Tugging At My Heartstrings

A few days ago as S. got into the car after preschool he said,"Amy is not my friend anymore." I asked him why he would say that. He said,"Because she told me that. She doesn't want to play with me anymore." He said something like that about another child a few days before that. He also said one of the boys hit him. Luckily, he did mention another girl who would play with him. He said,"Sammy is a nice girl." That did make me feel better. I must admit, though, that my heart sank and hurt for my little boy when he talked about kids not wanting to play with him. Why would anyone not want to play with my little guy? What's wrong with these kids? Didn't their parents teach them any manners? I needed to remind myself that kids are kids. Kids can be cruel. And at this age, they say they don't want to be friends anymore and two minutes later, they're playing again like nothing ever happened. I did ask my husband if maybe I should call his teacher, ask her if she's noticed S. being withdrawn. I decided to try to not make such a big deal out of it, since he still loves to go to school. I am going to keep an eye on him, but I am going to follow his lead on this one. It's just so hard to be on the other side.

We also have four kids, three boys and one girl, that live next door. These boys are older than S. by several years. A few weeks ago, Hubby found rocks being thrown at S. Then last week, there seemed to be some not so nice talk going on. I went out there, and the boys invited S. over. Since Tot was napping, I walked over with S. I stayed with him since the boys are older, and there had been prior disagreements. S. had a very nice time. The boys were very welcoming. When it came time to leave, I told S. he could stay in our backyard and play while I got the Tot up from his nap. Again, I find things being thrown, my son, and mean words being spoken. When the boys told me S. was throwing rocks and water at them, I spoke to S. and then to the boys. S. told me they were being mean, and I told him to come and get me, not to throw things at them. We never throw rocks. Then I told the boys that if S. was bothering them, then they should move away from the fence. If he is bothering them so much, they should not stand on a chair so they could see him over our six foot wooden fence. I mean if someone is bothering you, you wouldn't stay right by them by your own free will so they could bother you some more, would you? Besides, they are four and a half years older than S. Anyway, we like the parents of the boys very much, and I believe the boys are basically good kids, but they aren't being kind to my son. Today, they are back at the fence, and unkind things are being said. I told S. to not talk to them today. He could stay outside, but no talking or playing with them, since they aren't being nice. Lovely.

My point here is that it breaks my heart when I see my son so upset. Upset by kids picking on him. He justs wants to play with other kids. Wasn't it just yesterday that I brought him home from the hospital and could control his whole day for him? Now that he is out in the world by himself I can't control everything. I can't control what other kids will say to him. I know my son is not an angel; I know this. But, still, it breaks my heart to hear that a child doesn't want to be friends with him, or another child say he doesn't want to play with him. S. is very sensitive like his daddy. My husband tells me what happened to him as a child, and I don't want that to happen to S. But what can I do? How do you stop kids from picking on your son? What do you tell your son to say or do in situations like that? When do you know to step back and let him deal with it on his own? S. is my first child, and I am learning from him. I just hate having to learn this; it breaks my heart.

How could anyone not love this little guy?

Better

Thank you to all who posted a comment to my last post. Your comments really warmed my heart, and helped me to remember how my mother would have felt. I hestitated posting my regrets for the world to see, but am so glad that I did. They reflect how I was feeling at the time, and how I still feel sometimes, but like everything else in the grieving process, they change too.
I guess it doesn't matter how hard we try to perfect, whether it's being the perfect mother or daughter or both. The truth is that we are human. Part of the reason I love my husband so much is that he isn't perfect, nor does he try to be. He is open to learning and changing if that is what needs to happen. I envy him this. I don't know if it's merely being female that lends itself so closely to feeling the need for perfection. The men I know do not seem to have these problems. Me, I have wanted to be the perfect mother since the time I first conceived. I have always wanted to be the best in everything I tried. Sometimes I feel the need to be perfect has paralyzed me. I'd rather not try something new because damn't, I just don't have the energy it would take to attain the highest level of whatever it is.

