Posts filed under 'Schmoopy'
I think it’s safe to say I’m a true California citizen now, because this morning at 11:42 I experienced my very first earthquake.
I was sitting on the floor cleaning up various paperwork I’d been sorting, and DS was on the futon behind me playing his Nintendo DS. I started to stand up and place a stack of papers on the bookshelf, and I heard this loud rumble, like a big truck was passing by or a helicopter was flying too low. Then it felt like someone violently shoved me from behind and I nearly fell. Before I could ask DS what the heck was wrong with him; why would he push me, the floor turned to Jello and the rumbling kicked into high gear.
DS’ response? “WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! This is FUN Mommy!!”
My response? A bit of panic that it would get worse, and a lunge to grab DS, then our TV and Wii before they toppled over.
The shaking was pretty violent as far as all of our stuff was concerned. The floor movement, though, is what really freaked me out. It just felt like everything was rolling. And then, maybe 8-10 seconds after it started, it stopped. I was dialing DH before the last rumble was finished. When I heard his voice I immediately started to cry. He was on the bus at the time and he said it was a very strange sensation, because the bus started swaying back and forth and the driver thought she was losing control. When the noise started in full, they finally realized what it was.
Initially, it was said to be a 5.6, but was downgraded to a 5.4. There have been 34 aftershocks as I type this, but we only felt one here, and it registered a 3.6.
The best part? And let me warn you, I couldn’t make this up if I tried. All of our pictures on the wall are crazy crooked now, except for one. The portrait of Jesus.
July 29th, 2008
I certainly feel like a rodent, with all the nervous scurrying around I’ve been doing. I’m behind with my pictures, and I will update at some point today. This week could mean big new things for us, and all of my time and attention has been directed on these developments. We live in a teeny tiny house right now (300 square feet, oh my!). It’s essentially a one bedroom, so DS got the room and DH and I sleep on a futon in the living room. We found it quickly upon arrival and it’s very charming, so we snatched it up as fast as we could. After all, we were sleeping in our car until we found something, so time wasn’t exactly on our side. I get pretty cranky without a shower. ANYWAY.
So, yeah, 300 sq. ft. for a family of 3 is pushing things to the brink of where they can go. On one hand it was super, because we purged almost everything and now we’re not trapped in a house full of useless clutter that I have to find the motivation to dust and hide when company comes over. However, here, there is no company coming over. Where would they fit? For Mormons, this is a big issue. People always want to come over.
So I’ve been halfheartedly looking around for an apartment. We’ve never lived in an apartment before (although I lived in plenty of them in my single days), and I was trying to avoid it, because neighbors a yard away can be bad enough, much less being on the other side of your wall or on top of you. But the California market being what it is, we simply can’t afford a larger rental house right now, and we certainly cant afford to buy yet. Through my searches for a new place, I realized we actually found a pretty spectacular deal on the place we have. This was not good.
Saturday evening I found an ad for an apartment with two whole bedrooms, an amazingly reasonable price for this area, and they were having an open house on Sunday. So after Church, we headed over to check it out. It was perfect. And HUGE. Based on my quick measurements, it was just under 1,000 sq. ft. We won’t even know what to do with so much space, we have so little now. But the pure joy on our son’s face of being able to just run around and have room to play was enough. We filled out an application and left a deposit.
Now I’m in this horrible mode, because as the spouse I’m required to be on the application, even though DH is the financially responsible one. My credit sucks. I made some stupid, stupid, STUPID mistakes when I was a teenager and thought I was in love with a boy who was only taking advantage of me - and my credit, without my knowledge. When it became impossible for me to pay it back, not to mention have a clue on how to fix it, , I just had to let it go. Enough time has passed that I’m finally able to begin cleaning up my credit report, but it’s a tedious process. I was too young and too stupid to do what I should have done then, and have that jerk arrested for fraud and a myriad of other things, but I didn’t, so the blame and responsibility stayed with me. Not to mention that identity theft laws and reactions were far different ten years ago than they are now, and even now they’re sorely lacking.
