Barking Mad

We're Having a "Pink-Slip" Party and You're Invited!

 

Originally, when Gareth called home last Friday, the 30th and let me know that the other shoe had dropped, I was many things but definitely not in a mood to party.  Losing his job - a good paying job in an industry that has been hit extremely hard in this recession, is terrifying to me.   I was in the car taking Matt to work when the phone rang.  I pulled over and let out a few choked sobs, wiped my eyes and listened to Gareth tell me he'd be home by early afternoon.  He had to clean out his office.  It actually took him longer than just a little while because men he'd worked with came in from field offices and various project sites around coastal Maine to say goodbye and wish him well.  I know how hard it was for him to say goodbye to so many people he'd worked so closely with.

I dropped Matt off at work and drove to the beach at Land's End.  Gaby was softly snoring in her car seat while "Whistle While You Work" from her Snow White DVD droned on in the background.  I dug my fingernails into the steering wheel and shook with uncontrollable quiet sobs.  I wanted nothing more than to punch Snow White and those fucking merry dwarves in the face!  No one in our family would be whistling while they worked because there wasn't going to be a job to go to! 

I lifted my head and looked out the windshield of the car, through watery eyes and just sat and let the tears fall down my face as the wind blew and the waves softly lapped at the shore.  I took a deep breath in and opened the center console searching for something to blow my nose into and wipe my eyes with.  All I could find were baby wipes.  Along with the tears and snot came mascara and the rest of my makeup that I'd haphazardly applied earlier that morning.  I was sure I looked scarily appropriate for Halloween Eve.

I played back Gareth's phone call in my mind, hearing his voice so broken and tearful.  I turned around and watched Gaby sleep, blissfully unaware of how her small world was changing, unbeknown to her.  A sharp pain in my chest made me wince.  I couldn't let her see me like this and I knew at that moment in time that my own attitude would go a long way towards determining how our family responded to and dealt with this crisis.

I sat up straight, undid my seat belt and slid quietly from my seat so as not to wake Gaby.  As silently as possible, I shut my door and walked to the front of the car.  I slid my arm carelessly over my face in an attempt to brush away the tears and then looked up at the sky. I don't know if I was praying, or talking to the Universe or just verbalizing my fears out of earshot of Gaby...but I do know that I gave myself 5 solid minutes to freak out, to worry, to panic, to give the fears that were rolling around in my head and sitting on the tip of my tongue an escape route because I knew that airing them around those I needed to be strong for wouldn't do anyone a damn bit of good.  One of my biggest fears is not being able to go to Texas in January and see Meg graduate from BMT.  But we'll deal with it. 

I stood for a moment longer and let the wind dry my face and inhaled deeply - the perfume of the ocean which is always so calming to me.  I closed my eyes and just listened to the sounds around me...the wind in the trees, the shore birds calling to one another and the waves breaking on the rocks.  I let these sounds sink deep into my soul and center me.  I took strength from my surroundings and thanked God and the Universe for leading me to a place where I could find my footing and regain some composure.  I said a silent prayer for the other men and women who had lost their jobs along with Gareth that day, including Gareth's boss, the Vice President of the company.  I hope that favorable winds are blowing their way.

I got back into the car and grabbed my cell phone and opened up the Note Pad application and started making a list of things that would need to be done immediately.  Phone calls that would have to be made, a list of people to email, and then I sent a brief text to family letting them know what had happened.   I hadn't intended on letting Meg know that Gareth had lost his job.  She knew that his company had already been through two severe rounds of layoffs, but as far as she was concerned, we had been told his job was secure...as secure as it could be in this economy.   In the end, because Matt was with me when the call came in from Gareth, I decided it was best not to hide it from her.  I just didn't want to worry her when she was so close to leaving for BMT.  In the end, it only drew her nearer to us in ways which are hard to describe.

Since Friday so many unexpected things have happened. We've discovered that the professional community which Gareth is a part of reaches out to those in need and has helped connect Gareth with others in positions to either network him with companies looking for professionals like him, or with headhunters who are familiar with his specialty and certifications.  We've realized that as individuals in our family we are capable of a lot, but when we pull together even tighter, there isn't anything we aren't capable of.

Yes, things may get tough for us for a while.  Yes, we are going to have to make some major changes in our lives, one of which is probably going to mean moving out of Maine.  Interestingly enough the areas where jobs in Gareth's field are plentiful are in places like Alaska, Hawaii and Texas.   We'll go where the work is, no questions asked.  We know that when all is said and done we may have to up sticks and start over somewhere else.  But ya know what?  We'll do that!  And we'll be OK doing that...so long as we're together as a family and facing whatever challenges lie ahead of us, as a family, we can, and will, get through this. 

So tomorrow, in light of recent events here at the asylum, we're going to be throwing a Pink-Slip party and ya'll are invited to come, even if it's only in spirit.  There will be much baking and merry-making and I promise to not punch any Disney characters in the face! We're also going to be drowning our sorrows in buckets of Pink Slip Lemonade!

In the end, we are stronger than this and whilst we haven't landed on our feet yet, we will land.  It might not be a soft landing, but however we land, we'll pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off and move forward.  Things may indeed get worse before they get better...but the point is, they will get better and we will come through this intact, stronger as individuals and much stronger as a family!

 

Leaving on a Jet Plane...Part III - And She Takes to the Air!

Here we are...there she is.

We made it through Meg's departure for BMT (Basic Military Training) with the USAF.  The past couple of days have been more hectic than anything I can recall in recent months.  Even more so than last year when she left for college.

There was so much that went into this moment for her, but I'll start with the last 12-24 hours leading up to her getting on the airplane and flying off into the wild blue yonder.

