Posted by: geminigoddess | March 17, 2009

I feel dizzy…

I am soooooooo glad that my baby stage is almost over.  I NEVER thought I would say that.  I used to be so baby crazy that I would spontaneously combust into tears when I saw pregnant women or babies and I would find myself staring off into space daydreaming about being pregnant and holding tiny little angelic babies whose tiny little fingers were wrapped around mine who glowed with an unearthly light…you get the picture.  Well I’ve been there, done that and I am done now, thank you.  Even after the first baby I was still in love with the idea.  Which is why I had another one, right away, so that I could get my fix.  I was like a starving orphan, trying to fill myself up with all the babyness I could.  Now I feel like a glutton who has eaten way too much cotton candy and funnel cake at the state fair and decided to ride the tilt-o-whirl and now feels dizzy and sick.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy every lick of candy and dab of white powdered sugar.  My girls are the cutest, most adorable, achingly beautiful human beings on this planet, as far as I’m concerned.  To me, there could not possibly be any more perfect and wonderful children in the Universe than them.  I’ve loved every sweet little moment we have shared, every contented little pursed lip as they slept, every hungry little sucking noise they made as they nursed, and every sweet little smile they’ve given me when they’ve looked in my eyes.  But my body has not belonged to me in four years.  I haven’t slept in four years.  I haven’t had a weekend of romance and wild, unencumbered sex with my husband in four years.  I haven’t put myself first in four years.  And I’m tired.  There’s only so much of yourself you can give before you have to put up the white flag of surrender and beg for mercy.

Thankfully, I am starting to feel some reprieve.  I can envision a day with no diaper changes.  The girls are starting to play together for more than five minutes without fighting, biting, hitting, or yelling at each other.  Hana is finally starting to understand that no means stop.  I’m actually getting some sleep.  I can finally take a shower!  I’m ready to close this chapter and move into the next one.  The one that involves my girls cultivating their personalities, questioning their world, and discovering what they want.  I can’t wait to help them.  I can’t wait to watch them unfold.  I am really excited.  For them and for me…

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Posted by: geminigoddess | March 5, 2009

Because I Deserve It…

The other day my Hubby and I were talking about family and I told him that it’s so strange that my sperm donor has such a poverty mentality since he came from money and my grandmother is, as far as I know, a millionaire.  This is a very strange part of my family history, of which I know very little about.  Here is what I do know.  Some of my great-great-grandparents were slaves on my paternal side.  I don’t know where the money came from.  Maybe my great grandfather’s family was from the North and had a little bit of a leg up so to speak.  But for a black man in the late 19th/early 20th century to amass a some of money worth leaving as an inheritance must have been a true feat.  I honestly wish I knew more about that.  Anyway, my grandmother inherited an unknown sum of money which she used to buy property in Hawaii and I assume invested in other ways which made her a millionaire.  This meant that my sperm donor grew up privileged and traveling the world.  He was actually born in Japan, and grew up in Hawaii.

As you know, my father is a crazy, sadistic sociopath.  This must in no small way be due in part to his mother.  She is a cruel, cold, sadistic, mean, nasty, bitter, racist, abusive woman, without so much as a speck of love showing through her personality.  She also believes that her money and her blackness makes her better than everyone else and that everyone should bow down at her feet and worship her.  The few times I met her she was interminably cruel and violent and constantly reminded me that she has a lot of money and she wasn’t going to leave me any of it if I wasn’t nice to her.  To which I responded that she could go to hell and there was no amount of money that could make me lower myself to that level, so she could keep her money because I didn’t want it.  That was when I was 12.  That was the last time I spoke to her.

Lately I’ve been thinking how ridiculous it is that two of the most evil people I have ever known have or will have tons of money (once my grandmother kicks the bucket, Michael will inherit some, if not all of her money).  I mean, I guess they have to because they don’t have anything else.  They don’t have love, or family, or peace.  I think I am MUCH richer than they are.  In fact, I wouldn’t trade places with them for a billion dollars.  No thank you.  Still, sometimes I wish that my grandmother would, as an act of contrition, or penance, for raising such a horrible person and then not helping her innocent grandchildren who lived in misery and abject poverty through no fault of their own, send me some money, just once, so that I could have a down payment for a house.  Now, is that too much to ask?  I don’t think so.  Maybe it will never happen, but I’m sending it out to the Universe.  Because I’m worth it.  And I deserve it.  Even if I am half white 😉 …