So here we have this great apartment, it’s almost too perfect, and we may not get it because of my credit. I was honest with the lady and told her what she’d find on the report, and she said that if everything checks out as I say, then we shouldn’t have a problem because everything is so old. I sincerely hope that she was telling me the truth. I am trying to stop myself from wanting this place because it’s not a done deal, but it’s difficult. I want our baby to have a bedroom where he actually has room to play. I can keep sleeping on the couch forever, no biggie, but he needs more than what he has, which isn’t much. I feel guilty for taking him from a huge house into a teeny one on our whim and hopes and dreams, and never giving him the choice or even much of a warning.
So there’s the new place, and then there’s also the new job that DH interviewed for last week. If we get the apartment, and he gets the job, he’ll be working a half mile from our house. No more bus pass to buy and no more bus to ride! For him, that will save him 4 hours per day of public transportation commute, which is HUGE. The new job will come with more money, which will cover the increase in rent. The new place also puts DS in the best schools in our district, which is a bonus I won’t overlook. I’m scared poopless of him mainstreaming into kindergarten. I’m elated about it, because - HELLO - major progress and hard work on his part, but I have a healthy fear of how cruel kids can be and I don’t want anything to make him lose his love of school.
Oy. Prayer is the word of the day.
July 28th, 2008
In a previous post, I mentioned how I have a bit of the crazy going on this year. I know this is going to sound silly, maybe even bizarre, but it is what it is for me, and I’ve not yet figured out how to stop being afraid of things are, frankly, borderline ridiculous.
When I was 5 years old, my Dad died after a long battle with lung cancer. It was the first day of Kindergarten. I’ll keep a long story short by saying the rest of my school experience (yes, all the way through HS graduation) thoroughly sucked.
Somewhere along the line I decided that I’d never get married or have kids, because I saw what it was for my Mom to lose a husband, and I never wanted my children to go through the pain of losing a parent. But I also worried about an uglier twist of fate, and that would be losing a child. Then, of course, I grew into adulthood and that whole “falling in love” business shattered my plans. Go figure.
I battled cancer myself as a young adult, and I cursed God for his cruelty and wondered what I had done to deserve it. I was afraid of going to sleep, afraid of not waking up. Although my cancer was caught early and I knew I was going to make it, chemo will easily make you feel as though you are definitely going to die, and I could not shake the fear. I was told by numerous doctors that I’d never have children, and I found that I was actually glad. I thought if I ever desired kids, I’d simply adopt. End of story.
I met my now husband. He married me knowing I couldn’t have children. He said he didn’t care, and he meant it. We conceived our son on our honeymoon. He is an amazing kid, healthy, full of joy. He loves life. I am a better person for having him.
However. He just turned 5 years old. He will begin kindergarten in August. I am terrified that something will happen to DH. No matter what I do I can not shake the fear of losing my husband, and my son losing his father. I understand that my fear is irrational, unfounded, even pointless. The knowledge does nothing to ease the fear and panic. It makes me angry with myself for disallowing my common sense to take over. It frustrates me that I’m so… superstitious? Would that be it?
So there it is. I even feel weird typing it out, but it’s true, and I don’t run from truth anymore. I just need to figure out how to better deal with it, I guess.
July 10th, 2008
It must still be Monday, because today is just full of SUCK.
I went to bed last night with a strange pain in my hip. It hurts like crazy when I bend down, like someone is pinching me internally, and they want to hear mercy before they let up. It was annoying when I went to bed, but by the middle of the night it was pretty bad and I actually woke up a few times from the pain. This morning I am a little limpy, and the nagging pinch is still there. I can’t figure out if I pulled a muscle or what, but I really don’t want to have to find a doctor for this.
I awake at 6:38 a.m. to the phone ringing. No one calls that early. I assume it is DH and that something is wrong (or at the very least, irritating, and he needs to vent). I can’t find the phone amidst the covers, and I miss the call. I dial DH’s cell phone. No answer. I am still groggy from sleep, and manage to fall into a restless slumber for another half hour. I jolt awake, and dial DH again. No answer. I text. No response. I wait for fifteen minutes, because since the move our cell reception has been spotty at best. Nothing.
I enter a minor state of panic that quickly evolved into on-my-knees prayer in the middle of the kitchen floor, complete with waterworks. I have this thing I’ve dubbed the “5 year phobia” that went into full effect within minutes - but more on that in another post. I pace the house and cry and worry, trying not to wake our son. He finally calls a bit after 8. He is fine, at work. His cell is working as well as mine, which is close to not at all. I feel a little foolish, but the relief outweighs it.