Monday afternoon Meg had to report to her NCO's office for her last DEP (Delayed Entry Program, which she was part of) check in.  Sgt. Lebreck prepared her for the hell that the first few days of BMT were going to be like.  He also spoke directly to us and warned us to just sit tight because we wouldn't hear from her for the first week to 10 days.  She was going to have to earn the privilege to call home and with that phone call would come her address, where we could write to her.  

Sgt. Lebreck also told Meg that her first day there would be one in a string of about three weeks of solid hell, but would probably be the longest. 

 

From Sgt. Lebreck's office we had to take Meg to the hotel she was required to check into the night before her final processing and swearing in, at the Portland MEPS office.   We spent the evening with Meg, Matt, Meg's boyfriend Tyler and her best friend Chris.  She had to be back at the hotel by curfew, so after dinner we dropped her off and told her we'd meet her at the MEPS station early the next morning.

We texted for a while until she fell asleep. I didn't think she'd get too much sleep and either did she but she ended up being able to sleep from about 11PM until the MEPS guys came and woke her up at 4AM.  I got up at 4AM as well because I couldn't sleep for thinking about everything she was going through.

All of us (Gareth, me, Gaby, Matt, Tyler and Chris) showed up at the MEPS station around 8AM and were waiting for her to finish security processing and for her name to be called for her "official"  Oath of Enlistment.  It differed from when she swore in back in May because this time because back then, she was simply swearing into the DEP (Delayed Entry Program) and not signing her name in blood so to speak.  Technically, anytime between then and now she could have walked away from the USAF with no issues, however yesterday once she signed her final contract and then took her Oath, that was it.  She is now technically and literally property of the United States Government.

All through the day I would watch Meg's best friend's face, off and on.  He's next to go into the USAF.  His ship date is January 19th.  Chris is a very unique and special young man.  He's become like an older brother to Meg, although they are the same age.  Where one is, you'll often find the other.  He's been a constant around our house over the last few months.  Gaby refers to Chris as "My bruver from anuver muvver!"  He's got a younger sister who's just a year shy of Gaby and I really love listening to him talk about his little sister, Abigail, and watching his eyes light up as he talks about this or that - that she's done lately.  I can imagine how hard it's going to be for him to say goodbye to her, as it was for Meg to hug  Gaby goodbye...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The earlier part of yesterday at the MEPS station was pretty much nothing more than "hurry up and wait" as Meg's flight time got bumped back from 1:10PM to 4:10PM.  

Tyler and Meg, just hanging out and waiting at the MEPS visitor area...

 

They finally called Meg's name and asked for her and her guests to go to the Oath room where we were able to watch her be sworn in...

 

 

  

 

 

Once she was sworn in they let the parents of those who were shipping out take our airmen outside of the MEPS center to get some breakfast and just spend some time with them before they were due to go through their travel briefing at 11:45AM.  We took the kids down to the wharf along the Portland waterfront and had breakfast.  I'm so grateful for those extra few hours with our girl.  I know that her flight being pushed back made her day even longer, but for those of us who were there with her, we will always cherish those last few silly and precious hours before she took to the air.

After breakfast we dropped the kids off at the MEPS center and told them we'd meet them at the airport.  Meg forgot to pack a towel with her stuff and it was one of the items she was told to bring with her to BMT.  So we ran back to the house and grabbed a towel and by the time we were done she was already at the airport.

One of the benefits of having a child who is now referred to as on "Active Duty" (I will admit that just saying those words takes a little getting used to), is that we were given security passes at the airport to wait at the gate with Meg.

It was a little surreal, sitting up there with the families of other kids getting ready to ship out.  All of us were pretty subdued.  I sat back as Gaby played with her posse of Polly Pockets and watched the other families talk quietly with their own airmen, or new Naval trainees (I don't know what the rest of the branches of the military call their new recruits), Marines and Army recruits.  One Navy recruit in particular had about 10 family members with her.  I watched as she'd scoot in close to a family member and snap a picture with them on her Blackberry.  I'd watch the grandparents of another new recruit quietly tell stories of their own time during service to our wonderful country.  I sat and intently watched the father of one of Meg's fellow airmen, dab his eyes as he looked on with pride at his son as he followed in his footsteps.

I watched Meg closely.  I followed her gaze as she'd look at her twin brother, or I'd catch her eyes well up as she watched Gaby play with her toys.  She'd look up from time to time and catch Tyler watching her every move.  I watched Tyler try to reign in his emotions and be strong for his girl...this woman he loves with all this heart.  I scanned Matt's face and watched the tears flow anew as he'd look at his twin sister.  This has been particularly hard on Matt.  He's so proud of his sister but yet misses her with an intensity that's hard to describe. 

I captured a few moments of the "waiting" as we all sat and counted the minutes until her flight number was called to board. 

 

Most of us were on our cell phones, updating Facebook, or Twitter, or texting one another.  I was trying to write down some of the feelings I had as I watched this young woman before me morph from the little girl with long pony tails who loved to chase her brothers with frogs and bugs, into the headstrong teenager who claimed to be a tomboy but whose love of makeup and perfume and body lotion is legendary, to this young woman who now sat before me - this butterfly about to spread her wings for the first time and prepare to show the world her beautiful colors.  I found words hard to come by.  So I just captured moments here and here of these jewels in my crown...my children.

 

 

 

 

Then it happened.  Her flight was called and it was time for hugs, kisses, promises to write, wishes of good luck, and final words or encouragement and support.  And tears.  Oh how the tears flowed and flowed.

I hugged her close and told her how proud I was to call myself her mother and that for every moment of struggle we'd had, those were eclipsed by the moments where I could burst at the seams with pride for my gorgeous girl. I kissed her cheek and told her to go and show the world who she was.

