Yesterday was my 40th birthday. I have not really ever made a big deal over ages or birthdays, but for some reason yesterday I was an emotional mess.
I cried over everything.
Woke up and watched When a Man Loves a Woman with Meg Ryan and Andy Garcia. That probably wasn’t the greatest way to start off the day on a bright note, but maybe it sets the stage for the tearfest.
My husband and Mea gave me cards. Tearfest.
Met my good friend for lunch, and when she showed up with flowers and a cupcake. Tearfest.
Came home to find flowers delivered from my Mack. Tearfest. Read the rest of this entry »
The day that our social worker called us and told us that Mea would be coming home to us, I dropped by Mack’s old sitter Lois’ house to see if she would take Mea in her daycare once she was home.
At that time, Lois had quit taking babies. Two to three years old was the youngest she would take them.
She said she couldn’t promise anything but she would try it. She was concerned, she kind of didn’t think it would work with a “little” baby and the rest of her big kids. She said that if it didn’t work out she would let me know, and give me time to find someone else to watch her.
After the first week, they were two peas in a pod. Lois loved Mea, and Mea loved Lolo. It was an instant bond. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time saved up to take when she came home, and my Aunt was sick, so I had lots of “being away for work” guilt, so Mea started with Lois the second week she was home.
Lolo and her husband have been like a second set of grandparents to both of my kids. First Mack, and now Mea, they are forever bonded to this couple.
On November 20, Lois pulled me aside and said that she needed the week of Thanksgiving off. She told me that her husband had cancer, but they didn’t know where or how bad yet. The week of Thanksgiving was when they were doing the majority of the testing. The evening before Thanksgiving, I had a call from one of the other mother’s to tell me that Lois was done. Her husband was pretty bad, and she couldn’t do daycare anymore starting immediately.
I was a little hurt that she didn’t call me herself. (This is a post for a different day. We have visited and called since and it is yet another heartbreaking story to go down for 2013.)
In addition to her being Mea’s babysitter, she is my friend. I have cried all over her and her husband so many times over the years it is ridiculous. I gave them a little space, knowing just how much they were going through at that time, I just left them be for a few days.
Then the search was on.
No one can replace a Lolo, but I was determined to try.
Mea was adamant from the beginning that she did not want to go to Metrokids, the school’s before and after care program. I didn’t know why at the time she didn’t want to go, but she was so upset whenever I even mentioned it, I was going to try hard to find somewhere else.
I called all the centers all around us, and none of them had an opening for Mea’s school. It is a big school. One of the largest elementary schools in our city. Not one of them had room on their bus for before and after, or after school only.
I posted a few things on Facebook, looking for opinions or suggestions of friends.
I looked online.
We found a website for state approved daycare providers within our area, and called a few that were close. I set up appointments to go over to these homes, and interview the babysitters.
At the first house, it was clean. The girl seemed nice enough, a little young, but nice. Then she told me that she forgot that her own child had early out from school that day. She goes to a private Catholic school, that only does early outs every now and then instead of every week like Mea’s school.
But, you guys, she FORGOT HER OWN CHILD!!!!
While we were there someone from her child’s school brought her daughter home and another daycare child!
As I am talking to her she tells me that she picks up from another school that gets out at the same time as Mea, but what she will do is pick up from the other school first, and Mea could cross the street with the crossing guard and wait on a street opposite from the school until she gets there. It should only take her ten minutes.
ONLY TEN MINUTES????!!! My kid is not standing in the cold, on a street corner, away from her school while she waits for you to get there.
The next house. This house was across the street from the school. It looked okay from the street.
It looked less okay up close and personal.
It was awful. Mea goes tearing off playing with the kids. The babysitter asks me if I want to see the rest of the house, I agreed only because I don’t know if I knew what to say. It was filthy. If you knew someone was going to be coming to your house, wouldn’t you run the vacuum? Wipe down the counters in your kitchen?
But then again, from the looks of things, this probably was “clean” to them. She asked me if I wanted to sit down in the living room and I declined because the couch was so filthy I was afraid to sit on it. There were no legs on the couch or love seat. There were visible stains on both couches, that were almost “crunchy” looking.
