Author: Outrunning my demons

Blessed with beauty?

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I got my first plastic surgery ad in the mail this year. I tore it up in utter contempt and disgust. I personally believe the plastic should be reserved for the burned, the grossly disfigured, genetic mutations, and Hollywood stars. But I may be biased because I have always been beautiful. I feel my beauty starting to fade a little. But, guess what? I am ok with that. I always worried that I would feel angst about this, but when the time comes it is more of a relief. 

People have always said that I look a little like Nicole Kidman. My golden blonde tresses now streaked with gray. Little blue eyes, high cheekbones, tiny ears, small nose, and full sensous lips. Average height, small boned, thin frame, athletically toned, summer golden brown tan, curvy everywhere except my hips, dainty feet. 

I think that beauty is a really touchy subject. I felt some reluctance bringing it up. What is beauty? Skin deep? In the eyes of its beholder? Inner? It really is not fair! You are either born beautiful or not. No amount of expensive elixirs can change this fact. You have no control. It is coveted, but downplayed as unimportant. Inner beauty is what matters. If that is the case, a blind person may be the best judge of beauty. Because it takes a very strong person to overlook beauty. 

But what is it really like? I received a lot of positive attention over the years and sometimes special treatment. People exclaiming how beautiful I am, that I should be a model. My mom took me to private modeling classes, I got the headshots, was taught how to pose with poise, and was offered the opportunity to be a model. I turned it down and really had no passion for it at all. 

There is a dark side to beauty. It is dangerous. You have to take extra caution regarding your safety.  I have been followed home multiple times. There was a guy that I mentioned previously who passed the semi in the pouring rain on a 2 lane highway in a no passing zone to get my number. Creapy! And another man that followed me 10 miles, when my oldest was a baby in the car, down deserted rural roads. Thank God I had a bag phone in my car. I called my husband and gave him the guy’s plate numbers. The guy saw me pick up my phone and passed me. 

Or that time I went swimming with a friend as a teen and a guy came up and grabbed at me. He wouldn’t leave me alone until I promised to hook up with him later on that night. I didn’t. 

Or my friend’s fiancé who said I looked so hot that he wanted to take me in the bedroom and rape me. He said that in front of a group of guys. I decided not to stand up in their wedding. He was a cheater and the marriage didn’t last. 

Or the pastor when I said my extended family was going through a hard time couldn’t look me in the eye, ignored my requests for prayer, and refused to talk to me. Grow up!

Or the co-worker who sexually harassed me in my summer factory job whenever I looked straight ahead by making vulgar gestures with his hands and mouth. 

Or the time that a blind date took one look at me and physically ran away. After feeling rejected and crying to be told later that he was afraid because he heard I was into modeling. 

Or by trying to defy beauty, pretend it didn’t matter, and saying yes to go out with the ugliest guy in school in utter defiance of beauty to find out it did matter. 

Or being stalked by ex-boyfriends when out with other guys. Like the time my ex had my name announced over the loudspeaker at the county fair to meet up with him. Trying to hide my car. Having a rose left under my windshield wiper when I woke up in the morning. Being watched at work. 

Or being cat called while walking down the street, getting my mail, or running. 

Or going out with friends to be grabbed, grinded on, touched unwantedly, or bought endless drinks. Believe me saying that you are a lesbian to dissuade them does not work. 

Or being verbally or physically attacked by other girls who think their boyfriends are spending too much time gazing upon you. So I ended up being chased by a large amount of scum bags who judged me only by my looks and hated by women that felt threatened by my looks. 

Or receiving special treatment from a handsome, young, married high school teacher who told me how grown up I looked. He always winked at me and called me miss while addressing the other girls by their first names. 

Or the guy that said he would take me to a Poison concert if I would sleep with him. 

Or the time I had to lock myself in my mom’s car to fend off boys with condoms. 