I cried as I watched Gareth's eyes fill with tears as he told Meg to g'on, make herself proud and do her best and he embraced her.  Despite being her step-father, he considers Meg his daughter.  He loves her as if she were his own and as I watched him hug her, I filled with an ever-deepening love for this man. Step-parenting is hard.  It's oh-so-very difficult at times.  He's done a keen job of perfecting the art of parent and friend to her at the times she's needed it the most.

Watching Meg say goodbye to Tyler was hard, but probably not as hard as it was for them to experience it. 

 

And then before I knew it, Meg was standing in line, ready to board the plane.  So many thoughts and emotions swirled around in my head. The tears flowed freely as I'd given up containing them and trying to hold them back.  I could hear Gaby softly crying behind me and calling out Meg's name.  I watched Tyler stick his hands in his pocket and pull his chin up...being strong for his girl. 

 

Meg turned around one last time, waved at us and then she was gone, down the jetway.

Matt held Gaby as they watched the plane through the window.  I could see his shoulders shake as he cried.  He pulled Gaby close and together they watched their sister prepare to head off into the blue skies overhead for adventures unknown.

 

Gaby stood up and walked towards the window and watched as her sister's plane pulled away and prepared for take off...

 

...And when she turned around, my heart broke for her, into a million tiny pieces...

 

I pulled Gaby close to me and told her that very soon, we'd see Meg again and we'd be so proud as she marched in front of us, at graduation from BMT in January. 

We stood and watched as Meg's plane ascended into the clouds until we couldn't see it any longer and then I hugged Chris and Tyler and told them to come by for dinner soon and then they left, with Matt in tow, to go and play some pool.

Gareth and I each took one of Gaby's hands, and left the airport. 

We came home, went about our evening, put Gaby to bed, talked to Matt when he came home, and then tucked in for the night.  The last thing we were expecting was to be awoken out of a dead sleep at 4:30AM by a call from  Meg.  Gareth picked up the call and the first thing I heard was Meg's voice as she said, "Hi Dad..." followed by an intense amount of yelling in the background by the TI (Training Instructor). 

For some reason she was allowed a phone call home, something that's not always the precedent on a new trainees first day of BMT, to give us her address.  We could scarcely hear her for the yelling by her TI in the background.  I wanted to reach through the phone and slap that woman and tell her to shut the hell up so I could hear my daughter.  Gareth got most of the address, or at least tried, amidst the non-stop yelling, and then that was it.  She was gone.  I doubt she'd been to sleep since landing in San Antonio, at Lackland Air Force Base. 

I miss her.  Oh how I miss my girl.  Despite the ache in my heart at her not being here, there is this swell of pride and love for her and for the woman she is going to become.  And for as much as I miss her, I love her so much more.

 

Quote of the Day - Letting Go

 

Meg boarding the plane bound for Lackland Airforce Base in San Antonio, TX.

 

"Letting go doesn't mean we don't care.  Letting go doesn't mean we shut down.
Letting go means we stop trying to force outcomes and make people behave.
It means we give up resistance to the way things are, for the moment.
It means we stop trying to do the impossible--controlling that which
we cannot--and instead, focus on what is possible--which usually means
taking care of ourselves.  And we do this in gentleness, kindness,
and love, as much as possible."
  

~Melody Beattie~

********

The past couple of days have been non-stop movement in preparation for Meg's departure for BMT (Basic Military Training) down at Lackland Air Force Base in san Antonio, TX- with the USAF.  Today was the culmination of more than six months preparation and waiting.  It's been a long day.  Meg's started at 4:30AM this morning and probably won't end until well after 12AM Texas time. I can never remember which time zone Texas is in, despite having lived there!

I got up at 4AM this morning because I couldn't sleep for being excited, and anxious and nervous for my girl.  The rest of the  family has been up and going since about 6AM and we're all completely spent...emotionally and physically. 

I'll post Part III of "Leaving on a Jet Plane" tomorrow when my eyes aren't so puffy and I've had a chance to sort through all the photographs and decide which ones I want to share and which I want to hold close to the vest. 

Hard to believe today is here and just about gone already.  Letting go and letting Meg fly was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  However, there's no looking back, only looking forward to all the wonderful things this amazing young woman is going to do with her life.  I've never been more proud to be a mother...her mother!

 

 

 

Leaving on a Jet Plane...Part II - Dinner with the Quads

Last night was Meg's last home-cooked meal before she leaves for basic with the USAF.  She heads down to Portland tonight to spend the night at a local hotel to prepare for another mini-MEPS before she ships out tomorrow morning after her official swearing in.  She asked me to make her favourite meal and I gladly obliged.  Parmesan Fried Chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and a crisp green tossed salad, followed by a molten chocolate cake a'la mode.  We also had her boyfriend, Tyler over, as well as Meg's best friend, Chris.

Tonight we head down to Portland to have dinner with Meg near the hotel she's going to be staying at, along with other recruits that ship out tomorrow morning.  Then early tomorrow we go back down to Portland again, this time into the main MEPS station and are present for her official swearing in and say our, goodbyes.

I wanted to get a good photo of Meg and Tyler - one that she can take to basic with her and put up in her locker, or whereever they're allowed to put stuff like this.  However, trying to get a decent shot of the four of these kids, the twins- Matt and Meg, along with Chris and Tyler, where they aren't grabbing each other's boobs, or generally acting like goobers, was easier said than done!

First, I tried to get Meg and Tyler...

After threatening to withhold dessert, I finally got a little cooperation!

 

 

 

Next up I tried, in vain to get a good shot of Meg, Tyler, and Meg's best friend, Chris, who I lovingly refer to as The Three Musketeers.

  

Come on guys!  Work with me!

