A Wonderful Life

I know I've not been a fountain of optimism on this blog lately. Well, you're going to have to put up with one more dose of negativity, and Lord knows I hope it's the last for a while.

TH got up this morning to make lattes, as he always does, and much to our dismay found our beloved dog, Margarita, had died during the night. She was 11, would have been 12 in April, and yes, for a Labrador, that's on the upper end of the scale. She had arthritis in her hips pretty badly, but other than that and a general slowing of her activity level, she was in fairly good health. She'd just come through her last checkup in January with good results beyond her known mostly old-age related issues.

She was the biggest pain in the ass as a puppy you could think of. The first thing she did when my Mom brought her in our house at 2 months was poop and pee on the kitchen floor. I was about 3-4 months pregnant. You can imagine my joy in having to take care of a puppy when I was exhausted. But of course she was so stinking cute and we grew to love her in spite of (sometimes because of) her sometimes Marley-esque activities.

As she matured, she became a sweet and lovely dog. She loved people, her family, especially her boys (Big Bit in particular), she listened, she didn't dig or chew and she was very intelligent. Last summer she actually caught a squirrel (quite by accident I think) and you would have thought she was a pup again, she was so proud of herself. She was loyal, bossy (she would snatch her sister's stuffed animals when she walked in the door).

Her mother, who some friends owned, died at the same age she was now, I think, and had far more health problems for far longer than our pooch. She didn't have a prolonged illness and I hope didn't suffer at all, or if so only very briefly. So I know she was lucky in that respect. But, damn it, we're going to miss her.

And yesterday was National Margarita Day. I kid you not.

Love you, Pookums.

Talk Thursday - Long Time Gone

"You're a long time gone...keepin' your secrets for too long. Baby, you ain't half of what you used to be....in this dim October sky, I've got no tears left to cry...And I'm finally learning you can't be too strong....I'm a long time gone" - Gin Blossoms, Long Time Gone.

Well, since it's my topic...I'd better write on it.

I went to church Sunday, as I do most Sundays (not all, sadly, in the winter I am a sloth who has trouble rising before 9 when the sun comes up unless it involves going somewhere warm or getting paid to show up to work). As one of the ladies I work with says, I don't go to church so much because I think I have to in order to keep my faith, but I'd hate to see what kind of person I'd be if I didn't go. She said that about her, not me. I think.

I had already sent out the topic, and had some idea of what I would write about. But then it was the Women's service at the church as happens once a year. Yeah, you'd think I'd know that. But I'm not terribly involved other than showing up, worshiping and giving money. Lutherans aren't the most friendly bunch in the world, and while I really like our Pastor, who's in his early 30s and, for a Pastor, fairly liberal in his ideas, I don't fit in with his "group" who are about his age, and I don't fit in with the older people, (i.e. anyone 10 years older than me) because they just seem very comfortable with each other, and despite the fact they've seen my mug on and off for 15 years, they don't seem to interested in pursuing a conversation, and as I've mentioned before I'm shy. (note to Kristi - when Shane has a church, make darned sure you go talk to that nice lady in her early 40's who's standing off to the side and isn't quite sure how to proceed. She'll love you for it).

So, anyhoo, there I am in church, led by the ladies, and very nicely, too. Then the woman who was doing the sermon got up. And, kids, she rocked my world. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. I thought I knew at first, but now I'm not sure how to pull it off.

What I've taken from my experiences a "Long Time Gone" is that you can do something with the best of intentions and be brutally, totally, and completely punished for it. Due to my not being the primary custodial parent the majority of the time since Big Bit started school, I've had everything from people who broke off conversations upon finding out my situation to "family" members saying (though not to my face, of course) that I was probably unfit or at the very least an extremely poor mother for not being in the same town as my child. (Please note, one of these family member should be investigated by Child Protective Services, and I'm not the only person who thinks that. So I thought she had a lot of nerve. No, she doesn't read this, so it's not any of you). I had someone tell me when I announced I was pregnant "Oh (bleep)". I took this as an assumption that I would not be able to keep custody or raise a second child effectively.

In fact, I will note for the historical record, there has never been any allegation I'm unfit. I just had the cojones to stand up for myself, and to some guys, that is enough of a crime.

I knew my truth, why I did make certain decisions and not others. Certain decisions were made by "independent" third parties who at the end of the day didn't seem independent at all. I've made my peace with that part of it, as it were. I don't claim to be without blame. I have plenty and I take responsibility. But I can't stand to even hear EHFH's voice anymore.

The woman, who had also been through a bad divorce, though one with different parameters than mine, said that you have to forgive. Not for the other person, but for yourself. I've heard this before, in other times and places, but this time it really hit me. Whether you believe in Christianity or you think it's bunk, this is a precept that does make a lot of sense.