I am ready to retire and am handing the baton down to my beautiful 17 year old daughter who has already been stalked, followed home, and hated by less fortunate girls. Feel blessed if you have a little above average looks. That is the sweet place. Don’t worry about the couple of extra pounds that you need to lose. Rip up the plastic surgery ads. Don’t fall for the trap of promised beauty. It really isn’t worth it! Rejoice in your imperfections because there you will find true beauty. A person who can love you for who you really are. 

Back to school stress

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I woke up crabby this morning. Irritable. Stressed. My 3 kids have summer school this week sporadically all day between the hours of 8 AM and 8 PM. It really wouldn’t be that big of a deal except that we live 20 miles from the school. I made 2 trips to the school today to pick up and drop off kids, my daughter made one trip to school which equals over 2 hours of combined effort. Plus I fit in a 6 mile run and put in a couple hours at work. I feel downright exhausted. Any stress that was removed over the weekend was put back on the minute I walked back in the door. Mom can I?.. Troubles waking up my son early to go to school. I also faced the prospect of confronting a teacher today as well. I hate confrontation. The teacher was not happy that I was having my teenage kids waiting at school between activities. With drop off times at 8 AM, 9 AM, 11:30 AM, and 4 PM and pick up times at 10 AM, 2:30 PM, and 8 PM I didn’t see how this was going to happen. I was angry and spent some time swearing. I did talk to the teacher and she was understanding. Thank God! I haven’t developed my super mom powers yet of being in 10 places at once. 

I’m also getting the back to school ads in the mail. What a racket that is. When it is all said and done, I will probably spend over a thousand dollars on it. You know what, I am going to keep the receipts this year to tell you how much I spend! Great blog idea. Thanks. The sad part is that I don’t think they need half the crap that I buy on their list. Or they lose it. Or, as was the case last year, some supplies were stolen. Lots of times I just buy the cheap crap. No designer notebooks with puppies, kitties, or football players for my kids. School clothes are a little different, I usually go midline there. Cheap shoes and clothes wear out in a matter of weeks. If I am lucky the shoes and clothes will last long enough for the kids to grow out of them. That is not saying much as my son grew a foot within the last year. 

Talking about supply lists, who creates these things anyway? Your child needs exactly 10 number 2 pencils but 3 need to be yellow, 3 green, and 4 red. Buy dry erase markers, but wait they need to be odor free. Buy 9 glue sticks, but only of a certain brand the others won’t be accepted. Accordion folders only, trapper keepers will be confiscated. Hey, aren’t sciccors considered a weapon now? Paper non perforated made from recycled materials. Highlighters, no fluorescent colors. Permanent markers, non staining narrow tip. Gym shoes, non skid laced only. And the list goes on… I think there is a sadistic teacher out there making these lists because they have to put up with our bratty kids all year. They laugh envisioning us at the 30th store grovelling on the floor because the last pink eraser is sold out. I miss the days when mom sent us off on the first day of school with a couple of folders, pencils, and paper and called it good. 

Trying to sail through life’s storms

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We made it back home safe about 2 hours ago. I thought I would let everyone know since I left everyone hanging yesterday with some hard decisions to make about whether to weather the storms. After we last spoke, things did get a little dicey.  The first round of thunderstorms came through after blogging. We holed up on the sailboat. After the storm went through, we headed to the pool. We didn’t want to spend our whole anniversary huddled over our iPads scouring weather reports. We decided at that point to possibly wait until the next storm went past to head home. It was going to take some schedule juggling to stay another day. 

At the pool, we received reports of the big storm that was to come. Strong thunderstorms, 50 to 60 mph winds, large hail, possible tornadoes. It was one big blob of reds and purples over the whole Midwest. We met a man at the pool with his daughter, son-in-law, and two young granddaughters. They made a point of teaching the children how to be respectful of adults in the pool which was greatly appreciated. They had a small motorboat and were determined to beat the storm because plans couldn’t be changed. 