 

Next up was The Quads, as a whole group.  Yeah, this one took a while seeing as how I had to review with Chris and Tyler, proper hand placement for a group shot!

 

I began to fear I'd never get even a half-way decent shot of the four of them!

 

Eventually, I managed to get a pretty good shot of The Quads...oh and Geronimo too.

 

Beautiful kids!  I love every one of them!  I'm so grateful for the friendship all of Meg's friends have shown to her and her brother Matt, over the past couple of years.  And I've loved having all the laugher, jokes, and conversation fill  my home!

  
   

Leaving on a Jet Plane...Part I

 

image credit  

In a little less than 48 hours, this beautiful girl of mine will be winging her way to San Antonio, TX for 9 weeks of basic training with the United States Airforce.  I've mentioned before what the impetus was for her decision to join the USAF so I won't go into that again.   

 

Over the course of the next couple of days, if the posts are light, or little more than fluff, just know it's because this "letting go" thing is hard.  It's damned hard! My therapist warned me that this was going to be pretty hard, but I didn't listen.  She told me that the harder Meg tried to disentangle herself from the binds that tie (and sometimes gag!), the more fervently I'd try to reign her back in.  It's been so hard recently that the air of tension around here has been palpable.  She has been pushing away - unfurling her wings and testing them out and I have been pulling her back even harder.  Thursday night, we both sat down on her bathroom floor and hugged and cried and just got everything out.  

I think the hardest thing for her has not only been dealing with the incredible leap out of her comfort zone this is going to be, but the unfortunate fact that her paternal family on the west coast has not reached out once in the last several months to wish her well, or even say goodbye.  I can't imagine the ache in her heart.  I do know that this ache will only cause her determination to do her best to burn brighter and harder than anything.  It will only fuel the intensity with which she goes after everything she wants and proves to the world, and most importantly - herself - just who she is!

I'm so excited for her and nervous and anxious...but most of all, I am so intensely proud of this gorgeous girl of mine.

My dearest Meg, Meggo, Meggawatt, Mimi (remember that one?) Maggot, Beautiful Girl, Meaghan...

I remember when I found out that one of the twins I was carrying was going to be a girl, almost as if it were yesterday.  Your big brother Josh was such a rough and tumble kid and totally ALL BOY.  I was overjoyed that I'd get to overdose on pink and have a little girl to share all of the wonderful and sometimes painful things about being a woman, with.  I used to daydream about how you'd have this awesome big brother in Josh to pal around with, and he and Matt would be your protectors and that you'd date Josh's friends and how he'd threaten to kick their butts if they hurt you.   I'd envision scenes of you guys tossing a football around in the back garden, just the three of you, and then you primping for dates whilst your brothers gave whoever the poor boy was, a hard time. 

I'd spend hours writing in my journal as I would sit and feel the first few flutters of movement from you and your brother (and seriously, looking back, I'm really suprised you guys didn't come out with bruises when you were born, especially with your head at his feet and vice versa!  You two certainly were not "calm" in utero!), I'd think about sharing secrets with you, spending days having tea parties, watching you play dress up, letting you brush my hair (even when you took the round brush and um, tangled my hair so completely in that your dad had to cut it out of my hair...oh well, I was due for a trim anyhow!), and giggling as we talked about boys. 

I'm so sorry that your older brother's death took a lot of that away from you and turned me into someone unable to cope with life. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out how to be able to live life again, and deal with the gaping wound in my heart and soul.   

However, I'm grateful for these last two years and the bridges that have been rebuilt.  It hasn't always been easy, but we've made it.  I've been able to watch you grow into this amazing young woman who is so alike me at times, that it's frustrating.  Gareth is beyond proud at the strides you've made, despite the incredible hurt you suffered prior to coming to live with us. Being a step-parent is one of the hardest things in the world but I think you'd agree with me that he's done an outstanding job, even when he's had to referree some pretty intense arguments between you and I.

You and I...we don't always agree and I think that's a good thing.  It shows me that despite the years you spent away from me in the care of people who are so narrow-minded, that you can think for yourself and come to your own conclusions about life and the things around you and that there is more than one way to do something.  You have forged your own path in this world and you are determined to do things by your own terms, everyone else be damned!  I wish I had more of that sort of strength and determination when I was your age.

Over the past few years you've often asked me if I ever regretted the poor decisions I made when I was your age especially after Joshua's death.  I don't regret anything...especially when it comes to my children. I don't know the rhyme or reason behind Joshua's death, or if everything happens for a reason or if his death served a purpose...I know you've asked me these things because you wonder if my life wouldn't have turned out differently had I not hooked up with your dad.  I can't say.  No one can.  But I don't regret a minute of it.  You are all such amazing children....well young adults really.  Sure, I made some really poor choices when it came to how I acted which lead to getting pregnant and not wanting to get married but doing it anyhow.  I can't change any of that.  If I hadn't of had any of you, I wouldn't have experienced the boundless joy that you've each brought into my life and the countless memories - beautiful memories - you've each gifted me with.  So no, I don't regret a minute.

Thank you for being my constant cheerleader for the past two years, especially when things went really bad and I just wanted to die.  I know that you know how close it came.  What you don't know, was that as I sat in that tub of ice cold water, and sat there with the razor blades in my hands, that it was the thought of my kids being the ones to find me that ultimately shook me up enough to call my doctor and make him get me off the merry-go-round that was causing this.  After all was said and done, I sat in Dr. DCK's office and sobbed when I thought about you being the one to find me, especially after everything you'd already been through on the west coast, and how our home has been your safe place...I thought about what that would do to you emotionally and to this day it kills me that I was thinking about doing something which really is the very ultimate in selfish acts.  I know the medication had a lot to do with it, but it still doesn't negate the fact that in the end, I would have been the one making the decision and that I would have ruined several lives, including yours, had I actually gone through with it.