You see, Friday is Big Bit's 18th birthday. I've been going through this crap for SIXTEEN YEARS. Let me repeat: SIXTEEN years. And while when I got divorced I had no hard feelings as such towards EHFH, he has made it his mission over the last SIXTEEN years to make my life a living hell whenever possible. His actions have pretty much made what affection remained morph into something pretty close to hatred. And while he hasn't always succeeded in his quest, he's succeeded enough to make me more than regret giving him that power. If you add in our married and divorced time, it's coming up on 25 years. That's a lifetime.

So I resolve to forgive on Sunday night. And I'm feeling very "Christlike in my love and forgiveness" to paraphrase the Church (not my Church but "the one true Church"). Then Big Bit calls me last night to talk to me about his FAFSA that has to be filed so he can get qualified for his scholarships, private grants, etc. He and his father are yelling at each other. Not screaming, but yelling pretty loud. I flashback to being afraid, with a two year old in a diaper in my arms, backing up towards a refrigerator, with a very enraged man in my face. I tell Big Bit that I have to get off the phone.

"Call me when you're done". I know it's not serious, honestly. I know they're just both mad, not violent in any way. Big Bit is 6 foot tall and at least 185 lbs. But it gives me the heebie jeebies.

Then, when Big Bit calls back, and I explain that I couldn't stay on the phone because it was creeping me out, he has the raw nerve to say "You aren't good with confrontation".

Oh, I'm good with confrontation, son. I held you in my arms ready to defend you to the end with your dad screaming in our faces. I'm glad you don't remember. I confronted 12 hours of labor only to go through major surgery to have you. And I'm glad I did. I bought my lawyer a freakin' Corvette to try and keep you with me. I'm just not good with screaming.

It's obviously hard to forgive. But it's a long time gone, and I'm tired of secrets. And yelling. It is time to forgive. Wish me good luck, I'm going to need it.

Other than posting pics of Big Bit's graduation which may include pictures of him, this is the last time I will mention that man, forgiveness or no. It's time for that as well.

I Know. I Heard. But Thanks For Pointing It Out.

I really am going to do my "what I did this summer" post, probably this weekend, with pictures to prove that I actually did activities and had fun. In the meantime, I have one thing to say, to quote the "Meat Packers Union" blog: "There is no I in me". And apparently, misquoting old sports adages isn't the only thing wrong with this man. The only thing I would need to add, if I really wanted to get creative, is some horns. I hope you're happy, dude, because you have only yourself to blame.

Just Call Me "Lucky"

I don't feel lucky right now...nope, I don't.

My beloved grandmother passed away this week. She was 91 years old. As I said to my dad, I get that she was "old". I know she had a lot of health issues. But I wasn't ready for her to go. She was.

I get that. She missed my grandfather, who passed on several years ago, immensely. They had that marriage where you go "Oh, I get it, this is how it's supposed to work" even though they weren't terribly demonstrative with each other. They were, however, very cute together. He would tease her and she would laugh.

She hadn't felt well for a long time. She'd had some falls and some broken bones that any of us would have probably just given up over. She didn't, until now.

I, of all of her grandchildren, was one of the luckiest (and yes I'll argue with y'all about this). I lived next door to my grandmother for several years. Because of that, I spent a lot of time with her, from the time I was a toddler. She watched me while my parents worked, she taught me to read at age 3, she's the reason I graduated from high school when I was 16 - because when I got to school, I was already through first grade. She had been a teacher prior to her marriage, having graduated from teacher's college and then taught, met my grandfather, got married and kept teaching - just in a different way.

She was a generous, loving, Christian woman, really the best example of such a person. When my great-aunt died suddenly shortly after giving birth to her third child, she took on the care for the newborn son and raised him to adulthood, as well as caring for his older brother and sister in varying ways at varying times. They were always my aunt and uncles and there were no differences to her (and therefore to anyone else) between them and the children she gave birth to herself. She loved to read, she loved her family, she had a bit of a temper (strawberry blond hair wasn't there for nothing!) that she kept firmly in check 99.9% of the time, and I was incredibly lucky to have had her in my life. And I miss her.

On The Subject Of Things That Suck

Update: Friday, February 13. Charles passed away this morning. God Bless and RIP.

TH has been a Dungeons and Dragons guy for many moons now, since high school.

When he was at loose ends around 6 years ago (because the Mother Ship was foolish enough to let him go), he met up with Steve the Lawyer (of Golden Mallet Fame), Jim, the Professor (of Ugly Hoodie Fame) and lastly, Charles (another lawyer, loyal to the Mother Ship). They all shared this interest and went on to have many nights full of Mountain Dew (Yvette will get the reference even before finishing reading). While we lived in Utah, anytime TH came up for work, Charles, especially, was the one who said "come stay at my house...anything you need is yours." He is so very, very shy, but for TH, he made the effort and though I didn't know him well, it made me care for him very much.