Of course, Mea saw nothing wrong with this place. At all. She was so mad when I said that she was absolutely not going to go to either of these places. After the last one, I quit calling any in-home daycare providers.
We basically had no choice. It had been two weeks, I needed someplace for her to go. I told her that she had to go to Metrokids at the school, and if she hated it, I would do my best to find somewhere else.
The night before the first day, we had read some of her latest chapter book and were snuggling in bed. She says in her whining tiny little voice that she does not want to go to Metro. I asked her what was bothering her so bad about it.
She said, “Metro is in the cafeteria, and during lunch we have to sit and be quiet and not talk, or they turn the lights out. I don’t want to sit in the dark from after school until you get there Momma.”
Oh, my heart.
“Mea, just because Metro is in the cafeteria doesn’t mean that it is just like when you are in the cafeteria for lunch. At Metro they play games, they play with some toys and do crafts. They play outside when it is nice enough outside, and it’s supposed to be fun.”
She was still terribly nervous. I promised her we would go early and I would stay with her for a little while so that she could meet some friends. The lady who met us at the door was a little gruff, but nice enough, the other ladies inside were sweet and talked to Mea about some things. She saw a friend playing “restaurant” with some other little girls, so I took her over to say hello. They immediately asked her if she wanted to be a “worker or a customer” and brought her into their game. I stood back for a little while and watched.
I walked over to her after a few minutes and asked if it was okay for me to leave. She nodded her head and kissed me goodbye.
When I picked her up after I got off from work, she asked me why I came to get her so early.
On Friday morning, Mea and I packed ourselves up, and left for work/school like we do every other work/school day. Locked the doors, scampered out to the car, running around like usual.
Friday night was the Father-Daughter dance at school. Mea was so excited. She and her Daddy had color coordinated their outfits, they were going to eat and dance with her friends. As we pulled in the driveway and walked to the front door she was yammering at me about all of these things.
I stopped at the mail box, pulled the mail out of the box, and opened the screen door.
I found the front door wide open. In a bit of shock I stepped in and noticed our “technology basket” in the middle of the floor tipped on its side and empty. I looked up and noticed that the sliding door to the back porch was standing open, looked further still and could see where the door to the back porch stood slightly ajar with splintered wood all around where the door had been forced open.
I started to panic, I pulled out my cell and called 911. They told me to take Mea and go wait in the car. When my husband came home, he said that he and Mea were still going to the dance, and that we needed to get in and get her ready to go. I made sure that no one touched anything, I took the first look into my bedroom.
All of the dresser drawers were pulled out and dumped on the floor. Clothes were everywhere, they had been through my closet and had pulled all of my purses out and searched through them all.
All of my jewelry, with exception of the things I was wearing, and a few pairs of earrings is gone.
My husband’s diamond wedding band, is gone.
All of Mack’s baby jewelry is gone.
All of our watches.
Four of my Coach bags.
Two Coach wallets.
Two camera’s and our video camera.
Two bottles of cologne, and two bottles of brand new perfume.
A box with Mea’s “Nana necklace” in it.
I don’t even know what else. I am finding odds and ends that are missing here and there with each day that passes.
I am starting to feel like the universe is out to get me.
I am serious.
We have insurance. I keep trying to tell myself that it is just stuff.
But that stuff was mine.
And so many things had memories attached to them.
I am just sick.
My great great grandmother’s cameo. It is little. It is probably of no value what-so-ever, but all of us have worn it pinned to the inside of our wedding dresses as our “something old.” My guess is that it is in a dumpster somewhere. Which makes me even sicker.
Now we will have to find something to replace it.
I was pleasantly surprised by a few things on our insurance, but it seems like it’s going to take a lot of work to prove that I owned this stuff for twenty-plus years.
I am just glad we were not home.
I am also pleased to tell you all that we are the proud owners of a security system. I hate that it is something that we feel that we “have to” have, I also have decided that as soon as it is economically possible that we will be moving.
