My preschooler is quite inquisitive and curious about the world. She asks why people are mean, or why she can’t have a third cupcake and really wants to know the truth. It’s a challenge for me to be honest, yet age-appropriate sometimes. But when she asked me about Valentine’s Day, I told her simply, “It’s a day to tell people you love them.” Oh, the wisdom sequestered in her brain…she replied, “But I do that every day!” My response? I commenced to ask her what she thought about love:
Me: What is love?
Pie: It’s when you really, really, really, really love someone.
Me: But what does love mean?
Pie: It means you love them really a lot.
Me: (Trying a different approach) Who invented love?
Pie: You…and me!
Me: How did we do that?
Pie: You loved me when I came out of your tummy.
Me: When did you love me?
Pie: All the time.
Me: Why do we love people?
Pie: ‘Cause they are nice.
Me: Do we love mean people?
Pie: No, but Jesus does.
Me: Who do you love?
Pie: Lots of people?
Me: Like who?
Pie: Weeellll, you… and Mini (the dog). And Mimi and Poppy. And Papa. And Aunt Susie and Pickle Juice, Aunt Stephie and Uncle JimPa….and Parker!
Me: Anybody else?
Pie: Miss Krista and Miss Wendy. And Autumn.
Me: Is that it?
Pie: For now…I might love other people some day. That OK Mama?
Me: Yes, that’s OK.
Pie: Can I go outside and play?
So, the message is clear…love the nice people and let Jesus sort out the rest.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Real Mickey Mouse Clubhouse of Beverly Hills
There are television shows I follow nearly religiously; some I catch every now and then. My daughter is the same. The Pie will want to watch nothing but the same show over and over again for a while then move on to something new. Recently, her obsession became The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. My newest guilty pleasure is the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
I did not follow any of the other Real Housewives franchises, so I am a virgin in that regard. My voyeuristic personality simply could not resist tuning in to this cycle, however – primarily for my interest in the Housewife America loves to hate: Camille. But I will get to her in due time.
Tonight, I watched another installment of the Housewives, followed by the 723rd viewing of a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse show and I could not help but draw certain correlations between the two shows. There are six main characters in each series and it occurred to me that each Housewife has her own animated Disney doppelganger!
Mickey Mouse is obviously the calm, mature and learned Lisa who takes care of her little friends and teaches them life lessons. Just as Mickey solves a problem, Lisa calmly assesses a situation and finds the most suitable resolution. Lisa has a fantastic sense of humor and Mickey giggles a lot at the silly exploits of his buddies.
Minnie Mouse is Kyle, the emotional compass of the group. Kyle is sensitive, family-oriented, and very strong. Minnie matches Kyle’s emotional fervor in her love for Mickey, her close friendship with Daisy and her mothering nature with all the other friends in the clubhouse. She just wants everyone to get along – same with Kyle.
Kyle’s sister Kim is most like Donald Duck to me. She complains a lot and it’s hard to understand what she says. Notice that Bravo uses the superimposed translations more often with Kim than any other Housewife. She mumbles and like Donald’s tirades, I often have to think about what I thought was just said!
Then there’s Daisy Duck, the smart, savvy gal that tolerates all the juvenile antics of the clubhouse pals. She matches Adrienne with every step. They are both calm, analytical and strong. Daisy has her own career as a secret spy while her man Donald walks around without pants. Adrienne maintains a phenomenally successful family business despite the interference of her plastic surgeon husband, who probably walks around pantsless, too! Adrienne has no tolerance for bullshit or childish behavior, but still manages to remain friends with the crazy ladies.
Dear, sweet Taylor is our real-life Pluto. They both lovingly follow the others around, don’t have much to say and take up space in the clubhouse. Occasionally, they get their feature shows, but they are primarily supporting players who don’t add much depth to the proceedings.
