Why Does This Bother Me?

Sigh.

I'm trying not to let this bother me, but it's proving easier said than done.

George is only 16ish weeks along and burt's family is over the moon gushing over her pregnancy and busting at the seams trying to reach me to start planning her baby shower.

Seriously??

First of all, although I am supportive of my daughter and her choice to have this baby, I do not feel that these two children are ready to have children. Neither have finished high school ... burt only works part time to pay for his sporting activities ... george is not currently working at all ... they fight more then they get along ... he has been violent with her in the past. Having said that, while I disprove of the situation they have found themselves in, the reality is that baby is a reality. A precious gift. A treasured life. And I will do everything in my power to not only make sure that baby is healthy, safe and happy but also to help george be the best mother she can be. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for her or her baby.

I could be brutally honest and get into detail of what I think about burt and his family, but it would serve no purpose. George and burt have decided to have this baby and there will always be that bond between them, regardless of the outcome of their own personal relationship. It also means I permanent connection between our two families.

But burt's mom had better back off.

george is my daughter.

You are not my family. I don't even like you. I would be quite content to plan a shower for my side of the family and you plan one for your side. That way you don't have to like where I want to have the shower ... you don't have to agree on the games and food I plan ... you don't have think it's silly that I don't want to do a jack & jill style shower. You don't have to be disappointed that with only 24 weeks left I don't have all the details worked out.

You go ahead and plan whatever you want and leave me to do my own thing when I think the time is right.

GRRRRR.

Second Anniversary.

How fitting. On the second anniversary of the loss of her first baby, George announced to all that she is expecting in July. 14 weeks along, I've know since she was very early but kept her secret until she felt ready to make the announcement.

As I quietly remember the precious life lost, I celebrate this new beginning and pray for good health for both George and her baby.

UGHH, UGGHHH and more UGGGHHHH

Another one of those friggin days. I seem to be having more and more of them lately ... I've even named them: My pity party for one.

There's so much 'in between' that I haven't posted. I'm overloaded with teenage drama.

Playing the waiting game with Lou ready to deliver anyday now. Stressed over her health and the health of her baby with the news that Lou has a kidney problem which can not be fully investigated until she delivers. The OB ordered a Bio Physical Profile on the baby based on concerns that he has stopped growing. She moved back home in December, but she's a teenager in love and Kmaq still has considerable influence in her life. He refuses to go to school, and refuses to work. He's an unmotivated 16 year old with "no use for adults." His mother actually signed papers giving permission for him to marry Lou .... because that will make everything magically better, and will limit the control they apparently think I have over the situation. Thankfully, Lou doesn't see that as a solution and is in no big hurry to marry. He also thinks being married will actually increase the amount of welfare they'll be to collect. Dream big there, Kmaq. Set that bar high! Lou busted her ass, working 2 jobs while continuing to go to school to try and prepare for this baby. She does not want to go on welfare, an argument she keeps having with him. I'm busting my ass too, trying to do everything I can to help her so she doesn't have to. Before Kmaq, Lou was focused. She knew what she wanted in life and had a plan for how to get there. She was 'the one' out of my five children who I had no doubt would follow her dreams and achieve every goal she set for herself. When I found out she was pregnant at 16, one of the first things she told me was she was not giving up on herself and she didn't want me to give up on her either. She acknowledged that having the baby would mean she'd have to work harder to reach her goals, and it would take longer. But she made a promise to herself and to her baby that she would get there. Yet the immaturity of her age has her thinking she can change Kmaq. UGHH.

George is ALL drama, ALL the time. I love her dearly, but I don't like her much these days. At 19 years of age I expect more from her. She feels, as an adult now, there are no rules. No more household chores. No more curfews. No questions to answer. No one to answer to. Who knew? Oh, and respect? She'll have none of that nonsense either. Suddenly, she has the right to treat people however she wants. The right to speak however she wants; to swear at her sisters and I. I've given her 2 options ... follow the rules and continue to live at home ... or leave. She has until Friday to decide. UGGHHH.

And then there's Gingo. Now, I understand she's dealing with a lot right now. First, being a 13 year old girl and all the hormonal puberty shit and rebelliousness that goes along with that. I was there once, and I do remember what it's like despite what my kids think. In addition, our family really has been turned upside down and sideways dealing with a teenage pregnancy. There has been much fighting, many tears, family separation, disappointment, uncertainty ... I could go on and on and on. I know she's getting mixed messages from me ... I mean how do I show love and support to Lou without sending the message to the others that I approve of Lou's situation?

