Ice Cream Truck

Its October in the Midwest. Fall used to be my favorite season but not so much anymore.

I still love the coziness of hooded sweatshirts and hot coffee cups the warm cold hands.

The days get shorter, and the greyness seems to settle in, nuzzled against the blue sky like a kitten next to its mom.

The somber days spark acknowledgments of all the heavy and sad times I have experienced during this season.

My mind is so much lighter in the summer.

Even though I despise the hot weather, my skin absorbing the suns vitamin D makes up for the lack of serotonin my brain produces.

 Summertime brings me back to a simpler time.

As a gen x’er, being a kid was so simple.

Days spent swimming at a friends pool or at the lake. Getting up and getting dressed as fast as you could to go so you could meet up with your friends to plan the days adventure.

It never mattered how hot it was, we still played kickball and tag those days.

We would spend countless hours riding bikes along the river on dirt pathways.

We only came home for bathroom breaks and to hydrate with the garden hose.

On occasion, a water fight would break out as a way to cool down.

Sometimes the sound of the ice cream truck would send us all scrambling home to collect whatever change we could find in the couch cushions or beg our parent for money.

The prospect of having something nice and cold and sweet to lower your body temperature would have you making deals with your older sibling to do the dishes for the week.

The song of the ice cream truck always brought the kids screaming and running and filled the street with laughter. Silence only came after everyone had a cool treat in their hand as they worked to consume everything before it melted away.

One time I recall my dad coming out to buy us something.

I was maybe four years old, messy pigtails from playing all day.

I sat with him deciding between a Creamsicle or a Bomb Pop.

My fathers treat of choice was a reliable Ice Cream Sandwich.

Together, we would sit on the front porch, listening to the cicadas in the trees.

Even though its rarer these days to hear an ice cream truck in our neighborhood, whenever I do hear one, it would bring a smile to my face thinking of those fond memories.

But today, October 30, 2023, in Gaza, I saw two fathers take their children to an ice cream truck.

Only it wasn’t to get them a sweet, cold treat, it was to put their tiny bodies inside to preserve them until they could be buried.

There was no quietness broken up by the cicadas. In fact, there hasn’t been quiet in 23 days. Sirens blare day and night.  the missiles keep coming. The buildings keep collapsing. The mothers and fathers howl in agony while holding the bodies of their babies. Children cry out for their mothers and fathers looking for a familiar face to comfort them among the chaos they are in the middle of.

The streets a filled with the cries of children asking the world who will save them. Doctors come across their own family members bodies while trying to save whoever they can. The only silence that comes is to the 47 family blood lines that were obliterated by the bombs. No family stories to tell. No traditions to pass on. No songs to learn and sing together. 

I don’t think the sound of the ice cream truck will transport me to the memories of my childhood. Instead, it will be a somber reminder of all the children’s laughter that disappeared over the past couple of months. The vision of two fathers, laying their children wrapped up bodies, with their last, fatherly words of love written on the white cloth will be what I am reminded of. When a death certificate is issued before a birth certificate. The ice cream truck will forever be a constant reminder of when humanity turned on one another and when as a world, we watched a genocide play out before our very eyes.

When A Movie Hits You

Ever watch a movie and it just hits you in a way you were not expecting? A movie so good it kind of takes your breath away? A movie, that when the end credits start to roll, you get this flood of emotions that you just have to sit with. You are dumbfounded by this visceral emotional reaction that you have to just sit with it and try and understand it? Maybe the “trying to understand it” is more of a personal thing. Here I am, trying to process my very intense emotional response to the Ingmar Bergman’s movie, Through A Glass Darkly, (1961).

I am familiar with Ingmar Bergman as a director. One of my favorite movies of all time is The Seventh Seal, (1957). I have also seen Wild Strawberries, (1957). I was going to watch one of these two again, but I decided to just pick a different one. An observation I have from this time period in cinema is there are a lot of movies about women and being institutionalized or treated for mental illnesses. The Snake Pit from 1948 staring Oliva de Havilland and The Three Faces of Eve from 1957 staring Joanne Woodward are two off the top of my head.

In Through A Glass Darkly, the main charter, Karin, is vacationing on a remote Island with her husband, 17 year old brother and her father. She was just released from a mental hospital a month prior. As the story progresses it appears that she suffers from schizophrenia. She hears voices calling her to a room in the attic in the house they are staying at. She says the voices call her to a room where they wait for someone or something to arrive. No one has said who or what this is, but she guesses its God.

