying good luck. I remember grabbing my things before the bus stopped, knowing I had moments before the chaos of it all began once those DI's wearing those somehow intimidating Smokey's boarded the bus. I remember the yelling, and the first time my feet hit those yellow foot prints on the asphalt. I remember being brought into receiving and placing my head on that desk like I was told to. I remember the brief phone call saying I had arrived, and my fathers sleepy voice. I remember the fear. I remember wanting to kill GySgt O'Donnell, and wondering if I really had it in me to be here for 13 weeks and make it through.
I remember the initial PFT, the worry that I wasn't going to pass and that I would be put in the Pork Chop Platoon. I remember the march over to 4th Battalion, I remember meeting our DI's for the first time. I remember the sight of the barracks. I remember the smell of the chow halls we passed, trying to get a mental picture of where I was from what I remembered when I had been to David's graduation. I remember the DI yelling at us to keep our eyes front as we tried to take it all in. I can still remember the feel of the Camies on my skin, the cover on my head, the Go Fasters on my feet. Learning what an ink stick was, standing in line for shots. The weight of my rifle the first time I held it. I remember clearly SDI Ssgt Thomas with her short red hair, smelling of cigarettes. I remember DI's Sgt Jones and Sgt Gordon.
I remember never moving so fast in my life, the yelling didn't affect me nearly as bad as some because I was used to it from my father. Even sharing the bathroom with 49 other females wasn't bad, I come from a big family and was used to that. Not much privacy in a house with 10 other siblings.
I remember pugil sticks and boxing, where for the first time I had my DI yoke me up by the shirt, this little black woman, who if I ran into on the street today would still make me shit my pants, and telling me that the girl who hit me better not kick my ass and to go back in and 'knock that bitch out'. I remember line training and initial drill. I remember the frustration of my DI's because my scoliosis wouldn't allow my upper body to align properly with the rest of the platoon. I remember being surprised about going to a classroom for classes and tests.
I remember Sgt Wooderick screaming at me, because I hesitated on the confidence course at the Stair way to Heaven. I remember the fear I had climbing because I was terrified of heights, I also remember the smirk on Woodericks face when I made it to the top and down again, and the feeling of triumph I had, never in the civilian world would I have believed I could have done that.
I remember the humps and the DI's yelling " AT&T" and our response being "REACH OUT AND TOUCH SOMEONE" so that we would tighten it up. I remember moving from the slow group for running during PT, the girls who would braid my hair after lights out, rifle PT, I remember the first time I weighed in at 228lbs, and getting the stripes painted on my PT clothes because I was a fat body. I remember having to call home and say I was in jeopardy of not graduating because I wasn't dropping the weight fast enough, and not even being able to tell my family, I had to call a neighbor because my house didn't allow collect calls.
I remember snapping in on the rifle range for the first time, the white elephant barracks and Sgt Jones losing her shit and throwing everyone's crap. I remember being booger platoon, I remember thinking that I was probably the dumbest individual in the world for signing up for this. I remember fighting Heather Souza in the chow hall after the rifle range. I remember Ssgt Thomas in my face screaming at me, and thinking I was done and going to be recycled. I remember the hand to hand combat training, and being good at it. I remember the repel tower and climbing the ropes, I remember the crucible. We were the second group to go through it for graduation.
I remember crossing DI bridge, and the blisters on my feet, that hurt so bad when we had to stop, and rest and then get up and hump again, the EGA ceremony at the Iwo Jima monument, and Ssgt Thomas handing me those EGA's and saying " You made it Mac, and I'm glad you did. You have potential".
I remember living chow to chow, lights out to lights out and Sunday to Sunday. I remember the letters from home, the pictures my sisters would draw of green boxes and cigarettes. I remember missing my baby brothers.
I remember having to go back several times for adjustments to be made to my dress uniforms, I remember the final PFT and scoring a high 2nd class PFT. I remember booking my tickets home, I remember the final weigh in and being amazed when they told me I was 145lbs.