I think that's one reason why I am so hard on myself regarding my mother. The other being that my mother was so selfless herself. She was always described by others in words such as: good, positive, giving, motivated, nurturing, selfless, determined....and the list goes on. She was also a nurse. Taking care of people was what she did. I struggle with that. Taking care of people does not come naturally for me. So, of course, I am hard on myself when it comes to her care; of what I could have done better. At any rate, I admired my mother, and strive to be like her, but I'm not her. And maybe I put her up on a pedestal so high that there is no way I could even achieve that level of perfection. Who knows.

All I really do know right now is that I'm feeling somewhat better. There were so many things going on this week that were bleak that they just added to my mood. Today, though, at a doctor's appointment, I asked for a script for a mammogram. I haven't had one since my baseline four years ago. I am supposed to have one every year, but since I didn't feel like dealing with the whole breast cancer topic I avoided having one. So there you go. Progress. Now I just have to call to make the appointment.

Hate Me: My Regrets

I have to block out thoughts of you

So I don't lose my head.

They crawl in like a cockroach

leaving babies in my bed.

Dropping little reels of tape

To remind me that I'm alone.

Play movies in my head...

There's a burning in my pride

nervous bleeding in my brain

An ounce of peace is all I want for you...

Hate me today

hate me tomorrow

Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

Hate me in ways

Yeah, ways hard to swallow

ate me so you can finally see what's good for you.

...In my sick way I want to thank you

For holding my head up late at night

While I was busy waging wars on myself

You were trying to stop the fight

...you made me compliment myself

when it was way too hard to take.

So I'll drive so fucking far away

That I never cross your mind

And do whatever it takes in your heart

To leave me behind.

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave

kicking shadows on the street

For every mistake I made.

and like a baby boy, I never was a man

Until I saw your blue eyes cry

And I held your face in my hand.

And then I found out, yelling "make it go away!"

Just make a smile come back and shine

Just like it used to be

......

Blue October, "Hate Me", 2006

Yesterday I cried at my therapy appointment. I never cry, especially in front of other people. I even have a hard time crying in front of my husband. However, no matter what I said, or what joke I tried to make, tears kept coming from my eyes. I am actually very envious of people who can cry easily, because after I do finally allow myself to cry, I feel better. A weight lifted from my body.

April is dead mother's month for me. My mother died in April four years ago, and my life has never been the same. I miss her so much sometimes that I can barely breath. Most times I make myself think of something else because it hurts too much to think about how my life would have been had she never died. I was only 30 years old when she died. She was only 51. I feel so cheated by her being taken from us. I finally had my miracle baby; he was six months old, and she was gone. I needed her then, and I need her now. I see daughters with their mothers, and I am jealous. It hurts so much, and I feel so alone. During the afternoons while the Tot is sleeping and S. is playing by himself, I think about her. I think about how much they would have loved her, and how much joy they would have given her. My brother's two oldest children got to know her, but not my kids. S. even gets my dad's wife and my mom confused. He doesn't understand that my stepmother is not my mother. When I ask him where Grandma Debbie is, he points to the sky and says"Up in heaven with God." That breaks my heart. She was there for his birth; the first one of us to hold him, and he doesn't even know who she is.

I have so many regrets when it comes to my mother. She was sick for so very long. I was so selfish; I should have been there more. I should have spoiled her rotten with things she never would have bought herself. I still remember the day my old fertility clinic called to tell me I was losing our first baby. Hubby told me to call my mom because she could get to our home sooner. I called her, and she immediately came over, cancelling an appointment she had made long ago. All of us in our family always came first to her. But did I put her needs first? No. I wallowed in my own pain over not being able to get pregnant. I hid my pain over her illness in my work. I stayed so busy that I couldn't even think about what she was going through. My dad wanted us all to go to Hawaii, her dream, but we never did. I thought I'd be pregnant, and who can travel then? I don't know. I seriously don't think she would have gone. I know she regretted working as long into her illness as she did. She never got to do many things that she wanted to.