She is aware of her condition and talks to her family about it but it’s her younger brother who she really confides in. She ends up having a serious episode while she and her husband are out on a boat trip to the mainland. She is alone with her brother, and this is where she goes into the details of experiences. She ends up having an intense episode where the voices in her head convince her to seduce her brother. Karin ends up falling asleep and he stays with her until her husband and father come back. It’s at this point where she talks with her dad. She explains she does not want to live in these two worlds any longer and no longer wants treatment. Instead, she wants to be committed. 

They all go back to the house to pack her things and get her ready to be taken to the hospital. Karin ends up disappearing and the father hears a voice coming from the attack. He follows it, along with his son in law and discover Karin in this room, talking to the wall. She is talking about being ready to see who enters the door. You see a closet door start to open. Once the door is open, she starts to scream. She is terrified. Her husband runs to get a sedative shot and her father tries to calm her down. She runs out the room and starts to head down the stairs, but her brother blocks her. Between the three of them, they hold her down so her husband can administer the sedative.

As the sedative starts to work, she becomes more aware of herself and starts to talk about what she saw and experienced during this latest episode. When the door opened, she was expecting to see God. Instead, it was a bunch of spiders. The spiders tried to enter her body and she was trying to fight them off. She came to the realization that God was a false narrative. That all her faith in this narrative was for nothing.

This got me thinking about my own experience with religion. I spent Kindergarten through the 8th grade at a catholic school. I had nuns for teachers, went to church once a week in school on top of every Sunday with my mom and sisters. (My dad only attended on maybe two or three holidays a year. He was Lutheran but did not attend any services within the denomination.)

For high school, I decided I wanted to go to a public school, in the inner city. This meant that if I wanted to get confirmed I would have to take some classes. I had no desire to get confirmed. I went to one class and decided it was a hard pass. The reason was I never felt truly accepted at the school and with my peers. I honestly saw through all the BS at a young age. I remember being taught about the dinosaurs and asking if they existed when there were no people how did God create the word in 7 days? The answer I got was that days were not measured the same as they are today. Yeah, as a second grader, I wasn’t buying this.

As I went on through the years I asked more questions, of priests, nuns, principals and challenged everything. I was always met with exasperated sighs and told that is why I needed to have faith and that my lack of faith was the issue. We never once learned about black history or Martin Luther King Junior so I made sure to do every report I could on him. I was not one to conform to what everyone else was doing. I didn’t like the popular music of the time, nor the way people dressed. I was expected to just go along with what everyone else was doing and that meant accepting what was being told to me.

This movie hit me deep because like the main character, I wanted to believe in something that would make me feel accepted. I wanted to believe that I wasn’t different than anyone else. I wanted there to be an easy answer as to why I was the way I was. I wanted to just believe in something, and it would immediately take away the pain I felt living in the world. I believed so much and when it didn’t pan out, I felt so let down. Just like the main character in this movie. She wanted to believe so much that god was going to take her, protect her, cure her.

I realized a long time ago that I was never going to find acceptance in one religion, and I am okay with that now. What this movie made me realize more than I wanted to admit is that my experiences in the catholic church and at a catholic school were traumatic in a way I can only see now as an adult. I knew as a kid that something did not feel good about being in that environment, but I could not pinpoint it. Looking back, I realize that as a curious child, my inquiries and curiosity was often met with anger and disgust. I saw through the manipulation tactics being used to control the outward appearances people in power wanted to paint. This became evident when the priest that I always had issues with had multiple, credible, allegations of sexual abuse of minors brought against him. I never felt like I fit in because I could not be controlled by their fear mongering. Make no mistake, I still suffer from the false guilt narrative that the church manufactures but at least I can now identify it when it creeps in. I saw Karin want to believe in this god so much to save her, but it was in her psychotic break she realized it was all a wild fantasy. When she accepted that, she was able to get help and grow as a person. This is what was so relatable to me.