And finally, little Camille is the Beverly Hills resident Goofy. They each vie for attention, put themselves before others, live in their own little self-absorbed worlds and constantly screw things up for everyone else. It’s usually Goofy at the center of a problem, just like Camille – who stirs the pot every chance she gets. They both laugh it off and smile winningly and expect everyone to find it endearing. Between the two, it’s neck-and-neck on who I loathe more, but Camille is beginning to take the lead because she just won’t shut the hell up!
Yes, I feel a modicum of embarrassment in admitting that I watch these shows. However, each show has some redeeming value. They teach morals, problem-solving and involve a little fantasy. What’s wrong with that?
I did not follow any of the other Real Housewives franchises, so I am a virgin in that regard. My voyeuristic personality simply could not resist tuning in to this cycle, however – primarily for my interest in the Housewife America loves to hate: Camille. But I will get to her in due time.
Tonight, I watched another installment of the Housewives, followed by the 723rd viewing of a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse show and I could not help but draw certain correlations between the two shows. There are six main characters in each series and it occurred to me that each Housewife has her own animated Disney doppelganger!
Mickey Mouse is obviously the calm, mature and learned Lisa who takes care of her little friends and teaches them life lessons. Just as Mickey solves a problem, Lisa calmly assesses a situation and finds the most suitable resolution. Lisa has a fantastic sense of humor and Mickey giggles a lot at the silly exploits of his buddies.
Minnie Mouse is Kyle, the emotional compass of the group. Kyle is sensitive, family-oriented, and very strong. Minnie matches Kyle’s emotional fervor in her love for Mickey, her close friendship with Daisy and her mothering nature with all the other friends in the clubhouse. She just wants everyone to get along – same with Kyle.
Kyle’s sister Kim is most like Donald Duck to me. She complains a lot and it’s hard to understand what she says. Notice that Bravo uses the superimposed translations more often with Kim than any other Housewife. She mumbles and like Donald’s tirades, I often have to think about what I thought was just said!
Then there’s Daisy Duck, the smart, savvy gal that tolerates all the juvenile antics of the clubhouse pals. She matches Adrienne with every step. They are both calm, analytical and strong. Daisy has her own career as a secret spy while her man Donald walks around without pants. Adrienne maintains a phenomenally successful family business despite the interference of her plastic surgeon husband, who probably walks around pantsless, too! Adrienne has no tolerance for bullshit or childish behavior, but still manages to remain friends with the crazy ladies.
Dear, sweet Taylor is our real-life Pluto. They both lovingly follow the others around, don’t have much to say and take up space in the clubhouse. Occasionally, they get their feature shows, but they are primarily supporting players who don’t add much depth to the proceedings.
And finally, little Camille is the Beverly Hills resident Goofy. They each vie for attention, put themselves before others, live in their own little self-absorbed worlds and constantly screw things up for everyone else. It’s usually Goofy at the center of a problem, just like Camille – who stirs the pot every chance she gets. They both laugh it off and smile winningly and expect everyone to find it endearing. Between the two, it’s neck-and-neck on who I loathe more, but Camille is beginning to take the lead because she just won’t shut the hell up!
Yes, I feel a modicum of embarrassment in admitting that I watch these shows. However, each show has some redeeming value. They teach morals, problem-solving and involve a little fantasy. What’s wrong with that?
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Blessings and Thanksgivings
I know that given my current circumstances it would seem that I have little to be thankful for on this holiday. But the opposite is true. I am incredibly blessed, despite being unemployed and barely making it financially. Many people in my same situation would wail and moan about how life is unfair and expect handout after handout. But below are my Top 5 reasons to be thankful:
NUMBER 1: I have a healthy and happy daughter. At age 41, being pregnant was like walking around with a ticking time bomb strapped to my chest. Terror clenched my heart as I read book after book detailing the myriad birth defects possible in women of normal child-bearing age, much less those of advanced maternal age. All the odds were stacked against me, but when she arrived, the Pie was perfect…and I mean PERFECT! She has no developmental delay, no health issues, and no learning difficulty. I am blessed every day simply by her presence in my life. I am profoundly thankful for her innocence, her intelligence, her wacky sense of humor and her very sweet heart.