I'm tired. Goodnight.

Remembering

Remembering a precious unborn life lost January 22, 2010.

your precious heart no longer beats;
your eyes, forever closed.
never will I kiss your cheek;
your tiny hand, I'll never hold.

I don't pretend to understand
the meaning in God's ways.
forever will I treasure you,
and in my heart, you'll always stay.

Love, Gramma Chelle

Missing George.

I miss you baby girl.

I hate not being able to talk to you. Not saying goodnight. Not hearing how your day went. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you. Constantly hoping you'll call home ... come home.

I'm not surprised you've taken a stand like this. I did too, when I was your age. I know it's hard for you to think of me having been your age but I was. And I had just as strong feelings and just as strong convictions as you.

That's why I wish you would give me even just an ounce of credit instead of always telling me I don't understand. But then again, I guess I didn't give my mom that same credit.

For as much as I agree that right now you can't live at home, it doesn't mean we can't have each other in our lives. A phone call. An email. Anything is better than nothing.

You are my daughter and I love you.

A Better (Happy Birthday George) Day

A good night's sleep, a gorgeous fall morning, hugs for my family and a birthday to celebrate all add up to a better day.

I often wonder why we take our moods out on those we love most and are closest to, but then again that right there is the answer to my own question. I guess on some subconscious level we know we can. Not meaning to be intentionally hurtful with each other, but just knowing that there isn't anything we can't rely on each other for. As much as I don't like to be disrespected by my children, if one of them came up to me and said "mom, I'm really angry right now and I need to get it out or I feel like I'll explode - can I yell at you and cry?" ..... I'd say of course you can. You can always come to me. I'll help you feel better any way I can.

I know, that sounds completely crazy, doesn't it?

Anyway, today was a day to celebrate. George is 18. We had a wonderful family dinner together. I am thankful that we all had the chance to be together tonight.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

Can you hear me singing?

I can be honest here, my singing is easier on the ears then my dance moves are on the eyes!

Yes, tomorrow all my (not-so-little) kidlets go back to school. Grade 7 for Gingo, Grade 8 for Pudge, Grade 11 for Lou and Grade 12 for George. George should have graduated last year, but unfortunately her social life got in the way of school and so her studies fell by the wayside. She's in a new school this year so we hopefully won't have the same trouble. She'll also be under the watchful eye of her sister Lou. For grades 9-12(a) she went to a performing arts school and not her home high school. I wish she had graduated from the program, but she had been told her education had to come before performing, and if she couldn't do both I would pull her out of the program so she could (and would) concentrate on school. Lou and George have actually started getting along in the last few months, which I am so thankful for. It's nice to know they have eachother to confide in and look out for one another.

It's also a new school for Gingo, going to junior high. Being only one year younger then Pudge, they've spent most of their time together. I think they're looking forward to being at the same school together again. They do have their fights, but they are close and when one is not home or upset the other is lost. They too, confide in one another and look out for eachother.

So the lunches are made. The backpacks are packed. The first-day outfits have been selected. The kids are ready and mostly excited about the new school year.

And I'm dancing and singing, "it's the most wonderful time ....."

As Robert Munsch Would Say ....

George, my beautiful daughter.

I'm trying desperately to respect your right to make decisions and choose your friends and relationships. I really, truly am.

But I'm watching you make poor choices and allowing yourself to be taken advantage of. It breaks my heart to see you cry. There is a certain amount of heartache that all teenagers go through and are what I call "growing pains." It is inevitable. It is normal.

But these are not those growing pains.

When your boyfriend consciously and intentionally sets sets out to hurt you, that's emotional abuse. When he cuts you off and doesn't allow you to talk to anyone about your relationship with him and fights with you when you do, that's emotional abuse. When you fear his reaction to the point that you hold back telling him how you feel and what you think, that's emotional abuse.

When you find yourself apologizing to him because what you did or something you said "made" him do those things to you .... that's emotional abuse.

And that's when and why I have to step in.

I understand that you're about to turn 18. I so very much value that you trust me enough to confide in me and come to me when there's trouble; most teenagers don't go to their parents. The last thing I want you to do is make you feel like you can't trust me, or regret having come to me.

