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Posts Tagged ‘family’

Today I am grateful for:

*my husband who has been trying to keep my fever down and helped me cook… some. 😉

*my bunny for always being cute.

*loved ones who took time to talk to me and make me feel less isolated.

*friends that feel like family.

*writing

*people that encourage my writing.

*brilliant writing and rp buddies that make me feel like I’m awesome and valued. And that appreciate my craziness.

*starting new traditions.

*my ingenuity and determination

*my homemade from scratch french fried onions which are OMG some of the most amazing things I’ve ever eaten!

*a lovely holiday celebrating togetherness with the person I love most in our cozy little world.

*Switzerland and how it has literally stolen my heart because there are Christmas lights EVERYWHERE! I mean seriously, I’ve never seen more lights in one place in my life!

*Even if you don’t celebrate holidays, I send each of you good will and love during this cold and stressful, isolating season because you are all important to me and I love each and every one of you. We only get one chance at life, make it count. And though some of these holidays remind us of our loneliness or sad times, remember you are loved and you have the choice to focus on the bad or the good. I hope you choose the good.

All my love,

me

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Cuddle Attack

Steven is not a cuddler. I like to cuddle… a lot. It’s really bad when I’m sleeping. I sleep talk and laugh, but not nearly as much as I cuddle attack. While sleeping, I will roll over to whoever or whatever is next to me, glomp onto them with my arms, nuzzle my big honking head somewhere on their shouldery region, and throw my leg over them. This has been going on since I was a little girl and people called me the human pillow. My attacks were often met with hits, kicks, and bites. Or bending my neck back until I roll away. Which leads me to my story about last night.

I damn near lost my shit this morning. Steven has had a fever for a couple days now. Yesterday it was 104. I had about 27 thousand things to do and I didn’t sleep very much because he was hot and tossing and turning the night before. So we got up at 8 and start trying to get his fever down. A little worried, but he is responding to medicine and not being too pathetic. Decide to throw out the list of things to do for today and focus on taking care of him. I was awesome nurse extraordinaire.

Until last night.

I’m getting up every two hours to get him meds and I’m cool with that. Alarm is set and I’m ready to go. I put on 2 episodes of Star Trek, he’s asleep not even halfway through the first, and it’s about midnight when they’re over. TV is off. He decides he wants attention in his sleep, so he says.

Steven has talked in his sleep for years and is so sweet when he’s not aware that he’s talking, all smiles and weird. Twice in the last two weeks he’s woken me up talking and when I talk back he says “Shh, the angry man is coming. The angry man is coming.” Then he comes to, is all gruff, rough, and mean sounding and starts yelling at me about how I woke him up and I’m like DUDE you were talking to me. There’s a reason we call him Grinch. Ah well.

Anyway, he wants “to feel close to me,” he says, so he presses his hot bony leg in my side. Then he wants to drag his dragon talon toe nails down my shin. “She loves cuddles,” he says. This goes on for HOURS! I’m trying to get him to stop but he won’t. He is snoring like a bear intermittently this whole time, talking in his delirium. Now he wants to take all the blankets and push me off the bed. I’m considering kicking him to death and all of the other things he has done to remove me. He feels me get up to ditch him for the couch so starts whining that he doesn’t want me to leave. This is like 330 after laying there for 5 hours. Next he steals my pillows. I’m really possessive about my pillows. I sleep with a lot of them to prevent heart burn. Now I’m seriously raging and wanting to punch him in the face. I get my pillows back and lay on my stomach on top of them so he can’t have them. He grabs my leg and is shaking me telling me he likes to grab me and then snores and falls over.

It’s now six and he’s petting my head and rubbing my ear making weird noises. I can’t take it anymore. I get up and jump in the shower before I gut him. Maybe this is revenge for my cuddle attacks. Maybe we’re just some sort of odd couple trying to drive each other crazy so we (I) can tell the world.

A friend and I had an epic conversation about how to hide a body a la Dexter last week and cooking some nasty chili to be thrown out later sounds good to me. Wonder what’s for dinner? 😉

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5

Happy Anniversary to us! 5 years!

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so cute and little… what happened? hehe

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I had a long conversation with my aunt and uncle in Oklahoma about my miscarriage. Mostly we talked about how horrible my family is telling me that it’s because I’m a “bad person” that I lost the baby. And that I’m obviously broken because they never lost children so there’s obviously something wrong with me. But we started talking about something deeper.

