One of my intentions upon initiating myself into the world of blogging was to attain some form of catharsis when all else fails and I need a release. Thus far I have avoided all topics that carry a great deal of weight because, well, this is the internet. I'm sure that if someone was really interested, they could trace this blog back to me. This is the reason I changed my picture. I don't need to be flaunting my face to the masses! What on earth was I thinking?
This brings me to the subject I intend to explore this evening. I'll try to stay within the realm of hypotheticals and metaphors, but I have very little optimism regarding my potential success.
I am in love with a man who has two children from a previous marriage. If there is one universal truth, it is that divorce makes people ugly (that's a metaphor for really mean and nasty). If you mix hurt feelings, broken promises, unfulfilled expectations, finances,splitting of property, kids, and opinions on child-rearing into a blender (again this is metaphor-nobody should throw kids into a blender) the liquid you're left with is more of a virulent sludge than a nectar (again with the metaphors-go me!).
It seems to me that The Good Guy's ex-wife, even after two and a half years of separation is still consuming sludge as a prominent staple in her diet. Now, I realize that I am not an impartial third party. I have a stake in all of this. I have this trait (good or bad-I'm not really sure) of being pitbull-esque when it comes to the people I love. When the people I love are being hurt or threatened, I get...well, into attack mode. Mind you, I'm not convinced this is an ideal stance, but it's who I am.
For instance: NOBODY tortured my little sister like I did. I was ruthless, it's amazing that as adults we speak to each other, because I was awful. My point is, the second anyone else messed with her I was ready for a school yard brawl. I would have gone all jets vs. sharks on their sorry asses. I'm sure this is common, but I never outgrew the us vs. them mentality.
Here's the irony: The Good Guy has been a wonderful mentor to me when it comes to attempting to see other points of view. He has the most amazing ability to be calm, rational, and patient in the face of unrelenting adversity by attempting to understand the other person's intentions, experiences, and emotions. I have no such ability, but I have certainly improved. I have watched him return one blow after another from his sludge slurping ex with a sincere smile and the offer of a handshake (again these are all metaphors). He has received spit in his eye on almost every attempt (this is a metaphor-sort of). Perhaps the most infuriating portion of all of this has been his unrelenting understanding and defending of this woman's actions. He refuses to speak of her in a derogatory manner, and makes it clear that in his presence he would like me to follow suit. He has attempted, throughout all of this, to take the high road. In doing so, he still has integrity, and not a soul can take that away from him.
I must add a sidebar here that he and I are in complete and total agreement to NEVER make disparaging comments about the children's mother in their presence. I had a mother who rode on the "your father is a worthless loser" bandwagon and I have no intention of hopping on board. Quite the contrary, we encourage friendly conversation about her, pictures of her in their room, and thoughtful gift giving on the appropriate occasions (and on others for that matter).
I must also add that my best friend (J) is going through a divorce, therefore I am simultaneously viewing the point of view of a mother and the father in this situation. Because of this, and due to The Good Guy's stance, I have thus far been somewhat successful in keeping a seething hatred for this woman at bay. However, she is now threatening to take away some of the already limited time he spends with his kids-in violation of their custody agreement. She claims that her lawyer has given the "it's legal, so go ahead" ok. When the custody battle was fought, he relented to less custody than he felt he was entitled because he was of the opinion that a long, drawn-out legal battle would help nobody (I'm having a difficult time with eloquent wording this evening). He gave his ex the benefit of the doubt and assumed that she would ultimately come around and realize that the kids will be best served by maximizing time with both parents.
He was wrong. It's been two-plus years. She's getting more self-rightous, and self-serving as time goes on. Mind you, she doesn't seem to see it this way, she's convinced that she is the only advocate for the kid's best interests.
I fear The Good Guy's patience has neared the end of it's rope.
Again, I realize I am biased, but I'm also a realist (ask anyone who knows me-It's true). Nonetheless, The Good Guy is one of the most loving and devoted fathers I have encountered in my entire life, and I have no doubt that many people who have less of a bias than I would share the same sentiment.
This is tearing him apart, and I have no idea what to do.
My hands are tied. They're not my kids. That seething hatred is bubbling to the surface, and is close to being unleashed into the world. This is one of those occasions when I wish my emotions had an on-off switch. I imagine that indifference would feel a great deal better than this constant feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I'm not using metaphors when I say this is all making me physically ill. I don't have any idea what to offer him, and I feel as though this is one of those times when he needs me most.
This situation sucks, and the solution is elusive. How's that for stating the obvious?
I'm finding myself incapable of wrapping this post up in a nice little bow (which is what I like to do). I could go on and on, but I'll end here, with a plea to the karma Gods that this situation end without hatred. Hatred is ugly, and I don't want to own it, but I feel it taking over all of us. No good can come of that.
Oh, and since I handle stress by using humor, I offer this challenge: See if you can count the number of metaphors in this post. Hint: I didn't point them all out!
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
A few of my favorite things
I wrote a really long, meaningful, and introspective post this morning, but my computer ate it. I transferred it to Word to check for spelling and grammatical errors and word shut down. I'm not computer savy enough to retrieve it, so I'll chalk it up to the powers-that-be sending me a message: "BAD POST". So, if this post has grammatical snafus, I apologize-I'm too scared to give Word a second chance
As I was putting clean sheets on my bed this afternoon, and continuing to procrastinate writing my thesis paper which is due NEXT WEEK!!! I had a pleasant thought. I'll do a happy blog and list some of the simple things that life has to offer which give me great joy. The order is completely random and the list is not all-inclusive:
1. Turning in a final paper or exam at the end of a semester. The metaphorical weight lifted from that experience is immeasurable.
2. Climbing into a bed at night which has clean, crisp sheets.
3. Eating home made chocolate chip cookies after they have cooled enough to not burn the roof of my mouth, but are still warm, and the chocolate gooey.