I remember libo the day before graduation and my family not being there because they had flown into the wrong airport. I remember walking around enjoying my first taste of freedom in 13 weeks. I remember the parade deck, the graduation ceremony, and the sight of my father and brother running to catch it. I remember being dismissed and leaving Parris Island.
I remember the smell, and sometimes, when I am sitting outside the wind will blow and I catch the hint of a scent that can send me back in time.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
I remember
I was born and raised on Long Island, in the shadow of the greatest city in the world. New York City. I am a die hard Giant's fan, a Met's fan and a sometimes Yankee fan when all else fails. Even though I no longer live in NY I am proud to come from such a wonderful place. New Yorker's whether you are born and raised on the Island, in the City or Upstate, are a breed all of their own. We are proud, we love NY, and for the most part we defend it with all we have to outsiders. When I was a Marine and stationed on Camp Lejeune,NC I would drive home on leave or on 96's (and sometimes the occasional 72) and as I was coming down into NY off of 95/NJT one of the first things I would see on the NY skyline were the Twin Towers, that was always my first indication that I was closer to home then I had been in weeks or months. It the first thing I always looked for. When I brought friends home, it was the first thing I would point out at 2 a.m. The beautiful skyline, an amazing sight.
Today is Saturday September 10th 2011. The 10 year anniversary of September 11th, 2001 is less then 24 hours away. Every year around this time, I am surprised that another year has passed since this awful day. I know exactly where I was, I remember every conversation, everything I did on that day. My son was less then 2 months away from his 2nd birthday which means I was less the 2 months away from being 2 years out of the Marine Corps. We were in Georgia at the time, we had gone down there with the hope that Jake's biological father would actually act like one. We were all living with Kathy, Jake's grandmother or Nannie. Jake and I were watching Spongebob SquarePants when the phone rang it was Kathy "Have you seen the news?" she asked, no I replied, Jake was watching cartoons and I was reading. "turn it on now, something is going on in NY, a plane hit one of the towers" she said. I hung up the phone and tried to explain to Jake that I would change it back in a minute and I turned to NBC, in time to see the second plane hit the towers. I was stunned and horrified. I walked in to Kathy's room where Raymond was sleeping and kicked him awake. He was all of maybe 2 weeks out of active duty service with the Marines. I told him something was happening and he needed to see it. I turned the cartoons on in Kathy's room for Jake and went back out to watch the news. I saw it all. I saw the people jumping trying to get out of the towers. I remember hearing that not only had a plane hit the Pentagon, but there was also a plane that went down in a field in Pa. I watched for days, I saw that there were rescuers that got trapped and rescued while looking for survivors. I remember Raymond and I fighting, and a week later I was on my way back to NY. I stopped on my way out of Georgia for gas, and was stopped by an elderly gentleman who said " I see your license plates are New York license plates, are you going home?" Yes sir, I replied. " Well be safe" he said "and make sure they all know we are praying for them and are horrrified by what has happened". I told him I would, got back in the car with Jake and drove on. As I was coming down the Jersey Tpke, into NY I could see the lights, and the smoke from Ground Zero. It was dark, past midnight, Jakob was sleeping in his carseat, and I was so overwhelmed and overcome, that I had to put my hazard lights on, pull over and cry. Not only for all of the people that I knew were lost, for what their families were going through, and for those rescue workers who had lost friends and kept on going, but I also cried because I knew our life was forever altered like the skyline. It would never be the same.
I wanted to do... something, anything. I knew going back into the military was no longer an option, but I knew I wanted to make some sort of difference. My father was a cop for 20 years, he has also been a volunteer firefighter for almost 40 years. I was extremely heartbroken over the lives lost, and I felt the loss of the First Responders more then anything. I became a volunteer for the local ambulance corps. I became an EMT, I wound up moving and working for 2 years as a paid EMT.
I never knew anyone personally who was lost on September 11th, 2001, but it doesn't mean that I am not devestated and saddend by it. I have been struggeling to put into words how I feel. It's almost impossible for me. I have been watching the footage and the 10th anniversary programs remembering those who were lost, and I cry everytime. I don't know why I have this reaction but I am truly heartbroken over these events and I know my grief is nothing compared to those who lived through it or lost loved ones and friends on that day. I admire the people who ran into that building, or stayed in that building to get others out, be it Cops, Fire Fighters or Civilians. I am amazed at the people who came to help in the days/weeks/months/years after.