Posted by: geminigoddess | March 4, 2009

Ugh…

We’ve all been sick for about a week and a half. I don’t have anything interesting to say. Except, I really think netty pots are awesome. That’s it, that’s all I’ve got. I’ll report back to you all the exciting adventures of my life once my nose stops running like a fountain. C-ya…

Posted by: geminigoddess | February 26, 2009

Oh Crap…

Every time I think I’ve finally worked through all my shit and I don’t have anything thing else major to deal with (in my psyche) I get hit by a mother fucking train.  At least I can say that I deal better with anything that comes up now, meaning I don’t fall into a black pit of despair and spiral down into a severe depression.  Now I just think, “Here we go again.  The Universe is trying to drill another lesson into my egotistical brain.”  Even though I KNOW that I will never stop being presented with situations that will force me to grow and learn, for some reason I’m always just a little bit surprised.  Is that some fatal flaw in my character, or just human nature?  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get a glimpse at that illusive thing called enlightenment.  Clearly I have not been here enough and I must come back for hundreds of lifetimes more to reach some sort of wise sage status.  Or something like that.  What the hell do I know?  Sometimes I think not much.  But I HAVE come a really long way.  I am a child of abuse and addiction, neglect and dysfunction.  I have experienced depression and fear and pain and hopelessness so severe that I believed the only way out was for me to kill myself.  I have seen people at their worst.  I have lived in hell. I have survived and thrived and loved and reached happiness in spite of all of that.  And now I have to deal with another fear.  I thought I had conquered all of my fears.  Ha ha.  I should have known.  How cocky of me.  Of course I am destined to experience this –  our 15 year old son is doing drugs.  Vicodin and marijuana that we know of.  Who knows what else.  This is my worst fear come true. For my children, and for me.

Do you know what happens to children who grow up in a household with a drug addict parent?  It scars them.  Drugs become this sinister nemesis.  An evil, living thing.  Drugs are not just some intangible bad thing out there in the world.  They haven’t just heard about how bad drugs are.  Or heard about how terrible addiction is.  They’ve had to live it.  Pure, all encompassing, terrible hell.  I have never experimented with drugs.  I don’t even like prescription drugs.  I use homeopathy and herbs when I get sick.  I have been prescribed Paxil in the past, but I never took the prescription to the pharmacy.  I’ve been to the emergency room twice for severe gall stone attacks.  The first time they gave me morphine, and I was so horrified by the way it made me feel, that the 2nd time I was brought to the ER for a gall stone attack, I made sure to tell them under no circumstances did I want to receive morphine again.  I have a bottle of Vicodin that I keep for emergencies in case of another gall stone attack (and no, A did not get Vicodin from our home, he lives with his mother and bought it on the street), but I had to throw the last bottle away because I never used it, and the one I have now is also unused and about to expire.  I hate drugs with every fiber of my being.  And I think people who use them are weak and selfish.  Why am I so judgmental?  You would be too if you grew up like me.

I admit it.  I am judgmental and critical.  Harsh and unsympathetic.  Angry and pissed off.  I don’t want to be.  I want to be understanding and empathetic.  I just don’t know how to be.  Drugs and addiction are tied into so much victimization for me, that I can’t get past that to be an understanding person.  I know too much.  I think, how could anyone EVER decide to do them in the first place.  Why would someone think it was okay to try some E/speed/Vicodin/Oxy/crank, or snort a line of cocaine?  What could possibly possess someone to think that experimenting is fun and they’ll be fine/nothing will happen to them/they won’t become an addict?  Don’t people get it?  It only takes one time!  Nobody is immune.  The moment you make that choice, the first time you pop a pill or snort up, that’s it – you crossed a line.  There’s no going back.  That’s why I’m judgmental.  Because every single addict made a choice.  Addiction may be a disease, but it is a preventable disease.  I made a choice too.  My choice was to not do drugs.

And I am angry at A.  Angry at his selfishness.  Is he a drug addict?  I don’t know.  But I know what hell this family will go through if he is or becomes one.  It is not fair.  Not fair to anyone.  Not fair to his parents.  Not fair to his siblings.  Not fair to himself.  I don’t care that life isn’t fair.  I want it to be…

P.S.  I am feeling much more calm and better about the whole situation after a counseling session with my therapist and energy worker this afternoon.  Also, A had his first counseling session today and we’re all (both sets of parents) going to be involved as a family in treatment.  Hopefully, we can stop this train before it really gets going and come out of the experience communicating and interacting better as a family.  We have to believe that and try for that...