4. The sensation I get from completing a work of art which I am proud to have brought to fruition, whether it's a painting, a drawing, a baked good, a scrap book page, or reorganizing a room.
5. Being stuck indoors with the man that I love, and nowhere to go on a snowy day.
6. That cool breeze that is just enough to give relief from the heat on a hot summer day.
7. That little bell in my car which reminds me that my headlights are on, so I don't have to come back to a dead battery later and have a mental breakdown. I thank my car every time. Seriously, I say "Thank you" out. loud. every time.
8. Toddler laughter. That infectious from the gut, gleeful sound that only children can create.
9. Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate.
10. Getting in the last word when someone is being stupid. You know, that last word that gets bystanders going "Oooh, she told you!"
11. When I stop my car to let someone cross the street, and they are clearly grateful, as if I made their whole day.
12. Waking up in the morning with The Good Guy, and knowing that nothing is planned, and we have nowhere to be. We can make decisions as the day progresses to go or not go wherever we choose.
13. Singing at the top of my lungs in my car to a great song on the radio knowing that nobody can hear how awful I sound.
14. Going on a road trip and not making a single wrong turn.
15. The smell of lilacs, hyacinth, and lavender. And the color purple!
16. Good food. I love food. (I could so easily weight 300 pounds!)
17. Fireflies and the sound of crickets on a summer night.
18. Bonfires and smores. (Notice a trend here? Chocolate and food?)
19. Sitting around with family members, laughing and sharing cherished memories.
20. That feeling of getting a hug from someone I love when I really, really need it.
Now I have to go wait tables. Let's hope some of my other favorite things (good tippers) frequent the restaurant this evening.
As I was putting clean sheets on my bed this afternoon, and continuing to procrastinate writing my thesis paper which is due NEXT WEEK!!! I had a pleasant thought. I'll do a happy blog and list some of the simple things that life has to offer which give me great joy. The order is completely random and the list is not all-inclusive:
1. Turning in a final paper or exam at the end of a semester. The metaphorical weight lifted from that experience is immeasurable.
2. Climbing into a bed at night which has clean, crisp sheets.
3. Eating home made chocolate chip cookies after they have cooled enough to not burn the roof of my mouth, but are still warm, and the chocolate gooey.
4. The sensation I get from completing a work of art which I am proud to have brought to fruition, whether it's a painting, a drawing, a baked good, a scrap book page, or reorganizing a room.
5. Being stuck indoors with the man that I love, and nowhere to go on a snowy day.
6. That cool breeze that is just enough to give relief from the heat on a hot summer day.
7. That little bell in my car which reminds me that my headlights are on, so I don't have to come back to a dead battery later and have a mental breakdown. I thank my car every time. Seriously, I say "Thank you" out. loud. every time.
8. Toddler laughter. That infectious from the gut, gleeful sound that only children can create.
9. Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate.
10. Getting in the last word when someone is being stupid. You know, that last word that gets bystanders going "Oooh, she told you!"
11. When I stop my car to let someone cross the street, and they are clearly grateful, as if I made their whole day.
12. Waking up in the morning with The Good Guy, and knowing that nothing is planned, and we have nowhere to be. We can make decisions as the day progresses to go or not go wherever we choose.
13. Singing at the top of my lungs in my car to a great song on the radio knowing that nobody can hear how awful I sound.
14. Going on a road trip and not making a single wrong turn.
15. The smell of lilacs, hyacinth, and lavender. And the color purple!
16. Good food. I love food. (I could so easily weight 300 pounds!)
17. Fireflies and the sound of crickets on a summer night.
18. Bonfires and smores. (Notice a trend here? Chocolate and food?)
19. Sitting around with family members, laughing and sharing cherished memories.
20. That feeling of getting a hug from someone I love when I really, really need it.
Now I have to go wait tables. Let's hope some of my other favorite things (good tippers) frequent the restaurant this evening.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Der
I must begin this post with the claim that I am not an idiot. I may be a little air-headed on occassion, but I'm not an imbecile.
It was Friday night, it was close to closing time, and a three top came into the restaurant. I was busy with another table at the time, so the bartender sat them and took their order for me (he's always a huge help). The party consisted of two guys and a girl-they ordered soup and salads. Since the bartender had taken their order, the first contact I made with them was when I brought the soup to the table.
As I set the soup down, one of the gentlemen asked me, "You don't by any chance have any matzah do you?"
Now, before I tell you my response, I have to add that he had a straight face and that I am not well versed in Jewish culture. Also, it was the end of the night, I was tired and busy, and I knew it would be a while before I could go home. My brain was slightly fried.
So, I looked at him quizzically, because quite frankly I had no idea what he meant, and said (get ready this is good!), "Mozzarella?"
As soon as the word was out of my mouth I wanted to suck it back in. Der. MATZAH!
The gentleman just uttered "nevermind" and I joked, "oh, that, no we don't have any".
Needless to say there were no more jokes (he was indeed joking), as I walked away I heard some commiserating laughter and a "Whew!" As in, "BOY did that fly over her head!"
I really dislike looking like a fool. So, two lessons were learned:
Lesson 1: I need to become more informed about the rituals of cultures that are unlike my own.
I've researched the need for matzah at Passover, the not using leavening, and the historical reasons for this, so at the very least I've gained a little knowledge due to my embarassment. I firmly believe in learning from one's mistakes, and try to do so.
Lesson 2: Think before you speak, woman!
This is a concept I have been working on for as long as I have been able to speak. There have been numerous occassions over the course of my life where I have had to pry my foot out of my mouth. This event was just another friendly reminder to process information before succumbing to the need to open my big mouth.
It was Friday night, it was close to closing time, and a three top came into the restaurant. I was busy with another table at the time, so the bartender sat them and took their order for me (he's always a huge help). The party consisted of two guys and a girl-they ordered soup and salads. Since the bartender had taken their order, the first contact I made with them was when I brought the soup to the table.
