I've gotten to the point in my life that I'm not really sure I want hundreds of friends on facebook, a handful of whom interact with me.
I've been told I'm "not on my newsfeed because you use swear words". Which translates to "I don't want to see you daily, but I want access to your life."
Well, I'm not cool with that. You take me as I am, or suck a dick. I am how I am and I don't fucking change for you, or anyone else, but I'm not going to sit around and wait for you to decide you give enough of a fuck to browse through my thoughts, pictures and memories. All or nothing.
And so, I've deactivated my former facebook profile and taken up with my alter ego, Paige O'dreams. I won't put personal pictures there, or even list my kids by name anymore.
I'm over caring if number 253 ever looks at my stuff, and why don't they ever seem to comment?
Fuck that.
I have the ones I like the most there, and that's it. My pictures are now on instagram and my stories will likely end up here, on my blog. To hell with the fakers.
And I now realize this title is probably incorrect, but I can't think of anything better, so fuck it all.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
4 am
And they're showing no signs of winding down. In just over 3 hours, I must get the bigs up for another day of online school. I don't want to do it. I don't want to battle them again. But I made this choice and I stand by it. Its good for them, when they actually sit and work instead of screaming at me that they hate me and I'm a terrible person and mother. Believe me, I'm aware of that. Painfully aware.
I hurt her
I hurt one of my best friends. I love her to death. I picked a bad day to tell her that I can't talk to anyone via text or facebook anymore and I worded it very badly. That cuts me to the quick.
I'm a rash and impulsive human. I made a decision based on what my kid said to me (which is that I don't care about her or anyone else in this house, I only care about facebook and texting) and I deleted contacts in my phone too quickly to say anything, I delivered the message in a piss poor way.
She feels badly, and too many people agree that I'm a selfish person to have done it.
They're right. I am.
I hate that I've hurt her. I hate a lot of things about myself.
I don't know what I'm doing. I can't figure out how to keep everyone happy. I can't even keep me happy.
To those I passed a message to rashly and quickly, I apologize. I hope someday that I'm worthy of forgiveness for being such a jerk. If I'm not, I understand. It's been impressed upon me for many years that unless I bend to the will of others and comply that I'm bad and wrong. I've accepted that. If you can forgive me for how I put the needs of my kids above mine, then thank you.
Someday, maybe, I will be able to put my thoughts and feelings above those of others. Until then, email me and hopefully I will be able to answer.
If you can't continue to be my friend because of this, I understand that as well. And it's okay.
I love you.
I hurt her
I hurt one of my best friends. I love her to death. I picked a bad day to tell her that I can't talk to anyone via text or facebook anymore and I worded it very badly. That cuts me to the quick.
I'm a rash and impulsive human. I made a decision based on what my kid said to me (which is that I don't care about her or anyone else in this house, I only care about facebook and texting) and I deleted contacts in my phone too quickly to say anything, I delivered the message in a piss poor way.
She feels badly, and too many people agree that I'm a selfish person to have done it.
They're right. I am.
I hate that I've hurt her. I hate a lot of things about myself.
I don't know what I'm doing. I can't figure out how to keep everyone happy. I can't even keep me happy.
To those I passed a message to rashly and quickly, I apologize. I hope someday that I'm worthy of forgiveness for being such a jerk. If I'm not, I understand. It's been impressed upon me for many years that unless I bend to the will of others and comply that I'm bad and wrong. I've accepted that. If you can forgive me for how I put the needs of my kids above mine, then thank you.
Someday, maybe, I will be able to put my thoughts and feelings above those of others. Until then, email me and hopefully I will be able to answer.
If you can't continue to be my friend because of this, I understand that as well. And it's okay.
I love you.
Looky there...
It's nearly 2 am. I'm up, yet again, because this time, it's Emily's turn to throw a fit. She won't sleep (you can see she's tired) and she wants that cup of beans...the dog basically strangled under her, she's awakened Zane.
I'm so exhausted I want to vomit. I'm so exhausted I'm in tears, again. I've already fought Caitlyn all goddamn day. Now that I've blacked out (no seriously) a couple of times, I can battle Emily to sleep.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Zane's learnin' to talk
His favorite word lately is "Car". He has to have his car book, his car coloring book, his hot wheels, as well as his blanket, aka "Fuzzy" pretty much all day every day. Which is cool. He also loves the word "Tractor", which in not-quite-two-year-old talk sounds ridiculously like "cracker". Which makes me laugh.
Today he learned a new word: "Tattoo". I read this out loud to Pat:
And the next thing we knew, Zane was standing next to me, playing with his cars and chanting "Tattoo, tattoo, tattoo"
Today he learned a new word: "Tattoo". I read this out loud to Pat:
And the next thing we knew, Zane was standing next to me, playing with his cars and chanting "Tattoo, tattoo, tattoo"
Monday, October 14, 2013
End of facebook
I doubt many of you are reading this. Oh well.