My brain on ADHD

Thoughts run through my brain and ping pong back and forth on all sides

Sometimes they bump into one another and have in depth conversations

But I sit on the outside, looking in

I can see the chaos zipping around like tracks of lighting across a stormy sky

Its so mesmerizing and terrifying

I don’t want the thoughts to stop, I just want them to be more organized

I want to follow one thought all the way from one side of my brain to the other

I want to see this thought to the conclusion and move on to the next

But every time I try it’s as if a boulder rolls in front of me to stop the progression of moving forward

So I find another thought and follow it only for the boulder to move slightly and block me again

I continue to try with each thought only to be met with the same fate

It is useless so let me go disassociate and hope the thoughts get tired and rest so I can do the same

I am back ramblings

So, I failed at the daily ramblings. Things just got a bit crazy. The family
and I were getting sick and to be honest, I am just emotionally exhausted. I am
hoping that maybe coming back to write out all of these thoughts may help
address some of that emotional exhaustion.

As I sit here and write this, I can visualize all these comments and
thoughts ricocheting around in my brain like the little silver ball in a
pinball machine. My ADHD brain is kind of freaking out on what to focus on. So,
this post may be a bit chaotic.

At the forefront of my thoughts and emotions are some big societal issues.
The first is the likelihood that Roe v. Wade will be overturned. Reading
through the leaked document and seeing the words used by justices to support
their reasoning is scary as fuck. On the surface, the reasoning makes those who
possess a uterus nothing more than baby making machines. It makes us part of a
supply chain. In light of the racist terrorist attack in Buffalo New York this
past weekend, I cannot help but see this decision as being motivated by some
sort of replacement theory. And yeah, I get it, the sole black guy on the bench
voted for it too, but it doesn’t change the fact that parts of this decision
read like a white supremist manifesto. The reaching arm of this decision will
affect so many things and negate any progress. Folks wonder how someone like
Hitler could come to power and yet here we are, getting a masterclass on how.

This past weekend saw a shit ton of gun violence too. Milwaukee had 3
sperate shootings in the same area that injured 21 people. It’s surprising that
there was no one killed. This was after a Bucks game and literally in front of
police. Buffalo, a white nationalist terrorist open fired and killed 10 people
in a supermarket in a predominantly black neighborhood. His manifesto outlined
all his racism and hate and that he was trying to kill as many black people as
he could. Orange county California saw 1 person killed and 5 injured in a
shooting at a church. Why is it that we are the only country with this issue?
Why is it that we continue to read these same headlines over and over? In all
honesty, I feel like my own country is gaslighting me to think this is normal
and that there is nothing that can be done. A part of me is not surprised. After
all, this country was founded on violence, so it seems like it only makes sense
that there is still an issue with violence. especially since this country wants
to sweep it under the rug versus actually confronting it and trying to help all
who suffer from the generational trauma this violence has caused.

I finished my degree at the age of 33 in 2013. It was at this time that I
really started to listen to BIPOC folks and their experiences. I remember speaking
to this black woman who was raising 3 biracial sons. She was explaining what keeps
her up at night. I realized that we share a lot of the same fears, but she had
a whole other bucket of fears that I simply did not have for my kids. This was
my awakening. I have made it a point to listen more and learn. Because of this,
I have been shocked a million times over at some of the things I have learned.
I mean, its to the point where the stories I hear have become normalized. There
is no more shock value to them. And it made me realize that there are very
different Americas based no race, religion, gender identity & sexual preference.
 

I am I am struggling on how I keep positive and upbeat and raise my kids in
this fucked up country. I try so hard to raise my kids with optimism. That every
trying time has a lesson to be learned. Every negative has a positive to
counter it. Lately, I am not sure I believe this anymore.

Monday morning panic attack ramblings

I totally sang this in the theme song of the show.

Its been a morning. Everything is just slightly off. Just slightly off. I woke up slightly late. The toddler woke up slightly late. so everything was pushed back by about 30 minutes. Normally, this is no big deal and I can roll with it. For whatever reason, today, it has thrown me off to the point of feeling like I am on the edge of a panic attack.

And then daycare drop off happened. Since I was late in dropping the toddler off, their class was not in their classroom. They were in the gym. I have never had a complete tour of this facility and it is more than just a daycare. It is a community center and a youth center as well. The facility is a maze. I walk into the facility at ground level, but you can go down 3 different levels and be at ground levels for other entry ways into the facility. I am confused all over again just writing this.

