Throwing in the Towel?
This may come as a giant surprise to many of you, but today I actually comtemplated throwing in the towel and taking a break from blogging for a while. I am so ridiculously busy with running the girls to all of their activities and running myself to physical therapy, that I just haven't found much inspiration to write lately.
I used to savor even 15 minutes of time so I could quickly write something and put it out there. Lately, when I have 15 minutes, I grade something or clean something or start preparing a meal that we'll barely have time to eat before running to the evening's activities.
My original audience is long gone. So are the posts about all things martial arts related. If I do eventually get cleared to head back to karate, right now, I don't even know how I'd find the time to get to class. My girls have something every night of the week. Soon, the competitive swimming season will begin and it will only get worse. My student's papers will only get longer. I'm already sleep deprived. When will I find the time?
I spent time and money on going to a blogging conference this summer and it was a lot of fun to meet so many interesting people. It was also a bit frustrating to me. I've been blogging for almost five years now. I love this writing space, but I've also wanted to turn it into something else. I've wanted to be "discovered" and published. I wanted to use this as a launching pad; but it seems my rockets are fizzling out.
Maybe I'm stagnant because of all the negativity from the past months: the loss of our long-time pet Colby, my Grammom's repeated hospital admissions and death, a third knee surgery and recovery, and many frustrating days trying to turn a country club around when the old-timers don't want to see it turned around. The list goes on. . .
Right now I am frustrated with my writing and I'm frustrated with my life. Would anyone even notice if I packed up and left right now? Would anyone care? Would I? I just don't know.
I’ve Had it Up to HERE With People
Filed under: Things that get my gi all in a bunch
Sometimes I get really crappy comments on my blog. As a blogger, it's pretty much a fact of life. The longer you blog and the more your blog grows, the more idiots show up to try to bring you down with nastiness. Some people just weren't raised right, and on the internet they are given a free pass to say whatever they please. A couple weeks ago, I received a really crappy comment. Last night, I got a really craptastic comment on my review blog of all places. My review blog. . . where I give stuff away. . . to readers.
The comment on my review blog was juvenile and ridiculous. It basically said this: "Wow, this giveaway must be worth a whole $5 or $6." It then went on to call me a turd in multiple ways. Nice.
I'll admit it. It doesn't compare to the last giveaway on my blog where one lucky winner got $150. But let's be honest; companies aren't exactly lining up to hand out $150 a pop to random blog readers. Personally, I'm fresh out of free money to give away to people; all my money is already going to swimming lessons and physical therapy. However, I don't know a mom or dad of a school-aged kid out there who wouldn't appreciate a backpack loaded with school supplies. For one, it saves money and more importantly, that backpack arrived just in time to save me from having to run another errand. I'll take anything that eliminates an errand for me these days. I barely have time to breathe.
So, I did what any review blogger with a crappy comment on her blog would do. I logged into my secret spy software, logged the IP address of that nasty commenter, and labeled them within the program as a jerk. Actually, I labeled that commenter as something else. Use your imagination.
Then, I took the next logical step. I logged into my blogging software and blocked that commenter's IP address for all eternity. Guess who won't be entering the next giveaway I host for $150?
What irritates me more than the administrative steps I had to take to make myself feel better is this: why log in and leave a stupid comment for something you clearly don't want to win. Isn't that even more a waste of your time? Shouldn't you really be off looking for blogs that are giving away new personalities perhaps? Because geez, I mean, you could surely use one if you're so easily offended by free hi-lighters, glue sticks and floppy calculators.
I also spent a couple minutes looking up the value of that backpack. It's actually closer in value to about $35-$40. So, whatever, let someone else win it.
The mean people aren't limited to living inside my computer this week though. They are everywhere; the world is crawling with them. The other day I was driving home from the store on a back road where the speed limit is 25 mph. I was driving exactly 25 mph. As I came up the hill, I noticed a school bus approaching me from the opposite direction. The yellow flashing lights came on.
In my head, I thought, "What do those yellow flashing lights mean? Am I supposed to stop or is that only for the red ones?" I wasn't sure what to do, but then I saw a couple parents standing off to the right up ahead and I figured the bus was slowing down and turning left into the development. It made sense for me to just keep going since the stop arm wasn't out and the red lights weren't yet flashing; but I had a moment of panic and thought, "Maybe I am supposed to stop!"