As I set the soup down, one of the gentlemen asked me, "You don't by any chance have any matzah do you?"
Now, before I tell you my response, I have to add that he had a straight face and that I am not well versed in Jewish culture. Also, it was the end of the night, I was tired and busy, and I knew it would be a while before I could go home. My brain was slightly fried.
So, I looked at him quizzically, because quite frankly I had no idea what he meant, and said (get ready this is good!), "Mozzarella?"
As soon as the word was out of my mouth I wanted to suck it back in. Der. MATZAH!
The gentleman just uttered "nevermind" and I joked, "oh, that, no we don't have any".
Needless to say there were no more jokes (he was indeed joking), as I walked away I heard some commiserating laughter and a "Whew!" As in, "BOY did that fly over her head!"
I really dislike looking like a fool. So, two lessons were learned:
Lesson 1: I need to become more informed about the rituals of cultures that are unlike my own.
I've researched the need for matzah at Passover, the not using leavening, and the historical reasons for this, so at the very least I've gained a little knowledge due to my embarassment. I firmly believe in learning from one's mistakes, and try to do so.
Lesson 2: Think before you speak, woman!
This is a concept I have been working on for as long as I have been able to speak. There have been numerous occassions over the course of my life where I have had to pry my foot out of my mouth. This event was just another friendly reminder to process information before succumbing to the need to open my big mouth.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
This and That
It's been a while since I last posted. I've been busy, and have had a difficult time determining the best subject matter for my next post. I think I'll incorporate a couple of experiences into an "I'm really lucky to be me" theme.
My best friend in the world (in addition to my sister and The Good Guy) is J. J and I met when I moved one town over from the small town and house where I had resided for the first thirteen years of my life. Though my new home and school district were approximately 15 minutes away from the former, it was like a different universe. I hated everything about the experience, and it took me several years to forgive my mother for this horrendous disruption during my already tumultuos adolescent years.
Through a series of impermanent friendships and acquaintances J and I became friends. We have different personalities, but we balance each other out very well. It's hard to describe a friendship and connection that has grown over (Oh my GOODNESS) approximately 15 years. We have been through a whole lot together and apart.
J's mom died of breast cancer when we were 15. I had only met her once or twice and she was already pretty sick by that time. To this day I regret not having spent more time with her, I wish I could share memories of her with J, as J has finally reached a point where she seems comfortable talking about the subject; it was impossible for her for many years.
Before J's mom died, J made some self destructive adolescent choices. I remember feeling like I was beating my head against a wall while I tried to make her stop doing these things that were causing her harm. But at that point we were both too young to realize that she needed more help than I could offer. She had spent several years watching her mom slowly die, and it affected her profoundly. But...through it all we remained loyal friends, and one hand cared for the other as we offered each other a shoulder to cry on, or someone with whom we could share a fantastic laugh.
The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. With my mom being in the hospital, the semester drawing to a close, and my ambition being at an all time low I have been in one heck of an emotional slump. I haven't had a whole lot of time to spend with anyone, J included.
There's something to be said for women's intuition, and for close emotional connections. I came home the other day to a basket of mums, a bakery bag containing a fresh baked brownie and a sugar cookie, and a card from the best girlfriend one could ever imagine having, telling me that I've made it through worse, and that this too shall pass.
J has her own version of chaos happening right now. She's juggling two kids, an ex-husband, a job, and a pending acceptance or denial into a rigorous and somewhat prestigious college program. Yet, she found the time to brighten my day. She's simply a wonderful friend, and I've asked her on numerous occassions, "What on earth would I do without you?"
I am currently doing an internship/independent study in a local in-patient psychiatric facility. I assist in running an art therapy group for adolescents. The length of stay in this hospital is generally pretty short-a couple of days to a couple weeks. Therefore I don't frequently see the same kids every time I attend. However, there is one girl who has been in every session I have attended and she continues to blow me away. I'll call her Sara. Sara has anorexia, and makes it obvious in the art therapy group that she is working her proverbial butt off to get healthy. Her art creations have been numerous, and her introspection rivals that of any fully functioning healthy adult I've ever known. I won't go into details because these sessions are very personal and private, and I owe the kids a very high level of discretion. Some of these kids really take huge risks by sharing what they do, and Sara is at the front of the pack.
Sara reminds me of J. She has a really tough battle ahead of her, but she is clearly strong enough to come out on the other side healthy and thriving. I don't mean to diminish the hurdles and bumps that Sara and J have run into, and will continue to experience on their journeys-there will be many.
I just mean that they both embody admirable traits. They both inspire me. They've both made me maintain my focus on what is important in life. I'm a lucky lady.
My best friend in the world (in addition to my sister and The Good Guy) is J. J and I met when I moved one town over from the small town and house where I had resided for the first thirteen years of my life. Though my new home and school district were approximately 15 minutes away from the former, it was like a different universe. I hated everything about the experience, and it took me several years to forgive my mother for this horrendous disruption during my already tumultuos adolescent years.
Through a series of impermanent friendships and acquaintances J and I became friends. We have different personalities, but we balance each other out very well. It's hard to describe a friendship and connection that has grown over (Oh my GOODNESS) approximately 15 years. We have been through a whole lot together and apart.
J's mom died of breast cancer when we were 15. I had only met her once or twice and she was already pretty sick by that time. To this day I regret not having spent more time with her, I wish I could share memories of her with J, as J has finally reached a point where she seems comfortable talking about the subject; it was impossible for her for many years.
Before J's mom died, J made some self destructive adolescent choices. I remember feeling like I was beating my head against a wall while I tried to make her stop doing these things that were causing her harm. But at that point we were both too young to realize that she needed more help than I could offer. She had spent several years watching her mom slowly die, and it affected her profoundly. But...through it all we remained loyal friends, and one hand cared for the other as we offered each other a shoulder to cry on, or someone with whom we could share a fantastic laugh.