NUMBER 2: I have rediscovered the child inside me and feel so grateful for the opportunity to stare at a moon in a dark sky and wonder what it’s made of, or to make believe I am a sleeping queen that can only be awakened by the kiss of a beautiful princess. Quite simply, I am thankful for the ability to play.
NUMBER 3: Many of my closest friends and family are aware of the struggles I have had over the past couple of months, and I am thankful for their support and encouragement. Several have offered generous financial assistance and without those gifts, I could not have gas service restored, or even remained in our house. On my behalf, a couple of friends have petitioned their churches for help and I have been so deeply touched by the kindness and generosity of those organizations. Total strangers helped us pay bills and buy groceries; mere words cannot illustrate how touched I am by the gesture.
NUMBER 4: During my unemployment and subsequent plummet into virtual abject poverty, I have been referred to several local agencies that have been able to help with utility assistance, clothes and food. I ask that if you are able, please donate to organizations such as these because they really do help those in the community who are in need.
NUMBER 5: I am thankful for the opportunity to wake up every day and face whatever challenge lies ahead of me. Mopping the floor, scrubbing the toilet, picking up the building blocks off the floor for about the eighty thousandth time…all these things and more give me purpose and help keep me from sliding into a depression that I may not be able to escape.
I know that something grand and fulfilling awaits me in the future, but in the meantime, I’ll just continue to count my blessings….
NUMBER 1: I have a healthy and happy daughter. At age 41, being pregnant was like walking around with a ticking time bomb strapped to my chest. Terror clenched my heart as I read book after book detailing the myriad birth defects possible in women of normal child-bearing age, much less those of advanced maternal age. All the odds were stacked against me, but when she arrived, the Pie was perfect…and I mean PERFECT! She has no developmental delay, no health issues, and no learning difficulty. I am blessed every day simply by her presence in my life. I am profoundly thankful for her innocence, her intelligence, her wacky sense of humor and her very sweet heart.
NUMBER 2: I have rediscovered the child inside me and feel so grateful for the opportunity to stare at a moon in a dark sky and wonder what it’s made of, or to make believe I am a sleeping queen that can only be awakened by the kiss of a beautiful princess. Quite simply, I am thankful for the ability to play.
NUMBER 3: Many of my closest friends and family are aware of the struggles I have had over the past couple of months, and I am thankful for their support and encouragement. Several have offered generous financial assistance and without those gifts, I could not have gas service restored, or even remained in our house. On my behalf, a couple of friends have petitioned their churches for help and I have been so deeply touched by the kindness and generosity of those organizations. Total strangers helped us pay bills and buy groceries; mere words cannot illustrate how touched I am by the gesture.
NUMBER 4: During my unemployment and subsequent plummet into virtual abject poverty, I have been referred to several local agencies that have been able to help with utility assistance, clothes and food. I ask that if you are able, please donate to organizations such as these because they really do help those in the community who are in need.
NUMBER 5: I am thankful for the opportunity to wake up every day and face whatever challenge lies ahead of me. Mopping the floor, scrubbing the toilet, picking up the building blocks off the floor for about the eighty thousandth time…all these things and more give me purpose and help keep me from sliding into a depression that I may not be able to escape.
I know that something grand and fulfilling awaits me in the future, but in the meantime, I’ll just continue to count my blessings….
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Show Business
I am a theatre junkie…as you can tell by the way I spelled it with and “re” instead of “er.” I also pronounce it THEE-uh-ter, not thee-ATE-er. Whether it’s experimental improv, a small one-act or a musical playing, I love to go to the theatre. I am an especially humongous fan of the musical; my iPod is chock-a-block full of show tunes with everything from “Avenue Q” to “Xanadu.”