The large cold front came in. The clouds rolled, the sky eerie, lightening flashed, and thunder boomed. The man left with his family about 5 minutes before the torrential downpours with a bit of trepidation. I ran into the boat to grab some clothes while Paul closed things up for the storm. I ran bikini clad through the strange silence of electrically charged air into the shelter of the bar. Inside, Paul saw an old college roommate. Always nice to meet a group of people for the first time in a bikini when others are fully clothed. Priceless. The lights flicker. The winds blow, it starts to hail. An elderly couple at the gambling machines momentarily express worry because windows were left open at home but head right back to the machines. The band is set up to play next to the window. They abandon equipment to play their instruments closer to the bar. The music is quiet while the thunder cracks loud.  When the storm finally ends, it is late afternoon. Now we face the prospect of sailing through small bands of storms in the dark. We decide to stay. 

When we get back to the boat we find that the wind blew our hatch open. All of the clothes, pillows, and my sleeping bag is soaking wet. We try with some success to dry everything. If we saw the storms on Saturday morning, we probably would have stayed home. We faced cooler weather conditions, strong winds, and 3 foot waves most of the way home today. But we made it home safe, which might not have been the case the day before. Another adventurous anniversary in the books. 

18 years of smooth sailing?

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My husband and I have been married 18 years today. We decided to take an overnight sailing trip to celebrate. We spent several hours on the water to get to our destination. We experienced smooth sailing with a moderate breeze that pushed us to our destination. We were warm and complacent. It was a very hot day, so we spent the day next to the pool listening to live music. We followed that with a great meal. It was a Midwest summer paradise. 

Then during the night, the wind whistled through our boat and the rain started. It was nice being in a boat and not in a tent. It was also loud. The fenders kept squeaking against the dock, rain drops splattered, the lines whipped imaginary slow horses with a crack, and the main sail swayed noisily with the winds. Despite the noise I actually slept better than I thought I would. 

This morning the forecast changed drastically from the one we heard yesterday. The one that said we would just struggle against the wind and probably have to motor back. The heat brought the volitile weather. Strong winds in the opposite direction. Chances of severe thunderstorms not ruling out a stray tornado. Not smooth sailing. As sailing newly weds, we haven’t weathered our first storm yet. I’m not sure how our skills will handle this. Will we be able to get through this first storm?

After 18 years, I think that we finally figured out this marriage thing. Found out what works for us. We may have to sit this one out or face the storm head on. Whatever happens, I know that we will be facing it together. 

Dusty disco dancing doll

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image

This last week I set up my old dollhouse. It has been in the attic of my grandma’s house for the last 25 years. Time stopped for my dolls. They are forever dancing to the disco albums playing on their record player. They didn’t age and will always be at the prime of their life. Isn’t that funny about dolls? They either are cute babies or at the prime of their lives forever. Not a middle aged lady like this old doll.

My husband, my boss

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Paul and I will be celebrating 18 years of marriage this weekend. The number one question that I have been asked over the years has not been how I have managed to stay happily married after all these years. That is too bad, because that would have been an easier question to answer. What people tend to ask me the most is how I can work with my spouse. Even couples with the strongest relationships cringe when I mention that we work together. We have been partners in the office for almost 8 years now. My husband left his previous employment 13 years ago to work full-time at his own business. So technically that makes him my boss. 

Have I ever been fired? Many times. Have I ever quit? Many times. Do we spend so much time together that we run out of things to say? Sometimes. What makes it work then? We are both willing to do what it takes and we have complimentary skill sets. He is an extrovert, I am an introvert. He is good at verbal communication, I am the writer. He is great at sales, I couldn’t sell water in the dessert. He is a good public speaker, I am a good listener. He is the visionary, I am the day to day planner. We make it work. 

A majority of the time working together has been a positive experience. It really forces us to work together as a team. We work through the demands, pressures, and stresses of owning a business together. We make all major decisions together as a team. I drag Paul back when he veers in the wrong direction and he pulls me ahead when I don’t embrace change for the better. We can be honest with each other to promote growth. We can say things that we don’t want to hear when our employees would say only the things that we want to hear. We make it work. 