I mainly regret not being there in her final months. I was working through the postpartum depression that I had acquired after S.'s birth. I had a hard time doing anything not related to him. Getting dressed was even hard. I should have just packed up the baby things, and got in the car. I should have been there every day. I lost a lot of time that I could have spent with my mom. Sure, we talked on the phone for hours every day, but it's not the same as being there in person. I only lived five minutes away from her. FIVE MINUTES! I can't really describe how bad I felt when I was battling the PPD. It was like being stuck in mud. I could barely move. No motivation. It took an hour to eat a small lunch. She wanted me there. Her friends couldn't understand why I wasn't. Hell, I couldn't understand why I wasn't. We did spend weekends together. Hubby was wonderful about that. He made sure I was with her.

When the PPD was somewhat under control, I did spend a lot of time with her. There were always people there. From church, her work, or wherever. There always was a lot of noise in my mom's house. In contrast, mine was very quiet, except for the times S. would cry. I finally was feeling better and there for her, and then it was over.

Just before her death, my mother and I planned out my new kitchen. We decided it should have red walls. She was going to help me plan it. And then she was gone. Everything was so quiet. So dark, so lonely. And I just remember all those wasted days. All of that time that I could have spent with her. I'm so sorry mom... So hate me for all those things I SHOULD HAVE done for you. Hate me for being so damn selfish. For thinking of my needs first. I miss you so much. Every. Single. Day. I think about you when I get up in the morning, and when I go to bed at night. When I look at my youngest son's eyes, and their shape is yours. When I look at our oldest, and his profile is you. When I look at my red kitchen, and the ring of yours I wear every day. When I see your pictures all over my house. I think of you when I say something you would have understood. And when I finally understand how hard being a parent was for you too. Now that I'm a parent, I understand you more. I think about you when I'm in pain from my endometriosis. I think of you when I wish there was someone who would take care of me. I think of you when I am one of the only female family members in a room. I'm surrounded by men mom, and sometimes I need a woman to talk to. A mom. My mom. I need your unconditional love. I need you. I always will. So until I am on my way home to you, know that I am so sorry I wasn't a better daughter. You deserved better than me. I'm so sorry mom. So sorry.

My mom the last Christmas Eve that she was alive. She is holding S. who was 8 weeks old at the time. She gave him that outfit. My dad is next to her. She looks so pale in this picture now, but on that day we all thought she looked so good.

Understood

One day last week while Tater Tot was napping, I told S. to clean the playroom. He actually did, though that's not the best part of this tale. Nope. The good part came when Tot got up and wanted to play downstairs in the newly cleaned playroom. You can almost guess what happened, can't you? Yep, the Tot took the box of blocks and quickly turned it upside down. There were blocks everywhere! I soon heard my oldest son say,"Tot, I JUST cleaned that up!" Before something physical happened, I went downstairs and helped Tot to clean up the mess he made. S. was very upset since he had JUST cleaned down there. I told him that's exactly how I feel EVERY day. He had a look on his face like he got it. It felt nice to finally be understood. (By at least one male in my life)!

This Year's Easter Vs. Last; A Review in Pictures

Last year, Tater Tot wasn't so interested in the whole Bunny bringing baskets things.

This year, however, it seemed that Tot was very happy about not only finding a basket from some Bunny, but also the fact that it had food in it. Tot loves food. Any food.

This was the present from us that Tot got. The reason the bath toy ended up being from us is because his nosey brother saw his present hidden in Daddy's

closet.

S.'s gift from us. He loves this game. We love to read books by Eric Carle, so I felt S. would really like this game. He does!

S. this year. He really understood the whole finding the Easter basket concept this year, and was really excited when he found his. (Above, last year with his old basket. )

Last year it was very warm, in the morning. Note the short sleeves on all of us. Oh, and I am actually wearing a dress.
This year, we are all sporting long sleeves, and I am no longer wearing a dress. Every year I try to make Easter the one holiday in which I don a dress since, in theory, it should be warmer than any of the others. This year I gave up when the week's temperatures were lower than those in December. I tried to be festive by wearing a bright sweater. And yes, I made my boys wear matching outfits. They can be mad at me later. I think they look cute!