Sparks and Butterflies

As a way for my family to make ends meet, I took a part time job as a crossing guard for the last 3 months.  It is an extremely busy main drag in our town, a four lane four way signal.  Here are my notes:

For the Drivers:

• See that sign?  It says “No U Turn.”
• See those THREE signs?  They say “No Right Turn on Red.”
• If I’m in the intersection – with my obnoxious neon vest, red hat, and huge red sign?  Don’t run the red light.  I’d like to live to see my children grow up.
• Don’t stop IN the crosswalk.  If you do, I have to make the pedestrians wait another cycle of lights because you’re an idiot.
• Don’t yell out your window at me, even to be funny.  At your speed, I can’t hear what you’re saying.
• Don’t honk while right next to me.  I may pee.  No, I’m not kidding.
• My hand signals are not for you.  If they were, I’d be facing you, making eye contact.  I’m not a traffic cop, and I’m not signaling you from the sidewalk.
• I WILL give your plate number to the Sheriffs.  Also?  They like me.

For the Pedestrians – Kids and Adults Alike:

• Did your parents really teach you to act that way?
• Yes, I will yell at you if you attempt to cross the street IN a SHOPPING CART.
• Also?  Use the brain God gave you.
• Yes, I cross everyone.
• Yes, I know you’re not a kid.
• Yes, It’s company policy.
• Yes, I get paid.
• Also, it’s rude to ask my salary, seriously.
• Yes, it’s a real job.
• If you’re gonna get bitchy ’cause I broke your stride, use a trail or track – not the public street.
• Did you really just do the “jogger snot rocket” thing next to my shoe?
• Get off your skateboard or bike. Repeat.
• Judging by your walking while talking on the phone skills, I suggest that you not try chewing gum.
• “Thank you” never hurt anyone.
• Don’t ignore me when I speak to you.  It’s rude.
• When I tell you to hurry up, it’s probably because the light turned.  HURRY UP.
• Tie your shoelaces.
• I’m a mother, I can totally take you.  Do that again, and I’ll smack the back of your head.

Last night, I had a dream.  That dream finally woke me up around 3am, and I was up after until about 4am.

I’m pissed off about it.

In it, I was attending (and helping) at my ex-fiance’s wedding.  In real life, I was not invited, nor would I have attended his wedding to the chick he cheated on me with.  But there I was, being my helpful self in my dream.  The truth is, my relationship with him is a part of my serious downfall into the rabbit hole in my early twenties.  Part my fault, very largely his fault.  I won’t go into all the details, as there are some portions of it I don’t want to rehash.

I was up rehashing our relationship in my head, basically ranting at him about the 3 things that ruined our relationship, and ruined me for the better part of two years.  We were together for 5 years, and then it took me 2 years to get over and through the fall out.

This all happened about 15 years ago!  I thought I was over it.  I think I am.  But I really hate when memories come back to haunt you and bite you in the ass at the same time.  It’s over.  It’s done.  I’m in a healthy, stable, loving marriage.  I would just like to tell the past to stay the hell in the past and let me live my life.

October 1950: American model Joan Vohs poses for a new year greetings card. (Photo by Keystone/Getty Images)

What do I want out of the new year?  I don’t make resolutions per se.  I find them to be restrictive.  But I do have general goals.  It’s an end and a beginning, and it only makes sense to think about what you want out of your future.

I want to be more organized.  No.  I want to feel more organized.  I don’t often drop the ball, and people – from friends and family to clients – know I’ll handle the details.  But that doesn’t mean my mind is calm, or that I feel in control.  Most of the time I feel like I’m hanging on by my teeth and fingernails.  So, I’m back to doing FlyLady.  Slowly.  With baby steps.  I’m being more proactive with my business.  I’m creating plans with the emphasis on what works to implement them.

I want to feel more healthy, alert, and energetic.  Which means quitting smoking, exercising, and eating well.  As a recovering addict, the smoking is difficult.  I’ve created a step-down plan I’m working.  I’m slowly started the Couch-to-5K program.  I’ve already run into problems with that – allergies, kid care, and Poe’s sleep schedule.  I’m not quitting, I’m fixing.  Slowly.  We have to live our life as well.  I’m considering joining Weight Watchers – but I haven’t decided yet if I can afford it.  I may just use Spark People and watch what I eat.  I do well with structure, though, so we’ll see.

I need to grow spiritually.  I’m working on that.  I’m not comfortable (yet?) sharing the specifics of that, but the point is growth.  I’m working on it.