I am sad for those children who will never know their mother/father/aunt/uncle/grandparent. There are stories out there that may never be told, of those who were lost. They shouldn't be told just once a year, they should be told all year. Phil and I talk about that day alot over the course of the year. We let want our children to know the story, we want them to know that Some Gave All. We want them to know that WE REMEMBER. We always will. We know where we were, we can never forget.
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ This Flag In Honor Of The VICTIMS,
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ FALLEN HEROES, & THEIR FAMILIES
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ That have been affected by 9/11!
☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ NEVER FORGET 9/11/2001
☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ God bless them all!
☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ GOD BLESS THE U.S.A.
Today is Saturday September 10th 2011. The 10 year anniversary of September 11th, 2001 is less then 24 hours away. Every year around this time, I am surprised that another year has passed since this awful day. I know exactly where I was, I remember every conversation, everything I did on that day. My son was less then 2 months away from his 2nd birthday which means I was less the 2 months away from being 2 years out of the Marine Corps. We were in Georgia at the time, we had gone down there with the hope that Jake's biological father would actually act like one. We were all living with Kathy, Jake's grandmother or Nannie. Jake and I were watching Spongebob SquarePants when the phone rang it was Kathy "Have you seen the news?" she asked, no I replied, Jake was watching cartoons and I was reading. "turn it on now, something is going on in NY, a plane hit one of the towers" she said. I hung up the phone and tried to explain to Jake that I would change it back in a minute and I turned to NBC, in time to see the second plane hit the towers. I was stunned and horrified. I walked in to Kathy's room where Raymond was sleeping and kicked him awake. He was all of maybe 2 weeks out of active duty service with the Marines. I told him something was happening and he needed to see it. I turned the cartoons on in Kathy's room for Jake and went back out to watch the news. I saw it all. I saw the people jumping trying to get out of the towers. I remember hearing that not only had a plane hit the Pentagon, but there was also a plane that went down in a field in Pa. I watched for days, I saw that there were rescuers that got trapped and rescued while looking for survivors. I remember Raymond and I fighting, and a week later I was on my way back to NY. I stopped on my way out of Georgia for gas, and was stopped by an elderly gentleman who said " I see your license plates are New York license plates, are you going home?" Yes sir, I replied. " Well be safe" he said "and make sure they all know we are praying for them and are horrrified by what has happened". I told him I would, got back in the car with Jake and drove on. As I was coming down the Jersey Tpke, into NY I could see the lights, and the smoke from Ground Zero. It was dark, past midnight, Jakob was sleeping in his carseat, and I was so overwhelmed and overcome, that I had to put my hazard lights on, pull over and cry. Not only for all of the people that I knew were lost, for what their families were going through, and for those rescue workers who had lost friends and kept on going, but I also cried because I knew our life was forever altered like the skyline. It would never be the same.
I wanted to do... something, anything. I knew going back into the military was no longer an option, but I knew I wanted to make some sort of difference. My father was a cop for 20 years, he has also been a volunteer firefighter for almost 40 years. I was extremely heartbroken over the lives lost, and I felt the loss of the First Responders more then anything. I became a volunteer for the local ambulance corps. I became an EMT, I wound up moving and working for 2 years as a paid EMT.
I never knew anyone personally who was lost on September 11th, 2001, but it doesn't mean that I am not devestated and saddend by it. I have been struggeling to put into words how I feel. It's almost impossible for me. I have been watching the footage and the 10th anniversary programs remembering those who were lost, and I cry everytime. I don't know why I have this reaction but I am truly heartbroken over these events and I know my grief is nothing compared to those who lived through it or lost loved ones and friends on that day. I admire the people who ran into that building, or stayed in that building to get others out, be it Cops, Fire Fighters or Civilians. I am amazed at the people who came to help in the days/weeks/months/years after.