I get the baby off to school without incident, but get a little lost on the way to pick him up. Supposedly, the A/C compressor in our car is going out, but thanks to the $700 cost for replacement, we will forgo that repair for awhile. It has been pretty darn hot the past few days, and when I drive with the windows down it’s hard to hear the GPS. I missed at least 6 turns and was 5 minutes late picking him up. I arrive and they are getting ready to load him onto the bus. Nevermind that they haven’t called me to finalize his bus service and probably had no idea where he lives.
Ah yes, while we’re on that subject, it is Wednesday and the bus company has not called me to work out his bus service. DH needs the car for a meeting 50 miles away on Friday. If the bus service hasn’t started by then, we have a mess on our hands.
On the way home from school, the check engine light comes on. In Texas, our engine was covered by a 10 year/10,000 mile warranty for engine issues. In California, apparently they’re only required to cover it up to 7 years/70,000 miles. We have 71,000 miles on the car. *Insert a vicious stream of profanity here.* It costs $105 for them to plug their stupid code reader into my car. I bought my own reader off the internet for less than $20, and I can Google the codes it comes back with, and probably fix it my damn self. We’ll try that route first. I just finished spending $800 for new tires and a complete brake job. I am loathe to sink any more money into a car we barely use.
I bought $500 worth of organization heaven from Ikea while DS was at school. A bunch of men stand around and watch me load several 100 pound boxes by myself. Not one of them offers a hand, and they are all employees. I lock eyes with one man and he says, “Sorry, no speak English.” As if speaking the same language has anything at all to do with common decency/manners/helping me load this crap onto this runaway cart. I give them a healthy dose of stink eye and manage to get it all done myself. In the loading area, the men are very nice, but also do not speak English. They lift everything for me, but shove it into our car in such a way that I can only hope no corners are damaged. I realize when I arrive home that getting this stuff into the house alone is going to be hell. The cart I cursed before I now long for. I manage, and break quite a sweat getting everything inside. Now I have to put it all together. It was much more fun picking it all out. *sigh*
We sleep on a Beddinge futon from Ikea that has actually been pretty comfortable (if you’re lucky enough to sleep on the right side, because the left side for some reason won’t lay flat so you’re sleeping on a slight incline that makes you feel like you’re clinging to the bed for dear life), but today I somehow broke it. I clicked it up twice and prepared to push down so it would convert into a couch, and I hear a weird springy snap. Now it won’t fold up. Ikea will take it back for an exchange, if I can figure out how to get it into the car without taking it apart. Apparently that’s one of the rules.
My first bad day in Cali, and it was a doozy.
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Edited at 5:30pm to add: Attempted to do some laundry, but the change machine at the laundromat was out of service. We have no more clean towels.
I somehow failed to buy an integral piece at Ikea for the armoire, now they are out of stock. One week until it’s in.
I forgot to turn off the stove burner and completely ruined a pan and a ladle that was filled with (once) delicious nacho cheese dip.
I had our brand new boogie board in the trunk and I somehow managed to rip one of the corners loading and/or unloading crap. We haven’t even had a chance to use it yet.
I pulled into our driveway and was ready to give in to tears again. Every single aspect of today has been a struggle in some way, and I have had enough. My son asked me something about playing video games tonight, and I snapped at him about having more important things on my mind than his video game allowance. His response? “Aw, Mommy. You are my sweet girl. Thank you for trying so hard.” Then I got a big, undeserved hug. One that I really needed.
June 18th, 2008
I’m having a heckuva time getting back into the swing of things. I’m so accustomed to working day and night on the computer, and now that I don’t have to our routine has drastically changed. I forgot my scale picture this morning, although I did not forget to weigh. I was 206.5 - OUCH.
We had FHE last night, for the very first time. We have been married almost 6 years and have a 5 year old son, and have never had an actual FHE. So we rented the first Indiana Jones from ‘81, and sat down with a huge bowl of popcorn and loads of “movie” candy we bought on sale at Ralph’s. Big mistake, for a few reasons: Indiana Jones somehow obtained a PG rating. Interesting, considering in the first 5 minutes a man is gruesomely impaled on spikes from head to groin. Oh yes, let’s not forget the ghosts that melt your face off and make your head explode at the end. Oh! And of course we also have thousands of snakes suitable for your little one’s greatest nightmares to date. PG my ass.