Notice I didn’t mention money?  Well, now I am.  I fully intend that 2011 will be better financially.  I’m sick and tired and mad at focusing on survival.  I want more than that for me AND my family.  I want there to be emergency savings, retirement savings, college savings, and no debt.  I no longer want to be on pins and needles as to whether there will be food money week to week.  But – I’ve decided that focusing on it doesn’t work.  Hasn’t for 2 years.  Instead – I’m focusing on me.  Not in a selfish MEMEME way – but in the attempt to create out of myself a better, healthier, happier person.  I’m hopeful that the other things, like financial prosperity, will be a natural offshoot of that.

So, here’s to a wonderful, happy, healthy, prosperous, spiritual, exciting New Year, 2011 to all of you.

*note – I totally know an apostrophe goes in “it’s” – apparently my template has decided it’s a no-no in a blog title.

Remember my post on the new TSA Regulations? Sexual assault and privacy and all that?  Well, the ramifications of the policy are starting to come out.

The TSA ejected a passenger who refused a “groin check.” My favorite line?

“You touch my junk and I’m going to have you arrested,” Tyner can be heard telling the TSA agent as his cell phone camera captured the ordeal.

And someone from our very own blogging world has been effected.  I mean really.  Who doesn’t want their labia and breasts touched?  A line you should think about?

“It is acceptable and encouraged that a TSA government official can do something to an American citizen that US military personnel cannot do to a member of the Taliban.”

I again repeat myself – I don’t care.  I, as a rape survivor, don’t think I can fly now.  What if they choose me for an “enhanced” pat down?  What if they want me to go through that full body scan for all the world to see?  What if I have to fly due to a funeral and completely lose my shit?

When my brother committed suicide, my mom tasked me with bringing all her pictures of him in frames for the memorial.  Due to the frames, I couldn’t bring it on the plane with me.  They lost them.  They lost my mother’s only photos of my brother.  We were able to get them back in two days – literally we picked them up from the airport on the way to the funeral.  What happened in the airport when I found out they lost them?  Completely lost my shit – the big ugly snot cry, “You-u-u don’t understan-nd-nd…  I have to tell this to my mo-o-o-ther.”  Now, imagine the same scenario, which I already know is a possibility – since it happened – along with having been reminded physically of my rape.

Just take me to the psych ward, ’cause I’ll probably need to be medicated.

It’s common basic stranger danger mentality.  Don’t touch me, and I won’t touch you.  I can’t seem to articulate well enough how bad and wrong these new regulations are.

I have alluded to this in the past on the blog, but I’ve never come out and said it before.  Since it pertains to my reaction to the story I’ll share with you, I need to state it clearly.  I am a rape survivor.  I was raped twice, and (just) physically beat up once.  I survived.  While I’ve dealt with most of the crushing issues that come from surviving, I do still deal with certain ongoing ramifications.  Some examples… My husband is the only person on this earth who can come up to me from behind and touch me, and me not react negatively.  He’s the ONLY person I can show physical affection for and receive physical affection from easily.  In reality what does that mean?  I have to work exceptionally hard at showing physical affection to my children.  I have to fight very hard to never wince or cringe when they come up from behind me in the course of our daily life.  I have to fight very hard to not withdraw from them when they physically reach out to me.  I have to mentally prepare myself before friends see me, as they will expect (rightfully so) hugs.  Before we visit my best friend, I have to give myself a talking to that her husband will not hurt me, he loves me, he likes me, and he will touch and hug me.  His love for me is due to his accepting me in his life as part of his wife’s life.  He has no interest in me physically, and he loves his wife.  These are things I have to tell myself so I don’t elbow him through his nasal cartilage, while simultaneously trying to gouge his eyes out with my fingers.  Because he put his hand on my shoulder while handing me a  drink.  My children deserve my affection.  My friends deserve my affection.  Physical affection is healthy.  I know this and so I work very hard at it every single day.  And I think it’s working, because my children and friends come to me for affection, nurturing, and love.  I’m successful at fighting and scratching against myself to give them that.  I’m OK with doctors, I think due to the rubber gloves.  But many doctors will use their bare hands for breast exams (I think due to sensitivity issues) and I cry every time.  But I’m trying.  It’s a process.  A long one.  My assaults happened before I knew my husband, and I’ve been married for 12 years.

Warning to my conservative Christian friends, the link I’m about to give is to a Pagan news service.  Just want to warn you.  I found this story.  Go read it.

