He is so good to our little mod-podge family…
My husband truly does rocky my world, and every other cheesy, cliche’ thing out there in the world that makes cynics cringe and roll their eyes because they are jealous. This little girl here is beyond lucky to have this man as her daddy…
And truth be told, he is pretty lucky too!
Sometimes people disappoint us. As a friend, spouse and parent it may often seem that these sometimes morph into ugly a lot of times…
One step forward- “I am so proud of you. I can tell you are working really hard and trying really hard and I am so proud of you and so grateful for you.”
Three steps back- Stolen candy wrappers, stolen cough drop wrappers, stolen make up, lies about how it isn’t her fault and she didn’t do it… Profane, angry responses and zero responsibility.
Same song and dance. Same game. Same, Same, Same…
Reactive Attachment Disorder is a bitch. PTSD too, for that matter. But at the end of the day, there are choices too. She makes the choice. She takes the path. She absorbes the praise and takes secret joy in thinking she’s “pulled one over on us.” She once again punishes us for not trusting her in the illusion of the good times, and then punishes us for realizing (again) that she isn’t trustworthy or responsible.
Same, same, same…
I have slept roughly eight hours in three days. Life is huge and overwhelming right now, and I’d be more than happy to comp her the reality that if ever there was a time for big, hard emotions and struggles- these changes were a time. EXCEPT that this garbage has been going on for months. She sleeps in a complete stripped room, minus her furniture and her clothing, because of this garbage. Because of the screaming and the verbal cruelty and the hatred.
She’s been doing so good, I am so amazed– We’ve spoken every single day for a few weeks now.
But she wasn’t doing well. She was playing the part, hiding the truth- until the truth was in the light, and then she tossed her character aside like trash and the cruelty came out again. And for the gazillionth time, I’m here, disappointed.
She’s a good girl, she’s a sweet girl.
She is.
She is also a thief, by proud decision, and a compulsive liar. She also loves to be mouthy and cruel to us. Not because she is thirteen, but because she has a sickness and that sickness makes her feel the need to be in control.
I am tired of stepping… forwards, backwards. I kind of just want a nap.
Got five minutes? Let’s write. Let’s write in shades of real and brave and unscripted.
Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not.
1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Go buck wild with encouragement for the five minuter who linked up before you.
Won’t you give me your best five minutes for the prompt:
Go…
Vulnerability stands us, where our feet are, awkward.
It strips us.
It builds up, in us, false senses of hope and security and then robs us of our true sense of worth all at once.
It leaves us crumpled and naked, hoping someone will find us with value, but believing that likely they will not.
All within the span of milliseconds we cycle through thousands of waves of emotion and inner struggle.
Bare.
It’s no mystery where the word barely comes from.
Barely breathing. Barely there. Barely hanging by a thread. Barely present. You barely ate anything…
Barely… Bare. Naked. Isolated. Alone. Vulnerable.
But maybe it’s more. Maybe so consumed by the want, often turning urgent aching need for validation, we miss the point. The opportunity of nakedness. Good things come from such.
Soft silks on skin, fingertip warmth, baths, kisses and even sex.
Metaphorical nakedness isn’t much different. Without baring our soul to life and others, we risk the passing of true friendships, true success, true valuable moments, firmly planted seeds of self worth and real love.
Barely leads to so much, if only we set our sights beyond the isolation and the fear.
Naked vulnerability isn’t the true enemy, but our fear of what we could potentially lose (which is never larger than what we may one day gain) is.
END.
As a writer, when we were pushed into the position where we had to homeschool our youngest, i was most excited about creative writing with her. I imagined it would be amazingly fun and we would, together, dream up the most amazing writing projects under the sun.
As a daughter, with a self defiant streak, Genny was pretty much against writing from the beginning. You know, because i am a writer. The nerve.
As the years have passed, this has stayed true. I long since came to terms with it. At some point however, something interesting happened. We were in her closet looking for something and we found crumpled up note book pages with song lyrics written on them. It was easy to see they were modeled after popular radio songs, but the surprising thing was that they were actually pretty good. I didn’t let on that I saw them, which I knew in my gut was the right thing.
However, yesterday I was looking through a school journal (required) she has, and on the backs of the pages (while she is supposed to be doing school) she has been crafting a pretty lengthy story. Suffice it to say- I am thrilled!
Of course, it’s just between you and I. She can’t know that I know, because than i imagine her rebellion would flare up and it would be an opportunity shattered. I guess, in light of yesterday’s post though- we’ve learned Gen’s dirty little secret. My baby girl is flirting with the notion of being a writer…
Last night, for dinner, I made Hungarian goulash because I’d had a really rough/bad day and needed something easy. I also knew that Chw had a fiercely bad day at work (the increasing normal, sadly) and knew he’d need something heartier than a Morning Star Farms burger and salad.
It all sounds wonderful, except that I added peas, as I believe one should when it’s goulash. Chw hates peas. Poor guy. But, he couldn’t taste them so it was a victory for all.
anyway, we also ate dinner in front of the tv watching Sunday’s episode of Downton Abbey. Don’t judge. Yes, my husband suffered through the 12 peas in his goulash to unwind with the Crowleys. There is nothing wrong with that, he’s not too ashamed.
Dinner in front of the tv however, is another story. I just can’t stand it. I feel tremendous guilt as a wife and mother when the incredibly rare event happens. In fact, usually it’s take out or pizza for family movie night, and even then- it’s only 2-3 times a year.
But really, why? Why am I so ridiculous about it? sometimes it’s fun. Sometimes, (like last night) it’s just emotionally necessary to veg through an evening.
My guess is childhood stigmas, on both our parts. Really, 1980’s, was the tv so exciting that we couldn’t escape to break a meal? Actually my family has a balance of both table/family dinners and tv dining. My husband’s family though… TV all the time. You’re home=TV on and you in front of it. It’s nauseating. TV’s will likely be the epidemic that lead to us turning into Zombies.
Great, there she goes. Mentioning Zombies two days in a row. What is wrong with this blog?
Since we’re on the subject though, i may as well mention that we are pretty excited about the return of the Walking Dead this Sunday. Our kids love it too, which makes me sound like an awful parent. In case you didn’t know, two of our kids are adults. As for our third, she’s almost fourteen (as previously shouted hallelujah about yesterday!) and only 4 episodes into the series. There was the one awkward intimate scene in the woods, which she skipped- and then lots of gore. She’s ok with the gore though- and loves the show.
This has been a pretty informative post. You’ve learned:
– I hate eating in front of the tv due to possible trauma by in-laws at some point in time. {most likely}
– appreciate a good, lazy dinner of a veggie burger.
– The three of us, who live in this house, love Downton. My older daughter would too, though she hasn’t seen it. My son would hate it, which is fair.
– Our other family favorite is the Walking Dead, to which you must have thought “wow, these Wagner’s are really versatile.” It’s true. But more than that- we just really appreciate entertainment with really strong writing…
There, i told you secrets, now it’s your turn… What are some of your guilty little pleasures?
rainydayinmay.com 