I figure out where to go, but getting myself back out is a whole other story. I find someone, ask if they have an elevator. Yes, but they have to unlock it for me. So I get in, and I am already anxious cause I feel lost and my surroundings are unfamiliar. I get in, I have no idea what level to push. There are no numbers just different levels. So i pick the main level. I am starting to panic now so I frantically start taking off my layers that I am wearing. The elevator stops, the door finally opens and I get off. Again, I have no clue where I am. A panic attack is now starting. I start to walk around. It appears I am in the area where the 3 and 4 year old’s are at. I walk past a room and my toddlers normal teacher is in it. She opens the door and asks if I am okay. I tell her I am just trying to find my way out. She directs me to a stairwell and says go up the two flights of stairs.

At this point, I feel so out of breath due to the panic attack and I know there is no way I am going to make it up 2 flights of steps let alone survive a windowless area so I just go out a door and walk outside. Now, its all of 10 degrees out. I find my way back to my car and I am just shaking. I am finding it very difficult to settle down.

I make it into work and I am at my desk and I can not focus. My job is working remotely for the most part but normally, there are a handful of people in the office. There is NO ONE here. It is eerily quiet and its not helping my anxiety.

So I do what any, rational person does; I start to cry. I feel so out of control with how I am feeling that I just start to cry. the next thing I do is come here. I start to write. I start to type out what happened so I can identify the trigger but I know what the trigger is. Even as I am typing now, I still feel triggered because of the silence around me but that loudness of my thoughts in the brain is all contradicting.

It was dropping the toddler off and hearing him cry and scream but this time, it echoed cause it was a gym. It was being in unfamiliar areas and seeing unfamiliar faces in a building I walk into four days a week. My brain was having issues really processing how I could be so familiar with my surroundings but still be so disorientated.

I hate that my brain works this way. I was doing every grounding technique I could muster up. I was stimming to try and help calm down. I was having conversations in my brain, telling the freaking out side that we were safe. We knew where we were at. That this was all normal and no big deal. But no, instead of my brain reacting tot he situation in a calm, fairly normal way it decided to freak out and think the end of the word was happening.

Why do I do this? Now I am at work and I am completely exhausted and just want to curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep. I have to end this. I am kind of spiriling at the moment and have to find some calm.

After the stomach bug ramblings

Well, I knew it was coming. After witnessing the kid in my toddlers class projectile vomit strawberries and cornflakes I knew it was a matter of time before it came home. And so less than 12 hours after that event, the toddler, tween and myself got our butts kicked by the bug. Luckily, my spouse was spared but they had the unfortunate task of caring for the three of us. It wasn’t too bad but he was exhausted.

So that is why I have not had any ramblings these past few days. I had a shit ton of random thoughts and soliloquies while I was sick that I wish I would have wrote down but honestly, my head hurt so bad that I just could not stare at a computer screen. I swear it would have felt like it was burning a hole through my skull.

On Friday, I wore my hair up in a high ponytail. I am normally a messy bun type of gal but for whatever reason, I went with the pony tail. I had it up fairly high on my head and it was tight. I have always worn my ponytails slick and pulled tight like Ariana Grande so nothing felt different for me. Until I took the pony tail down. I am used to my head relaxing and everything after I wear a pony tail but this felt really intense. It actually hurt like hell for the hair follicles to move a centimeter all around the crown of my skull. It was harder than hell to fall sleep but I figured when I woke the next day, it would be gone.

Nope. The pain was still there. It was slightly less but it was enough that I needed to take Tylenol. This all got me thinking about how this all came down to me wanting my hair to be pulled back perfectly. No baby hairs flying away. I needed to pull it back so tight to keep it as perfect as I could for as long as i could. That is when I realized that I have been doing this since I was a kid.

So I was shocked that my scalp/head was hurting so bad for so long since this is something it should be accustomed too but I slowly began to think about how perfectionism has showed up in my life in the most ridiculous ways. But I was also seeing how that was translating into everything I do.

An example is when I type. I can not have mistakes as I type. The best I can do is go maybe 3 or 4 sentences but then I have to go back and correct all the spelling and punctuation errors. I can not stand to have any type of those red line errors pop up. And what sucks, is that this is so time consuming and it interrupts a creative process.

