I must admit, I have a fairly boring life. I haven’t blogged much because there just hasn’t been a whole lot of interesting stuff going on in my life. I’ve been adulting, which is boring. The part of adulting that sucks the worst for me is that I am adulting far beyond my age. I hurt from old Arthur like someone at least twice my age.
Guess what. I wrote last year about our birth month. It is just around the corner again now. Only this time Brady will be 16 and all of my worries will multiply. It is so scary sending your teenaged son out into the world with his own set of car keys. Possibly, the scariest part of parenthood. Here’s their freedom, to some extent, will they make good decisions? Did you do your part for him to know and do better? How will this unfold? Not to mention the thought of your baby flipped over somewhere on the side of the road because he hasn’t answered the phone.
We’ve all done it. We’ve all came tenfold on the annoying things our parents used to say to us. Just last night I uttered the words “if you lock that door again, I’m going to take it off the hinges.” “What if the house caught on fire?” I internally giggle because I know I was told this more than once in my life. My father has some sort of fear of things going up in flames. Every house my sister or I have moved into has to pass the fire alarm inspection at his first visit. And if it doesn’t, you’re going to hear about it at least weekly until it is ratified.
I don’t know if it is just my body, but you would think cold weather would be much harsher on an RA, MCTD, problem-ridden body. I hurt far worse during the summertime. I’m not sure if it is the rain, the heat, the humidity, or a combination of them all. I just know that it isn’t fun. And I am not able to go do all of the fun summertime things because the sun is NOT my friend.
I think I have always held a deep hatred for heat. I can put on more clothes to keep warm in the winter than I can take off to keep cool in the summer. My body sure tries to take things off though. I melt. I sweat, I stink, and most of all, I’m miserable.
I am hopeful that I will start blogging more. I can’t make any promises though. I just don’t have a whole lot new and interesting going on and unlike most people, I am hibernating for the summer. I am binge watching whatever I can find. I am working as much as I can. I am adulting. Are we having fun yet?
As a person who suffers from chronic illness, I am finding I miss things I swore I hated.
I swore I hated cooking. Sure, it is nice to have a home-cooked meal and it is an amazing feeling when you are the genius who concocted a delicious masterpiece the times you got it more than right. But let’s face it, there are times we all bomb out and knowing you just poured your blood, sweat, and tears into the yucky meal you are all but forcing yourself and your family to eat is a miserable, embarrassing feat. Not only did you work your butt off for it, you now have to eat it and clean up the mess. There are times there are so many leftovers but you know there is no sense in putting off disposing of it by putting them in the refrigerator.
I thought I hated it, but I would soon come to realize I didn’t. I still don’t like cooking because of the reasons mentioned above. However, I wouldn’t have quit trying if I had the choice. I still cook but it is a rare occurrence. I don’t have it in me to churn out a meat and three 5 to 6 days a week. Now, I’m lucky if I do this one day a week.
I still eat and my weight is the most obvious verification of this. But I don’t eat as healthy and I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. My grandmother was the best cook to ever walk the face of this planet. I do believe that in some of my dishes her talent was obviously passed down. However, unlike me, I can’t recall her ever producing a bad meal.
I hated cleaning. I still hate cleaning. But what I hate even worse is not being able to keep my house as tidy as I should be able to. Even asking the kids to pitch in doesn’t suffice in this area. Kids cut corners. I know this to be true because I once was a kid, even though that seems like a gazillion years ago. My house is a perfect example of it not being done the right way, also know as my way.
Your house is supposed to be an example of you. If my house is an example of me, well, I am very unorganized. It isn’t at all nasty or anything. I don’t have a bug problem or things growing from uncleaned spills or dishes. I have a home that looks “lived in”. And there is a whole lot of living going on in my house. However, silently, I am not living the way I want to or how I envisioned. Nobody wants to hurt. Nobody wants to be sick. Nobody.
I have always thoroughly enjoyed a good shopping trip. Now, I dread a simple trip to the grocery store. I despise going Christmas shopping. I despise going shopping for anything. Even if I have plenty of money to spend, the drain it puts on my body is something with no monetary value.
Speaking of Christmas or any other holiday, this too is an area I don’t particularly enjoy any longer. This is probably the hardest thing to have to admit. Christmas had always been my favorite time of year. It is supposed to be a cheerful occasion. Now it means several shopping trips are needed. Decorating the house is needed which also means taking the decorations down is in the near future. Cooking is needed as well as the trip to the store to get the correct goods followed by another trip to get the things you forgot.
I used to put up so many decorations it looked like Santa threw up all over my house. I have Santa figurines I have collected since I was a kid and they are usually spread throughout the house. I even had a tree in the kid’s bedrooms and plenty of decorations to decorate them all. This year instead of dragging all of my prized decorations out, I went to Walmart and bought a few jumbo packs of decorations and put them on the tree. Not a single Santa was displayed from my collection.