Pulling my huge body out of the tub that afternoon was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but I did so with you, and your sister and your brothers in mind.  I didn't want to leave any of you with that sort of legacy.

I made you a few promises recently...I won't send Matt back to Seattle, regardless.  He stays with us.  We'll get through the recent turn of events, and we'll do it, intact, as a family.   I won't break that promise.  I also promised you that I'd work harder toward getting healthy and surviving.  If you can survive basic (which you can!) then I can deal with the shit that's been eating away at me and chewing away my core, slowly, for decades.  I promised you that you'd be every bit as proud of me as I am of you...I don't intend on breaking that promise or any of the others.

My beautiful girl, know that we'll be cheering you on, and waiting, oh how I'll be waiting, for that first phone call home.  I'm so damned excited for you.  And nervous.  And scared. And anxious...and maybe just a wee bit envious of all the adventures that lay before you. 

Know that above all else, we love and cherish the woman you are.

You are an American Airman

and

You are my daughter!

I love you!

Mom
  

Happy Halloweekend!

From all of us here at the Barking Mad asylum, we wish you a wickedly Haunted Halloween!

click images to enlarge

  

  

 

 

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same - Invasion '09

This time of year in Maine you can count on several things...the foliage turning from all shades of green into bright oranges, reds, golds, yellows and ambers, the snowbirds retreating to warmer climes, the little dairy shacks that dot the coastline shuttering up for the winter, and our annual invasion of winged beasts.   These kinds of winged beasts in particular...

 

We have several of these "groups" of ladybugs throughout the entire house.  The harder we try to control the invading hordes, the worse it seems to get. I gave up counting when I got to 100.  And what does one call a group of ladybugs like this?  A pod? Pride? Coven? Well, if you're an almost-four-year-old, you call them a "Schnooff of ladybugs."   Don't even attempt to call them anything else because you will be sternly corrected by the small person.  

Frankly I'd be willing to bet we have several little ladybug orgies going on throughout our house...but I dare not speak those words aloud else I'll have a certain little person repeating them at the most inopportune times.

The first fall that we were here at the asylum we got a real taste of what this yearly invasion of ladybugs was like.  Prior to that we'd had a few get in to whatever house we were in, but nothing like that first year here.   Gaby was roughly 21 months old at the time and was intrigued and beguiled by the ladybugs, but still a tad apprehensive...

I love how she says "ladybugs." Cracks me up every time!

Last year the invasion wasn't as um...well, plentiful as it is this year so we didn't pay too much attention to it.   However this year, with the sheer volume alone, it's really hard to ignore.  Oh and then there's the feline factor.  Oiy!  Our sheers in the front room are pretty much history due to the cats shredding them whilst climbing, in order to get to a nice, fat, juicy, red beetle!  Gaby is still beguiled by them, but after watching the first video, and now this one, you can tell that certain things never change - despite growing older, both she and I jump when we're holding one and they take to the air...

I guess I should be grateful for the fact that it's only ladybugs we're dealing with and not an invasion of fiddler crabs, eh CBW?

Don't forget, during the entire month of October, to support the fight against breast cancer, Barking Mad is in the pink!  For every comment left on each post, we'll donate a certain amount to Susan G. Komen for the Cure®.  Read more about it here!

I'm Not Angry...I'm Just a Bitch

 

The last several days have been a monumental clusterfuck of attitude, ignorance, lack of respect, lack of internet (thanks Comcast! You are on my SUCKIT list too!), shit (both literal and figurative - Geronimo had a rotten tummy - crapped all over himself and got a bath; as a result of said bath, I am now sporting some nifty slices and dices along my arms.), and yelling and screaming with a few threats to kick a certain teenager out of the asylum...it all adds up to one big heaping plate of stress. All of this with only 6 days left until Meg leaves for boot camp.

I'd really love nothing more than to just flush the last six or seven days down the toilet!

Oh and did I mention that I stopped taking my anti-depressant?  No? Well, guess what, I did.  I was beginning to feel better, emotionally anyhow, and I thought to myself, "Self, lets stop taking this expensive little pill, because you're feeling better and we don't need it any more!"  My head-shrinker was on holiday and I'd mention it to her when she got back...surely it wouldn't be that big a deal?  So, voila, just like that I stopped taking them and away went my feelings of well being and with it, the last remaining shards of my sanity.  Oh wait, one of the resident teenagers ran off with some of that as well.

Then we come to The Pumpkin.  How can a pumpkin possibly be construed as something stressful?  It is, after all, just a pumpkin.

After you read this, you're going to think I've completely lost it.  Maybe.

So, when is a pumpkin, carved into a Jack O' Lantern and given to a three-year-old, much more than just a nice gesture?  When it's given to said three year old by a person whom the three year old's mother wants nothing to do with and wants her influence clearly out of reach of the three year old.   Did that make any sense?

Remember this post?  Yeah the same one that's now made me one of the most hated mom's in Maine? The one that's gotten one of our cars vandalized, been the impetus for numerous threatening and harassing phone calls as well as emails (some of you imbeciles out there need to learn how to use an onion router and not try and cover your IP with hidemyass.com!), and caused me to laugh hysterically as teenagers drive by my house and flip me off...Well, the "Young Lady" I referred to in that post, carved a Jack O' Lantern for Gaby yesterday and Meg brought it home with her when "Young Lady" dropped her off after spending some time with her in order to say goodbye before Meg leaves for boot camp.  Before I had a chance to protest, Meg had whisked Gaby outside to show it to her and make sure she knew exactly who it was from. 