Which made me realize why I no longer do artistic things. And when I do, when my idea doesn’t translate exactly the way I envision it, it actually causes me a lot of rage. I am slowly realizing that this desire to be perfect is controlling me and really have a negative affect on my quality of life. What sucks even more, is I see my tween have this desire for perfectionism. She loves to draw and she has a talent for it but I see her get mad and erase things over and over and over again because it doesn’t come out perfect for her. I wonder if she picked that up from me. And I realized many instances where we would do a craft together and I would be very precise and dictate how to do things. My fear is that she will have these things that she loves to do but the perfectionism will ruin it for her like it has for me. I used to love to paint and draw but it pains me to even think to pick it up again. I know that it will end up more like exhausting work than an enjoyable hobby. And this sucks cause I feel like I do not have anything to look forward too.

I don’t think I am going to be wearing my hair in a ponytail again anytime soon. Pretty sure I won’t be styling the toddlers hair that way either. Maybe just a braid to keep the hair out of their eyes. For me, I see an at home haircut in my future. Why at home, cause I got issues with hair salons but that is a whole other rambling for another day.

I am pretty sure this is part of my depression cycle

Damn Tired Rambling

Last night was a rough night for sleep. I had one hell of a time actually getting to a point of falling asleep and just when I was almost there, something would wake me up. I did get to a point of actually sleeping but I woke up with coughing/asthma attack. When my alarm went off to get up I swear I was just not ready.

The toddler seemed to not like this morning either. They woke up and just kept saying they wanted to go back to sleep. Honestly, I was on board with it. I told them I would hold and snuggle them and we both could fall asleep. That was a no go. Its not that they wanted to actually go to bed, they just knew that they would have to go to daycare and they did not want to go.

I found myself going to level 10 with anger and annoyance at them and I had to take a moment for myself. I had to have a mental conversation with myself. I am trying to be a more mindful parent. Realizing that not all fights need to be had. For example, any of my kids wearing coats. I am just not having that fight. I bring the coats and when they start to complain about being cold, they put them on.

So I told them I was going to get on with my morning and when they were ready, they can come find me. But I also told the toddler there was no watching horse (their obsession) videos until they are dressed and ready for their day. I made sure to take some deep breaths and just relax a bit while I got ready. This seemed to work. They either got bored or scared and they came and found my spouse and allowed them to get them ready for the day.

It was all going great until we pulled into the daycare parking lot. The toddler knows right away prior to the turn where we are at and they usually are not happy about it. So I parked and they cried a bit about wanting to stay in the car to talk with me. We eventually made it into their classroom only to witness their best friend puke up their whole breakfast of corn flakes and strawberries. The poor baby looked like they just got done with an MMA fight. Need less to say the toddler was like, “WTF is going on!”

The poor teachers were just overwhelmed. One was trying to take care of the puker while the other had like 7 toddlers doing their potty try and washing their hands and now I had to give them my crying child too. It didn’t help that this was not his normal classroom nor his normal teacher. His normal teacher was in the normal classroom doing a deep clean because there was a child who puked everywhere yesterday.

This all got me thinking how these people do not get paid enough. I would actually LOVE to work with young kids but the pay is not nearly enough to live off of. These people do SO much work and really, have one of the biggest, most important roles around and they are not even paid livable wages. How they stay in good spirits is beyond me.

Hoping sleep comes a bit easier tonight. I made sure to cut out caffeine by noon. I didn’t take a nap on my lunch like I was planning on either. Hopefully those things will help me fall asleep easier. Maybe I will do a nice calming sound bath before bed too.

Oh great the tween came home and said their stomach started to hurt on the bus. I have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and now I am debating if its wise to even eat it cause lord know, I do not want any of us to look we got done with a MMA fight if this things is going to run through our family.

Send good vibes please.

A 2 for 1 Rambling

(This was written on 2/7/2022 at about 9pm. I thought I lost it. So glad it saved!)

This has been rattling around in my head all day today and I just thought I should type it out.

dread mornings. I am not normally a morning person but getting up and getting the oldest out the door and snuggling the toddler while I have a cup of coffee is actually something I look forward too. I try my best to send them out in the world with the best I can give them in hopes that they have a good day. I love to tell them how much I love them and remind them to be good people and that i can not wait to see them later in the day.

Lately, the dread is with the toddler. He has been kicking and screaming about going to daycare and I am not sure why.