So I did. I'll admit that I stopped a bit abruptly because I was having an internal monologue at the time; but how abruptly can one really stop when only going 25 mph? I mean, really.
As I stopped, I noticed one of the parents off to the right waving his arms around wildly and gesturing at me with gusto. He was also yelling in my direction. I couldn't hear what he was saying because I was listening to Nelly; I didn't want to hear what he was saying because I could instantly tell he was suffering from short bald-man's syndrome, a rather severe case of it.
Thirty seconds after I had stopped, the man was still wildly conducting the ticked off orchestra and finally the red flashing lights came on the bus and the stop arm extended. I was at a complete stop well before this happened. I was also a good 25-30 ft. away from the bus.
The children exited the bus and ran across the street to their waiting parents. The short cranky man embraced his son as if he had just been released from the evil clutches of the Taliban or something and continued to yell and gesture in my direction, while trying to engage this bus driver in his quite obvious irritation with me. I wanted to yell back at him, but I controlled myself and turned out one of my famous evil glares, threw up my hands in mockery and mouthed quite clearly, "What is YOUR PROBLEM?"
The bus driver pulled the stop arm in, the man continued to gesture wildly, and I slowly continued on my way. I normally don't let crazy people get under my skin like that, but I was a bit upset. Had I done something wrong?
I came home and consulted the school bus laws in my state. They state the following:
- When you meet or overtake a school bus with red signal lights flashing and an extended stop arm, you must stop. (The lights were still yellow when I stopped and no arm was out.)
- You must stop at least 10 ft. away from the school bus. (I was a good 25-30 ft. away when I stopped.)
- You must wait until red lights have stopped flashing and stop arm has been withdrawn before moving. (I continued to wait and get berated by the crazy man until the bus was also moving on.)
- Do not move until all children have reached a place of safety. (The child was clearly in the arms of his psycho father before I ever touched my gas.)
Clearly, if there is anything I'm guilty of doing incorrectly, it's stopping when I didn't have to yet stop since the lights were still very much yellow. What I'd really like to do is print out those school bus laws, form them into a paper airplane with an uber-pointy nose, and go throw them at that dude's head while he waits at the bus stop.
I have just about had it with mean and ignorant people this week. They're rampant in the 4th grade as my daughter has certainly encountered her fair share of them in recent weeks; they're standing at bus stops; and they are all over the internet. And they can go pick on someone else; I've reached the mean person quota for September, thank you, and I can't be held responsible for what I may or may not do with some pointy school bus laws.
Disclaimer: Not all short bald men have short bald-man's syndrome. I am aware of this. Thank you for not pointing it out, because like I've said, I've reached my quoto of crazy this month.
Unfinished
This morning, the phone rang at 6:11 a.m. I was in a deep sleep and the ringing jarred me awake and scared the living daylights out of me. I told Mr. BBM to grab the phone and he handed it to me. On the other line was a recorded message from the superintendent. The high school and one elementary school had a power grid failure. School was cancelled for those two schools only. I listened to the message and tried to calm my pounding heart. This wasn't anything awful. I could relax.
But I didn't.
The last time I got a call that early in the morning, it was on April 26, 2010. It was my Mom on the line, telling me the hospital had just called her. The time was now. My Grammom, after being put on hospice care and spending eight days in the hospital after a severe and catastrophic stroke, was dying. It was a phone call that set in motion the very early beginning to a horrible day. It was followed by a frantic drive to the hospital, only to find that I was the first to arrive, and I was too late. That was all I could think of this morning as I tried to go back to sleep.
The memories of that day are everywhere and time, so far, hasn't made it much better. The void that she has left is massive. It's like a crater in my chest and it is always there. It's the wind-knocked-out-of-you feeling after someone has sucker punched you in the gut. It's there when I'm in the car and the song comes on the radio that accompanied me on my drive to the hospital that horrible morning. It's there when I look at the two bags of inherited things I have from her, the ones that I can't bring myself to go through yet. It's there in the purse she gave my girls, full of coins she thought the girls would find interesting. It's there every time I drive by the hospital (which I almost always avoid), and every time I pass the cemetery on my way to somewhere else.