I am sad for those children who will never know their mother/father/aunt/uncle/grandparent. There are stories out there that may never be told, of those who were lost. They shouldn't be told just once a year, they should be told all year. Phil and I talk about that day alot over the course of the year. We let want our children to know the story, we want them to know that Some Gave All. We want them to know that WE REMEMBER. We always will. We know where we were, we can never forget.
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ This Flag In Honor Of The VICTIMS,
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ FALLEN HEROES, & THEIR FAMILIES
✰✰✰✰✰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ That have been affected by 9/11!
☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ NEVER FORGET 9/11/2001
☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ God bless them all!
☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰ GOD BLESS THE U.S.A.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Daily life
Lately I have been extremely frustrated. I feel like I have been shoveling shit up hill for so long now, and ma back hurts! Now don't get me wrong, I am not having a fucking pity party, I am just expressing thoughts. Everytime I turn around it seems like something else is smacking me in the damned face. I know there are people out there who have it worse then I do, and I am thankful for everything I do have. I have a home, a healthy family, a car that runs, and food in my fridge. I just want to bang my head against a cocrete wall. It just seems like nothing ever goes right.I don't know what I did to karama, but she is pissed at me. I try to be a good person, I help people out when I can, I try not to speak badly of people (unless they are really wretched people) and I try to go through my day with out hurting anyone. But I get kicked in the ass everytime. I just want to be where I want to be. I want to be a nurse, and yes I know it takes years of school and I am putting in the time, but God help me if I am not totally over whelmed. I am out of my element in the University setting, I often wonder if I am smart enough to do this. If I am strong enough to do this, with a husband 3 kids and the little stray children I take in from time to time. Don't get me wrong, most days, I do think I am smart enough for this and some days I do think I am strong enough for this, but, other days, it is just sheer and utter chaos. I get over loaded by the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning and balancing my life with school 5 days a week. 3 of those days I am out of the house by 6:45 getting the kids to school and I am not home until after 7 at night. My first class is at 9am those days and my last class is at 5:15. It's a long day. Not compated to what I will be doing during clinicals, but none the less, a long day, and after almost 3 months of being gone from my kids while I was working, I don't get a minute of peace from them when I get home. Someone always wants to be held, or changed, or hugged or pushed on the swing or jumping on the trampoline, or riding their bike. I wish I had done this sooner. I wish that I had figured out how to go to school and be a mother when I was younger. I think then I wouldn't realize how tired and cranky I was, and maybe I wouldn't think of smothering my husband as much as I am. Don't worry he's mostly safe. If I haven't gotten rid of him after 9 years chances are I am not going to now. I think this may be the end of my rambeling tonight!! The house is finally quite all 3 of my girls are in bed and Jake is reading his book. So good night internet. Peace out!!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Dead beat parents
I have had my fair share of dealing with dead beat parents, my mother is one, my son's father is another, and I have watched friends deal with the dead beat dad's of their own children. Few and far between I have met mother's who are dead beats in the worst form. Over the last few years of living in Alabama, I have become friends with my polar opposite in every way. I smoke, I enjoy having a few beers,I am not a fan of church. She considers hell and damn cuss words, I think I may have once seen her take a sip of an alcoholic drink and I think if she were to ever see me smoking she would assume I were on fire and douse me with water. She is one of the best friends I have ever had in my life. Over the last year, I have watched her take in not one but three beautiful little girls because their parent's were neglecting them horribly and as it turns out from the drug tests, abusing drugs. It's a sad situation, yet over the last 8 months I have watched these beautiful children do a complete 180 and turn into respectful, sweet loving children, and at times I have watched them laugh in the sheer joy at just being able to be "normal" children who aren't being fed their daily meal of potato chips and juice off the floor. I have also seen their parents completely put themselves first, have no regard for the children, they do not help support them yet are always out at clubs or bars or are in constant possession of their favorite cigarettes or beer. I have watched as the "mother" and yes I use this term loosely has harassed and berated and threatened every member of my friends family, I have been called to go out and help someone she has been throwing bottles of urine at who has