Category: Kids

hi·a·tus

Published on by cmglife

A pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process.

I don’t want to write about my relationship with my oldest daughter again. Let’s just say that after 8 years it is the same. I see my two grandchildren about a couple of times a year.

It’s taken me three or four of the 5 years to make peace with it. It’s been tenacity, therapy, good friends, my son and ketamine that has enabled me to live with it.

Now my other daughter, the youngest, has caused me more stress and heart ache, because it has gone on for most of her life.

I can actually admit now that I have been emotionally abused by her. She is not a narcissist like my ex husband and my mother. I think she has borderline personality disorder. Since she is my child I hung in there through it all while dragging her to every kind of professional under the sun because she was clearly unhappy (which is what I thought).

Last year she began texting me and wanted to get together. I hadn’t heard from her in a year, not from lack of trying on my part. It was wonderful! It’s like this person was behaving in a way I had never experienced with her. She would come over for dinner about once a month and we watched Sherlock and Vampire movies…not sure how we got on that one, but it was fun and I could finally love her in a real way.

I’m not completely delusional. I was puzzled by this new and improved child. Maybe I was pushing away the probably end to it with screaming, yelling and unfounded accusations from her. I was a bit tentative giving too much of myself emotionally to the situation, but it was so lovely while it lasted.

First she cancelled Christmas with us. I hid how disappointed I really was “walking on eggshells” kind of thing. We had never spent Christmas apart. Fast forward to early May, that was the last time I saw her. I did get a “I’m fine” text in late July when I asked her if I should file a missing persons report. I texted her on and off since then. The usual things. Memes, videos of the cats, silly stories, etc.

Last Sunday I called my son to see if he had heard from her. He said no. A couple of hours later I got a text from him saying “I’m Alive”. So he had texted her, I don’t know the extent of the conversation, but I know he doesn’t have patience for the way she treats us.

Another hour went by and I got a text from her “I’ve blocked you”.

This caused a familiar reaction. I had been blocked by my sister and my oldest daughter during the hardest time of my life when I divorced my husband. The reaction was that horrible pain in my chest followed by uncontrollable sobbing. This time though I got myself together within minutes instead of 30 which it usually takes.

I rummaged around in my head to figure out how I was feeling. This was new. How did I feel? I went to bed. The next morning rummaged some more trying to pinpoint this strange non-reaction.

Before I left for work I wrote on the back of an envelope “this could be a good thing because now I don’t have to worry about her and take all the abuse”.

By the time I got to work I felt so strong and relived about another rejection from another daughter. Finally I could say “NO” to this, That feeling lasted all day.

I saw my therapist that afternoon and she could see the difference in my reaction. She has always given me advice that makes me feel either real with the way I process things or gives me clues as to how I can see it differently. She was really positive and then she slipped in something like “While you are taking this hiatus from her it will be good to….” can’t remember the rest.

I was disappointed that she had said “while”. Just her saying it broke that wall down a little bit knowing that it is just a matter of time that I won’t be able to keep up this persona. It’s not me, I’m her mother.

I’m not thinking about it now though. I figure if she needs anything she can go to her brother, sister or dad. I’m checked out for now. I may just block her. That would feel so good until I unblock her 10 minutes later.

Revised definition: hi·a·tus: A pause or gap of emotional reactions to my estranged daughters.

Time for Bed

Published on by cmglife

My husband just came home and ruined the little cave I have built tonight. It’s not his fault, he has a right to come home.

My cave consists of a glass of wine, putting head phones in the computer, listening to my iTunes and writing about what usually starts out as nothing and sometimes ends up as something.

I’ve been in my cave a lot more than usual lately because Allison has been at a friend’s for a week.  It’s been a very comfortable and well-deserved hibernation for me.   Now, the time is getting later and later to start though because of summer break. Allison’s bedtime for school used to begin at 8:30 pm or so and now it is 9:30 – 10:00. Actually, I have been trying to remember to call it “time for sleep” because “time for bed” sounds too babyish and Allison is certainly not a baby as I’m constantly being reprimanded for. That doesn’t sound right to her either and I get an eye roll.

How about “time to go to bed”, “time to retire” or maybe she would rather it be what my mother called it for years “time for bobos”? No, that shouldn’t generate an eye roll or a sound like a tween cat coughing up a hair ball!

 

 

 

Giggles

Published on by cmglife

“Cute Cat” video giggles, the best sound to come from my 11-year-old all year.


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Lovely Children

Published on by cmglife

My son, unfortunately, falls into the category of being “unintuitive”. He is sensitive, but things have to be pointed out to him. There is nothing wrong with it as long as the female in his life doesn’t mind either.

When my friend died last week it hit me pretty hard. After visiting her and her family that day I came home and holed up in my room with some wine and my phone. I was feeling a little sorry for myself because Emily and my sister Ellen weren’t there. They are always there for me, but they weren’t physically there and I really could have used them. I told Emily on the phone that I really needed a hug.

I didn’t realize until I heard a text buzz that Tristan was charging his phone in my room. I instinctively looked over and read that it was from Emily. She wrote “go in and give mom a hug, she really needs one”.

Just then, Tristan came in and got his phone. I wondered how long it would take him to come back after reading his texts.

Ten minutes went by when Tristan knocked. He came in and sat in bed with me. He asked me to tell him what happened that day. I told him everything. He held my hand and then gave me a hug.

I hope I’ve always given them what they needed the way they just gave me what I needed.

Helicopter Parent

Published on by cmglife

A few months back I had written “A Little Taste of Crazy” where the campus monitor and I were searching the grassy knoll behind the school for Allison’s phone.

If I wasn’t then I am now officially a “helicopter parent”.

This time Allison lost her violin.  We went down to the orchestra room to look for it.  We checked among all of the other violins.  Allison saw it, but I said it wasn’t the hers because it didn’t have the correct tags.

The violin was rented and would cost me $340 to replace, so I was highly motivated to find it. I started out asking people as they passed by my desk and in the hallways.  That then escalated to sending out a school wide email.  This went on for two days.

Finally I called the rental place and asked for the serial numbers thinking another student may have taken the wrong violin.  I went down to the cupboard again in the orchestra room.  This is the part you’re going to love…it was there all the time!!! I felt terrible and apologized profusely to Allison.

I had to slink around the school avoiding the inevitable question, “Have you found Allison’s violin yet?” I would try to wiggle out of the question as best as I could with anemic answers such as, “Yes, thanks.” and if they asked where, I would tell most of the truth saying, “in the music room’s cupboard.”

Then I realized what I had been doing.  The “absence” of detail on my part was letting them assume it was Allison’s fault!

I’m going to hell.

P.S.  In good conscience I did start to elaborate as much as necessary saying something like, “It was there all along, I didn’t see it. I don’t want to talk about it”.

P.S.S.  Still going to hell.

The Space Between

Published on by cmglife

“Oh, no.  That’s too bad, I haven’t seen it.”

That is what I will say to my daughter when she notices her rival school’s t-shirt is missing.  She says she doesn’t care if the other kids will make comments or say something. What she doesn’t realize is that I have lived way longer than she has and I know these things will hurt.

It’s almost the same as the “nice rack” moose t-shirt exploiting women’s breasts that was inexplicably lost behind the space between the dryer and the wall until a month ago when it was miraculously found.  By then it was way too small for Tristan to wear anymore.  Darn.  Too bad.

Maybe we’ll find Allison’s t-shirt in the space between the wall and my dresser in a couple of years too.