Posted by: geminigoddess | February 21, 2009

Adventures in Parenting…

If I were asked which ages are my least favorite as a parent, I would say 18 months, 3 years, and 13-16.  Well lucky me, ’cause I’ve got a 16 month old, a three year old and and 15 year old, not to mention a highly hormonal, emotional, pubescent 11 year old girl.  What this translates to is sleep deprivation, potty training hell, attitude, and a crisis in self esteem.

I haven’t slept in four years.  Ever since I got pregnant.  All work and no sleep makes Mommy a very cranky girl.  The prospect of no sleep for two years, plus five months of vomiting and laying on the couch like a dead person from morning sickness and the exhaustion of creating a human being 24 hours a day, was the impetus behind my threatening my husband with no sex unless he agreed to get a freaking vasectomy!  I do not regret that decision.  I turn into a pathetic little mushy ball when my girls give me their cute ass, scrunchy face, adorable little smiles and I start to think dangerous thoughts like, “Oh, I love babies.  They’re so cute.  Look how freaking adorbale our girls are.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have another one.  I think I could do it.”  Danger, Will Robinson, danger!  Lest I forget, I shall tell a little tale…

Once there was a girl who had a baby.  And this baby slept with her every night.  The baby was so cute and adorable, the girl thought she might like to have another one.  But the boy who was the baby’s daddy wasn’t so sure, because he wasn’t getting any sleep.  The girl who was the baby’s mommy wasn’t getting any sleep either, but she was 15 years younger than the boy so it didn’t bother her as much.  Plus, the boy had already experienced sleep deprivation two times before, and he wasn’t really excited about doing it four times.  Then one day, the girl started to feel really sick, and really tired.  The girl was suspicious.  So she told the boy she thought they might be having another baby.  The boy didn’t believe her.  Until she showed him two pink lines on a stick.  Well, now the girl was in a conundrum.  She knew she couldn’t sleep in one little bed with the boy, the baby, and the new baby.  So sadly, the girl decided that it was time for the first baby to start sleeping in another bed.  The first baby did not agree.  The first baby did not agree at all.  In fact, the first baby was very, very, very mad at the girl for thinking that she should sleep in another bed.  To express just how mad she was, the first baby screamed and cried for hours and hours for three nights in a row and would not let the girl sleep at all.  But, the girl was just as stubborn as the first baby, and the first baby realized she would never win, so she gave in and decided to sleep in another bed.  The girl was relieved.  But the girl still couldn’t sleep, because she was nauseous all the time, and the new baby kicked her all night long, and her back hurt.  When the new baby was born, the new baby slept in the bed with the girl and the boy.  But the new baby wouldn’t sleep all night, so the girl still didn’t sleep, and the boy didn’t sleep either.  Finally, one day the girl was cleaning up some poop that the first baby had gotten all over herself in an ill fated attempt at potty training, and the new baby woke up and started crying, and the girl was all tired and frazzled from too much potty training, and not enough sleep, and she told the new baby to suck it up and go to sleep by herself, and the new baby screamed and cried and threw her binky at the girl, and the girl went downstairs to finish cleaning up the poop, and the new baby fell asleep and slept the longest she had ever slept in her entire life, and the girl decided it was time for the new baby to sleep in another bed, and that she most definitely did not want to endure two more years of sleep deprivation ever again.  So the next time the new baby gave the girl the most adorable, scrunchy face smile on the planet, the girl knew that she would not fall for the baby’s evil tricks again, because the girl would remember what it was like to never get any sleep.  The END…

Posted by: geminigoddess | February 16, 2009

I Am My Own Mother…

Last year a lot happened in our house, to our family.  For one thing, I really and truly grew up.

I believe as adults, a lot of us often still feel that we want our mommy or daddy.  The idea that our parents will rescue or shelter us if we get into a financial, emotional, or other crisis, can be very comforting.  I did not feel sheltered or protected by my parents as a child.  There were times when things were okay, even good, but they were short lived.  We always spiraled down into a dysfunctional, chaotic, out of control mess.  I escaped as soon as possible and determined to live my life differently, to have some semblance of normalcy.  I wanted a healthy, mutually beneficial relationship with a significant other.  I wanted to do things differently.  I wanted to change the pattern of my family moving forward into the future.  I wanted something better for my children.  I wanted to be happy.  I can say I have accomplished all of that, and it is a wonderful feeling.  But the little girl in me never stopped longing to be wanted and protected by her mommy.