The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. With my mom being in the hospital, the semester drawing to a close, and my ambition being at an all time low I have been in one heck of an emotional slump. I haven't had a whole lot of time to spend with anyone, J included.
There's something to be said for women's intuition, and for close emotional connections. I came home the other day to a basket of mums, a bakery bag containing a fresh baked brownie and a sugar cookie, and a card from the best girlfriend one could ever imagine having, telling me that I've made it through worse, and that this too shall pass.
J has her own version of chaos happening right now. She's juggling two kids, an ex-husband, a job, and a pending acceptance or denial into a rigorous and somewhat prestigious college program. Yet, she found the time to brighten my day. She's simply a wonderful friend, and I've asked her on numerous occassions, "What on earth would I do without you?"
I am currently doing an internship/independent study in a local in-patient psychiatric facility. I assist in running an art therapy group for adolescents. The length of stay in this hospital is generally pretty short-a couple of days to a couple weeks. Therefore I don't frequently see the same kids every time I attend. However, there is one girl who has been in every session I have attended and she continues to blow me away. I'll call her Sara. Sara has anorexia, and makes it obvious in the art therapy group that she is working her proverbial butt off to get healthy. Her art creations have been numerous, and her introspection rivals that of any fully functioning healthy adult I've ever known. I won't go into details because these sessions are very personal and private, and I owe the kids a very high level of discretion. Some of these kids really take huge risks by sharing what they do, and Sara is at the front of the pack.
Sara reminds me of J. She has a really tough battle ahead of her, but she is clearly strong enough to come out on the other side healthy and thriving. I don't mean to diminish the hurdles and bumps that Sara and J have run into, and will continue to experience on their journeys-there will be many.
I just mean that they both embody admirable traits. They both inspire me. They've both made me maintain my focus on what is important in life. I'm a lucky lady.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Oh how sweet he is.
How sweet is my boyfriend? How many men do you know who would do this?
I have had some kind of wierd dry skin thing happening on my legs for months now. It itches like hell, and I haven't had enough self control to keep myself from scratching to the point of bleeding. I know it's bad and all but I can't stop! It's awful. The Good Guy makes a point of telling me to stop scratching when he notices. This has been helpful because at the very least he shames me into ceasing and desisting the self mutilation.
Today he had to go to the mall for something. While he was there he went to Bath and Body Works and asked the lady there what she had that would help my "condition". He came home with some exfoliating cream and a moisturizer. He said that the sales lady now knows all about my affliction, but if it doesn't work we should go back and she'd give us a refund or we can try something else.
Just to recap: with no prompting from myself, and without my requesting him to do so, The Good Guy went into a chicky girly store full of creams and scents and sing song sales girls in gingham to find a solution to my discomfort.
See why I call him The Good Guy? He's a keeper.
I have had some kind of wierd dry skin thing happening on my legs for months now. It itches like hell, and I haven't had enough self control to keep myself from scratching to the point of bleeding. I know it's bad and all but I can't stop! It's awful. The Good Guy makes a point of telling me to stop scratching when he notices. This has been helpful because at the very least he shames me into ceasing and desisting the self mutilation.
Today he had to go to the mall for something. While he was there he went to Bath and Body Works and asked the lady there what she had that would help my "condition". He came home with some exfoliating cream and a moisturizer. He said that the sales lady now knows all about my affliction, but if it doesn't work we should go back and she'd give us a refund or we can try something else.
Just to recap: with no prompting from myself, and without my requesting him to do so, The Good Guy went into a chicky girly store full of creams and scents and sing song sales girls in gingham to find a solution to my discomfort.
See why I call him The Good Guy? He's a keeper.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Random Thoughts
I am drunk and I deserve to be.
My mom had emergency surgery on Wednesday night. The result-a colostomy bag. It's temporary, but none the less, it's been one of her worst fears, as stomach problems run in the family.
I now have a need to learn the proper spelling of words like paratonitis.
I feel like a walking bundle of raw nerves.
I saw a sign outside of a pizza joint in a small town last week that boasted "We now have mini tacos" and I wondered how many additional people had come in because of the sign.
Chocolate is my best friend and worst enemy.
My sister is nothing like me, but I don't know what I'd do without her.
I may be on the verge of a mental breakdown.
I read a blog today about brownies making someone's kid's dreams come true. I need a brownie.
I think my spelling is amazing considering the amount of tequila I have imbibed this evening. (is that how you spell tequila?)
Thank goodness for Merriam-Webster.com
I am looking forward to summer. Sunshine (I imagine) will do me a world of good.
I have begun to wonder if I am bipolar. Wouldn't that be funny?
Amanda Rose is a blog I happened upon the other day. She blogged during a night when she had a terrible mood. I left a comment that things are almost always better in the morning. I wish it was morning.
I'd leave a link to her blog if I had any idea how-if you want to know, check the comments on my last post.
I'm not a negative person, I'm just in a serious funk.
My mom is in a hospital bed with a bag connected to her stomach, collecting her poo and I'm feeling sorry for myself.
I need a brownie.
I'm going to bed-I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning. Here's hoping I wake up refreshed and much more positive. Good night all.
My mom had emergency surgery on Wednesday night. The result-a colostomy bag. It's temporary, but none the less, it's been one of her worst fears, as stomach problems run in the family.
I now have a need to learn the proper spelling of words like paratonitis.
I feel like a walking bundle of raw nerves.
I saw a sign outside of a pizza joint in a small town last week that boasted "We now have mini tacos" and I wondered how many additional people had come in because of the sign.
Chocolate is my best friend and worst enemy.
My sister is nothing like me, but I don't know what I'd do without her.
I may be on the verge of a mental breakdown.
I read a blog today about brownies making someone's kid's dreams come true. I need a brownie.
I think my spelling is amazing considering the amount of tequila I have imbibed this evening. (is that how you spell tequila?)