A few weekends ago, my husband and I went away for the weekend. It was the first time we have left Mea. It is also the first time that we had gone anywhere just the two of us, since our honeymoon.
We really needed that trip. It was good for us. Mea lived, and although she was super pissed that we left her, she had lots of fun with her big sister, E1, her niece and her nephew, and the following night with her Aunt and cousins.
We didn’t really do anything that we couldn’t have done here, but going out-of-town made us spend time together. It was all good. We ate junk food and drank in the middle of the day, we went to a movie that was rated R, and last longer than an hour and a half.
We had fun.
When we got home, we picked Mea up, and went home and started our normal Sunday routine. I got laundry started, went to the grocery store, fed my family lunch and dinner.
I did notice that the majority of the clothes that I had sent for Mea to wear while we were gone was still clean, folded, and hadn’t been worn. When she was at her sister’s house, she claimed she didn’t have any shirts (she had two in that bag) and when she was at her Aunt’s house she swore that I hadn’t packed her any pants, to which my sister just told her to wear the pants she had worn the day before.
I am a little surprised that the grown-ups didn’t question this a little more, but whatever. She had at least two full outfits in each bag. We left Friday night, and came home Sunday morning. I totally over packed her, and it was for no reason.
After dinner, I went to help Mea get ready for her bath. She was being silly, super squirrelly, and was forcing me to help her get undressed. I get her pants off, and look at her feet.
She was wearing the same socks that I had helped her put on Friday morning.
They were once white.
They were about ten shades of brown when I peeled them off of her feet.
I posted something on Facebook about it, just being my normal smart ass self, giving my sister and E1 a hard time for not doing a very good job of Mea sitting.
The next morning, my Mom told me that she got the biggest laugh out of Mea not changing her socks.
She said that once she had a seven-year-old daughter, (duh, it was me) who she dropped off for a weekend camping trip for Brownies. Apparently, this daughter wore the same socks, underwear, and undershirt the entire weekend. They had gone hiking in the woods, and it had been muddy. They did stuff around the camp fire. Apparently, she even walked in only socked feet back and forth to the latrine a few times as well.
As we were talking I could hear the smile in my Mom’s voice, remembering this silly story of her seven-year old daughter being a dirty little piglet during her first camping trip.
I, of course, do not recall doing this. I do remember camping with Girl Scouts plenty of times, but I don’t remember my filthy socks.
It’s the little stories like this that I soak up and savor so much these days. I have a hard time thinking about all of the stories that I don’t know, or no longer remember, and how they could someday just be gone because I was too young to remember or notice, and my Mom may not be there to tell the story to me. How one of my children doing something silly like not changing her socks will remind my Mom of something similar that either I did, or that my sister did at the same exact age.
I hope to hear more of these.
Actually, I hope to hear all of these.
PS. Guys! I am writing again. Words come out when I come here! Thank you for sticking with me.
I feel like I am a character in a bad Lifetime movie.
It seems that each time things are starting to move in the right direction in one part of my life, or the lives of my loved ones, something else falls apart in another area of my life or another loved one.
I am getting really sick of it.
I mean really fucking sick of it.
This morning, Mea’s babysitter pulled me aside and told me that her husband has cancer. They do not know what kind yet, (they have ruled out prostate, but have said very little else to them) they just have a location, something in his lower area, most likely back/hip/pelvis area. PET test to come sometime next week, so they will know what they are dealing with.
She told me and I burst into tears. They are the closest thing to a second set of grandparents that Mea has, Mack too for that matter.
These people are more than just Mea’s babysitter. I have known them since I was a child. Mack was Jimbo’s girl. Every time I see him he asks me about Mack. Which is almost daily. Mea is his little cuddle bug too.
I am just sick.
I am worried about them.
I sent them flowers and candy this afternoon.
And although it is somewhat selfish, I have been worried about what it will mean for our daycare situation. I hate the thought of Mea going anywhere but there. I also don’t know how they will be able to keep up with daycare, and take care of Jim’s needs once they come up with a treatment plan.