After I got married, I moved with my husband half way across the country to start our new life together.  It was a fresh start, and it allowed us to craft the life, marriage, and family that we wanted together, without influence or distraction from my family and it’s constant drama.  Still, I missed my family, and time and distance tempered any irritation I felt toward them, so I was thrilled when my mom and stepdad started talking about moving out here to be close to us and the girls.  I’ve always felt that grandparent relationships are important to children, and I wanted Mirabelle and Hana to have a close relationship with their Mimi and Papa.  I dreamed of sending them off to Mimi and Papa’s house for a weekend of fun while Greg and I reveled in sweet alone time together, free to go to a movie and sleep in on a Saturday morning.

All that talk about them moving out here started about 3 1/2 years ago.  At first, we all looked into buying a house together, as a sort of investment opportunity, and as a way to give my parents roots here in Oregon.  That eventually fell through, which was just as well in the end.  After the house buying didn’t pan out, we talked about Plan B.

Plan B involved the following: either one of my parents getting a job here in Oregon; said parent would move into our house temporarily; the other parent would stay in Nebraska with my little brother and put their house on the market; after selling the house, they would use the profits buy a new house in Oregon, and have some money in savings to use while the other parent looked for a job in Oregon.  Perfect plan right?  Ah, but the best laid plans…

So one day I get a call from my mom who was screaming like a cheerleader from sheer excitement telling me to get a bedroom ready, ’cause guess who just got a job in Oregon?  That’s right, my mom.  Naturally, I was ecstatic, until she said, “We’ll be there in two weeks.”  Uh, what was that again?  Oh, just a little change in the plan, that’s all!  My 12 year old brother was coming with her.  Oh yippee!

Let’s just say my brother has issues, since my mom and I disagree about what those issues are.  My husband was already pissed.  You see, he could see the writing on the wall.  He sensed danger ahead.  But I, in my naivete, believed that we could and would work it out, we just had to lay some ground rules, right?  No biggie, we’re all adults after all.  What I failed to realize was this.  My mom still thought of me as her daughter first, as opposed to Greg’s wife and a mother, and as a result, she did not respect the boundaries of our marriage, family, and house.  She expected me to be her support system, and to take her side.  She was very, very wrong.

Let’s just say it ended badly.  There’s no point in regurgitating all the details here, and there are two sides to every story, but for my part, I came away from the entire ordeal feeling that my mother had betrayed me.  I no longer feel that I have her support.  I wonder if I ever really did.  I now realize that she is not a person who can give the kind of support that I expect from a mother, or even a friend.  I thought of her as my friend, rather than my mother, because our history is so fraught with dysfunction and hurtful times, and that was the best way I knew to incorporate her into my life.  I had come to a sort of truce with the past, but that truce was dependent on my perception of her willingness to change her behavior in the future.  When she came to live with us, I felt as if I were back in my childhood, with my mom wreaking havoc and destroying the peace I have worked so hard to build.  It brought up so many painful memories.  Memories that make me sad and angry.  Memories of betrayal after betrayal.

But, there was some good that came out of it.  It strengthened my marriage.  And I came to the realization that the little girl in me doesn’t need my mommy anymore.  I am a strong, capable, loving, selfless mother, and I can take care of that little girl.  I’m no longer looking outside of myself for the nurturing and protection I need.  I am my own mother, and I am okay with that…

Posted by: geminigoddess | February 16, 2009

To My Girls…

As a child, I believed that my father was the devil (because he was cruel, sadistic, and abusive), and I believed my mother didn’t want me.  It shaped the kind of parent I am today.  The kind of mom who would do anything to let you know how loved, wanted, valued, adored, and precious you are to me.  If there is one thing you will know your entire lives – as children, as adolescents, as adults, and as parents yourselves- it is that I love you with a fierce love.  A love that you will never have to doubt, or question.  You won’t have to read my blogs to know that, but someday when you are ready, you will get to read them and hopefully learn some more about me.  I am a complex person.  I can be bitchy one minute, then turn around and be tender and loving the next.  I don’t believe in absolutes, or  black and white. I believe in grays, and rainbows.  I believe that people are capable of beautiful, compassionate acts of kindness just as they are capable of horrific brutality.  I strive to live my life in a compassionate, loving way.  But I am not perfect.  I never will be.  That’s not the point of being a human being living on this earth.  I’m exorcising my demons by getting to be your mommy.  Thank you so much for choosing me.  I can never express to you how grateful I am that you are allowing me to take this journey with you.  I will try the rest of my life to give you everything you deserve to have from me.  I will make a lot of mistakes.  I can’t guarantee you anything at all, except, I love you.  More than I could ever tell you.  More than you will ever know.  Until, perhaps, you have your own babies some day.  Then maybe you’ll know.  Until then, I’m going to tell you every day…

Posted by: geminigoddess | February 13, 2009

If You Don’t Like What I Have to Say, Don’t Read It…

I’m not writing this blog for anyone’s approval.  I’m writing it for my own sanity.  I write to express myself and be creative.  I write because as cute as my three year old’s banter is, it doesn’t stimulate me intellectually.  I write to be a part of a supportive community.