I am fortunate enough to have a friend who holds season tickets to our local performing arts facility and is also generous enough to invite me along when she has an extra ticket. Thus, I found myself with a seat for the touring production of “Wicked.” (Thanks, Steph!) The offer presented me with a dilemma that was two-fold: finding a babysitter and what to wear.
My regular childcare provider was unavailable, so I spent about half and hour making phone calls. I was prepared to get creative so I considered multiple options: 1) duct tape the Pie in a box and put her in the garage 2) just sneak out of the house while “Finding Nemo” played for the gazillionth time on the DVD player 3) call my dad to come over and sit on the couch for 3 hours while the Pie ran amok (most likely naked) through the house. However, my conscience would not permit me to further investigate these options; fortunately, my good friend who lives a couple of blocks away agreed to baby sit. One down, one to go.
When I texted my friend that I was trying to decide what to wear to the show, she responded with “I’m thinking along the line of clothes…” I knew I was at least on the right track. I take the theatre seriously, people, and I have a deep respect for the work that goes into mounting a show. I have worked with actors and stage crew, and I admire the dedication it requires. In that vein, I want to show my respect by dressing for the occasion. As I prepared for my evening out, my lovely daughter would occasionally comment: “Mama, you bra and panties match!” “Mama, me like you boots!” “Mama, how you get so pretty?” I admit, that last one stung a little bit!
Arriving at the performing arts center, after digging through my cupholder to come up with the $5 in change required for parking, I entered the lobby with great anticipation. I expected turned out folks in their finest duds, giddily chatting amongst themselves and imbibing wine from tiny plastic cups. But, I am reminded that this is the year 2010, not the 1940’s, and men no longer wear fedoras and women who should wear girdles don’t. The assault upon my eyes was ravaging, causing me to despair about the state of society where it is acceptable to wear the same clothes to the theatre as one would wear to a football game. There were dudes sucking back Bud Lights, dressed in jeans and team jerseys; women wore ensembles that looked like they just came in from doing the laundry on a rock by the river!
Oh, and lest we forget the ones who try TOO hard! There was a couple in their mid-forties that looked like they were going to a 1980’s prom – matching his outfit with her frock, even! A few teen-agers in attendance wore heels that were way out of their league with little tiny skirts and strappy tops. And the sequins! My God! Little blue-haired ladies looked like they had bedazzled themselves within an inch of their lives; and even women my age looked as if they spilled their kids' glitter glue all over themselves! Listen; if it ain’t the Miss America pageant, you have no business wearing sequins! How can I get this bill before Congress? Michelle Obama didn’t wear sequins on her husband’s inaugural day so what would possess a person to don them for a Sunday evening out?
The show was wonderful and I had a great time, despite waiting in line for 17 minutes for the ladies restroom, then having to pee like my life depended on it since there were legions of women with full bladders behind me. Probably all that beer they drank.
I am fortunate enough to have a friend who holds season tickets to our local performing arts facility and is also generous enough to invite me along when she has an extra ticket. Thus, I found myself with a seat for the touring production of “Wicked.” (Thanks, Steph!) The offer presented me with a dilemma that was two-fold: finding a babysitter and what to wear.
My regular childcare provider was unavailable, so I spent about half and hour making phone calls. I was prepared to get creative so I considered multiple options: 1) duct tape the Pie in a box and put her in the garage 2) just sneak out of the house while “Finding Nemo” played for the gazillionth time on the DVD player 3) call my dad to come over and sit on the couch for 3 hours while the Pie ran amok (most likely naked) through the house. However, my conscience would not permit me to further investigate these options; fortunately, my good friend who lives a couple of blocks away agreed to baby sit. One down, one to go.
When I texted my friend that I was trying to decide what to wear to the show, she responded with “I’m thinking along the line of clothes…” I knew I was at least on the right track. I take the theatre seriously, people, and I have a deep respect for the work that goes into mounting a show. I have worked with actors and stage crew, and I admire the dedication it requires. In that vein, I want to show my respect by dressing for the occasion. As I prepared for my evening out, my lovely daughter would occasionally comment: “Mama, you bra and panties match!” “Mama, me like you boots!” “Mama, how you get so pretty?” I admit, that last one stung a little bit!