Will I get fired again? Probably. Will I quit again? Probably. It has been worth it. Last night Paul said that he hopes that he dies before me because he couldn’t bear to live without me in his life. I hope that in the end we can sail off into the sunset together and that it will be smooth sailing…  

Here’s to another 18 years!

What happened after….

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Almost two years after the birth of Angelique, I had another baby. A little boy that I will call Alex. Alex was an easy baby. He was always content, rarely cried, and followed a very consistent feeding and sleeping schedule. Both babies slept through the night at around 2 months even though I nursed them. I figured I had this parenting thing down pat. Life was going fairly smoothly for awhile. After those first couple of years of peace, life got a little dicey. 

After Matt attacked Angelique on her 4th birthday, life got a little crazy. My mom couldn’t accept that I needed a break from my violent autistic brother for awhile. She pleaded, pressured, and begged to have Matt in our life again. She would drive over a couple of times a month just to have Matt wave at my kids through the car window. She would help out if Matt was included. I couldn’t risk my 2 and 4 year old being hurt by a grown man. I couldn’t. Matt almost exclusively attacked little girls. It wasn’t long after this that I found out I was pregnant and having a baby girl. I didn’t want to tell anyone the sex of the baby, so my mom figured out it was a girl or I would have said something. 

Right around this time, I started babysitting for the neighbor girl about 50 hours a week. She started calling me mom and hanging out with us when I wasn’t babysitting. Every weekend she would stay at her grandma’s while her parents partied. I secretly resented them for having a break. I can’t say that I didn’t feel relief after they eventually divorced and moved away. Also, during this time my husband had started a business on the side. He was working for another company and went down to part-time so he could do this. He eventually used up all of his vacation days and they gave him an ultimatum. Either come back full-time or leave. He left. The stress started piling on again. 

When it came time to schedule my final c-section I opted to do it on a Friday. I had images of watching my other 2 kids while I was in the hospital if it was on a Monday like they suggested. My mom came early Friday morning to watch the kids, thankfully Matt did not get up that early. Arabella was born. Paul went to work. He was a one man show and we had bills to pay. Mom dropped the kids off mid morning as Matt had a dentist appointment. Paul had the kids with him off and on at the hospital all weekend. He had someone from church watch the kids Monday morning to pick us up from the hospital. Then my mother-in-law helped Monday and Tuesday. After that I was on my own, less than a week after major surgery with a 4 year old, 2 year old, and a newborn. A newborn that cried incessantly. That didn’t sleep through the night for a year. 

I felt hurt and angry at my mom for leaving me alone when I needed her the most. Matt always came first. I gave up my childhood for this? In my mom’s defense, she was working full-time and it was her busy time at work. Matt still lived at home and she no longer had my help. Six weeks after Arabella was born, my grandma had open heart surgery and for some reason I was handed the baton of throwing all of the holiday parties. I ended up getting mastitis twice and blamed myself for having a difficult baby because I was very stressed. 

Windy days

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I hear the wind whistling through every cracked or slightly open vessel. I feel it wind its way deep down into my soul stirring up memories that I long for but are long gone. The wind cries with an urgency that begs for immediate release but when searched for cannot be found. For me the wind cries “grandma.” It transports me back in time to my grandpa’s truck. I sit peacefully between my grandparents with the window behind my head open a crack forever whistling with the wind. Every time the wind blows, I feel a nostalgic longing for them. 

My grandma is the main reason why I survived my childhood.  She also gets a lot of credit for helping Mark through too. She is right up there with Mother Theresa in my blog. Mark and I would take turns staying with my grandparents every other weekend. She did all the little things to make me feel special. We worked on puzzles together, she cooked my favorite meals, she made cookies for me, and she always had time to listen. We always celebrated holidays at their house. One Christmas off to the side was something hidden under a large bag. It was for me. Inside was a dollhouse created partially by grandma using little pearl buttons as light fixtures. She also made doll clothes for me from patterns, struggling to get her big fingers into the little tiny clothes to sew them together. 