Now that you’ve read it, think about what it means.

Think about sending your children through the scanners.  Think about the enhanced pat down if you refuse.  If this becomes the norm, I’m truly unsure I’ll be able to fly.  After talking to my husband, who is incredibly protective of me, he said, “I think I would have to drop anyone who thought putting his hands on your tits is OK, other than your doctor.”  He understands what this would mean to me.  You could also say, “well, go through the scanner!”  One, there are radiation issues.  Kind of like a doctor.  Once every blue moon is fine, but beyond that, you need the lead drape.  What about the frequent travel fliers?  At one time I was flying twice a week for three months.  And I know many who travel even more.  Two, it’s an invasion of your privacy.  In front of everyone in the security line.  I thought the body scan would be like an Xray.  Very impersonal.  I saw the exemplar.  I could see his penis very clearly (and his love handles).

The whole thing scares me for oh, so many reasons.

At dinner tonight, we’re having another discussion with the kids about our privates, and who’s allowed to touch them, and for what reasons.

We are having a bit of an issue around here that is pretty much dominating  my thoughts at the moment.

First, this job of Poe’s said he would receive (sorely needed) health insurance after his probationary period of 90 days.  That would have meant November 1st.  Right?  Yeah, not so much.  They decided to wait on him until the open enrollment period, putting his effective date on January 1, 2011.

OK.  That puts a serious crimp in things, as the kids are due for their physicals and blood work needs to be done on Joseph.  But two more months won’t kill us.

We got the paperwork.  It tells us the amount to cover family PER WEEK (he’s being paid weekly.)  I think “They just mean that’s the monthly premium, removed each week.”  You know, the monthly premium divided by four.  WRONG.

Essentially, that IS the weekly amount.  Let me explain what that means.  By the time he’s done paying for health insurance, we would have approximately $400 per month to pay rent, utilities, groceries, gas, other insurance coverage, not to mention medical copays, random school things that come up, oh and clothes for winter for the kids since Logan’s pants apparently spontaneously combust.  Since gas alone costs about $240 a month or more – you do the math.  The whole thing alone won’t even cover rent.

I’m not making that much money in my business.  Growing I am – but not THAT much.

We’ve gone to everyone we can think of, but yes, that’s the monthly amount as insane as it is.  I still cannot believe it at all.

What this essentially means is I probably have to go back to work outside the home.  Either, I need to get a job with benefits, or just a job.  Then we’d have to find private insurance (which costs about 1/4 what they’re asking for) and then save up as much money as humanely possible, because Logan won’t be covered under private insurance since he has a preexisting (actually it’s CONGENITAL) condition and won’t be covered.  His heart surgery alone (the timing of which we just don’t know) will probably run a total of $500K – $1M dollars, when you take all insurance out of the equation.  That’s a rough estimate with inflation.  We just won’t know until that time.

I just feel so defeated right now.  We can’t pay for childcare, so we’ll be going back to the Poe sleeps when the kids are at school, while I’m at work, and pray they don’t need to be picked up early.  It certainly feels like we’ll never get a break.  I just don’t understand.  We’re decent people.  We work hard.  We’re good parents.  Why do the kicks keep coming?

Below the fold, you’ll find a video (if it hasn’t yet been pulled.)  First things first:  It is really bloody, really gory, disgusting, and should absolutely not be watched if children are in the room.  I’m really not kidding about that – it’s very disturbing.

This was a “funny” commercial in the UK.  People were so disturbed by it that it’s been pulled off the air – but alas – it lives on in the internet.  It’s about consequences for not reducing your carbon emissions – specifically the 10:10 project it’s advertising.  It was supposed to be humor.  I don’t see the humor.

And I’ll probably be freaked out forever by the words, “No pressure.”  This right here is why we say there’s an agenda.  This right here is an example of some of our deep down fears.  This right here is in your face.  If you have any inkling of advertising, marketing, and publicity, you know this was seen by many people before it was put on the air.  And they all thought it was OKAY. (more…)

My apologies to anyone who has a delicate constitution…  But this week has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

Let’s see, where to begin?

To give the week context, for this entire week I’ve been working with a new client.  I’ve been working with them for a while, but this week was the largest scale project I’ve done with them thus far.  I’ve got to get three men to two different cities on both coasts in the next two weeks.  Plus their 20 some odd meetings with Very Important People.  One man is in all of them, and it’s a crapshoot if the other two are in the meetings.  Which means I’m doing their travel arrangements, plus arranging the schedules of 23 individuals.  Can I do it?  Yes, I can.  It’s why I’m a damn great assistant.  However, it is time consuming and frustrating.  And today’s the last work day before the first trip – and I’ve been working on this all week.