Arriving at the performing arts center, after digging through my cupholder to come up with the $5 in change required for parking, I entered the lobby with great anticipation. I expected turned out folks in their finest duds, giddily chatting amongst themselves and imbibing wine from tiny plastic cups. But, I am reminded that this is the year 2010, not the 1940’s, and men no longer wear fedoras and women who should wear girdles don’t. The assault upon my eyes was ravaging, causing me to despair about the state of society where it is acceptable to wear the same clothes to the theatre as one would wear to a football game. There were dudes sucking back Bud Lights, dressed in jeans and team jerseys; women wore ensembles that looked like they just came in from doing the laundry on a rock by the river!
Oh, and lest we forget the ones who try TOO hard! There was a couple in their mid-forties that looked like they were going to a 1980’s prom – matching his outfit with her frock, even! A few teen-agers in attendance wore heels that were way out of their league with little tiny skirts and strappy tops. And the sequins! My God! Little blue-haired ladies looked like they had bedazzled themselves within an inch of their lives; and even women my age looked as if they spilled their kids' glitter glue all over themselves! Listen; if it ain’t the Miss America pageant, you have no business wearing sequins! How can I get this bill before Congress? Michelle Obama didn’t wear sequins on her husband’s inaugural day so what would possess a person to don them for a Sunday evening out?
The show was wonderful and I had a great time, despite waiting in line for 17 minutes for the ladies restroom, then having to pee like my life depended on it since there were legions of women with full bladders behind me. Probably all that beer they drank.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Stay At Home Bomb
When the Pie was born, I would have given anything to be able to be a stay at home mom. But being single didn’t allow for that, so for the past 3 years, I made the best of it and went off to work every day, knowing that I was providing for our little family. I took every opportunity I could to be with my daughter and enjoy…no, cherish those moments. However, my perspective changed after becoming one of the nation’s unemployed.
I lost my job over 2 months ago and have since spent almost every minute with my daughter. I am able to take her to preschool and pick her up, hearing all the details of her day firsthand. Other than the 2 ½ hours she’s in school 3 days a week, we are together. I love my daughter…more than my next breath…but I don’t understand how full time moms who stay at home don’t lose their ever-loving minds!
There is a limit to how much pretending, coloring, Play-Dough, baby dolls, video games and dress-up one middle aged woman can take! One day last week, I counted how many times in one hour, I had to get up and help the Pie with a computer game or video game, or refill her juice cup, or look at some imagined something: 19. No wonder I am so tired!
In addition, I am constantly thinking about how we’re going to make it financially for one more week. I am receiving unemployment, but it is half of what I was making – which wasn’t’ enough to begin with! It takes a full 3 weeks of unemployment payments just to pay the rent on the house! Then there are the utilities, gas in the car, and other little things that suck up money. The cell phone has been cut off and cable, internet and phone are next to be suspended. I broke down and applied for Food Stamp benefits, but it’s not much. Life is not rosy here, people!
I accompanied the Pie on a class field trip yesterday and was unable to provide $8 for her to participate in all the activities. I felt like a failure – a complete loser - because I had failed to give my daughter what she needed. I had made a promise to myself early on that I would never tell the Pie, “We don’t have the money.” But I had to break that promise yesterday after her begging and pleading wore me down. Today, we will visit the CoinStar machine to cash in some change that has accumulated around the house.
I know that what is important is the time I spend with my daughter. But is it quality time when I am not really there…not present in the moment when she may learn something new or display some wonderful new talent? Part of being a good parent is providing everything…EVERYTHING that a child needs. But there are some days I cannot provide even myself.
I lost my job over 2 months ago and have since spent almost every minute with my daughter. I am able to take her to preschool and pick her up, hearing all the details of her day firsthand. Other than the 2 ½ hours she’s in school 3 days a week, we are together. I love my daughter…more than my next breath…but I don’t understand how full time moms who stay at home don’t lose their ever-loving minds!