Thank goodness for Merriam-Webster.com
I am looking forward to summer. Sunshine (I imagine) will do me a world of good.
I have begun to wonder if I am bipolar. Wouldn't that be funny?
Amanda Rose is a blog I happened upon the other day. She blogged during a night when she had a terrible mood. I left a comment that things are almost always better in the morning. I wish it was morning.
I'd leave a link to her blog if I had any idea how-if you want to know, check the comments on my last post.
I'm not a negative person, I'm just in a serious funk.
My mom is in a hospital bed with a bag connected to her stomach, collecting her poo and I'm feeling sorry for myself.
I need a brownie.
I'm going to bed-I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning. Here's hoping I wake up refreshed and much more positive. Good night all.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Sometimes all it takes is something small.
I mentioned in my last post that I'm a child care worker. I have a part-time job supervising (I refer to it as babysitting) adolescent boys in a group home setting who have been placed there by the court because they've broken the law or because they need to be removed from their home due to a lack of supervision or parental control. Currently I'm relief staff so I just fill in small gaps in the schedule where the full-timers are unavailable. This also means that the kids know I'm not entirely up to date on all of the current rules and attempt to take advantage of my lack of knowledge at every turn. I have to be on my toes, they're a manipulative bunch.
I've had this job for about three months and I've worked on average one shift a week. The pay is AWFUL. I chose the job not for the pay, but for the experience. The experience has been less than rewarding the majority of the time. I have a difficult time discerning what I should offer these kids. Since my ultimate goal is to go into therapy, my instinct is to seek out the reasons for their moods, try to offer them alternatives to bad choices, and attempt to reason with them respectfully. However my job, really, is to make sure they follow rules. Basically, as I mentioned before, I'm a babysitter. It's not very rewarding. I want to offer them more than my position permits but I'm not there enough to give them more than guidelines. If I'm too nice they walk all over me, if I'm too strict, they dismiss me as cold and uncaring. I still try to walk a fine line between nurturer and enforcer as I think they really need both.
The other night I felt like I made a miniscule impression, but it felt great. One of the kids asked me to help him with his vocabulary. I helped him once before, and he got a 100%. He was thrilled, so he asked for my help again. I must add here that I helped, I did not do the work for him. He's behind his grade level in reading comprehension (among other things) so the sentences he has to complete are somehwhat over his head. I go about helping him by translating the sentences for him. He then scours the list looking for the best word to fill in the blank. I found that if we do it this way, he seems to retain the definitions rather well. While we were muddling through he complained that he was never going to use these words. He felt that this was a huge waste of his time as he is never going to travel in circles with people who use words like zealous and pandemonium. I told him that at the very least he could use these words with someone who looked down upon him in his future. I set up a scenario wherein he goes back to his neighborhood and uses one of these vocab words in the presence of this person. He could then quiz the hypothetical jerk as to whether or not they know what the word means. When they don't he can say something like, "At least I'm educated, why don't you go back to the ghetto?"
I realize this may not have been the best textbook approach, but I tried to offer him something that would be motivating to him personally.
It worked.
He got this big grin on his face and said "Yeah, that's a good point, now that you put it that way". I couldn't believe how his eyes lit up. I stirred something in him with that simple hypothetical that didn't involve anything more than wit. He completed the homework without complaint and with new zeal. I was amazed. It felt like something out of the movie "Dangerous Minds" or "Lean on Me". They don't teach you things like that in therapy class. They say things like, "meet the client where they're at" (called the Iso principle). Aside from the terrible grammar, this saying has always been a mystery to me. But that day I think I got it. I could have gone on and on about his potential, about all of the things he can accomplish if he sets his mind to it, but he would have scoffed. He's a 17 year old kid whose girlfriend is 13, his mom is a drug addict with a revolving door of boyfriends, and his older brother was in placement before him. By the age of 9 he had dealt drugs with his mom's boyfriend and stolen cars. He lives in reality and knows he's not going to Harvard, he'll most likely be in placement until he ages out. He plans to be a mechanic. He loves cars. He has a plan to make an honest living staying out of trouble. I think that's amazing in and of itself.
I don't mean to act as though he doesn't have potential, but I believe in being realistic. There is nothing wrong with having a desire to be an auto mechanic, and if I can motivate him within the realm of where he wants his life to go (as long as it involves good choices), that's what I'll do.
Right or wrong, I'm proud of what I offered him. I've never seen his eyes light up like that. I've never seen him that interested in his school work. I left that night with a little more of a skip in my step.
It may be self serving, but helping him really helped me. It gave me a reason to keep trying to walk that line between confidant and disciplinarian. I think we both had a new glint in our eyes that night.
I've had this job for about three months and I've worked on average one shift a week. The pay is AWFUL. I chose the job not for the pay, but for the experience. The experience has been less than rewarding the majority of the time. I have a difficult time discerning what I should offer these kids. Since my ultimate goal is to go into therapy, my instinct is to seek out the reasons for their moods, try to offer them alternatives to bad choices, and attempt to reason with them respectfully. However my job, really, is to make sure they follow rules. Basically, as I mentioned before, I'm a babysitter. It's not very rewarding. I want to offer them more than my position permits but I'm not there enough to give them more than guidelines. If I'm too nice they walk all over me, if I'm too strict, they dismiss me as cold and uncaring. I still try to walk a fine line between nurturer and enforcer as I think they really need both.
The other night I felt like I made a miniscule impression, but it felt great. One of the kids asked me to help him with his vocabulary. I helped him once before, and he got a 100%. He was thrilled, so he asked for my help again. I must add here that I helped, I did not do the work for him. He's behind his grade level in reading comprehension (among other things) so the sentences he has to complete are somehwhat over his head. I go about helping him by translating the sentences for him. He then scours the list looking for the best word to fill in the blank. I found that if we do it this way, he seems to retain the definitions rather well. While we were muddling through he complained that he was never going to use these words. He felt that this was a huge waste of his time as he is never going to travel in circles with people who use words like zealous and pandemonium. I told him that at the very least he could use these words with someone who looked down upon him in his future. I set up a scenario wherein he goes back to his neighborhood and uses one of these vocab words in the presence of this person. He could then quiz the hypothetical jerk as to whether or not they know what the word means. When they don't he can say something like, "At least I'm educated, why don't you go back to the ghetto?"