I hadn’t seen the movie since I was a small child and couldn’t remember anything about it. DH did remember but for some reason thought our little guy could handle it. Just because our parents allowed us to be terrorized when we were small doesn’t mean we need to return the favor. Looking back on some of the things I was allowed to watch (and my Mother was an ultra-conservative evangelical Christan), I think I’d rather my son hear “damn” in a PG movie these days than see so much violence. We’re going to stick to the Lego version of Indy on PS3 from this point.
Actually going to the movies out here costs twice as much as Texas (but I still think Kung Fu Panda was worth it), so we’re loving Netflix even more now. Not to mention that we know absolutely no one yet, so there are no date nights in our near future, which would have been for movies like The Happening and Wanted. *sigh*
So the candy was not nice to me, but I deserved it. I have a weakness for Hot Tamales. Given what they do to the scale, I can see myself becoming a lot stronger and resisting their evil goodness from this point on.
I biked my pitiful 5 blocks with the boy in tow, and now I’m sitting here huffing and puffing, cursing Hot Tamales and my general fatness. I can only hope that that 5 blocks will give me a little loving on the scale tomorrow morning. That and my trusty carrot sticks.
Hey - a girl can dream.
June 17th, 2008
I’m finally in the home stretch. Our plane leaves early Saturday morning, and my family will be whole again by the early afternoon.
I badly miss updating this daily, and I’m not at all certain where my weight stands, which is terrifying. It can’t be too bad, because my clothes still fit and are actually a little looser than before… but I don’t feel lighter. All of this labor has probably built up some muscle, because I have been working it.
Our entire 1700 square foot home is now empty of everything. I had hundreds of auctions listed and they were immensely successful. We’re now 100% out of debt and for the first time in our marriage, we have a healthy savings account. Now if I’d just start on our food storage, I could change my name from Jill to Molly, eh? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. 
For now, back to the grind. When hundreds of auctions end, they must be shipped. Woo-boy, is this going to be fun. Or not.
May 26th, 2008
Posting is probably going to taper off into very little (if any) commentary from now until the second week of June. I still have a tremendous amount of things to get sold, so I have to focus my attention to eBay and craigslist right now or we’ll be in a pickle.
And let me say this: Women who are married to men who stay gone for long periods of time for work, I give you major, major props. I DO NOT KNOW HOW YOU DO IT AND STAY SANE. These have been the most difficult weeks of my life, and I am more than ready for this to be OVER. Prior to this, we had never spent more than 3 days apart. When all is said and done, this will be 7 weeks. I am miserable, and my self-pity is reaching great new heights.
My Mother’s Day was nice. A bit lonely with only half of the family here, but still very nice. DH and DS bought me lovely gifts that show how well they really do know me. My gift to myself was no scale picture, and no regard for what I ate. I still did well, if you don’t count the dip cone from Dairy Queen.
I don’t.
May 12th, 2008
I’m getting a lot accomplished, and today feels nice. Kind of an easygoing day for once, even though I’m bustling around non-stop. There should be good news regarding a promotion for DH today, so I’m staring at the phone, willing it to ring. Things are beginning to fall together for us in every way, and this would be the icing on the cake. If this promotion comes through, I won’t need to find a job when I get to CA, and I can focus my energy into opening my own studio.
I’ve decided that on Sundays, I won’t work out, I probably won’t post a scale picture, and I will allow myself one “free” meal to eat whatever, and don’t count calories. I need to give myself one day per week of rest in every area, because I don’t want to burn out. Ideally, I could have the entire weekend, but I’m going to start with Sunday for now.
My Sunday scale picture very nearly pissed me off, but it stopped shy of bumping me into the 206 category again, so I was OK with it. My “free” meal had been the day before, and I knew I was going to see an increase.
I was much happier this morning, however.
Currently Reading: I Knew a Woman: The Experience of the Female Body, by Cortney Davis
May 5th, 2008
cause someday you’re going to get hungry
and eat most of the words you just said
-ani difranco
So after posting my last self-righteous diatribe about my DH and the current situation we’re working through, I had an epiphany of sorts.
“See all that stuff you just posted? Have you tried just saying it like that to him, verbatim?”
Well… no. Not exactly. I kind of hint around things and hope he’ll “get it”. I’d like him to do these things on his own accord, but most men just don’t come wired that way.