Yesterday I was at physical therapy and one of the PTs was talking about how all five his daughter's grandparents showed up at her school for Grandparent's Day. I smiled as I overheard him talking, and then it hit me that I have no grandmothers anymore.
Not one.
I have one grandfather left and I barely see him. Since my Grammom died, he's too busy to come see us. He spends his days running unnecessary errands, letting the food we bring him rot in the refrigerator, and discussing his life with the bartenders he sees daily. It makes it even harder, because if the situation were reversed and he was gone, she would be with us all the time. Family was everything to her.
Last night, after having a miserable day, I sat down to start crocheting some baby things for a friend. I learned how to crochet from my Grammom. She taught me how to chain stitch and I would create chains of 100s of stitches in a row that never turned into anything. After teaching myself all over again how to do it, because it has been years since I've crocheted anything, I got busy working on a little hat and by the fourth row my fingers were hurting. I thought about how she used to complain that her fingers hurt so badly from her arthritis, and about how her house contains a hamper full of unfinished blanket projects she never got around to finishing.
I've decided that there is no finishing of the grieving process when you love and miss someone as much as I miss her. With things as crazy as they've been, I could really use my biggest cheerleader. I miss her so much at times, that it is physically painful. And I just don't see that ever getting better.
Not Ready for This
Filed under: Growing Pains, Mental Strain for Mama
Friday was Lil C's Preschool Open House. She got to bring her favorite person with her (me) and it only lasted for an hour. Even then, she was a bit tentative and nervous. When we came home, I asked her why she wanted to sit with me and eat her snack instead of with the other kids. She said, "Because I just love you Mommy."
At dinner on Friday night, she told Mr. BBM that Preschool was fun, but that she wasn't digging the clean up song her teacher sang when it was time to put the Play-Dough away. "It freaked me out," she told Mr. BBM. For a second, I thought Mr. BBM would blow his dinner right out his nose. He composed himself and asked her, "Why?"
"That's really a baby song," she said, "and I am NOT a baby." The look she gave the teacher when she started singing that song said all of that and more.
To be honest, Lil C did seem a bit more grown up than some of the other kids. After all, she has an October birthday. One little girl in her class just turned four this past weekend. Lil C turns five in just a few weeks. As they were sitting around the table eating their snacks, some of the kids were making silly faces at each other and acting goofy. She sat there and gave them the evil eye, the same one I used to give my 6th grade teacher according to my report card.
Lil C has always been more comfortable around adults than she is with other kids. She getsme and I get her. She talks to my physical therapists as if she's their best friend. She communicates with my surgeon with more frankness than I do. At the few larger play dates we've attended, she chose to sit with the moms instead of going off to play with the kids. This year, she decided she doesn't want to have a big birthday party like she did last year. She said she wants us to take her to the zoo instead. "Last year was crazy," she said, "there were just too many people."
All weekend long, she said she didn't want to go to school. She said she was scared and she just wanted to stay home with me. This morning, it was even worse. We got her dressed and fed and ready to go and she just stood at the door. "I really don't want to go," she said.
The entire drive there she complained too, and when I opened up the car door for her to get out, she stayed glued to her seat. Eventually, she came out, but she clung to me like saran wrap as we walked through the doors. Her steps slowed and her feet shuffled as we got closer to her classroom. It felt like she added 20 more pounds to her little self as she leaned away from the door.
The other kids sat around a carpet and played but she stood near me and continued to chant like a mantra, "I don't want to stay here." The teachers told us to come across the hall and pick out a toy to play with. I saw play cupcakes and cookies and knew she would love that. We carried the toys back to the room and set them down. Instantly, they were gone. Some little girl with the same name as my junior high arch nemesis scooped them up and was off. Another little girl grabbed most of the cupcakes. They were like toy vultures, and it certainly didn't help things.