Well, as of tonight, Charles is in the hospital. He has cancer, which we've long known, never with much hope for recovery, short of a miracle. Still, especially given how long TH's mother lived with her own particular form of this horrible illness, you just never expect someone to really go. You expect the miracle. But we think this time, it may be not happening.

And he's forty damn years old. Never married. No kids. Loving family and friends yes, but somehow I feel he's been robbed of the chance to live all of the facets of life he may have desired.
Some things just suck.

Be well Charles. Whatever happens, be well.

In his honor (thanks Yvette) I post the below video because I think, right now, he'd rather be having Cheetos and Mountain Dew and laughing at this stereotypical D&D adventure.

I Hate The Cowgirls

But...noooooo....the Packers don't need Brett Favre....they have the QB of the future....right...

The Packers offically sucked tonight. Brett may be gone, but Aaron & Co. need to step up.

The defense looked great. But you get damn tired when you're on the field 80% of the time.

Where is Jessica Simpson with her pink jersey when you need her?

Go Pack.

Aw Frack

Brett, Take Your Ball and Go Home.

Let's move on.

Go Pack.

RIP, Mr. P

Idaho lost a great guy today. Dan Peterson died at the age of 55. He'd been a player in the Shakespeare Festival I think since it's inception 30 some years ago. I don't remember a year I didn't see him playing some part, even if small, with his usual panache; and one of my fondest memories is of his green show featuring the "worst guest" at the Festival: riding his bike straight from the Greenbelt into the amphitheatre, setting up a small, yet smoky barbecue grill ready for bratwurst etc., high backed lawn chairs guaranteed to get the burn going for those lucky guests sitting on the ground behind you, a cigar, arguing with the usher who was trying desperately to get him to behave etc. etc.

Godspeed Dan, and my thoughts are with your wife. I didn't "know" you, but I sure felt like I did. And, from what I hear from some who did, you were a hell of a guy and a hell of an Idahoan. I will miss you like crazy when I go to MacBeth on August 9. I would have gotten to see my old friend again.

A Tale of Two Bits

Last week was a hectic week at work, followed by a hectic weekend. Big Bit got in Saturday from his dad's (he lived with us in Utah for 9th grade, but then (very long story) went back to Reno for 10th. He's trying to decide what to do for this next year - trying hard not to influence or stress him out on this, but still can't help anxiously awaiting his decision.

He is a straight A, straight arrow, good kid who despite the tension throughout the last 15 years of his childhood between his dad and I has turned out well. Mostly, I suspect, because we were able to avoid ranting about each other within his earshot (I would just scream in the bathroom after we got off the phone with my attorney about some atrocity) and co-parent. I have to say, that I am extremely relieved to be through most of the 18 years of putting up with the EHFH's crap. Big Bit's torn about how to make us both happy, as are the children of most divorced parents, instead of realizing by making himself happy he will (should) make us happy. As much as I tell him that's what I want for him I sense he's still looking out for me, somehow. Even if he wants to stay with his friends in Reno and that means not coming back, he's afraid he'll hurt me. And vice versa.

That feels familiar to me from my own life experience. I have a friend whose parents, like mine, divorced when we were adults and though it was the best thing for them and I intellectually get that, you still have these weird things you have to deal with. Like having THREE places to go at Christmas once you get married. Indeed, four if your spouse has divorced parents (mine does not). I hate to tell Big Bit these issues never totally pass, even if your parents get along, as mine do now.

I guess I'll let him live in his delusional state for now that when high school ends so does any of these issues. The one I thing I can sincerely assure him of is that he has no idea how bad things would be if his father and I had stayed married. I shudder to think.

I think pondering his future makes him tired. Or it might be his brother who has been on him like a terrier on a rabbit ever since he got here (Little Bit LOVES Big Bit, to distraction. Vice versa but you can't admit that when you're 16). Hard to say. But he's been pretty sleepy. At any rate, my pictures of his various napfests since arriving turned out a bit blurry, but I'll show him off anyway:




Little Bit started back to school Monday, he has the last three weeks with the perhaps world's worst 3rd grade teacher for any kid with ADHD (and this is not just my opinion, trust me). He was excited to see his friends, the Principal and the Counselor. Do you think he spends too much time in the office? Haha.

He is a smart, articulate, tempermental bundle of energy. He's very loving and loyal, and has good antannae for those who really care about him and those who are just putting in time with him. He does not suffer fools lightly, but will not hesitate to tell you he loves you and how wonderful you are if he knows the feeling goes both ways.