I realize this may not have been the best textbook approach, but I tried to offer him something that would be motivating to him personally.
It worked.
He got this big grin on his face and said "Yeah, that's a good point, now that you put it that way". I couldn't believe how his eyes lit up. I stirred something in him with that simple hypothetical that didn't involve anything more than wit. He completed the homework without complaint and with new zeal. I was amazed. It felt like something out of the movie "Dangerous Minds" or "Lean on Me". They don't teach you things like that in therapy class. They say things like, "meet the client where they're at" (called the Iso principle). Aside from the terrible grammar, this saying has always been a mystery to me. But that day I think I got it. I could have gone on and on about his potential, about all of the things he can accomplish if he sets his mind to it, but he would have scoffed. He's a 17 year old kid whose girlfriend is 13, his mom is a drug addict with a revolving door of boyfriends, and his older brother was in placement before him. By the age of 9 he had dealt drugs with his mom's boyfriend and stolen cars. He lives in reality and knows he's not going to Harvard, he'll most likely be in placement until he ages out. He plans to be a mechanic. He loves cars. He has a plan to make an honest living staying out of trouble. I think that's amazing in and of itself.
I don't mean to act as though he doesn't have potential, but I believe in being realistic. There is nothing wrong with having a desire to be an auto mechanic, and if I can motivate him within the realm of where he wants his life to go (as long as it involves good choices), that's what I'll do.
Right or wrong, I'm proud of what I offered him. I've never seen his eyes light up like that. I've never seen him that interested in his school work. I left that night with a little more of a skip in my step.
It may be self serving, but helping him really helped me. It gave me a reason to keep trying to walk that line between confidant and disciplinarian. I think we both had a new glint in our eyes that night.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
My Many Colored Hats
I wear a lot of hats. I don't mean this literally as I only own one hat that I think is the least bit flattering (a gift from The Good Guy who has more fashion sense than I). What I mean is I have an enormous amount on my plate at the moment. I feel like I play several different roles, and I'm beginning to question my ability in all of them.
The following is a list of my hats. The list is not all-inclusive as I can't possibly name all of the metophorical hats I wear. These are simply the most prominant at this point in time, and in random order, certainly not by level of importance:
Hat 1: Full Time Student.
It sounds simple enough. Go to class, study, do homework, get a degree, make money. Right? Sure. Except, going to school as an adult who needs to take care of everyday monetary obligations is more complicated than it sounds. First of all there's the two hour commute 4 days a week. That's 8 hours a week in the car while time is a precious commodity. Not to mention, have you SEEN the prices of gas? Then there's the fact that I have much less time to work, so not only do I have normal every day bills, but I also have tuition, and rapidly mounting charge card debt because the money coming in is less than the money going out. Then there's the fact that I am a perfectionist and have a mental breakdown if I get anything below an A. I start hyperventilating if I believe my 4.0 is in jeapordy. Yes, I have a 4.0, so how can I possibly believe that I'm not good in this role? I'm scared, what if it's all book smarts? What if I get out into the field and find out that I just spent the last two years, and $30,000 to find out that I make a lousy therapist but a great student? I have a semester and a half to go and I'm burned out. For instance, right now I should be doing homework not staying up past 11:00 to vent into cyberspace.
Hat 2: Waitress
I waited tables for a summer to put myself through college the first time around (longer ago than I care to admit). I hated it. I wanted to quit by the end of every shift until I counted my money and realized that I would bring home as much money in one evening as I brought home working a 30 hour week in the grocery store where I had been employed for 5 years. I vowed after that summer that I would not wait tables again. The stress was too much, and quite frankly, I wasn't all that good. Well, when I broke my marriage vows and pursued a divorce I guess I was on a role. I broke the waiting tables vow, and here I am-a freakin' waitress once again. While my waitressing ability has improved I'm far from "super server girl". I have good nights and bad. For instance; I waited on a couple and their two kids last Friday night. The little girl was 10 and the boy was about 6. The little boy was a talker and I didn't have a lot of tables so I spent quite a bit of time conversing with the kid. As they left, the mom approached me and said it had been the best experience they had ever had in a restaurant, and that I was an excellent waitress. I was flattered. Tonight was an entirely different story. I was overwhelmed with 3 tables. No good waitress is overwhelmed with 3 tables for crying out loud! I had the Jewish 3 top-father, mother, and son. I approached the table, said "good evening folks", and was greeted with "CAN WE ORDER NOW?" before I completed the word "folks". They hadn't waited long, and they saw me delivering food to the table next to them, so it was rather obvious that I wasn't sitting around picking my nose. I knew at that moment I was looking at 10%-max, and I was right. Then there was the party of six. Five men and one woman-it was her birthday. The list of faux pas commited at this table was extensive. I forgot several drinks, forgot to serve a side dish with one of the meals and had to be reminded, spilled water, and forgot to bring bread. Horrific service. I'm better than that, but for some reason my head simply was not on straight. I was lucky. The table was comprised of at least 4 people who had waited tables before, and had stories of bad nights to share. It was a table of kindred spirits who tipped me 20% though it was not deserved. It was pity, but at this point in my life I need it so bring on the sympathy tips.
