Perfectly Beautiful.

Sir Poopsalot arrived today. 9 days overdue.

Monday February 28, 2011 at 11:59pm. All 6 pounds 1 ounce of preciousness. It was a blessing for me to be with Lou and experience his delivery. Gramma Chelle even got to cut the cord!

I am so proud of Lou, and there was nothing more beautiful then watching her cradle her son in her arms.

He is perfectly beautiful and his Gramma Chelle loves him with all her heart :)

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.

Letter to Lou: How I Feel

I love you.

I miss you.

I miss your smile. I miss your laugh; the sound of your voice. I miss your energy. I miss your spark. I miss your attitude. I miss your independance. I miss your enthusiasm. I miss your determination. I miss your love of life.

I miss talking to you. I miss your hugs. I miss your love.

I miss these things and more, not only because you're not here, but because you're not you anymore.

You have become a stranger to us in so many ways. The Lou you are now, is not the Lou we have loved and raised for 17 years. THAT Lou would not have settled. THAT Lou would not sacrifice her values; her family.

I'm also missing the experience of my daughter's first baby. My first grandchild. I don't get to share in that "pregnant glow." Your excitement at feeling the baby move. I don't get to hear your dreams for your baby; for your future. I don't get to hold your hair back when you're sick; or rub your back. I don't get to touch your tummy and talk to the baby ... tell the baby Gramma Chelle is here, and I can't wait for him/her to arrive. I don't get to share my stories of my pregnancy with you. I don't get to share the excitement of shopping for your first baby. My first grandchild. All those firsts, that I have been forever shut out from.

Like the enemy.

Like someone you needed protection from. Like someone my grandchild needs to be protected from.

And the very people who Kmaq professes to hate, are the same ones who you are surrounding yourself with. The ones who Kmaq told me spent his entire life telling him he was a "screw up" and "would never grow up to be anything" are the ones who are going to have an influence in my grandchild's life. The dysfunctional people who filled Kmaq's life with anger, hatred, violence and alcoholism.

And your family, for whatever reason, is excluded. Isolated. You can't spend time with us. We can't take you shopping. He refuses to contact you on the phone your Aunt bought you for your birthday. You can't even tell Kmaq that we bought you a new shirt. The minimal contact you do have with us in done on the sly. Hidden. Lied about.

Like it's wrong.

I can't pretend to understand. I can't pretend it's ok.

I spend hours awake at night when I should be sleeping. I spend a lot of time crying. I'm sick to my stomach. I go from starving myself to gorging myself. I go from sadness to angry so fast that I don't even know where one starts and the other ends. And the cycle continues. I try to figure out how things got this way. What did we do wrong? What can we do to fix it?

I don't even want to go Christmas shopping. I get out into the stores and I'm drawn to the baby section ... only to be smacked in the face with the reality that I'm not involved. Not allowed. It makes me sad, and I just want to go home and crawl under the covers. Hide from everyone. Hide from the choices you've made. Hide from the way you make me feel.

People ask about you all the time. All I can do is fake a smile, take a deep breath and swallow my tears ... and tell them I don't know. I guess you're doing well. I assume things are ok. I feel like an idiot. What kind of mother doesn't know how her daughter is?

I ask Gingo if she's heard from you. It's clear from her reaction that she has. She gets uncomfortable. Tells me she hasn't and then will do anything she can to avoid the subject. To get away from me. Clearly she doesn't want to betray the trust and confidence of the big sister who she absolutely adores and admires. But she also doesn't want to lie to her mom. I don't want to make her have to choose. So I avoid Gingo.

I feel like a monster. Like a terrible person who doesn't deserve the love of her daughter, and doesn't deserve to love her grandchild. I ask myself what have I done to deserve to be treated this way?

I've "adopted" a family for Christmas. A young single mom. I will shop for her and her child in lieu of being able to shop for my own daughter and grandchild. I will hope she appreciates the love that my gifts come with. I will hope it brightens their Christmas and puts a smile on their faces. I will hope my love and support is welcomed in the lives of strangers, where it's not welcomed in yours.

And I hope with every ounce of my being that it makes me feel a little better about myself.

Is it a Full Moon?

Everyone seems to be on edge around here. Stressed. Defensive.

I know we've all been stressing over the start of school. For me, I've got to fight to get the girls out of bed in the morning before I leave for work. Get them back into a routine at night for homework. Get them into bed at a decent time after a summer of later bedtimes. For the girls, of course, it's all hype and drama with who's in who's class; what teachers do they have? What do I wear today? I hate my hair! She took my sweater! And the list goes on (and on, and on).

I've been bitchy, and pms'ing in addition to stressed and on edge. Tonight I snapped on Lou, and now that I've calmed down I feel bad - though at the moment I felt completely justified. It's George's birthday tomorrow and Lou's on the 25th. Both of them want the 8 gig Ipod Touch. It's more money than we spend on them on their birthdays but since it's the only thing they are each asking for my mom and my sister said they would put their money in with ours and then they could each get one. So that was the plan. Of course, I didn't want Lou to know we were getting one for George or she would know she was also getting on. So I asked her if she would come out with me to look at clothes for George for her birthday. She yelled at me and told me - no she "warned" me that if she didn't get her ipod touch for her birthday she would have "the biggest meltdown I've ever seen!"