Last week while cleaning out my grandma’s house, I found my old dollhouse. Maybe someday I will set it up the way it used to be in its finery. After 6 years of being vacant, someone wants to buy my grandma’s house. My dad never put the house up for sale and it was left as a shrine to her memory. Despite all of his shortcomings, my dad provided loving care for his parents and aunt in their final years. Every time the wind blows, I will be thinking of them and be thankful for the difference they made in my life. 

Real life Tetris 

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What is easier, training for a marathon or blogging about painful events in my life? In analysis, they both take approximately the same amount of time per week. I would say, without a doubt, that training for a marathon is much easier. I only feel tired and perhaps physically sore after running. I feel tired, sometimes upset, depressed, and emotionally sore after blogging. 

Is there anybody out there? Am I all alone? Where have the other siblings of the disabled gone? Have you escaped? Have I not? How can I? Why can’t I? I don’t want to do this anymore. It is too personal. The feelings are too raw. I am picking away at old poorly healed scabs. This worries me. 

I feel very overwhelmed in general. I was just notified of mandatory practices for my kids at school the next couple of weeks that conflict with other mandatory practices. When do I have time to work? What about work? We are picking up our biggest client ever the end of this week. It is great, but overwhelming. Will I be able to perform? Will I be able to handle the work? I feel like I am playing Tetris right now. Pieces falling haphazardly on other pieces and nothing fits. I am fighting to stay in control. I worry about the things I can’t control. Am I all alone?

Up north, part 3

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This past weekend I was up north with my daughters. Luke’s wife, Emily, and I threw a bridal shower for Mark’s fiancé, Carla. This is the start of another strange happening this month. Emily recently had surgery and was having some health issues related to this. She ended up driving herself to the closest ER an hour away from the cabin after a sleepless night. I was running later than I wanted to the morning of the shower and had a lot of errands to run. Through a series of strange events, I ran into my sister-in-law at the pharmacy in the middle of nowhere hours from her house. My daughter rode back with her to the cabin to help keep her alert. It seemed like a bizarre coincidence and I still don’t know why things happened that way. 

It was lunch time when we all got to the cabin. Luke bought some bread to make sandwiches with the peanut butter that was there. First, he had to call our mom to make sure that this was not Matt’s peanut butter. I had almost forgotten about this very basic rule. Most of Matt’s food was labeled with his name. You did not dare eat Matt’s food without facing the wrath of my mom. Since he spent most of his life gluten and dairy free, his food a lot of times was separate from ours. If Luke put the knife in the peanut butter and touched the bread, then it would be considered contaminated. My dad would eat Matt’s food a lot of times probably just to piss off my mom. She would worry endlessly about food for Matt to the point of obsession. 

Another thing that happened, the last time we were up north my brothers put in an A/C unit. It was really hot this weekend so we were running it with a lot of fans. We had 13 people sleeping in the cabin. Matt came out to the porch angry saying that the fans were too loud, that he couldn’t sleep. My initial response was to ask Matt how long he was trying to sleep. Luke agreed. Mark was concerned that Matt would be up all night worrying. Mom went with Matt to turn off all the fans. Now no one would be able to sleep. Luke turned the fans back on after Matt fell asleep.  Luke said, “Part of this is his condition and part of this is his conditioning.” Matt never had any consequences, seems like we all had the consequences for his decisions. I felt the familiar old resentment towards my mom for allowing Matt to be the god of our lives. The god we sacrificed to day in and day out. Sacrificing the good of all for the sake of one. I hated being forced to worship and kneel before the alter of autism. 

The bridal shower went without a hitch. Haha. The future bride left saying, “See you at the wedding, if there still is one.” Mark and Carla spent most of the weekend fighting. Everyone at the shower said that Mark and Carla reminded them of my parents. That is not a compliment. My parents marriage is filled with strife. It is not something sacred, to be yearned for. I worry. My husband says I should only worry about the things I can control.