And here is the thing that sucks the most about what they don’t tell you you’re going to miss: The knowledge that you have of things not being the way you want them or think they should be. The house isn’t cleaned the way I should be able to do it. The dinner isn’t healthy and doesn’t taste as good as it would if I had cooked it. The holiday wasn’t as exciting as it could’ve been if I had been able to accomplish what I once could. It is all MY FAULT. I can’t blame it on a single other person and there is nothing I can do to fix it either. It is a vicious cycle. A cycle that doesn’t seem to be breakable. And one that makes you look like a lazy person who doesn’t care enough about these things. And to keep from looking even worse or like you are blaming your disease on every missing aspect of your life, you just accept fault. You are defeated.
The past few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster. It started with Brady getting the flu, strain A to be exact. My boy was sick. He told me it was the sickest he’s ever been. Coming from him, that is a large statement.
He’s been in and out of hospitals his entire life with his asthma. He’s encountered many different types of sick.
We Lysol’d and Lysol’d every nook and cranny but I still fell ill about the time he became well. Not long after that, Bryant joined the “down for the count” club. Bryant was followed by Christian, who was followed by Haven.
I believe we finally got rid of the flu, but not without a loss. You see, in one of my sickest points Piper (see My Best Friends) was begging to go outside. When Piper begs she is very mouthy about it. In fact, I don’t think I have ever owned a dog that talked to me like she does. So I let her out and returned to bed where I then fell asleep. Forgetting Piper was out, she ran off.
I awoke to a phone call from a neighbor asking if that was Piper on the side of the road down from my house. My heart stopped for a minute. I remembered Piper wasn’t inside. I instructed Christian to go down the road and see if it was Piper. Sure enough, my girl had met her demise. Her lifeless body lie dead on the side of the road. My best friend. I let her down.
No words can explain the somber of losing a dog. It is so hard. It affects everyone in the house, including my other two best friends who still haven’t figured out where Piper has gone. They only know that their Mom is sad and their friend is absent.
Sometimes you get on a roll in life. Be it a good run of bad luck, or good. I seem to have been on the later of the two. Not to be outdone, Brady’s great grandaddy passed away last week. A mere few days after the loss of Piper, we lost a wonderful, influential man from our lives.
Grandaddy (we dropped the great because it’s easier that way) and Brady had a special bond like no other. I’m not a grandparent yet, and I hope it is a LONG time before I am, but I do know that whether they want to admit it or not, grandparents have their favorites. Brady was his. No doubt about it. He talked to grandaddy on the phone more than anyone else in his life. Almost daily. When school events didn’t get in the way he spent nearly every weekend with Grandaddy. They always had some chore that needed to be done, and I think Brady found it fun to play around the farm with Grandaddy.
Charles, Brady’s great grandaddy, was Brady’s dad’s grandaddy. So you would think that because he and I are no longer together, his Grandaddy and I had become distant. Not the case here. The man was so loving and so great with Brady. Until this year, you could count the number of sporting events he had missed of Brady’s on one hand. Rain or shine, he was there to see his boy.
What the worst part of this is, Brady was sick with the flu for a little over a week and couldn’t go see him and risk giving it to him. When he got over the flu he had several basketball games. His grandmamma called two nights before his passing and asked if I could get Brady to call her. She said Grandaddy was asking to see Brady. The plan was that the next day she would come get him and take him to the nursing home to see him.
The time came for Brady to leave and he got a call from his Grandmomma. The doctor wanted to speak to the family, the trip to see him would have to be postponed another day. It was that day that Great Grandaddy was called up. Brady never got to tell him goodbye.
I checked him out of school and had to deliver the bad news. My strong boy didn’t cry. His face was red and the tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t cry. I told him, “son, I know you are upset, and that’s okay, you should be.” “But son, you don’t have to be ashamed to cry, especially not in front of me,” I told him that holding things in would cause you to go crazy.
And so the tears fell and fell. We got home and he went to his room and locked the door and sobbed. His grandmamma came to get him. He stayed there at his great grandaddy’s until yesterday.
The funeral was Saturday and of course, I went. Thank goodness the flu was about a day behind me and I was able to go. Because Brady needed me. He was not okay. It is a strange feeling to be in a church full of the family of my ex but their family is so loving and so accepting of all. I received many hugs and “so good to see you’s”.
The time came to close the casket and begin the Funeral part of the funeral. Brady nearly had to be pried away from his grandaddy’s casket. He didn’t want to say goodbye. My heart broke because there was nothing I could do to make it better. Nothing at all. And I have never seen my boy this upset. Never! A mom wants nothing but happiness for her kids. She wants nothing more than to make things better, but this is an instance where that cannot be done.
Great-grandaddy taught my son so much about life and how to be a man. And he did a dang good job of it. The world lost a truly wonderful man. We will all miss him dearly. But I am so glad Brady has so many great memories and lessons learned from him that he can carry through the rest of his life. I am blessed to have had such a wonderful man be a part of my son’s life for so long. If I could tell him how thankful I am for him and all that he did, I would.
One thing I wish I could say goodbye to is all of this pain I am feeling constantly. It is getting old. I wish I could have just one good day. It doesn’t seem like an attainable wish.