I'm done with facebook. Apparently, my kids think it's the only thing I care about, so it's gone. I don't see me returning.
Forget the fact that it's my only real "adult" time or the fact that I spend my life holding hands through school work and wiping butts and giving baths and barely sleeping.
It's gone. If you see this, please don't ask where I went, or when will I be back.
I won't. If you're reading this, you're obviously close enough, or at least give enough of a damn, to know how to contact me directly, so do it. My social media days are done.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Preschool woes
I found out about a preschool for Emmi in the spring and it's not very expensive, so I signed her up.
Unfortunately, she didn't do well the first day..she screamed and cried for nearly the whole two hours.
The teacher told me she didn't think she was quite ready, but agreed to let her try again.
So here I sit, in the vestibule of a church, listening to six preschoolers, one of whom is my screamy child.
The 4 year old teacher is on hand today as well, presumably to help Emmi acclimate, but I don't have a good feeling about it. I have a feeling preschool may be over after today until next fall.
Bummer.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Time flies
School year 2013 is about to kick off. I'm sitting in bed in semi darkness, watching the sun rise in the corners of my vision. And I think back on the last thirteen and a half years of motherhood and remember...
I remember being scared to death when Caitlyn was born 13 weeks early, weighing less than 2.5 pounds. I watched her fight and struggle to gain even ounces. She caught up fast though, and went home 3 weeks earlier than expected due to sheer stubbornness.
Her brains started to show earlier than expected too. By the time she was 15 months old (a year old adjusted) people could understand everything she said~even strangers. These days, she hides her brain behind teen and text speak, much to my chagrin.
Patrick was my chubster baby. He came out late, by three days. And in the grand scheme of everything, with the exception of pregnancy, three days isn't much. But when you're hauling around a baby that's literally four times the size of your last one, those three days mean A LOT.
He was so chunky his arms and legs seemed to grow right out of his neck. He grew out of it though, and spent his childhood being long and lanky and running all the time. He never spoke much when he was a tot~he didn't need to. His sister wouldn't stop talking. (Much like now....)
And then there was Keira. She was a quiet baby. She preferred to be near me all the time, probably because I was her main source of food for quite a while. We laughed at one point because she answered to the nickname "Fro-hawk" because of how her hair grew~literally in a an afro, but only in a mohawk style. Weird. But adorable.
Life went on, and I discovered I wasn't crazy about living with the kids dad, nor them being around him (I'm still not all that wild about it. But I have to let him around them.)
I eventually ended up splitting from him right about the time Keira turned three.
And the following December, Georgia was born. She immediately became Keira's baby. I couldn't hold her, change her or feed her without Keira becoming incredibly mad. It makes me smile to think back on it. Heck, we trained Keira to hold Jo up after a diaper change (administered by Keira) and ask "is her butt covered?"
Jo is the artist. She started picking up pencils and drawing at about 18 months old. Always faces and people, even on a magna doodle.
Next came Emily. The whirlwind. She's been a mover and a shaker her whole life. Always wide awake and watching. She seems to be the one most in tune with the other world. Her grandpa died just before she was born, and I swear to you, to this day, he watched over us after that. As a brand new baby, her eyes would track things that we couldn't see. We comforted ourselves (and scared the crap out of Pat's sister) by believing that he was there, keeping an eye on "his kids". I fully believe he did, and does, watch us, and there's some strange bond I can't explain between him, Emily, and Zane.
Ah, Zane. He's been hell bent to get moving since before birth. He came a week and a half before the doctor was ready to get him out~which was fine by me. I'm not a happy prego by any stretch of the imagination.
He was a chill baby, maybe a bit too chill. He forgot to breathe now and again, resulting in his face turning shades of blue that no human should. If you'll refer to child number one, who spent time in the NICU, you'll realize that I was used to having to remind a kid to breathe, so I just gave him a thump, he started his lungs back up, and all was well. I remembered to tell the doc about it, and was so nonchalant that the doctor was kind of stunned.
Tests were run for everything imaginable~menengitis, whooping cough, flu, and god knows what else. He spent five days in childrens hospital before they determined it was simply acid reflux coming back up his throat and causing him to choke. Jeez kid, you could have come with a manual. HA.
Now he's nearly two. He's so incredibly different from his brother that it stuns me sometimes. Patrick was never much for cars and trucks, while Zane appears to revere them. Seriously, he says "car" the way most people say "god". LOL He also loves books and bellybuttons, not necessarily in that order.
There's the flash back of my babies. The reason I'm sleep deprived, broke, sometimes incredibly upset, but mostly, my reason for being.
As this school year beings, I'm hopeful that my biggest kids will actually excell, instead of just pass, that my middles will enjoy meeting new people and learning new things, and that my littlest littles will grow and enjoy life as well.
I remember being scared to death when Caitlyn was born 13 weeks early, weighing less than 2.5 pounds. I watched her fight and struggle to gain even ounces. She caught up fast though, and went home 3 weeks earlier than expected due to sheer stubbornness.
