It's that time again...

Yep. Chicago, here I come. If you can't tell, I'm just a little excited about my vacation.

It begins tomorrow, with our biennial (every other year) family reunion. My mom's remaining brothers and sisters, along with all of the cousins who can make it, converge in some predetermined location and get reacquainted. It's always a fun time, and this year it is even more convenient because it's located at my brother's farm, about a half hour's drive away from my home.

The kids and I will be squeezed together into one tent because I am too lazy to set up more than one. There will be popcorn over the campfire, a zipline over the pond (where you can also fish or swim), and random other farm-like activities. My brother has a miniature horse, along with numerous full-sized horses. There's a "rock" climbing wall in his barn loft. Chickens prolifically produce eggs, which will feed us all both Saturday and Sunday mornings. He's having a hog roast Saturday evening. You name it, he's probably got at least one.

And then on Sunday afternoon, once I pack up all the dirt and mess from camping, I drop off the kids at the ex's house, and rush home to clean up and head for Chicago. There I will meet numerous U2 fanatics (some friends, some I've never met) who are converging on the Windy City for the long awaited return of the band. We'll be spending untold hours in the GA line on Tuesday (probably even beginning sometime Monday), hoping for one of the coveted spots on the rail. (Wish me luck!)

Tuesday morning my daughter will be joining me, and will get to attend her first "real" concert (i.e. not some old-timer band at the annual county fair). I'll get her headed back home on Wednesday afternoon, before finishing my vacation alone with my friends.

She's pretty excited about it too. And especially I think it rocks that my 15 year old daughter is so psyched to hang out with her mom at a concert. :)

See you when I get back.

Where are my damn pearls?

Since my eyes were opened to the realities of my own situation, I've seen similarities all around. I think emotional abuse is an epidemic, and it brings out such an intense sadness in me to see how many people are suffering and unable to see the realities of their situation. Or to see how many broken marriages are tied to the issue.

I think I was lucky to escape my situation as easily as I have. When a good friend first mentioned emotional abuse to me, I had no idea what the term even meant, but I lucked into a great book at the library. I've since discovered that this is probably among the best resources out there on the subject, and I've recommended it to several other people.

I've been asked if he can truly be as clueless as he seems about his role in all of this. My answer has always been that I really think he has zero ability to be introspective. It's hard to believe that someone could read a two page letter detailing emotional abuse, and think they could prove they had 'changed' by doing more housework. It's hard to believe that someone could be told they were selfish, and not even question why the person would claim that. That instead, they would go to other friends to ask if they were selfish, and use those answers to prove the original person was wrong.

Last night, my oldest son affirmed my perspective when he said, "Dad has barely enough self-awareness to look in a mirror and say 'That's me!'"

Sadly, he's probably right. I have some fear about the effect our relationship has had on the kids, but I hope that they can be somewhat unscathed since they can now see through him too. Seeing my life on paper in that book... in black & white... was a huge eye-opener to me.

I always wished and hoped that he could change, and when he never did, I always thought I just needed to make some changes in myself... to be that grain of sand that irritates the oyster to make a pearl. But when he mimicked so many of the behaviors the book talked about, I could finally accept that he wasn't going to change. Having to face that where you are is where you'll be forever unless you change something is an eye-opener. No pearls for me unless I make them myself.

But given all that irritation over the years, you'd think I'd have a treasure-chest full already.

Weekend review

Well, I still haven't milked a goat.  But my daughter and niece both did.

The little kids were so adorable!  The two newest baby goats are currently residing in a playpen in my sister's dining room.  (She is clearly not the OCD perfectionist that I can be!)   My daughter helped put a disposable diaper on one of the new kids, and then we watched the two of them wander clumsily around the house for a bit before taking them outside to play with the rest of this year's babies. 

I lost count, but I think they've had around 10 babies this year.  Maybe more.  Once we got outside, they opened the baby goat's cage and shooed them all out to play.  The babies climbed all over woodpiles, the fire pit, and random stacks of things that they set around in the yard just for that purpose. 

My daughter giggled as she ran in circles around the yard and got Lily, her favorite baby goat, to chase after her.  She also decided she wants a baby goat.  I told her that baby goats grow up into big, not so cute, adult goats.  She said that we could just sell it then and get a new baby goat.