I come from a very abusive family. My biological father was a violent alcoholic who lashed out against me (often it was my own fault. I’d pick a fight so he’d leave my smaller siblings alone) and as I got older and he got clean started doing other lovely things. When I told my mother about what was going on she told me I had no idea what it was like to live with the other woman. Then he left and at first she was heartbroken then she decided to blame all of her problems on him. She used to talk whimsically about how he told her that if she got pregnant he’d marry her and so she trapped him by getting pregnant with me, then turned into I wouldn’t have had to marry him if it wasn’t for you. Apparently I don’t have a soul since I wasn’t born of love. My sister and father are bipolar. I have a schizophrenic cousin. We have a history of cancer and other lovely things in our family tree. Do you see where I’m going? For over a year I’ve been telling myself I didn’t want to have a baby. What sort of selfish jerk am I to bring a child into the world with all these problems? Not to mention a glutton for punishment. Why would I want to have a mom, dad, or sister?

I told my aunt and uncle this. They disagree. “What do you know about cloning?” my aunt asks.

“They take your DNA and make another you.”

“But is it the same you?”

“No, because that person goes through a different life so you’re not the same. You look alike and have some similar predispositions but you are a victim of your circumstance. *Pause* Oh…”

Then she asked why my sister is the way she is. And I promptly responded with the she was never punished or held accountable for anything, was constantly bailed out of every situation, etc. And I realized that there are some predispositions for addiction and such in my family, but we are not doomed to become a pedophile or an ax murdered because our parents were that. We are victims of our circumstance and it’s how we are raised that make the difference. Could they still have mental illness? Yes, but would I just let them sit and suffer like I did or get the help they need and see the signs of what was going on? Probably.

Do I still want to foster and adopt? Someday. It’s a very lengthy and expensive process. But have I finally stopped beating myself up about wanting to have children? Yes. I have realized that just because my parents were bad doesn’t mean I’ll be a bad parent. The thing is I see the problems and actively want to make a change. Many of our behaviors are learned, not predisposed. It helped me to realize that where I came from does not dictate where I will go. I can have a beautiful family filled with love because it is our actions and choices that make us who we are.

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I have baby brain. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s making me crazy. Pregnant people terrorize me constantly. I see them everywhere. They remind me of my unused and shriveling up uterus. I want kids so bad, but The hubs and I have decided to wait until we have jobs and are more financially stable. Which is great and wonderful, but in the mean time I am surrounded by reminders of all the things I want and can’t have.

Yesterday we went and watched oceans which was not as good as earth. We also fought and argued about nothing. Why? Because we are both stressed out about the future. Where will we live this summer since we decided baby sitting cats we are both allergic to is a no go? Where will we work? Where will we move? I’m scared shitless to say the least, and so is he. This has happened to us before and it’s always turned out ok, but I’m still stressed about it.

Tapping on the iPad is love.

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Nonna, my beloved grandmother, is 100% Italian and a little crazy. When we went to Italy, her and my mother used to push people on Vespas, pinch their butts, etc. Three weeks before my 16th birthday and 2 weeks after an “incident” occurred.

My grandmother was horribly afraid of the interstate and would drive on the frontage roads to get wherever we needed. Every Thursday at 11 a.m. we would go to this mall about 20 miles from home taking the back roads. I was “homeschooled” in a weird way and used to go with her. She would get confused with directions and would always make me sit in the front seat. Every Thursday we drove by this field and saw a man on a bike, in full spandex, riding. She would roll down my window with the automatic windows and tell me to push him.

“No, Nonna, that’s not nice.” Screaming, cussing, and smacking my left side till it was black and blue she’d drive on. A few days later I would be standing in the kitchen and my 5 foot nothing, 150 pound grandmother would smack me on the butt or break a wooden spoon over the back of my legs.

“OW! Nonna what was that for?” I would say.

“Because you didn’t push the guy,” she would respond in her heavy accent.

This happened EVERY Thursday for weeks. Heavy Hands, aka Nonna, would try to get me to push the guy and I would not so I would get beat.

After weeks of being black and blue, we pulled up next to him again. “Push him. Push him” She would say.

I looked up at the man. I looked at Nonna. I looked at my bruised arm. “Sorry man, it’s you or me.” I say as I look up into the face of the yellow spandex wearing dude. He looks at me like huh as I grab his thigh and push him. Unfortunately there was a hill next to the road and hill approximately 10-15 feet. Nonna slows way down watching him spin and flip down the hill.

“Make sure he gets up. make sure he gets up.”

He stumbles and stands. I tell Nonna. She races off laughing the whole way. A couple years ago I told my husband this story and he didn’t believe me. When my grandmother came up to visit for my graduation in May Steven asks her if the story about the guy on the bike is true.

“They guy on the bike? The guy on the bike?” She pauses stroking her chin.

“THE GUY ON THE BIKE!” I shout through gritted teeth.

“OH! That guy!” She laughs. “Wasn’t that so funny?”

“Nonna that was mean!” Steven says.

“It’s not mean. We do it in Italy all the time.”

And I wonder why I’m dysfunctional…

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