There is a limit to how much pretending, coloring, Play-Dough, baby dolls, video games and dress-up one middle aged woman can take! One day last week, I counted how many times in one hour, I had to get up and help the Pie with a computer game or video game, or refill her juice cup, or look at some imagined something: 19. No wonder I am so tired!
In addition, I am constantly thinking about how we’re going to make it financially for one more week. I am receiving unemployment, but it is half of what I was making – which wasn’t’ enough to begin with! It takes a full 3 weeks of unemployment payments just to pay the rent on the house! Then there are the utilities, gas in the car, and other little things that suck up money. The cell phone has been cut off and cable, internet and phone are next to be suspended. I broke down and applied for Food Stamp benefits, but it’s not much. Life is not rosy here, people!
I accompanied the Pie on a class field trip yesterday and was unable to provide $8 for her to participate in all the activities. I felt like a failure – a complete loser - because I had failed to give my daughter what she needed. I had made a promise to myself early on that I would never tell the Pie, “We don’t have the money.” But I had to break that promise yesterday after her begging and pleading wore me down. Today, we will visit the CoinStar machine to cash in some change that has accumulated around the house.
I know that what is important is the time I spend with my daughter. But is it quality time when I am not really there…not present in the moment when she may learn something new or display some wonderful new talent? Part of being a good parent is providing everything…EVERYTHING that a child needs. But there are some days I cannot provide even myself.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
The Filth Dimension
So, you want to hear about my latest project? I have undertaken the task of cleaning my dad's house. I haven't been working, so I decided a good way to use my time would be to get his house in order and in a safer and more healthy condition. I wonder now what the hell I was thinking.
The first day, I spent over an hour cleaning just the main bathroom. It was filthy: the toilet was covered with feces and it took half an hour just scrubbing it to get it clean. I was on my hands and knees washing the floor and even had to wash down the walls because they somehow had poop on them in places. The mountain of used Depends nearly filled a kitchen trash bag and there was all kinds of clutter covering the counter. I tried to convince him to stop keeping urinals by his chair and bed, but he said he needed them. I told him he at least needed to empty them and not leave them sitting out. The Pie could very easily get a hold of them and that thought just sickens me.
So on to the kitchen, where I spent nearly 4 hours. I filled 3 of the 30 gallons trash bags with old food, used tea bags, egg shells, coffee grounds and other unidentifiable items that covered the counters and table. I washed down the counters and the appliances on them as well as scrubbed the sink and did the dishes that were marinating in funky water there. For weeks, he has had 3 fans pointed at the dining table to blow away the bugs that swarmed around it and it disgusted me. I refused to eat anything that was prepared in that kitchen and the Pie was not allowed to walk barefoot in there for fear of her stepping on God knows what!
I started to move on to laundry but Dad said his washer was leaking pretty badly, so I decided to gather it up and bring it home with me. As I was getting it together, I found 2 towels that were covered in dried feces and I discovered later that there were ants and bugs in his laundry basket which I have now introduced into my new house (that really pissed me off)!
I want to help him live in a more healthy environment, but what I don't understand is how he can stand to live in those squallid conditions! He used to rage at my mother for not keeping a clean house and it was NEVER anywhere near the current condition. My thoughts were that if I got everything cleaned, it would be easier for him to keep up with, but I haven't seen any evidence that he is even trying! When I left last Wednesday, the toilet was so clean you could eat off if it and when I was there on Sunday, it had poop all over it again! And the kitchen again had dirty dishes and food sitting out.
What I fear is that he has just given up. He doesn't bathe on a regular basis and when he wants me to cut his hair, I make him wash it first. The cellulitis on his leg is getting worse and about once a month, I have to cut his toe nails and finger nails for him. He finally got hearing aids, but he hardly ever wears them. I've threatened not bringing the Pie there to visit, but that seems to make no impact on him. Sometimes I feel like I am raising 2 kids; one is 3 and lives with me and the other is 81 and lives 20 miles away.