Needless to say, Gareth was pissed.   He expressed his displeasure with Meg who, in reply told him that the Young Lady was probably pulled over crying somewhere because she couldn't say hello to Gaby and give it to her personally.  My own reply to that is something along the lines of, "Because your mother is a big fat bitch and wants to limit your little sister's exposure to people she has issues with, a fact you are well aware of, I really don't care if the Young Lady was parked at the end of our street crying her eyes out!"  Yes gentle readers, I am as heartless and cruel as it appears and ya know what, I don't give a shit what anyone thinks.  The gesture was completely inappropriate and Gareth and I will not have Gaby used as a pawn in anyone's game. 

If you are sitting there with your mouth agape and in shock that I could be pissed off over something as innocent as a Jack O'Lantern, well, that's OK.  You might be cool with a gesture like that, to your toddler, from someone who you want your child to have absolutely nothing to do with.  Me?  Not so much.  If the shoes were switched, I'd have steered clear of doing anything like that, especially knowing how the toddler's mother feels.  What's the point in doing it, other than to play games and try and ingratiate yourself in the eyes of a three year old? Whilst I don't begrudge Meg her friends, especially those she is very close to, as she is to the Young Lady; Meg is an adult and will do what she will do. However I still have say in who comes and goes, in any manner, in the life of my three year old.

Of course, Meg made it painfully clear to Gaby who the pumpkin was from and now I've got a three year old who is upset with me that she can't see the Young Lady and say thank you.

Now, this little issue of not acknowledging a gift has, I admit, rankled me since last night.  I have always impressed upon my kids that you say thank you...period.  Despite the intent behind the pumpkin, it was still, in the end, a gift, and should be acknowledged.  Gareth and I disagree on this one point. He believes that the intent negates acknowledgment.   We've discussed the issue back and forth and whilst there is still some residual anger over the gesture and aforementioned intent, we have come to an agreement of sorts.  It's more important for us to encourage Gaby to express gratitude over any gift, large or small and to attempt to let go of the anger at the purpose surrounding it.  And, Gaby genuinely loves the pumpkin.  She knows that her mumma hates to gut the damn things and had been planning on bedazzling one this year and calling it good.  Oh yes I was!

So this is our compromise. 

Given that Gaby is learning French in Montessori, we have been asked by her teachers at school to encourage her to use it here at home...so we did.

P.S.  Gareth says this comes across as very angry.  Whilst I'm not as angry as I was last night, I'm still fairly perturbed.  It will pass though.  If I had still been well and truly angry at this point?  Monsieur Pumpkin would have been so much meat for the pumpkin cookies I'm baking tonight.  But now that would have been childish and immature (like a certain segment of you are no doubt thinking this post is...), non?

The Latch-Key Chronicles - The Marshmallow Incident

 

I suppose, before I do any 'fessing up about my days as a latch-key kid, I probably ought to give credit for the impetus for this post to whom it belongs...the beautiful (and I am not joking, I have some of the most gorgeous writers living in my computer and she is one of them!) Bejewell.  After reading this post, I knew I had dovetail off of it and get all this kiddie-guilt, purged once and for all. 

I'm also aware that these admissions of guilt about certain acts committed by a certain someone may very well get me disowned by my parents.  I'm willing to take that risk.

Not only was I a child of the late 70's and 80's, I was the poster girl for latch key kids everywhere.  Both of my parents worked and for about an hour before school and two to three hours after school, I was rockin' the sofa at home.  Oh sure, I had chores I was supposed to be doing rather than watching reruns of I Love Lucy, Sigmund and the Sea Monsters, Family Affair or The Monkees.  I was supposed to come straight home after school, get my chores done and then my homework, and possibly after all that was completed, then maybe I could go outside and play, or watch TV.  Occasionally things didn't exactly happen in that order.

I could not have been more than 10 or 11 when The Marshmallow Incident took place.  My mom had stopped smoking only a year or two before this, but we still had lighters tucked in various places around the house...like the top of the fridge...behind a bag of marshmallows.  Originally I was only trying to reach the bag of marshmallows that sat way up high atop the fridge.  I just wanted to snaffle a few of them and then I'd get on with the business of my chores and homework.  Just one or two marshmallows would satisfy me.  Now, how to go about getting them down from way up there?  I stood on tippy toes and reached, extended my fingers as far as they would go and... nothing!.  They were completely out of reach.  So I grabbed a fork out of the bright green (Everybody remembers that green, the 70's green, right?) dish drainer on the counter and once again, stood on my tippy toes and all that attempt accomplished was getting the fork stuck on top of the fridge.  

 

The harder I tried, and then failed, to get to the lovely, soft, sweet marshmallows, the more determined I became.  I don't know why it didn't occur to me to drag a kitchen chair over to the fridge and stand on it, but it didn't.  What did occur to me was a set of BBQ skewers.  They were long, very long and had two tiny pointy ends. Better yet, they were easily in reach -just resting against one side of the stove. One of the skewers would work perfectly.

I stood upon tippy toes once more, almost certain by this point that all of this standing on my toes would certainly get me into any ballerina school, and lanced the bag of yummy, jet-puffed marshmallows.  I remember reading the words, "Kraft Jet-Puffed Marshmallows" and picturing someone standing behind a big airplane with flat marshmallows and then the pilot gunning the plane's engines and a "Marshamallow Man" in a crisp white uniform, standing there with arms full of marshmallows - inflating them with the blasts from the jets.  Don't mock me!  It's how my wee brain worked back in the good ol' days.

At some point my brain made the connection between the BBQ skewer in my right hand and the bag of marshmallows in my left and I decided right then and there that I needed not just marshmallows, but roasted marshmallows! 