Don’t people have anything better to do than criticize others for being creative and expressing themselves in whatever way they choose (see here)?  If you don’t like what I have to say, don’t read my blog.

I think Mr Lady and Don Mills Diva have said it best, and I don’t need to say any more.

write-on1

Posted by: geminigoddess | February 11, 2009

One of My Biggest Pet Peeves…

So I was in the grocery store the other day and this woman, whom I have never before seen in my life, a total stranger, walked up to me and asked me, “What’s your background?”

OMG, I freakin’ hate it when total strangers ask me that question!  In case you were wondering, it has also been posed to me in the following forms.

What’s your race? Um, Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

What are you? Hello, I’m HUMAN!  What, do I look like an alien?  Do I have something weird growing out of my head?

Where are you from? Kansas.  No really, I’m American.  (I’ve actually had to argue with people about this one)

What’s your nationality? AMERICAN! You stupid freaking idiot!  I was born in NEBRASKA.  Yes, the midwest!  Yes, the midwest right here in the United States.  Oh go to hell…

And if course, the many times I have been reprimanded/yelled at in Sanskrit/Arabic by a Middle Eastern man because I was not dressed appropriately/my hair was not long enough/some other reason.

Oh, and then there were all the insulting forms I had to fill out in school, for college, for student loan & scholarship applications, and I-9 forms when starting a new job, whose only choices under “race” were White, Black, Hispanic, Asian, and “Other”.  As if I were some pariah, or non-human who didn’t deserve my own category.  Well to all of that I say, “Fuck You!”

shut-the-fuck-up

Seriously people, when are we going to get to the point where that’s not something we care about?  Where total strangers don’t feel the burning desire to know “what I am” so that they can put me in a box on their mental shelf and make assumptions about me based upon a label they’ve given me?  When people don’t think that’s the most interesting/important thing about a total stranger?  There hasn’t been a year in my life when I haven’t been asked that question in some form by a total stranger.  If I looked white, no one would ask me that question.  If I looked black, no one would ask me that question.  Why is it that because I can’t be easily defined/labeled/boxed at first glance, my ethnicity is suddenly so fascinating?  The next time someone asks me, I’m going to say something really preposterous, like “Swedish.”

By the way, my mom is a mix of all kinds of European white; my sperm donor is black, with a Cherokee grandfather.  My children have all that, plus English, Czeckloslovakian (which I had to look up the spelling for), and Japanese from their daddy.  We made a new moniker for all that.  It’s Blackanesian…

Posted by: geminigoddess | February 11, 2009

My Body, My Self…

I am reading “The Body Project”, by Joan Jacobs Brumberg.  For a long time now, I have felt that I needed to write some things down for my girls just in case I die before they are old enough to have these types of discussions with.  No one ever discussed some very critical information with me, and as a result I went through some experiences I feel I could have avoided if I had been armed with the right information.  This book is prompting me to write about specific experiences I’ve had and I feel it is a wonderful catalyst for topics of conversation related to puberty, body image, self esteem, and sex.

When I started my period, I was terrified.  I knew what it was.  I knew it was coming.  I had had breasts for 3 years, and cramps before my period started, but I was still terrified.  The number one fear I had was of being raped and getting pregnant.  I think that’s a sad commentary on the way our society prepares girls for such a monumental experience.  Instead of being excited at the prospect of becoming a fertile woman, and experiencing a rite of passage, I was paralyzed by fear.  I knew my mom had been raped as a teen.  I knew that one in four women is raped in the world.  So I thought I had a pretty good chance of it happening to me.  I carried that fear around me like a blanket, and energetically, I ended up attracting that experience by holding on to that fear, in a way I never thought possible.  But that’s a story for later.  Let’s talk about starting my period.

I was 13.  I was living with my father and stepmother.  My stepmother was a bitch.  She told me my cramps were fake and she made me buy my own pads, which turned out to be the most embarassing moment in my ENTIRE life, to this day.  This is because my littlest sister ran around the store pointing at me, alternately laughing and shouting as loudly as possible to every person in the store that I was buying pads because I had started my period.  I was mortified and embarrassed, and was sobbing the entire time I stood in line to buy them.   Thank you very much Lynn, I really DON’T appreciate it…

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