ON TOP OF THAT, which I have to do GREAT so I don’t lose the client (remember my husband’s unemployed?) all of this happened this week alone.

My husband had major dental surgery.  For some genetic reasons, Poe had every single one of his teeth pulled.  At once.  And got dentures.  At the same time.  Of course I had to be there to drive him home, and then care for him after something so majorly traumatic.  And the surgery took triple the time they said it would, which means I was completely panicked.  He doesn’t respond well to anesthesia, and it was bloody and gory and full of really powerful medications.  Ultimately, the kids spent the night at my best friend’s so they wouldn’t have to witness it.  On a school night for one of them, which of course presents it’s own ramifications.  That was Monday.  It’s now Friday, and he’s doing much better, taking less of the medications, and seems to be healing well in his incisions.  His dentures still aren’t fitting quite right, so he goes back for another fitting today.  Which makes two in three days.  So he’s definitely not up to par as of yet, and eating is a significant challenge.  I continually ask him to say “sixty six” because I’m evil.  No not really, it’s because he needs to learn how to talk again.

Also this week?  A power outage.  Which means I had no router.  Which means I couldn’t access the internet.  Which means I couldn’t work during this big client project.  Luckily it only lasted a couple of hours.

And then?  My computer died.  Due to a Microsoft general update.  Luckily I was able to use a restore point to get it back.

And then? My iPhone started fritzing.  I fixed it (an app was apparently pissed off.)  Annoying, since that’s my connection to the outside work world when my computer doesn’t work (see above.)

Somewhere in here my oldest lost another tooth, and a visit from the tooth fairy was in order.  Thank goodness I didn’t screw that up too.

Also in there is a kid in his last full week of school with ants in his pants in the midst of a major allergy attack, plus a kid who’s out for summer vacation which makes working SO MUCH EASIER.  That was sarcasm.

And finally, yesterday…  My mom and dad came home from Las Vegas where they were taking my aunt to the doctor (or were until she canceled the appointment making the trip unnecessary but they were already there). And my mother came home, got her pertinent stuff with my and Poe’s help, and then she went back into the hospital.  God I’ve got a great husband.  This is the third time he’s carried her to the car for a trip to the hospital (my dad’s had back surgery.)  She’s bleeding again.  For no known reason, and they can’t find the source.  Again.  She’s still there.  They’re giving her a unit of blood as I write, and then she’ll be having another endoscopy.  Her 13th.  Because they’re sure they’ll find something this time.

And today, I can’t be at the hospital because I have to finish this client work.  Because I am responsible, and they’re counting on me, and so are my other clients.  And then Poe has another dentist appointment,  and I’ll have Joseph.  And then we have to go to an end of school picnic, because it’s important to Logan.  While I field random calls from my father about inconsequential things because my mom isn’t terribly coherent and he’s bored and scared all at the same time.

Provided nothing drastic happens in the meantime, we’re going camping a week from Tuesday, and then I have a girl’s weekend in Palm Springs with my best friend and some friends from high school.  I’m not sure when I’ve needed a vacation more.  And today?  I really really really need to not be asked for more of me.  I’m not sure how much I have left to give.  I’m on empty.

Today is another, new day. After a full night’s sleep, I’m not feeling as desperate. Things are still just as bad, but I’m not feeling as hopeless about it all.

My mother, last I heard, should be coming home today. Poe shall be having major dental surgery next week. Joseph finishes school this week. Logan is back at school with open house tomorrow. My clients’ work is getting accomplished. My to do list is just as long, but I’m not doing too well physically so I’m learning to say “that’s not getting done today.” I even said no to a volunteer thing for school.

While our life is still a shambles for the moment, I’m in a much better mental space.

It’s 5:15am.  I think I got to sleep around 3am.  My dad called us at 12:30am to help with my mother.  She doesn’t look good.  She’s in the hospital again.  I couldn’t sleep.

And now?  It has to be done.  Hopefully it will be cathartic.  BlogHer, my advertising network, sent me a rather gentle email basically saying I haven’t written in two weeks.  They have to do what they have to do as advertisers, and now I need to do whatever it is I need to do, because sometimes, everyone needs a break.  It was a very gentle reminder, but it did make me ask, “What’s keeping me from writing?”  Anger.  Resentment.  Rage.  Fear.  Disappointment.  Anxiety.  A nice little dash of desperation for flavor.  I’m pissed off at the world and just about everything in it.  So I’m just going to spew everything I’m upset with in list form.