He is 2 years and 4 months. He went to daycare at 3 months old for about 3 months, and then, the world shut down. For the next 6 months he stayed at home. Eventually he started up at a new daycare. He even moved classrooms with no issues. He actually LOVED to go. He has so much fun. One of his friends moved to another classroom and it seemed like he struggled with this. He started to get real clingy and cry when I dropped him off. It progressed to he knew where we were in the car and when I turned into the parking lot, he cries to go back home.

So I read everything I could about separation anxiety. We had a process in the morning where we sat on the bench outside, had a talk, went inside, and I gave him his lovey that he named Peanut and the teacher would take him and he would wave to me out the window. They crying was never real intense or anything.

Well then he transitioned to the next room for his age. The teacher in there was one he was familiar with. It was a decent transition. His friend was across the way in the other classroom and they got to play together often. His friend is about 6 months older and is like a big brother to my son. He steps in when other kids are giving him a hard time and really defends my son. My toddler likes to either play by himself or with this other child. Even though they get SOME playtime together they are not in the same class and I often wonder if them not being together has caused some issues for my son.

The teacher my son was use to has not been in the classroom for a while now. There is another teacher that is amazing and really helpful in the mornings. She has a little routine with him and even though the toddler has gotten more intense with the crying and kicking, she has found a way to help him transition as I leave. I often times sit outside the classroom just to hear how long it takes form him to settle and its usually not more than 5 minutes.

What is weighing heavy on my heart is that no matter what I have done, it seems to getting worse. If there is something that is not the usually routine its even worse. Like today, he had to go into the classroom next-door. There were teachers he knew but none of his usual teachers were there so he really had a hard time. He was screaming so loud and kicking so hard. It broke my heart. The two teachers in this classroom know he has issues when I leave so they took him, saw him next to his old, dear friend but when I walked out, he was just screaming. He was sitting at the table with his head down, just sobbing, crying the biggest tears. It broke my heart. It took him so much longer to calm down. I sat outside the room and just cried.

My oldest is autistic and I remember transitions for her were a challenge. She did not go to daycare as my husband was a stay at home dad but she did go to K3 in special education so my husband would have some issues with her when he would bring her home. The toddler shares many characteristics as his sister did and we are getting him assessed to see if he is on the spectrum. I have a feeling he will be on the boarder of an official diagnosis. So we are being proactive and doing some of the things we were advised with my daughter. Not 100% sure if its working or not but we will keep on with it since it hasn’t been that long.

My heart breaks because I feel like drop off is so traumatic for my son and for me. I fear that I am causing some psychological damage to him. My husband use to pick him up but now I do pick up too cause I do not want to be the “bad” one who drops him off and causes him all this distress while my husband gets the loving reaction of, “you came back for me.” when he picks him up. I am trying to get him to see that yes, I drop him off, but I always come back too.

I have purchased 5 different books about parents leaving for work or being away from their little one. How the parents miss their little one too but how they always come back. I tried to do a kiss on his hand and tell him if he needs a mama kiss, to just put his hand to his cheek. He kisses my hand and I do the same when I need a kiss from him. Tomorrow I have heart stickers. I am going to try him picking out a color he likes and he and i will wear the same color to think of one another. I am a bit stressed cause he freaks out about stickers on him but we shall see if this works. If not, I got these stretchy hair tie that as horses on it. (The toddler LOVES horses.) We will try each wearing the same color one and do the same concept as the sticker. I hope one of these two options work cause I do not know if my heart can take morning drop offs like this much longer.

Broke my streak. Such is Life

So I have been riding the struggle bus for a while now and I am not going to lie, it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I have glimmer of happiness but something always seems to bring me back down. Yesterday I wanted to do something fun with the kids but I had no motivation.

I really hate feeling like I have no energy ALL THE TIME. Yesterday I never got out of my PJ’s and neither did the toddler. I did get dinner in the slow cooker so I had that going for me. I feel like this lack of motivation is something I have felt for a good portion of my 43 years of life. And the mama guilt from it too. Its like this horrible cycle of always feeling like crap. That I am never enough or doing enough or happy enough.

Ad I was mindlessly scrolling through social media last night after everyone went to bed, I cam across this video or a woman who was talking about empaths. I have known I am an empath for a while now but she was talking about the childhood of an empath.