We've run into one of those non-fun things about living in a community that can happen when one is a minority the last few weeks. At Scouts two weeks ago, Little Bit told me he didn't want to go. I asked why - the answer "the kids call me names". Heart officially breaks. When I asked him why he just gave me The Look. As if I should know. I didn't press him.

Then last week we went on a field trip with the den. I offered to drive some of the kids, and the offer was happily accepted. We have found, that for all of the families forever stuff, The Husband and I are the only parents that consistently show up at Scouts with our child and participate with him. I have a close friend in Seattle whose son is a year behind Little Bit in Cubs and she says it's always very much 1:1 (parent to child) at their den meetings. Not so much here. Little Bit's had three different Scoutmasters in a year and it's been that way every time. This may, or may not, be just the Law of the Pack at the ward we go to for meetings.

As we got ready to leave on the field trip, ALL of the other Scouts piled into the Scoutmasters' Suburban. And there weren't enough seats for all of them. And I swear that if I hadn't kind of coughed they would have driven off that way. Upon hearing my coughing, the husband of the team urged one of the boys into our rig. It was a pretty uncomfortable trip.

At the end of the trip, another parent had shown up to participate in the activity, so it was "thank you very much but we have enough seats to get everyone home". Mr. Scoutmaster, who seems more open to us, really made an effort to be friendly (and apologetic?) - Mrs. Scoutmaster, who seems to think I have five heads most of the time, really didn't look at me much.

I try to encourage my children to embrace everyone. I have my areas of discomfort, I admit, but I'm working on them and I won't show those to my kids if I can help it.

How can you not want to sit in a car with this child? I know I'm prejudiced towards him, mind you.

This all brings back memories of being in 6th grade in a very small town in Southern Idaho (100 plus) where I was the minority for the same reason and after moving to said small town mid-year suffered through a few months so friendless I ran back to my old school for junior high, even though it meant I had to live with my maternal grandmother during the week and I really missed my parents - because there at least I wasn't a pariah. So I know I'm sensitive. But this was pretty obvious.

This goes both ways, mind you. I'm not claiming that those not of the faith whoever they may be are pure in this respect, including me and I try to work on that.

My problem is I fear it may just get worse. And those of you who have someone (a child, a spouse, whatever, but a child is the most deep feeling in my experience) get disparaged you know the "mama" or "papa bear" syndrome that kicks in when this happens.

I also know we have our neighbors who are of the faith, who invited us over at 9 pm Sunday night for brownies and brought us homemade jam (on Sunday during the day no less!) and encourage Big Bit's friendship with their daughter - could care less what religion we do or don't practice. There's also the nice lady who just moved out this way who I gave a ride to church this weekend.

Having lived here all her life, she says from her perspective things are SO much better than they used to be for us not-Mo's.

I just wonder and worry if I'm doing right by both my boys on all fronts, like anyone can live up to being the perfect parent. I guess my job is to worry, but maybe I need to not worry so much and try to ignore the ignorance, if we encounter it. Maybe by just being here in our semi-small town and being the minority we're doing some good? We know the good is here, how do we embrace it? How do we confront the bad, when touched by it?

Maybe I'm way too sensitive? Maybe the writing really is on the wall and those who would say "if you don't like it, move" are right?

I'm open for comments or criticisms. From everyone. I mean it. I think I need some perspective. From all kinds of points of view.

Good Bye For Now

This picture says it all...they came so close but failed to seal the deal. We'll see you next year, Boozer and D-Will. Thanks for everything and have a great summer.

P.S. I hope the Celtics kick the Lakers' ass.

Why I Love Brett Favre

This is why I love that man. He is genuine, real and knows how very blessed he is in life, even with its ups and downs.

I don't know who cried more during his press conference today to say goodbye to the Packer fans, him or me. I tell you this, though, I know he will miss us as much as we will miss him.

Dear Brett,

Godspeed. Love to you, Deanna, Brittany and Breleigh. You enjoy your time with those girls, I know they will be glad to have you home all the time.

P.S. I'd like Little Bit to marry Breleigh someday. They would be perfect for each other. Let's talk in about 15 years.

P.P.S. At least you're retiring to Mississippi. It could be Utah.

Love,

lostinutah

Mourning

I'm sorry, I was going to post a humorous story about the new addition to my neighborhood as an example of why Utah is SO interesting. However, with the announcement of Brett Favre's retirement,I am officially in mourning. To paraphrase another Packer blogger, everyone (I think) knows there are several phases of grief. His suggested phases for this particular day were:


* Shock
* Denial
* Depression (that's one I added)
* Pabst

Substitute Chardonnay for the Pabst and you just about have where I am at.

Mr. Favre, you and your wife are class acts. I will miss you sincerely. I'm also proud I was able to see you play in your last regular season game at Lambeau Field.

Hopefully later today I can post the funny story. Right now I'm too depressed. The Chardonnay will have to wait until later as well.