Nice try.  But no, we will NOT keep a baby goat in our dining room.  Sorry.

Once both girls had time to try their hand at milking and we got too cold, we drove back to my parents' home for supper and to play too many card games. 

It was a great, relaxing weekend.  I hated to return back here, but it's easier knowing that as of today, I have 20 days until I get possession of my house. 

I have never milked a goat. Yet.

Today after work, the Pumpkin and I are heading out to visit my parents.

One of my brothers lives less than a half mile away, so she always looks forward to sleepovers at their house with her 3 cousins.  This time however, my sister-in-law and the older two girls will be out of the state for the weekend, so the sleepover will be at my parents house with only her 9 year old cousin.  Since they both love animals, it should still be a fun time of running around in the barn building straw bale tunnels, playing with Pumpkin's dog, and (a highlight of the weekend) driving over to my sister's house to visit the baby goats.

My sister and her husband have a goat farm.  They even run the local 4H goat club (conveniently renting out goats to those who can't afford to buy them).

They have had numerous baby goats already this spring, with the most recent two arriving just a couple days ago.  They try to name the babies something related to the parent's name.  This mother is Fudge, from a line of cookie-named goats.  When the Pumpkin heard Fudge's name, she immediately thought candy rather than cookies, and suggested Truffle for one of the two black twin daughters.  We still need to come up with a related name for the other baby, but if my sister likes our suggestions, we may even get to name these babies!

I was told that if we arrive Saturday evening, we'll be there at milking time.  And anyone there at milking time gets to help.

Lessons provided for free. Should be an interesting weekend!

Well it's about time. *sigh*

Church was a nightmare yesterday. My husband decided that he was going to go along to my church... perhaps because all the kids were home for spring break... perhaps because there was a potluck dinner afterward... perhaps he wanted to talk to a few people... or perhaps because he wanted that last chance to intimidate me. I'm not sure which. Regardless it felt like the latter to me, and I spent the morning in a fog of stress.

After he left the potluck and before I left, the minister stopped me to talk a little. I was a bit of an emotional mess, and we talked until he had to stop to go to a meeting. One of the things we talked about was my struggle to know how to tell my parents.

My parents live about 2 hours from me. While the boys had/have their spring breaks, I don't want to leave, so the first free weekend will be the 26th. I really hate to wait that long, particularly since the husband is constantly asking me if I told them, and has now started to tell me that he plans to go out there to talk to them himself sometime too.

I don't know what he plans to tell them, really. He claims he wants to say goodbye... that he has been in the family for 25 years... but it's more than that too. Part of it is just a threat... he told me he'll say nice things if I am good with him on the financial settlements (i.e. I give him more than his share). The other half of the implied threat was left unstated.

My problem has been that I didn't know how to tell them. Should I write a letter? Email won't work because they seldom check it. Phone calls are difficult because mom is so hard of hearing. In person can't happen for a bit yet.

My minister said I should call and talk to both of them together. He said dad can tell mom what I said if she misses something. He said I should tell them I will call back later to answer questions if they want, because they WILL have questions.

I don't know yet how much I want to tell. I know he's been badmouthing me to people... my daughter volunteered that information over the weekend. I'm trying not to do that to him. I do say a bit of the negative, because obviously people want to know WHY I would leave him after 25 years. But I also explain that I had hoped he WOULD try to work to change himself even though I didn't tell HIM that... I had to be tough and let him think that there wasn't a chance for us, because to make any true and lasting change in himself, it couldn't be for us... it had to be for himself. He had to actually SEE his own issues, which I doubted he was capable of doing. Turns out I was right, sadly. And I also mention some of my own failures and how our personalities were the worst possible combination.

But parents will want to know more.

So this morning I tried to call around 8:30, but mom was already gone to a volunteer job. So I told dad I'd call back later, and now I have to wait until noon. And I've been having the panic-ridden chest pains all morning.

So wish me luck. I need it.

** update: It actually went fairly well. We talked for 2 hours. They were supportive, but very sad & disappointed... said it felt like the family was falling apart. And they were somewhat surprised too... they knew there were issues and saw some of what he was like, but had no idea just how much was going on, or for how long. They still would like to see us be able to work it out, but they realize that's extremely unlikely.

And they don't want him to come & talk to them... I don't know if they'll tell him that or not.