I know firsthand how crazy those first several months were with my Mom, and I also know that if she had a bunch of kids around her all day long every single day that she would have gone nuts. Not to mention that it can be a little scary for the little kids to see someone they love sick. I am terrified that this is starting to be a “normal” thing that Mea has to see and live with.
I just need a break from all this stupid cancer business.
I am sure all the people who are actually dealing with it want the same thing.
It just pisses me off.
I am just so done.
Believe it or not, I have come to this place many times in the last several weeks. I just couldn’t make any words come out when I would sit down.
I have a little green notebook in my purse where I have been jotting down ideas of things to blog about.
Whether it is some silly Meaism, or a story from my past, or something that has happened recently, those ideas have gone in this little notebook.
The thing is when I get here, and sign in, I kind of freeze, and no matter how many times I look at the pages of notes I have made in the little green notebook, I can’t pull the words together to form even one sentence.
Today, I opened the notebook, and then picked it back up and buried it back into the bottom of my purse.
I miss it here. I miss you friends out there so much. I hope you are still there. I hope you haven’t given up on me.
I won’t lie, this year has been a hard one. Most likely the hardest in all of my life. First my Mom getting sick, my old job, new job, Mack moving so very far away, I just haven’t dealt with it all too well. I am trying, but I am also trying not to get too lost.
I was just rattling around doing the best at I could at functioning for a while. The things I loved to do took a back seat while I tried to pull myself back together. I haven’t read an entire book in more than six months. I have bought several, started and stopped them. My cooking and baking has taking a hiatus, which has had a positive effect on all of our waistlines, but still. My blog and my blog peeps.
The thing is, that this blog is my best therapy. I have to tell myself that you guys don’t necessarily need a funny, jokey story where I make fun of myself, every single time you come here. Sadly, sometimes I just need to be me and vent my bad shit out so I can go on.
I think this is where I am. I need to get some of the bad out, so the good can come back in.
Even if it’s something short, I will be back daily for a while. I need to get back in the groove of things.
I may need to start things off by getting rid of this. It hasn’t done me any favors. I may go bury it in the backyard when I get home.
I first noticed her a little over ten years ago. She would come into my office, dragging two large heavy plastic reusable grocery bags, from a discount grocery store. They were packed to the limit.
Where I worked, it was common for us to serve clients who were quite well off, and also serve clients who could barely rub two nickels together. I could never quite figure out The Bag Lady’s circumstances. She looked clean, she looked kept, but she had those bags, and seemingly, nowhere to go.
I saw her everywhere.
On every single side of town.
She rode the bus, so I did see her frequently while I was at work. At least several times per week.
Always with those two stuffed bags.
She was older, definitely should have been retired. Frail enough that watching her carry those bags always concerned me, they looked so heavy.
I often wondered what she had in there. I would find myself thinking about it at odd times. If she were homeless, she might have all of her earthly possessions in those bags. What if someone stole them from her? What if she lost one? What if one of them ripped and she started losing things?
She went missing for a while. I didn’t see her. This was over winter, so then I really began wondering if she was one of the homeless as so many of them head south for winter.
Then when the weather started warming up I began to see her again.
Back with her bags.
Only this time they had multiplied.
The first time I saw her she had four bags.
Then at least six.
Then she was walking around with at least ten or more of these bags filled to the brim, so heavy she could barely carry them herself. She would walk two to four bags about twenty feet or so, then go back and get more bags, over and over and over again.
I couldn’t imagine how long it was taking her to get to wherever it was that she needed to be while carrying all of those bags.
Then one day, I realized she was gone. I hadn’t seen her for months. More than a few seasons had passed.
She was gone.
So were her bags.
I am still here. I will be back in this place. I have been dragging around a bunch of baggage. My brain has been so heavy it’s been hard to put all of my stuff away, and walk away without any of my bags, but please know this…..
I miss you. I miss this space and the cheap therapy it gives me. I miss making people laugh, I miss reading your stories.
I don’t know what happened to the bag lady. I hope that some family member intervened and either got her some mental help that she may have needed, or helped her into an assisted living facility of some sort who could also help her.