That pi$$ed me off. Don't you dare threaten me and tell me I had better do something. That just makes me want to show you I don't have to, and in this case get you nothing for your birthday. Annoyed, I continued on with the evening and we picked her up after work and had to make a couple of quick stops on the way home so she was with us. She was hungry after just finishing work and wanted us to stop and buy her some chicken nuggets from McDonald's. At first her dad told her no. She said she had a coupon for buy one get one free and asked again if he would please take her. I guess that reminded her dad that he also had some McDonald's coupons and since we hadn't had supper he would use one of his 2 can dine coupons and get something for both Lou and I. Well no, she wanted both nugget meals; said 6 nuggets and fries wouldn't be enough for her. Peach told her he didn't have much money on him and if he used her coupons and got her both meals he couldn't get me one. At that point, she became pi$$y.

Now, it really wasn't about me not getting McD's. I shouldn't be eating it anyway; nor eating at that time of night. But what got to me was her demanding attitude and the fact that getting something wasn't good enough unless she was getting exactly what she wanted. Someone offering to buy her a six nugget meal with fries and a drink wasn't enough for her .... she wanted the free extra meal as well.

I stewed about it while she ate her meal, and after she was finished I cleared the air; vented as I like to call it. She can be so sweet and thoughtful at times, and then so demanding, rude and selfish at other times. Like a completely different person. I know they will behave and react the way we allow them to; and I really would like to think I've taught her better than that. Taught all of them better than that. Like I said, I feel a little differently now. I haven't changed my thoughts and opinions but feel I could have handled it a little better than yelling at her.

But I also regret having bought her anything. I should have said if 6 nuggets aren't enough you get nothing and left the drive through. Again, my giving in to her will only encourage similar behaviour in the future. I need to wait until we've both calmed down some, and then try to have a calm and mature talk with her.

Wish us both luck.

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 ....."

Memory Jar Moments

Lou brought home a Journal Jar from Sunday School, some 8 or 9 years ago. Nothing fancy. Just a Mason jar with a plain white label and Journal Jar scribbled in crayon. Inside, skinny strips of white paper.

Not much to look at.

And for years, I didn't.

Then one day, I took the jar down from the top of the filing cabinet where it had been collecting dust. Opened it up and started reading the skinny strips of white paper. I'm a little slow (yes, just a little), so it took a few strips to realize what it was all about; this Journal Jar.

Well, I've renamed it; it's a Memory Jar. And from what I can tell, there are just over one hundred different questions. I started to answer the questions one day, in a binder, and wanted hubbz to do the same. I answer the question with my history, then he answers the same question with his.

Now, instead of the binder I'm going to randomly choose and answer a question here.

Between the two of us, our kids will have a taste of where they come from.

My Front-Up Plan

Kids. You gotta love 'em.

They have a way of making you smile, even when you think it not possible. I am very tired tonight. Not sleeping well at night .... not getting along with hubby .... financial stresses. I could go on and on. Listening to Gingo and Lou complain about their homework this evening was just what I didn't want to hear.

Then Gingo read me her short story. I caught bits and pieces here and there in between Lou's math problems:

young girl .... bucket of milk .... sell milk, buy chickens ..... sell eggs, get money .... buy dress ..... get hair done ..... look beautiful ..... spilled her milk ....

Gingo had to summarize the story and came to the conclusion that the moral of the story is to always have a back-up plan. I figured I'd take it one step further and ask "and why is it a good idea to have a back-up plan, Gingo?"

Her response: "In case your front-up plan doesn't work!"

And it's as simple as that.

Even as Lou teased her, and told her there is no such thing as a 'front-up' plan - Gingo wouldn't budge. She enjoyed the snicker with Lou and I, but stood firm. The opposite of back is front, therefore you would need a back-up plan in case your front-up plan didn't work. Period. End of discussion.

For all of the extra baggage we carry as adults; the hurts we carry forward; the anger we can't let go of .... If we could all just step back, and see things with the simplicity and innocence of a child ... wouldn't we all be so much happier!

Makes my ongoing battle with hubby look silly. I've actually started calling them my marital bliss-ters. Yes, blisters. A 'flaw on the surface.' Mildly painful. Mostly irritating. Only skin deep. Something that with time and some tender loving care will heal. I hope. (Most days, anyway).

I'm so good at complicated. I redefine complicated. I own complicated. Maybe I'm so wrapped up in the emotion. The worry. The drama. That I've lost sight of what matters. What's real. What's now.

Maybe I need to re-evaluate my front-up plan.

Beautiful Roses From My Beautiful Daughter

Dear Lou,

Thank you for the beautiful flowers today. Red and yellow roses. They look absolutely gorgeous on my table, and certainly do bring a smile to my face every time I look at them. It means so much that you thought of me. It really did cheer me up!

Love and hugga buggas

Mommy.