"That's one long-ass toe you've got"

I have funny feet. Make that foot. Toe, to be exact.

Beth told me so.

In 5th grade, I had these ultra-ugly red, white, and blue sandals. I wore them to school. It was a rainy day. While I sat on the heater at the edge of the classroom, Beth approached me. She looked at my foot and informed me, "You have funny feet."

Thanks, Beth.

My brothers laughed at them too. I can't count how often that poor toe was threatened with amputation-by-machete. Somehow it survived. Probably because my brothers knew mom and dad would amputate some of their parts if they did anything to me.

So after 5th grade I quit wearing sandals. I wore close-toed shoes for years. Finally around 5 years ago, I bought a new pair of sandals. Yes, real sandals. Open toes and all.

I also bought a toe ring, and began wearing toenail polish. Somewhere along the way I bought into the saying, "If you've got it, flaunt it."

I began to flaunt my toe.



I felt vindicated. Take that, Beth.

Daffodils

I love daffodils. They are my favorite flower. As one of the earliest blooming flowers in my garden, as well as one of the most prolific and easily grown, they represent a sign of ongoing life to me.

Every year they appear on schedule... generally there are even more than the year before. They grow in an amazing array of colors and styles... we're not stuck with the old yellow standbys any more... I have daffodils in shades ranging from white to peach to orange, as well as some beautiful double daffodils that are a beautiful white & yellow combination.

This week The American Cancer Society held it's annual Daffodil Days. They choose daffodils as a symbol of hope.

Hope. Ongoing life. I think we both share similar perspectives.

Five years ago, my sister found a lump in her breast. She had it checked and was told it was a cyst. A month later it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, so they were probably correct in that diagnosis.

A few months after that, she found another lump. Unfortunately this one occurred immediately following the serious accident of her oldest son, so she just assumed it was another cyst. After all, she had been given the all-clear only six months earlier.

She was wrong.

Three months later, when she finally had the lump checked, it had grown to the size of a walnut. Yes, in only three months. Apparently she has some genetic marker that, while not making her more prone to breast cancer, does make cancer more likely to grow incredibly quickly if she gets it.

At Thanksgiving of 2001, she had a complete masectomy and a year of aggressive treatment for her breast cancer.

Due to her son's situation and all of the ongoing medical treatments they both faced, she chose to not have reconstructive surgery. She just didn't feel she could handle another surgery at that point.

She is my inspiration. I'll admit it... I can be superficial. She really isn't at all. She has always been a tomboy... I'm the priss.

She once commented, within my range of hearing, that I was "the pretty sister". Yet, occasionally I'll cross paths with her high school friends (who are all 10 years older than me), and they will immediately say that I have GOT to be her sister. When I look in the mirror with a second mirror, to view my profile, I see her immediately. We look alike. Amazingly so.

And yet we don't. Like I said, I can be superficial. I'm determined to not have her figure when I reach 50 in too few years. I don't want to look 50 when I reach 50. I don't go out in public without doing my hair, and generally my makeup as well. I'm not picky about clothing labels, but I am totally picky about styles... they have to be me. And I like to show skin. Her? She's far more modest. Her skirts are shin-length. Heck, she even swims in shorts and a tshirt instead of wearing a swimsuit. I LIKE my bikinis!

Yes I have a point with the above two paragraphs. She chose not to have reconstructive surgery. I can't imagine facing life with my breasts cut off. I would feel amputated. And then to willingly choose not to try to put them back as close to normal as possible? To me that's a foreign concept.

And I'm totally proud of her for facing cancer the way she did. She faced it as a winner. And in just a few months, it will be 5 years since her diagnosis and she's still a winner.

So yesterday I bought my daffodils. I have them on my kitchen counter. I look at them every time I walk through the kitchen.

And, as the American Cancer Society intended, I hope.

I hope for a day when sisters don't have to cry for sisters who find out they have breast cancer.

I hope for a day when women don't have to add that sister to the list of relatives with breast cancer that she gives her doctor... the list that also included her aunt and grandmother.

I hope for a day when women don't have to fear whether they will be the next one on that list.

I hope for a day when mothers don't have to decide between their own treatment and the treatment their child needs, after realizing there aren't enough hours in the day to manage both.

And I hope for a day when women can live their entire lives with their breasts intact. Mine included.