However, it is my right and it is my responsibility to protect you. And that's what I'm trying to do.

If you allow yourself to be treated this way now, how will you be treated when your 25? 40?

Please trust me, and listen to what I'm trying to say. I would never mislead you or do something to add to your pain and stress. But remember always remember the line from one of our favourite stories when you were a child:

"I'll like you forever,
I'll love you for always.
As long as I'm living,
My baby you'll be."

Who vacuums in the nude, anyway?

My most embarrassing moment to date.

You'll know where this is going as soon as I begin, but I'll walk you through the horribly dreadfully embarrassing details step by step.

Sunday. August 9, 2009. A scorcher of a day outside, and without a/c in the house the temperatures inside were registering 29 degrees Celsius. And that was on the main floor; the third floor noticeably hotter.

After giving doodlebugz a bath and brushing her out in the yard, I decided to have a shower. A nice, cool, refreshing shower. Walking past the laundry room on my way through the house I undressed and sorted my clothes with the rest of the laundry to be done. Walking to the top of the basement stairs I could see the front door was open and hollered down to hubby to please come up and close the door - joking that I didn't think the neighbours were ready to see me in all my glory, wearing nothing but my crocs.

I guess I could blame this on my husband. Had he come up right away when I asked, I wouldn't have had the time to think of the vacuuming. The stairs and the third floor hallway were yet to be done and so I decided that I would vacuum my way up to the bathroom for my shower and that way I wouldn't have to get all sweaty again after the anticipated nice, cool, refreshing shower.

I didn't even hear the door. Holding the canister with one hand and using the hand tool with the other, I was bent right over and about half way up the stairs. Now, you have to understand the layout of my house to really understand the severity of the situation. When you walk in my front door, the stairs leading to the third floor are immediately to your left and you have a clear view right to the landing.

Anyways, I didn't hear the door. I did however, feel the slightest hint of cool-ish breeze gently kiss my behind. Excited about where this breezy relief had just come from, I stood and turned towards the front door.

Just in time to see my daughter and her now damaged-for-life boyfriend walk in the house.

Angrily, I screamed a pitch much higher than I thought possible as I curled - or should I say, tried to curl - into the smallest ball possible while using the hose of the vacuum as a shield. As George turned to shove her boyfriend out the door, he was repeatedly screaming "Oh God, I'm sorry ...."

No. I'm sorry George. I'm sorry Nyck.

Family dinners will just never be the same. In response to your question, "who vacuums in the nude anyways?" Obviously someone who thinks it's safe to do so in the comfort and safety of her own home.

Someone who now also has to decide if the boyfriend must marry the daughter, or never see her again.

8 months - in a nutshell

In no particular order, the following has defined the last 8 months of my life:

• DOODLEBUGZ - we adopted a new baby into our family! A 10 pound, 15 month old yappy, furry mixed breed baby. She's a Maltese Shih-tzu, and she's amazing.
• MBSR - Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction. A.K.A my new best friend. Not only has the practice taken my blood pressure from an average of 169/95 to 117/75, it has also given me the luxury of getting to know ME again. Perhaps, even for the first time.
• GEORGE - my eldest daughter. 17 going on 40. She has challenged me the most during the last few months. She's recently returned home after having been asked, not so politely, to leave in January. I swear it would be less painful to repeatedly smash my head against the corner of a brick wall. Please God, give me strength. I still have 3 girls coming up behind her.
• A NEW BEGINNING - after a period of feeling isolated and miles away from my husband, a mutual re-commitment to each other.
• ANOTHER NEW BEGINNING - after a 25+ year separation, my (step)dad's kids from his first marriage have made contact and want to re-connect with (their) our dad. It's been a new and exciting time. We can not erase the hurts of divorce and absence, but we can maturely take one day at a time and move forward from here. Welcome home Sam and Toni.
• BG - my first born, and only son moved out in February and has begun his life with his girlfriend of 5 years. I miss his presence; our conversations. I'm excited though for this new phase of his life and wish him and Megz all the best.
• HEALTH - I've faced a few challenges over the last few months. It's given me a renewed determination to shed these pounds. I owe it to myself and my children to take care of myself. I want to be here for them. I want to live to see, and enjoy, my grandchildren.

I'm sure more will come to me as soon as I climb into bed tonight and close my eyes. I've made a commitment to start to write again, so hopefully I won't go another 8 months between posts.