Hat 3, and perhaps the most complcated as well as stressful: Pseudo-Parent
The Good Guy and I are not married, therefore his kids aren't my step-kids. There is no fancy title for my role, and frankly, I tire of referring to them as "my boyfriend's kids". So, for the purpose of labeling this hat I went with pseudo-parent because though I don't have an official title, I am very much involved in their lives. I go to their school functions whenever my schedule permits it, and they truly seem to appreciate this. I'm half of the parenting team when we have custody and they understand that I have as much authority as their father. I make rules, and I enforce rules. I offer guidance and nurturing as well as punishment. However, parenting someone else's kids is no easy task. I think I'll devote an entire blog to this situation, as it warrants a lot of time and explanation. Let it be said, right now, that this is the heaviest and most beautiful hat I currently sport. Sometimes the weight is unbearable, but I don't know what I'd do without it.
Hat 4: Live-in Girlfriend
Student, waitress, pseudo-parent, childcare worker (I'll discuss this another time) and the grand finale for this blog is The Good Guy. This wonderful man endures the wrath that comes with the stress of my many hats. He is my sounding board, my confidant, my chef, my financial assistant, my masseuse, my shoulder to cry-on, and a great deal more. Currently I don't offer him as much as he offers me. I am a basket case. I am prone to unforeseen angry outbursts, fits of tears, and inability to make a decision. He takes it all in stride. Don't get me wrong, he's not perfect, but he puts up with a lot. He is supportive of my decision to go back to school, and doesn't hold a grudge when I blame him for a bad mood which usually has nothing to do with him. He puts up with much more than I could. I realize that I haven't always been this way, and that it won't last forever, but living with me right now can't be easy-he's amazing.
I had somewhat of a panic attack the other night. I gave The Good Guy a teary earful about my being horrible at parenting his kids and not being cut out for this role. However, that was just the hat that I happened to be wearing that evening. Had I been wearing my waitress hat, my breakdown would have involved my horrific waitressing skills, and the fact that I don't have any choice right now but to stick it out-we really need the money. Looking back it was a ludicrous freakout. I was (still am) exhausted. I've been living at this pace for almost 2 years and it's catching up to me. I'm tired of being broke and tired and feeling guilty because I'm not pulling my weight, and I'm scared to death that this gamble I'm taking with school won't pay off. What if I don't get a job? Then what? Back to waiting tables, or bagging groceries, or selling furniture, but with enormous loans to pay off? I'm scared that none of this will pan out, and that I've screwed us by sinking us into a financial abyss.
But...I still have good days; days when he makes me giggle, days when I can't stop smiling, days when the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight and my confidence is high. On these days I know that I'll be fine. Since these days still endure, I know I'm doing okay.
The following is a list of my hats. The list is not all-inclusive as I can't possibly name all of the metophorical hats I wear. These are simply the most prominant at this point in time, and in random order, certainly not by level of importance:
Hat 1: Full Time Student.
It sounds simple enough. Go to class, study, do homework, get a degree, make money. Right? Sure. Except, going to school as an adult who needs to take care of everyday monetary obligations is more complicated than it sounds. First of all there's the two hour commute 4 days a week. That's 8 hours a week in the car while time is a precious commodity. Not to mention, have you SEEN the prices of gas? Then there's the fact that I have much less time to work, so not only do I have normal every day bills, but I also have tuition, and rapidly mounting charge card debt because the money coming in is less than the money going out. Then there's the fact that I am a perfectionist and have a mental breakdown if I get anything below an A. I start hyperventilating if I believe my 4.0 is in jeapordy. Yes, I have a 4.0, so how can I possibly believe that I'm not good in this role? I'm scared, what if it's all book smarts? What if I get out into the field and find out that I just spent the last two years, and $30,000 to find out that I make a lousy therapist but a great student? I have a semester and a half to go and I'm burned out. For instance, right now I should be doing homework not staying up past 11:00 to vent into cyberspace.
Hat 2: Waitress
I waited tables for a summer to put myself through college the first time around (longer ago than I care to admit). I hated it. I wanted to quit by the end of every shift until I counted my money and realized that I would bring home as much money in one evening as I brought home working a 30 hour week in the grocery store where I had been employed for 5 years. I vowed after that summer that I would not wait tables again. The stress was too much, and quite frankly, I wasn't all that good. Well, when I broke my marriage vows and pursued a divorce I guess I was on a role. I broke the waiting tables vow, and here I am-a freakin' waitress once again. While my waitressing ability has improved I'm far from "super server girl". I have good nights and bad. For instance; I waited on a couple and their two kids last Friday night. The little girl was 10 and the boy was about 6. The little boy was a talker and I didn't have a lot of tables so I spent quite a bit of time conversing with the kid. As they left, the mom approached me and said it had been the best experience they had ever had in a restaurant, and that I was an excellent waitress. I was flattered. Tonight was an entirely different story. I was overwhelmed with 3 tables. No good waitress is overwhelmed with 3 tables for crying out loud! I had the Jewish 3 top-father, mother, and son. I approached the table, said "good evening folks", and was greeted with "CAN WE ORDER NOW?" before I completed the word "folks". They hadn't waited long, and they saw me delivering food to the table next to them, so it was rather obvious that I wasn't sitting around picking my nose. I knew at that moment I was looking at 10%-max, and I was right. Then there was the party of six. Five men and one woman-it was her birthday. The list of faux pas commited at this table was extensive. I forgot several drinks, forgot to serve a side dish with one of the meals and had to be reminded, spilled water, and forgot to bring bread. Horrific service. I'm better than that, but for some reason my head simply was not on straight. I was lucky. The table was comprised of at least 4 people who had waited tables before, and had stories of bad nights to share. It was a table of kindred spirits who tipped me 20% though it was not deserved. It was pity, but at this point in my life I need it so bring on the sympathy tips.