I set the bag of marshmallows and the skewer down on the kitchen table and went in search of a lighter. I was able to easily find one on the top of one of the bookshelves that lined one wall of the living room (yayyy for shelves that I could climb!) and set my plan into action.  Once I had the lighter in hand, I placed it in my jeans pocket so that I wouldn't lose it.

I grabbed the bag of marshmallows, the skewer, and the lighter and walked into the living room and climbed into my dad's huge leather recliner.  I think it's important that you remember the words, leather recliner.

I sat cross-legged on the light brown leather recliner and set the bag of marshmallows in my lap so that I could open it.  Once I had the bag opened, I placed the skewer in my left hand, reached in and grabbed a marshmallow and proceeded to pop the first one in my mouth.  Then I grabbed another and placed it on the end of the silvery skewer point and reached deep into my pocket for the lighter.

Not once did it ever occur to my pea-brain that what I was about to do could potentially be dangerous.  All I was interested in was a roasted marshmallow and stuffing that hot, ooey-gooey goodness into my face.

I flicked the lighter on and held it under the white blob.  I just sat there and held it like that for what seemed an eternity.  Then something unthinkable happened...all at once the entire marshmallow was engulfed in flames.  I sat there, mouth wide open, with what looked like a flaming tennis ball on the end of a stick.  So, I did what came naturally.  I waved the flaming marshmallow frantically to and fro, back and forth, side to side; all the while flinging bits of red-hot marshmallow lava across the living room, onto the green carpet (what was the big deal with green back then?) and down, down, down in slowwwwww motionnnnn onto my father's leather recliner. 

In my mind the memory of that ill-fated marshmallow plays back in slow motion...the realization that these pieces of molten marshmallow were now burning holes into my father's precious leather recliner.  The utter fact that my ass was probably going to be as red hot as those burning sugary embers, sat in my stomach like a lead balloon.

I shot out of that leather recliner like a dwarf out of a cannon, sending a spray of jet-puffed marshmallows into the air.  I ran around the living room stomping on smoldering pieces of burnt marshmallow, probably looking a lot like my beloved I Love Lucy in the episode where she was stomping grapes into wine. Thankfully the tiny bits of burnt carpet could be covered if I moved the furniture ever so slightly in towards the center of the living room.  Surely my parents would never notice.  By the way mom and dad...did you ever notice the furniture looked a little "off", after that? Or did you just attribute it to your growing family only making it seem like the living room was getting smaller?

It was then that I noticed a very peculiar smell that hung in the air - like someone had baked sugar cookies but put them on a plastic baking sheet, in the oven.  It was the carpet that was giving off this awful smell and I knew if I didn't do something about it, the smell would be a dead giveaway.  I ran into the bathroom and grabbed an entire bottle of Jean-Nate (remember that stuff?), that had, up until then, been coveted by my young self.  I'd begged and begged and begged my mom to buy me a some, and she finally gave in and bought me a bottle for my birthday.

 

I opened the precious yellow bottle of Jean-Nate Body Splash and commenced splashing (well, "splash" was what one was supposed to do with it!) that stuff around the living room like a Priest with an aspergillum, tossing holy water around at an exorcism.  Well except for the fact that I didn't have an aspergillum and the end result was not the sort of "calm after a storm" feeling one might experience after an exorcism.  But it sure smelled a whole hell of a lot better.

Once I manged to get the acrid smell of burning carpet covered up I remembered the leather recliner. Oh shit! 

Mercifully, I found a lovely brown and beige afghan that my Nana had crocheted for my father and threw it over the back and one arm of the recliner...the very same arm that had a very small, albeit noticeable burn hole. I thought the plan was genius, but then again, I was the very same brain-trust that thought roasting marshmallows in the house, in a recliner, was a good idea to begin with.

Later that night when both of my  parents returned home from work there was inevitably a discussion with a preteen about how it's not appropriate to bathe in body splash to the point of being able to smell it outside.  My mom also said something along the lines of how God-awful smelling that stuff was and had she known how badly it smelled she would never have gotten it for me in the first place and now knew better. Well Mom, anything is bound to smell bad when mixed with the stench of burning carpet.  Just thought I'd mention that...30 years later.

When my dad sat down that night the afghan slipped backwards, off the arm of the leather recliner and the inevitable happened...HELLO!  BIG FREAKING BURN HOLE IN THE ARM OF THE LEATHER RECLINER. 

He asked me what happened, to which I replied, "I don't know, maybe back when mom was smoking she burned a hole in it?" 

Well dad, now ya know...and so does the rest of the world, what really happened to your leather recliner.  Something tells me that you never did really buy the story about mom possibly burning a hole in it. Especially not when there was sticky white residue around the edges of the hole. 

I am thankful for the fact that I didn't burn down the house when my desire for a roasted marshmallow overcame what little common sense I possessed back then and I am also really thankful that I finally 'fessed up to this when I live, conveniently, 2500 miles away...besides, I'm too big to spank anyhow.

   

P.S. The Latch-Key Chronicles - The Turkey That Would Not Be Killed, hits the blog the first week in November!

Don't forget, during the entire month of October, to support the fight against breast cancer, Barking Mad is in the pink!  For every comment left on each post, we'll donate a certain amount to Susan G. Komen for the Cure®.  Read more about it here!

Quote of the Day - Standoff Between Geronimo and I, Who Will Blink First?

 

image credit - I would say me, however Geronimo begs to differ because he feels he should receive all of the credit for this because he is, of course, a cat!

"Cats are dangerous companions for writers because cat watching is a near-perfect method of writing avoidance."

~Dan Greenburg~

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The standoff between Geronimo and I lasted for more than 5 minutes.  I, of course, lost.  Geronimo would have you believe it is because he is cat, I am mere human.  Whatever. At least he doesn't make a jackass out of himself and try to pounce on his own reflection in the granite counters.  That would be Princess Godiva.  That cat is going to drive us all completely batshit insane.  She is everything that you want a kitten to be for about two minutes.  After that it becomes annoying, painful, irritating, frustrating, aggravating, and infuriating!  