Growing up my mother was always uncreditable. I could tell right away when my mom was off and in one of her moods. To this day, at 43, I find myself on heighten alert to anything that may set my mom off. For example, I became pregnant with my now toddler when I was 40. I was nervous as all hell to tell my mom about it. I am happily married to my husband for 20 years now but I was so scared to tell her because I was 40, overweight and my only other child was 10. I could just see her getting into her “concerned” mode that really had nothing to do with concern about me. Its more of a way to judge me that is hidden behind this “concern.”

I told my sisters around 12 weeks and around 17 weeks, I had a hemorrhage and thought I was miscarrying. I spent the day in the hospital and when I got out, I called my mom. I wanted to have comfort from my her. So I told her I was pregnant, how far along I was and possible having a miscarriage. Two things I remember from that conversation; The first was she was worried about how she was going to tell my father. So I offered to call him and tell him. The second, she said she was getting her nails done and asked if she could call me back. Ok. Cool. So I called my dad and told him everything. He was so happy but also concerned. We talked, he showed me compassion and he calmed me down. My mom did call me back. She had some questions but that was about it. Felt like I was being interviewed by a nurse. I know something was off but I was not sure what. So I left it alone and my sisters kind of kept their ears open for any insight.

I remember that day thinking that all I wanted was to call my mom to find some comfort and I was anxious as fuck calling her to tell her and then she was more concerned about her nails than anything else. I figured out that this is how my life is. I overthink EVERYTHING because I am trying to mitigate any negative reactions from whomever I am dealing with. I am so worried about others reactions cause I am literally in a fight or flight mode ALL THE TIME; scared of what I say or do causing issues. I am unable to set boundaries because I worry about how it might negatively impact the other person and how that might play out towards me.

Man, writing this all out has me really thinking a ton of thoughts about the relationship with my mom. How she is a narcissist and how it has affected me growing up and shaped me to this day. Be prepared, future writings may have me spilling this all out.

A little earlier evening 13 minute ramble

So the late night writing is messing me up. I know there are many that say to keep a journal and write down everything in your head before you go to bed cause it will help you sleep better. It may work or some but for me, its all BS.

These last 2 nights as I was battling my insomnia I tried this and I have to say it activated my brain even more. It also seeped into my dreams and they woke me up a few times which is actually rare for me. So tonight, I am starting a little earlier, and then I hope I can get in 30 minutes of Olympic or college basketball to kind of settle my mind. I am also trying some 1000mg full spectrum CBD oil. We shall see.

Today was a pretty lazy day. I had zero energy, which is normal for me but it was a bit more intense. I did not want to move or do anything. I barely ate today cause I simply had no energy. I actually had my son sitting on me, watching the Mickey Mouse Funhouse…..again…and I was just sleeping away. Its kind of nice cause he likes to get under the covers with me and he is like a personal heater. It was so cozy. My husband was around too so he was being watched.

We decided to have our family movie night and since we started doing this last week by watching Paddington, it only made sense to watch Paddington 2 this week. I got to snuggle my oldest for the first half and the toddler for the 2nd half. They both actually liked it a lot. They are such sweet movies. I loved the books as a kid so I asked my toddler if he wanted me to get him a book and he was like, no. I guess in his mind why get the book when we have the movie.

I am trying to not feel guilty for the lazy day. I am trying not to feel bad about the screen time for my toddler. I am trying to feel ok for listening to my body and just honoring what it needed. It sucks cause it has been so cold so its not even possible to go outside for a walk or anything. And I know the toddler is bored inside the house. Maybe tomorrow we will paint. I have a ton of different types of paints and papers and maybe that will help him get creative and get something new to happen.

I am sure my oldest will sleep in late. I like to let her do her thing and sleep as much as she wants on the weekends. I feel like she is growing and her body needs the rest too. I m 100% jealous of her. I miss those days of sleeping until noon. I wonder if once you have kids if you ever get to a point in life where you get to sleep until noon again. The few times I may have been able too, I found myself waking up with in an hour of my normal weekday time. Its just cruel that that even happens.

My toddler has not been taking naps when he is home with us and not in daycare. It use to be I would hold him and he would fall asleep on me and then I would nap too. I have always looked forward to this time. I know he is fighting to NOT nap but I keep trying to tell him that when he is older, he is going to WANT the time to take naps. He needs to take advantage of these times allowed for naps. He just looks at me like I have no clue what I talking about. And maybe I don’t. What I do know, is I need to go finish this basketball game and go to bed.