Hat 3, and perhaps the most complcated as well as stressful: Pseudo-Parent
The Good Guy and I are not married, therefore his kids aren't my step-kids. There is no fancy title for my role, and frankly, I tire of referring to them as "my boyfriend's kids". So, for the purpose of labeling this hat I went with pseudo-parent because though I don't have an official title, I am very much involved in their lives. I go to their school functions whenever my schedule permits it, and they truly seem to appreciate this. I'm half of the parenting team when we have custody and they understand that I have as much authority as their father. I make rules, and I enforce rules. I offer guidance and nurturing as well as punishment. However, parenting someone else's kids is no easy task. I think I'll devote an entire blog to this situation, as it warrants a lot of time and explanation. Let it be said, right now, that this is the heaviest and most beautiful hat I currently sport. Sometimes the weight is unbearable, but I don't know what I'd do without it.
Hat 4: Live-in Girlfriend
Student, waitress, pseudo-parent, childcare worker (I'll discuss this another time) and the grand finale for this blog is The Good Guy. This wonderful man endures the wrath that comes with the stress of my many hats. He is my sounding board, my confidant, my chef, my financial assistant, my masseuse, my shoulder to cry-on, and a great deal more. Currently I don't offer him as much as he offers me. I am a basket case. I am prone to unforeseen angry outbursts, fits of tears, and inability to make a decision. He takes it all in stride. Don't get me wrong, he's not perfect, but he puts up with a lot. He is supportive of my decision to go back to school, and doesn't hold a grudge when I blame him for a bad mood which usually has nothing to do with him. He puts up with much more than I could. I realize that I haven't always been this way, and that it won't last forever, but living with me right now can't be easy-he's amazing.
I had somewhat of a panic attack the other night. I gave The Good Guy a teary earful about my being horrible at parenting his kids and not being cut out for this role. However, that was just the hat that I happened to be wearing that evening. Had I been wearing my waitress hat, my breakdown would have involved my horrific waitressing skills, and the fact that I don't have any choice right now but to stick it out-we really need the money. Looking back it was a ludicrous freakout. I was (still am) exhausted. I've been living at this pace for almost 2 years and it's catching up to me. I'm tired of being broke and tired and feeling guilty because I'm not pulling my weight, and I'm scared to death that this gamble I'm taking with school won't pay off. What if I don't get a job? Then what? Back to waiting tables, or bagging groceries, or selling furniture, but with enormous loans to pay off? I'm scared that none of this will pan out, and that I've screwed us by sinking us into a financial abyss.
But...I still have good days; days when he makes me giggle, days when I can't stop smiling, days when the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight and my confidence is high. On these days I know that I'll be fine. Since these days still endure, I know I'm doing okay.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Here goes...
I've never been what most people would consider hip (do people still use that word?) or trendy. I'm generally a little behind the times whether it's in fashion, television, or music. I'm in my late twenties, so it's not like I'm ancient or anything, just slow on the up-take. I like things to stay the way they've always been (which could be translated into what has to date been comfortable and familiar). However, after a new concept has been introduced, and proved interesting, attractive, or appealing I'll give it a go. Sometimes I have no choice. When flair jeans reared their ugly head I was miserable. I could no longer find my straight leg preference, and I didn't have the figure for anything low cut. I had visions of looking like some pathetic hippie wanna-be with a gut hanging over her hip huggers and a rear-end about to bust out through denim pockets. So, when all of my straight leg jeans became unfit to wear in public, I no longer had a choice. Flair and boot-cut jeans had taken over, and there were no straight legs to be found. So, I set out to make my first boot-cut jeans purchase. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the changing room mirror and saw a skinny girl staring back! WHO KNEW? Why had nobody told me the magic these jeans had to offer? I was hooked. Though it was forced upon me, I became slightly more fashionable and trendy that day.
So, here I go with the blogging thing.
I must admit that until recently I found the concept of blogging, well, simply put-narcissistic. Why on earth would someone post a journal online for all the world to read? It seems that by putting your own story online you're assuming that others will have a desire to read it-kinda vain, don't-cha think? Well, here goes my version of narcissism and vanity.
My live in boyfriend, hence forth to be called "the good guy" started blogging a couple months ago. His immersion into the world of blogging has me hooked. He's bookmarked several blogs and I read them religiously. It may be a sickness, but I can't believe how much I enjoy reading about the happenings in the lives of complete strangers! I am amused, entertained, enlightened, impressed, and moved by many of the things I've read. First and foremost I'm amazed at the writing ability these regular Joes and Josephines embody. I don't imagine I'll fall into the impressive writing ability category, but I'm expecting some catharsis here. Journaling has never worked for me, but during the brief periods that I was successful in spewing my thoughts onto paper, I felt better. Who knows, maybe I'll get a few stray comments that will encourage further writing, which will in turn provide catharsis. Catharsis is always good. Everyone needs a good vent or rant now and again, and I think the good guy's ears could use a break once in a while.
I have no idea how frequently I'll post. My plan ends here. If you happen upon this post, wish me luck, I think this could be fun.
So, here I go with the blogging thing.
I must admit that until recently I found the concept of blogging, well, simply put-narcissistic. Why on earth would someone post a journal online for all the world to read? It seems that by putting your own story online you're assuming that others will have a desire to read it-kinda vain, don't-cha think? Well, here goes my version of narcissism and vanity.
My live in boyfriend, hence forth to be called "the good guy" started blogging a couple months ago. His immersion into the world of blogging has me hooked. He's bookmarked several blogs and I read them religiously. It may be a sickness, but I can't believe how much I enjoy reading about the happenings in the lives of complete strangers! I am amused, entertained, enlightened, impressed, and moved by many of the things I've read. First and foremost I'm amazed at the writing ability these regular Joes and Josephines embody. I don't imagine I'll fall into the impressive writing ability category, but I'm expecting some catharsis here. Journaling has never worked for me, but during the brief periods that I was successful in spewing my thoughts onto paper, I felt better. Who knows, maybe I'll get a few stray comments that will encourage further writing, which will in turn provide catharsis. Catharsis is always good. Everyone needs a good vent or rant now and again, and I think the good guy's ears could use a break once in a while.
I have no idea how frequently I'll post. My plan ends here. If you happen upon this post, wish me luck, I think this could be fun.
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