It is something we all say every day. Someone asks, “how are you doing?” And I almost always say, “I’m good, how are you?” And as those words are coming out of my mouth I always think to myself, why are you saying this. You aren’t good, you’re a wreck. You hurt ALL the time, the medicine sucks, you want to do things that you can’t, you’re down on yourself because of that, you don’t sleep good, you’re just plain out not good.
So why do we ask people? Why do we take their reply of “good” as truth? Most of the time the questioner already knows you are involved in some type of battle if you indeed are. But when we say we are good the conversation moves on. Or if it is brief in nature a simple “good, so nice seeing you”. And you both move on.
Sometimes I change my reply up because I am simply sick of telling people that I am fine when I am NOT. Let me tell you when you unload all of the details of why you’re not fine the look on the other persons face is always like a deer in the headlights. The result of this is that we feel like raging idiots for having just dropped all of that out of our mouths.
I think we need to try to get out of our feelings one minute and the next I want to shout it from the highest building. Silent sufferers be silent no more. Enough is enough, ROAR!!! We should do that but we don’t.
Instead, we turn to WordPress or the like and become avid writers in hopes to get some things off of our chest. We also want to search for someone else who is suffering the same way that you are. We want validation that we aren’t crazy. This is another side effect of disease or medications.
I think it is a great way to do this. But even then, times get low. Your readers aren’t reading, you have no new followers, you aren’t even interesting anymore. -Maybe. Or maybe life just gets in the way.
This past week has been filled with life getting in the way of writing. Work, being Mom and caring for my son who has injured his arm. He pulled his UCL. It is torn slap in two.
As of now, he won’t require surgery. They say that because he isn’t a pitcher or a quarterback, he won’t need his UCL. He is going to do rehab to learn to use the other muscles to compensate for the broken ligament.
I understand what they are saying. I realize surgery usually causes more damage in the long run. I have had ligaments repaired myself. I don’t wish that pain on anyone, especially my son. But don’t tell me that because he isn’t the QB or a pitcher he doesn’t need it.
He needs the dang ligament or it wouldn’t be there, thank you very much. And he isn’t less important because of the position he does or doesn’t play on a football field. He is one of the most important people to ME! He may not be using that arm to toss balls around, but he has already signed with the Army. I am pretty sure his service there will be more beneficial to everyone than throwing a darn ball around would.
So this is the rant I have for the week. I am dealing with a ton more pain than usual as well. Swelling everywhere, pain everywhere. And toughening up my outside so that I can hide this pain like a champ and not unload on anyone who asks me “how are you doing”. The art of hiding this is a job in itself.
As I posted last week, and a lot of you may know, FOOTBALL SEASON IS HERE! Our 3rd game is tomorrow. I have searched every nook and cranny of the world wide web for the perfect bleacher seat and I am at a loss. The ones that look appealing also look far too heavy to haul around from car to field. I have already dropped the purse. It was just too much to carry around and no matter how much I would try to lighten the load, random, heavy, usually of no use to me, items kept collecting in it.
I guess a case of bleacher butt is something I will soon miss. My boys are growing up so fast. I know it beats the alternative, but it is sad. I can remember not so long ago when all of my elders would tell me to enjoy them while they’re little. They grow up way too fast they would say. I would uncontrollably roll my eyes.
I thought I was miserable. I thought they needed to hurry up and grow up and get out. I thought my elders didn’t know what they were talking about. I thought I was a terrible mom for thinking this. I thought and I thought and I thought WRONG. They’re not even gone yet and I already miss them. I miss the time that they actually liked me. I miss the sweet hugs and the freak out now, laugh later accidents they would make. Be it their pants or a spill. I miss it all. How am I going to feel when they are gone?
Parenting is a roller coaster of feelings. Sometimes there are days that I am so ticked off at my kids. There are days that I just wish they would give me a rest. There are days when I feel sorry for them because I remember how hard being a teenager was. Thinking you knew and could do anything in the world, not wise enough to realize that Mom and Dad are right. Not knowing if what you wear will cause people to look at you differently or thinking that name brands were all that is important and feeling sorry for yourself because you didn’t have as much as the next kid, only growing up to find out how ridiculous that was and feeling bad for putting your parents through all of that wasted money.
I get it. I just don’t want my kids to already be going through it. I want them little. I want to preserve them that way. I want this, but I won’t get it and that is a good thing. I just hope that one day these little boys understand how much I do love them even though we seem to argue daily. I know they will because for the most part, hopefully, I am raising them right and they will have values when they are fully grown. Fully grown is something I am likely to never consider them being, I must admit.
So with that, I guess I just want to say, to any of you young parents, enjoy them while they’re little. Let them be little. I know it sucks sometimes. But It is seriously going to be gone very soon. Even if you can’t see it. From one eye rolling parent to the other, ENJOY it. Laugh at the accidents. Love on them and steal hugs excessively. They won’t make up for the ones you aren’t going to receive in just a few years, but at least you will know you tried.