We no longer use CFL bulbs in our lamps because of Godiva and how often she climbs on the lamps and then knocks them over.  People, these are brand new lamps that were a gift.  Of course she can't destroy the old lamps that wouldn't even fetch a dollar a piece at a garage sale. If she were to tip a lamp and break the CFL bulb we'd have to call the EPA to get someone out here to clean up the breakage (due to the mercury in the bulbs) and that goddamned cat isn't worth it.

She sleeps in the fruit basket.  Is it any wonder I don't want to eat any of the 40lbs of apples we recently picked? 

She drinks out of the toilet and then dips her tail in the water just to piss me off.  I know she sits in the corner and laughs at me as I follow the trail of water throughout the house in an attempt to dry it. 

She is constantly on the counters and in the sink.  One of these days I'm turning the sprayer on her.  I will!  Or not.  I'm not sure I want to clean the mess.

She gets into boxes, bags, swim and gym bags and anything else she can. If I end up accidentally taking a kitten in with me to the Y the next time  I go swimming, I will not be responsible for the mayhem that ensues. 

She sleeps on the edge of the top of the stairs.  I'm certain this is an attempt to trip us as we attempt to go down the stairs or come up them. 

I am not even ashamed to admit that she's the first cat I've ever not liked.  Seriously.  I do not like her.  Gareth calls her the "spiky ball of fury" and there's a good reason for that.  People, I am not exaggerating when I say that if Satan had a cat, it would be Godiva.  Hell, it probably is Godiva.  Or, alternatively, she could just be possessed...but what are my chances of getting a priest in to exorcise my cat?  Yeah, that's what I thought.

Meaghan says that she's certain, if we were to shave Godiva bald, we'd find a "666" tattooed somewhere on her body.  At this point I'm not likely to disagree.

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So, have any of you been following the Blogger/TSA drama?  I was asked this morning where I weighed in on it and to be honest, I don't know.  I have had very limited interaction with the blogger in question who claimed that the TSA took her baby.  We've commented a couple of times, reciprocally on each others blogs.  I think there may have even been a brief Twitter exchange here or there, but I can't honestly say I know Nic.  TSA refuted her claims and then Nic further refuted TSA's refutation.  I don't know what to believe.  I've read both posts of Nic's and I've read the TSA's statements and response and watched the standard size video and the enlarged video that were posted.   I don't know.  I just don't know whose version of the story I am inclined to side with.

Two things do come to mind after having spent enough time trying to dig through all of this. One...I will say is that I'm a little ashamed of how the collective blogosphere has "piled on" when it comes to this.  There has been so much finger pointing, name calling (some of it really vile and quite crass!), and general mud-slinging that it makes ALL OF US look like a playground full of bullies. Two...what's up with people getting their self-righteous on by bagging on someone with an already admitted anxiety/mental health issue?  Nic has written about some of these issues before and since when is it OK, after she mentions having popped a Xanax that she keeps in her pocket for situations like this, to start denigrating her character because she has a serious anxiety issue?    I'm not going to bother linking to the people that have called her out on this because frankly, it makes me sick.  I'm one of these "mental health midgets" walking around with a Xanax in my own pocket and I think it's deplorable that this part of her character is being so viciously maligned. 

No, it does not mean I am condoning her, if it's proven that she fabricated the entire thing.  And yes I will admit that there are some things that she put out there, especially tweets about wanting to make money off of the situation, that could tilt someone towards believing this was more than just a misunderstanding between her and the TSA.  Having said that though, this has become much more than her allegations about something that happened during TSA security screening at the airport and the TSA refuting her story. 

This is about how we all react once things like this hit the Internet - how we as mothers, parents, friends and sisters, are so quick to judge a situation before all sides have been presented and then pick apart the parties and shine a light on our inadequacies, shortfalls and health issues - mental or otherwise.  It's about acting like a bunch of bullies.  Mommy-bloggers are already called on the carpet  for allegedly "exploiting our children for profit" and to behave as some of us have after this incident, collectively shows us all in a very poor light. 

Again, honestly at this point in time, I don't have an opinion either way.  I think there's a lot we haven't heard yet, and quite possibly the TSA video doesn't show everything.  I also know that in the midst of a severe panic attack, everything in the peripheral is muted and darkened and things that seem real to one who suffers a panic attack might not be exactly as they are for those who remain outside the bubble of fear, panic and extreme anxiety that women like myself, and Nic suffer.   I'm not saying this might be the reason why her version of the story differs so greatly from what appears on the video footage that the TSA provided when trying to disprove Nic's claims, I'm just putting it out there. If you've never had a severe panic attack, then it's hard to understand what happens and how terrifying your world - right in the eye of the hurricane that is a panic attack, is like.

The irony about this entire thing?  If it's proven that Nic fabricated this thing, it shows mommy-bloggers in a crappy light and if it's proven that TSA left out some of the video or that Nic's extreme panic attack altered her version of reality to the point where she wasn't acutely aware of where her child was, then it still shows mommy-bloggers in a bad light because of all the piling-on and name calling we've done.

In a society where people like the Heene family ( Balloon boy anyone? I WANT THOSE TWO HOURS OF MY LIFE BACK!) can take advantage of the world's collective curiosity and emotion, we don't need bloggers showing that we're no better - by virtue of our actions or words. 

  

Don't forget, during the entire month of October, to support the fight against breast cancer, Barking Mad is in the pink!  For every comment left on each post, we'll donate a certain amount to Susan G. Komen for the Cure®.  Read more about it here!