NOTHING to do with the children but she is a relative of my friend and smaller so she is an easy target. I have watched as the police have been called repeatedly to visitations because the "mother" shows out. I have watched her cancel visitations with no cause other then she couldn't get up after a night of partying. I have watched the father go weeks without needing or wanting to see these beautiful little girls because he has a girl friend who has 3 kids of her own. I have watched my friend agonize of the crap that gets thrown at her, I have watched her physically manifest symptoms of stress and dread the once a week 3 hours that she has to sit and supervise these visits. I have watched her take the oldest child at the age of 2 and a half, get her top 4 front teeth removed because her parents couldn't be bothered to take care of them properly and they were rotted. I have watched as the "mother" of these children has had run in after run in with the police and nothing seems to stick, from stolen vehicles to drugs. I have watched her intimidate and steal from people only to have no one and I mean NO ONE stand up to her. I have watched this woman at visitation ignore her two youngest children and dote on the oldest because that is the one she wants. I have watched as these children have fallen into the calm of normalcy and go from crying all of the time to not at all when they leave visitation. I have watched myself as I have fallen in love with each of them in turn. I have kept them over night and braided there hair like I do my own daughters. I have struggled to keep myself from saying all of the things I want to, to this woman. I have held her children as they have cried. I have bathed them, dressed them and cared for them. And all of this pales greatly in comparison to what my friend has given them. They have a bedroom with real beds, toys,shoes,clothes, love, happiness and above all a home with her. After yesterday's visit, where this woman walked up hell bent to cause trouble I have watched my friend struggle with the heaviest of hearts as to what to do next. Court is fast approaching because the "mother" has decided that she is no longer going to the doctor for drugs she should get her kids back. She has no job,no stable place to live, no license, no means to support them,parties all of the time and thinks she could do a better job. When does it stop. How can she be allowed to keep disrupting their lives and the lives of those caring for these children? How many times can she fail a drug test? Be caught up in drug parties and stolen vehicles? Before she is cut out for good? I am angry. I am angry she has been able to do this for so long and not have any repercussions. At what point is it too much? At what point do we hold people accountable for their actions and for the good of the children say ENOUGH?? Sorry I had to vent, I just can't figure this out. Here's to hoping there is a better outcome in court!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Every other weekend.
My Beautiful Boy, is now 10 and a half years old. This handsome human being whom I adore with everything in me. Is on his way to becoming a "pre teen" as he so often reminds me. And to be totally honest it breaks my heart. I don't remember giving my permission to have him grow up so quickly. I feel like there is so much that I have missed. I worked all the time when he was a baby. I never had time for him and it breaks my heart and makes me want to cry as I sit here and type that. I did what I could to keep us treading water. Then I met the man who I now call my husband and what a godsend he was. He has helped me raise Jakob since he was two and a half years old. Now we live in Alabama instead of NY and we are at the most 2 hours away from Jake's biological dad who over the last 18 months has taken more of a role in Jake's life. He loves to see him and spend time with him. And he honestly is trying to be a better person and a better parent to Jake. And we get along we can hang out have a beer talk about our lives in the Marine Corps, joke with each other and lean on each other. This weekend is the start of our every other weekend agreement. I am happy Jake gets to see Ray and he gets to be an only child again. But I am also sad. I am terrified that Jake will want to go live with Ray eventually and that scares the hell out of me. I cannot live with one of my children constantly gone from me and I fear that when Jake is with Ray he sees what he used to have. All the attention and all the love. He doesn't have to share his toys, his room or his affections. Yes I know that whatever shall be will be. However when it comes down to it, if he said he wanted to go and live with Ray, I am not sure I could let him go. Never in a million years would I even entertain the thought of not having one of my kids around but lately he has been telling me he can't wait until he turns 13 so he can leave. Leave the only parents he has known. His two sisters. ME, Phil who has raised him taken him to doctors appointments and helped coach his football practices and takes him to his Boy Scout meetings and camp outs. When it comes down to it I will do what is in his best interest but damn it makes me sad. There is a song called Highway 20 ride and boy do I relate to it. I can only do my best and hope that he knows I love him with all my heart and soul.
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