Politics.  I’m pissed off.  But I’m not allowed to be pissed off without being labeled a right wing, secret militia, fringe right, obviously one of those Christian, racists.  With a gun, obviously.  Yes, I’m conservative.  Yes, I disagree with almost all the decisions our current president has made.  While I’m not a tea-party member per se, I do agree with many of the tenants they stand for.  Are some of them loony?  Absolutely.  There are some liberal loonies too, so I don’t quite understand why loonies on either side are any big deal.  It’s the law of averages.  I think it’s kind of sad when you fear voicing your opinion.  I’m pissed off that I don’t feel more brave.  On the other hand, I’ll make myself counted with my vote, so I’m not sure it matters.

Also?  I’m pissed at Logan.  Not at Logan himself, but the fact that his body decided to get a nasty cold.  Believe me it’s an inconvenient time, because someone needs to be here at home with him.  As an aside?  He was on some pretty heavy children’s cold medicine yesterday.  At lunch time, “Soup sick to make better feel?”  Then the knock-knock jokes started.  His getting high turns him into a comedic Yoda.

Joseph.  He’s done nothing but be Joseph.  He’s not doing badly.  But because he IS Joseph, and it’s the last week of school for him (BUT not Logan’s, because that would make things too EASY) I have to attend an IEP meeting today to plan the next school year.  At 9am.  On somewhere around 2 hours sleep.  While my unresponsive mother is in the hospital.  Alone, because Poe will be home with Logan.  Who’s sick.  Do you start to see the snowball?

Poe.  Why do I call him Poe?   I can’t remember.  Some privacy thing.  Now, Poe.  Poe is special.  12 years, I’ve loved this man.  And I’m about to spend my life retirement savings to fix his teeth.  Literally.  I just closed our 401Ks and IRAs.  I opened my first 401K with my first paycheck after high school.  Gone into his mouth.  Poof.  Of course he’s only getting 60%.  40% goes to taxes and penalties.  We now have gone through every single cent we ever had.  But he can’t interview without teeth.  And God knows, we’ve tried to fix them in the past to no avail.  He simply has bad teeth.

Unemployment SUCKS.  He’s unemployed.  Still.  And I was anticipating the unemployment check yesterday to deposit to buy groceries.  ‘Cause I am such a rebel.  But instead, it was another claim notice.  Because my freakin’ husband forgot to sign the effing form he just sent in.

And seriously, economy?  You suck.  Poe is a good man.  Poe is a smart man.  Poe is a hard working man who worked nights, went to school mornings, and took over the kids in the afternoons for two years to get a degree in the work he loved.  And now he can’t find a job.

My body.  We’ve been on a pretty stringent healthy diet, and working out pretty hard.  It’s been 3 weeks.  Pounds lost to date?  1.  1.  1!?

Period?  #suckit.

To recap:

Unemployed, still, going on 16 months.  Mother in middle of the night hospital run (still haven’t heard.)  Have to go to IEP on 2 hours sleep, alone.  Then Poe has a dental consult leaving me alone with sick kid, and clients!  We have no money.  Poe’s about to have dental surgery.  I’m pissed off at the world.  Oh, and I might be on my period.

Still here?

Finally, I’m mad at God.  Because seriously.  Last night, after my husband carried my mother to the car for my dad to drive her to the hospital…  Her joints frozen in place, unable to communicate, I got into bed.  I just asked point blank, “Where exactly did You want me to start?”  I’ve already asked what I’m supposed to be learning from all this.  I’ve already asked to be shown the lesson.  I haven’t found it yet.  Do i feel His presence?  No.  My brain says He’s walking with me, due to what I’ve read in scripture.  I don’t feel it.  Scripture says He hears our call.  I don’t feel it.  I don’t even feel like I’m being told to wait, or be patient, or wait on God’s timing.  Just…  Nothing.

We’re in this vast time of awfulness.  I read on another blog (which I don’t read regularly, and so in my addled state, I’m not going to go hunting for) that everyone has an annus horibus (which is Latin and I’m sure I totally butchered it since I’m not looking at her blog.)  Basically, every one has a year.  The one year everyone can look back, point to, and say That!  That was my no-good, horrible, very bad year.  We’re smack dab in the middle of ours, and I’m having trouble seeing anything but an oncoming train at the end of the tunnel.