I told her to take that spatula and go get some of those cookies, and thought in my head that those kids are going to be in for it in a couple weeks when she's being herself. Then I leaned down and hugged and kissed her, and told her I was going to go wait in the lobby for her. That's when the tears started. I told the teacher I didn't know what to do and she said gently, "Just go. It's ok." Lil C reached out for my arm and started to execute a full out sprint towards me that was intercepted by her teacher. I told her I loved her and walked out of the room. She wasn't the only one crying.
If there is one thing I know this morning, it's that my kids have grown up way too fast. Lil C wasn't ready this morning, and I can't blame her. I'm not ready either.
Chainsaws in Trees and Role Reversal
On Sunday, my dad was high up his extension ladder wielding a chainsaw as he attempted to cut down unruly tree branches. He seems to enjoy tempting fate and the angel of death, because he does this little acrobatic routine quite often. I should also add that his chainsaw doesn't have an automatic switch-off. Can you sense the foreshadowing?
My Dad, propped at an unusual angle, attempted to saw down one of these branches (which was actually quite large for a branch) and did not anticipate the kick-back that would occur. The ladder moved wildly, his foot got caught on the ladder rung, and down he fell, somersaulting backwards off the ladder and onto the ground. The chainsaw ended up 10 feet away from him, still running.
He said he doesn't really remember the fall, only catching his foot and then being on the ground. But a neighbor saw it and it was not pretty.
After having a craniotomy a few years ago for a bleed in his brain resulting from a bad landing with his hang glider, we are all super paranoid and concerned about my dad and his head. It wasn't that long ago that a bad headache, six weeks after the initial injury, landed him in emergency brain surgery. It wasn't that long ago that he had about 30 staples holding his scalp shut. It wasn't that long ago that he was in the ICU and we were all praying the swelling in his brain would go down so he could speak normally again. Yes, he hit his head on Sunday; yes, he also refused to go to the ER to be checked out.
My Mom said he has a huge lump on the back of his head and that she is treating him as if he has a concussion. He says his entire body hurts and he has cuts and bruises in places he didn't know he could have cuts and bruises.
I spent a split second being concerned and upset and then I got mad. This was right about the time my dad asked my Mom for the phone so he could speak to me. My Dad rarely asks to speak to me on the phone.
Dad: "I need to tell you a couple things."
Me: (Bracing for the worst. He's probably upset with me about something.)
Dad: "First of all, I love you. . . very much."
Me: "I'm sensing a 'but'. . . is there one?"
Dad: "Second, you are doing an amazing job with your kids. They are great kids and you are raising them right. I'm really proud of you for that."
Me: "Ok, I'm sensing a major 'BUT' coming."
Dad: "You also did a great job picking a husband."
Me: "Um, ok, where is this going dad?"
Dad: "Finally, when I sent you out to Pitt, you really screwed up the first year. BUT, you turned it around in less than a year! That was impressive and I'm really proud of you that you did that."
Me: "Ok, so Dad, you must have hit your head really hard? Don't you think you need to have it checked out? And why are you telling me all this stuff? Are you afraid that you did hit your head really hard and it's going to end badly?"
Dad: "No, but when something like that happens, you just realize that you don't want to leave this world without saying some of the things that are in your head and you never get around to saying. So, I just wanted to tell you."
Me: "Oh, well thanks."
Dad: "Ok, well I'm going to go now. . . "
Me: "No, Dad wait. I want to tell you some things too. . ."
Dad: "Ok, what?"
Me: "Well first, you're a freaking BLOCKHEAD! If you ever saw me dangling from a ladder like that with a chainsaw, no less, you would tell me I was an idiot. So, I am returning the favor. That was really stupid! If you and I had been driving down a street and saw someone doing that, you would be joining me in calling them an idiot. . . Second, you're going to be 60 years old soon and I think it's high time you realized that you need to call a tree service instead of risking your life! You have two little girls who ADORE you in my house and they would be DEVASTATED if anything happened to you. How would you expect me to explain to them that you are gone because you went climbing a ladder with a chainsaw? I mean seriously! Third, we ALL need you so think about all of us before you do something stupid like that again. . . got it? Oh, and I love you too."
Apparently, the parental role has switched to me. Next week I'm going to yell at him about driving too fast and taking the corners like Mario Andretti. I may also sneak over to the house and hide his chainsaw.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