Her brains started to show earlier than expected too. By the time she was 15 months old (a year old adjusted) people could understand everything she said~even strangers. These days, she hides her brain behind teen and text speak, much to my chagrin.
Patrick was my chubster baby. He came out late, by three days. And in the grand scheme of everything, with the exception of pregnancy, three days isn't much. But when you're hauling around a baby that's literally four times the size of your last one, those three days mean A LOT.
He was so chunky his arms and legs seemed to grow right out of his neck. He grew out of it though, and spent his childhood being long and lanky and running all the time. He never spoke much when he was a tot~he didn't need to. His sister wouldn't stop talking. (Much like now....)
And then there was Keira. She was a quiet baby. She preferred to be near me all the time, probably because I was her main source of food for quite a while. We laughed at one point because she answered to the nickname "Fro-hawk" because of how her hair grew~literally in a an afro, but only in a mohawk style. Weird. But adorable.
Life went on, and I discovered I wasn't crazy about living with the kids dad, nor them being around him (I'm still not all that wild about it. But I have to let him around them.)
I eventually ended up splitting from him right about the time Keira turned three.
And the following December, Georgia was born. She immediately became Keira's baby. I couldn't hold her, change her or feed her without Keira becoming incredibly mad. It makes me smile to think back on it. Heck, we trained Keira to hold Jo up after a diaper change (administered by Keira) and ask "is her butt covered?"
Jo is the artist. She started picking up pencils and drawing at about 18 months old. Always faces and people, even on a magna doodle.
Next came Emily. The whirlwind. She's been a mover and a shaker her whole life. Always wide awake and watching. She seems to be the one most in tune with the other world. Her grandpa died just before she was born, and I swear to you, to this day, he watched over us after that. As a brand new baby, her eyes would track things that we couldn't see. We comforted ourselves (and scared the crap out of Pat's sister) by believing that he was there, keeping an eye on "his kids". I fully believe he did, and does, watch us, and there's some strange bond I can't explain between him, Emily, and Zane.
Ah, Zane. He's been hell bent to get moving since before birth. He came a week and a half before the doctor was ready to get him out~which was fine by me. I'm not a happy prego by any stretch of the imagination.
He was a chill baby, maybe a bit too chill. He forgot to breathe now and again, resulting in his face turning shades of blue that no human should. If you'll refer to child number one, who spent time in the NICU, you'll realize that I was used to having to remind a kid to breathe, so I just gave him a thump, he started his lungs back up, and all was well. I remembered to tell the doc about it, and was so nonchalant that the doctor was kind of stunned.
Tests were run for everything imaginable~menengitis, whooping cough, flu, and god knows what else. He spent five days in childrens hospital before they determined it was simply acid reflux coming back up his throat and causing him to choke. Jeez kid, you could have come with a manual. HA.
Now he's nearly two. He's so incredibly different from his brother that it stuns me sometimes. Patrick was never much for cars and trucks, while Zane appears to revere them. Seriously, he says "car" the way most people say "god". LOL He also loves books and bellybuttons, not necessarily in that order.
There's the flash back of my babies. The reason I'm sleep deprived, broke, sometimes incredibly upset, but mostly, my reason for being.
As this school year beings, I'm hopeful that my biggest kids will actually excell, instead of just pass, that my middles will enjoy meeting new people and learning new things, and that my littlest littles will grow and enjoy life as well.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
It's late
I'm at work-on lunch with with "the crew". I should be writing, but I just don't have my groove right now :l
There isn't really much to say, but I'm sort of over facebook and the judgemental bullshit I see there. I still go to keep up with the friends that aren't on the bloglist, but really, I don't feel I fit there-or much of anywhere, really.
I hear "I miss you" and "where'd you go" from people who never comment or interact with me, and rarely if ever, even hit the dreaded like button; but they've never been there when I was down, or even in the throes of depression due to whatever.
I hear "why'd you leave the group" when all I ever seemed to get was talked down to or ignored. Why would I want to be a part of that? It may have been "my" group, but I wasn't "a part" of anything. I seemingly lost friends over admin'ing the way I said I would.
I say it isn't a big deal, and in the grand scheme of life, it really isnt , but when it's your only real social interaction aside from work, it stings, and it takes awhile to let it go.
There are so few people that know the inner workings of my mind, heart and life that to hear my irritations and vents put on blast, it puts another dent in the armor I've built, mostly due to people like that.
But I carry on. Working nights (and training a new person who wants to not be where she is, and thusly works slow as molasses in january), reffing kids, making plans, and attempting to merely tolerate someone I *should* love, but can barely stand, struggling with money problems and just trying to make it.
My inner circle knows what I mean by some of this, the outer circle has no idea.
I don't really know what the point of this post is, but hey, it's my blog, and my "rules" say I can ramble if I want to. :p
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