And so I carefully climbed down from my high horse, and reopened the door to communication. One we’ve so carefully propped open over the past few months. One that my own anger was threatening to slam in our faces. I just laid it on the line, and told him how I feel and exactly what I need. I guess expecting him to read my mind after almost 6 years is still a bit much.
Imagine how stupid I felt when he understood completely, and gave me just what I needed. What I feared he could not give. Just like that, it was mine.
Sometimes I fear that it’s not he who doesn’t know me. Perhaps it’s me. Maybe I’m finally allowing myself to evolve into my own person, rather than this woman who is everything that everyone else wants her to be. I don’t recognize myself much anymore, and it’s finally a good thing. But it’s also scary as hell. You spend your whole life conforming to every ideal someone tosses your way, and you lose track of the real person beneath.
Now I’ve given myself permission to think my own thoughts, feel my own feelings, pursue what I desire, and really delve into what makes me tick. To top it off, I’ve exposed all of these new things, and I’ve made myself vulnerable. No easy feat. But, somehow, everyday, I get a little closer to loving that woman in the mirror, flaws and all. My love has finally outgrown the need (but honestly not the want) for validation from everyone; I am enough.
Love is coming quite easily. I just have to learn to like myself. I also have to come to terms with the fact that while nothing, absolutely not a single, solitary thing, about his affair was my fault… I still have my own wrongs within our marriage to make right. While his may seem to overshadow mine in shock value, I assure you when you strip away the cold hard facts, our hurt beneath is similar. His is no less than mine, only different.
I have found - and it makes me profoundly sad to admit this, but it is true - that as long as I focus on how badly he’s hurt me, I don’t have to focus on how badly I’ve hurt him. Because I don’t know how to fix what I’ve done. I don’t know how to turn back the hands of time and remove the neglect, secrets, lies, doubt, shame and loneliness. All I can do is allow myself to be completely transparent now. Total honesty, 100% open communication, respect, and love.
If I can provide this to him, and it be enough to allow him to heal… why doesn’t the same offering work for me as quickly? Of course the answer to that seems obvious, but is it really? I recognize the differences in our situations, and understand why healing will be difficult in a myriad of ways for both of us, but I’m not sure how to come to terms with it. I can’t assuage the guilt no matter what I do. I suppose that’s just one more wound that will heal with time and proper care.
What I have realized, is that the more time I spend focusing on the pain of the past, the less time I spend focusing on all of the beautiful things of the present. My husband is a good man, and I love him deeply. Moreso than any words can describe. We will rise from this stronger than ever before, and at the end of the day, that’s all that matters to me.
April 18th, 2008
Nobody deserves your tears, but whoever deserves them will not make you cry. - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
So, this is a little progress. I am happy, for now. We’ll see if tomorrow’s weigh-in is as encouraging.
Partially meh day yesterday. Things were flowing along fine until a little seed of doubt took up residence. Ruined the rest of my day. I reached out to DH, and again found myself testing him, needing something from him that he can not seem to give. Perhaps he does not want to, and I am fooling myself.
I am asking you the same questions, give me different answers this time, so my heart can stop hurting. This is what you have taken from me, give it back. This is my emptiness, fill me up.
He couldn’t. Or… he wouldn’t. I am more inclined to believe would not. I know this is probably tiresome for him, the endless re-hashing of things, the need to know more, the need for logic where none can be found. Coming to terms with the fact that he did this because he wanted to, because he was selfish, because he did not care about the effect this would have on everyone else around him. Because he did not care about me. To say that he did not care about himself almost seems laughable, after all, this is a man who was having his cake and eating it too.
He says over and over again that he will do anything, whatever it takes. I thought I was waiting around for some grand gesture, that would make it all go away. I got my grand gesture, and it wasn’t enough. Now I look for hundreds of small moments, little opportunities, and 9 times out of 10, he fails to see them. He squanders his chances. Likely without ever having known they were there.
What is worse? Knowing that after all these months of talking, communicating, reconnecting, that he can’t see what I need? After I have told him every way I can find?
Or being hit with the stinging reality that maybe, after all these years, he still doesn’t see me. I am as transparent as I feel. I waited too late to let him in, and now he isn’t really, truly invested in seeing what there is to find. It’s more about making things “right”.
They hurt equally. No answer is the right one.
April 18th, 2008
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