Every time we go out there, the Pie says, "Mama, it stinks in here!" and I just don't know what to say to her. There were "skid marks" on his recliner and she refused to sit in it with him. Even SHE knew it was not a chocolate ice cream stain...I feel like I should threaten him with a nursing home if things don't improve. I just don't know what else to do.
The first day, I spent over an hour cleaning just the main bathroom. It was filthy: the toilet was covered with feces and it took half an hour just scrubbing it to get it clean. I was on my hands and knees washing the floor and even had to wash down the walls because they somehow had poop on them in places. The mountain of used Depends nearly filled a kitchen trash bag and there was all kinds of clutter covering the counter. I tried to convince him to stop keeping urinals by his chair and bed, but he said he needed them. I told him he at least needed to empty them and not leave them sitting out. The Pie could very easily get a hold of them and that thought just sickens me.
So on to the kitchen, where I spent nearly 4 hours. I filled 3 of the 30 gallons trash bags with old food, used tea bags, egg shells, coffee grounds and other unidentifiable items that covered the counters and table. I washed down the counters and the appliances on them as well as scrubbed the sink and did the dishes that were marinating in funky water there. For weeks, he has had 3 fans pointed at the dining table to blow away the bugs that swarmed around it and it disgusted me. I refused to eat anything that was prepared in that kitchen and the Pie was not allowed to walk barefoot in there for fear of her stepping on God knows what!
I started to move on to laundry but Dad said his washer was leaking pretty badly, so I decided to gather it up and bring it home with me. As I was getting it together, I found 2 towels that were covered in dried feces and I discovered later that there were ants and bugs in his laundry basket which I have now introduced into my new house (that really pissed me off)!
I want to help him live in a more healthy environment, but what I don't understand is how he can stand to live in those squallid conditions! He used to rage at my mother for not keeping a clean house and it was NEVER anywhere near the current condition. My thoughts were that if I got everything cleaned, it would be easier for him to keep up with, but I haven't seen any evidence that he is even trying! When I left last Wednesday, the toilet was so clean you could eat off if it and when I was there on Sunday, it had poop all over it again! And the kitchen again had dirty dishes and food sitting out.
What I fear is that he has just given up. He doesn't bathe on a regular basis and when he wants me to cut his hair, I make him wash it first. The cellulitis on his leg is getting worse and about once a month, I have to cut his toe nails and finger nails for him. He finally got hearing aids, but he hardly ever wears them. I've threatened not bringing the Pie there to visit, but that seems to make no impact on him. Sometimes I feel like I am raising 2 kids; one is 3 and lives with me and the other is 81 and lives 20 miles away.
Every time we go out there, the Pie says, "Mama, it stinks in here!" and I just don't know what to say to her. There were "skid marks" on his recliner and she refused to sit in it with him. Even SHE knew it was not a chocolate ice cream stain...I feel like I should threaten him with a nursing home if things don't improve. I just don't know what else to do.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Always Be Prepared
It took weeks of preparation...planning, researching, list-making, shopping. You can't just throw something together willy-nilly at the last minute. You must reflect on all possible outcomes and choose your path. I made phone calls, filled out forms, worried and fretted over the course of action: are we ready? should we wait? Finally, I made the decision and enrolled the Pie in preschool.
It was agonizing for me, because I wanted the Pie to become more socially acclimated for when she starts kindergarten. Her child care arrangement up until recently was just her and Mimi. But I felt she needed to be around kids her own age for her to learn how to share, make friends and impress teachers. So, after much thought and reflection, I found a small church preschool that is affordable and is only two and a half hours 3 days a week. It's located very close to Mimi's house so I felt there was some familiarity for the Pie.
On Meet the Teacher Day, Mimi and I loaded up the Pie and took her to meet the ladies to whom I was entrusting her for the next 9 months. They were lovely ladies - one was a bit too perky for my taste, but we're talking about preschool teachers here, so I guess she filled the bill. During our visit, the Pie was friendly and inquisitive. She was anxious to enter the building and investigate everything available to her. She picked out her chair at the table and claimed to be hers for ever more. I half expected her to plant a flag in it!
On the first day of class, I expected the Pie to experience some separation anxiety. I thought she would cry when I left her, or she would drag her heels on entering the classroom. I envisioned holding her and patting her back while telling her everything would be alright and Mama would be right back to pick her up. Guiltily, I admit I even wanted a little of that. I needed to know she would miss me. Umm...not so much.
When we arrived, she dressed in her black and white toille dress and cute little black shoes, the Pie sprinted to the doors and down the hall to her classroom. She let go of my hand, walked into the room and never looked back. Folks, I was devastated. I wondered what I had done wrong that she was so anxious to get away from me. So eager to be in the care of virtual strangers and be surrounded by kids she didn't know. I honestly stood in the hall, my hand empty of hers, wondering what had just happened. A few seconds later, the Pie came running out of the room and into my arms. "I love you, Mama," she said. And tears rolled down my face. I hugged her with ferocity and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the smell of her lavender shampoo.. What was at first a moment of slight sadness quickly turned to a grand moment of inexplicable joy.
It was in that instant that I realized I had done my job. I had prepared her for the day she would have to leave the safety of home and go to school. I guided her to be strong and independent. I encouraged her to be brave and outgoing, to be honest and respectful. These are tools she will need for the rest of her life and as her mother, I provided her with lessons so that she could acquire them. I was proud of her and proud of myself.
Now, pass the Kleenex...
It was agonizing for me, because I wanted the Pie to become more socially acclimated for when she starts kindergarten. Her child care arrangement up until recently was just her and Mimi. But I felt she needed to be around kids her own age for her to learn how to share, make friends and impress teachers. So, after much thought and reflection, I found a small church preschool that is affordable and is only two and a half hours 3 days a week. It's located very close to Mimi's house so I felt there was some familiarity for the Pie.
On Meet the Teacher Day, Mimi and I loaded up the Pie and took her to meet the ladies to whom I was entrusting her for the next 9 months. They were lovely ladies - one was a bit too perky for my taste, but we're talking about preschool teachers here, so I guess she filled the bill. During our visit, the Pie was friendly and inquisitive. She was anxious to enter the building and investigate everything available to her. She picked out her chair at the table and claimed to be hers for ever more. I half expected her to plant a flag in it!
On the first day of class, I expected the Pie to experience some separation anxiety. I thought she would cry when I left her, or she would drag her heels on entering the classroom. I envisioned holding her and patting her back while telling her everything would be alright and Mama would be right back to pick her up. Guiltily, I admit I even wanted a little of that. I needed to know she would miss me. Umm...not so much.
When we arrived, she dressed in her black and white toille dress and cute little black shoes, the Pie sprinted to the doors and down the hall to her classroom. She let go of my hand, walked into the room and never looked back. Folks, I was devastated. I wondered what I had done wrong that she was so anxious to get away from me. So eager to be in the care of virtual strangers and be surrounded by kids she didn't know. I honestly stood in the hall, my hand empty of hers, wondering what had just happened. A few seconds later, the Pie came running out of the room and into my arms. "I love you, Mama," she said. And tears rolled down my face. I hugged her with ferocity and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the smell of her lavender shampoo.. What was at first a moment of slight sadness quickly turned to a grand moment of inexplicable joy.
It was in that instant that I realized I had done my job. I had prepared her for the day she would have to leave the safety of home and go to school. I guided her to be strong and independent. I encouraged her to be brave and outgoing, to be honest and respectful. These are tools she will need for the rest of her life and as her mother, I provided her with lessons so that she could acquire them. I was proud of her and proud of myself.
Now, pass the Kleenex...
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