Archive for November, 2011


A little cheese with that whine

Ok, I have to say that in all honesty, everything is going well. I’ve been working (post-training) for three weeks now full-time and I do like my job. Most of the people I work with are pretty nice and Monster is happy with his day home and she’s managing taking him to and from school ok so far.

But I have to whine right now. I am feeling …a little sorry for myself? President of the pity party comity? Desirous of throwing a 5-year-old style “give me the bonbons” tantrum? Ya. Go team me. My life is good and I just want to sit down and cry my eyes out right now. Why? Because I miss my son.

We all know that I’m fortunate enough to not HAVE to work (although it makes life a LOT easier if I do). So we wanted me to work half-time to take the load off us financially. But I got more or less bullied into full-time. But full-time here is 9 shifts per two weeks, not ten (yay a bit) so that’s one more day I still get with Monster. But since we’re just opening and havent trained all the staff we need, I’m working overtime. 11 shifts in two weeks.

I’m not getting into the boring details, but this was supposed to be my weekend off and I agreed to work OT on sunday because they were desperate. I didn’t give a shit about the money, I just wanted to keep the “you scratch my back, I scratch yours” system in place with the scheduler (who is great to me). But then my one day off got taken by errands that needed to be done and Monster was too tired to stay out with me and I couldn’t find what I needed and ended up taking ten billion kagillion times longer than planned.

So I had no time with him today to just chill. I’ve been so burnt out trying to get used to being back at work and still doing everything I do at home (because Hubby is still gone a lot) that I’ve barely seen him over the last few weeks. I was REALLY looking forward to spending the weekend with him. I just keep thinking that we try so hard to have babies and right now I’m not even able to appreciate the one I have fully because I’ve been too dead and busy.

I know he’s having fun at Gramma’s but I WANT MY BOY! I’m so lonely for him right now.

I just have to keep reminding myself that I really do like my job and actually being productive outside of my own house and that it will get better soon. But when I get my boy back tomorrow, he’s not leaving my side until I have to drop him off at the day home the next day.

I’ll just deal with Darth Vader’s snoring. I’m a big girl, I can suck it up.

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“Call Gramma” Day

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZwxL9ekKtbU

It’s November 16. That means I’ll look at my agenda and it will say “call Gramma”. Not why, just to call. If I can’t remember why, then she has full permission to egg my house. You’ll find the note ten days later again. Why?

Today is six years from the day my dad passed away. So today is the day that my Gramma needs me the most. In ten days, it’s the anniversary of his funeral, so she needs me then too. I don’t have anyone calling me, I don’t think I’ve ever remembered to call my brothers on this day, but at least twice a year, I’m a good granddaughter.

A post today by Eggs In A Row talked about being torn as to what to do about her father contacting her.

My response (plus a little extra)

My dad and I had an awful relationship when I was younger. My mom left him when I was 10 and he avoided me most of the time, making excuses not to see me and my brothers. He moved away and my older brother kept contact with him. Sometimes he’d call on my birthday or christmas (not always). My little brother got to know him a little better once he was a teenager. But me? I look like my mom, a lot, and my dad was so awkward around me and spent a lot of time avoiding me because of it (that and I wasn’t afraid to tell him when he was being an ass or childish). Of course, that’s on top of other issue that we had just to make it extra fun.

But ten years ago, when my Hubby (boyfriend then) came to live with my family until we found an apartment, my dad showed up on the door step to see if my brother wanted to drive to Saskatchewan with him for a visit (doesn’t everyone drop by to see if you want to take a 6 hr car ride for shits and giggles?) and he met Hubby. He was the first boyfriend of mine (or friend past childhood even) that had ever met my dad. Kinda seemed like a sign, lol. With encouragement from him, I saw my dad a few times and tried to mend our relationship.

My dad was very sick and slowly dying from Polysistic Kidney Disease and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince him to move closer so I could help him out. I was just getting to know him again and we talked every few months and saw each other once a year. Then 6 years ago (today actually) he passed away. It wasn’t the PKD, it wasn’t even the blood infection that hospitalized him. He had a heart attack while I was trying to get on a plane so that I could be with him when/ if he died. I never got to say goodbye, I never got to see his body to confirm in my head that he was gone. But I did get to tell him that I loved him no matter what (and there was a LOT of “what” in there) and he got to tell me that I would always be his little girl.

I know it sounds cheesy, but just think, what could you live with. If you could live with leaving it be, then go ahead. But if it would break your heart to have him (or you for that matter) pass with the way things are, then do what you can. Trying isn’t going to make things perfect, but a “you drive me crazy, hurt me and lots of times I REALLY don’t like you, but you’re my daddy and I love you and I do want things to be better between us” still lets them know you care.

I’ll never really clue in to my dad being gone…not all the way. I don’t have too many  times anymore when I think “I haven’t talked to him in a while” or “why hasn’t he called in so long?” or just “I wonder if he’s doing ok?”. I have the awkwardness of trying to get my son to understand that Grampa is not actually my dad, but a man that passed away before he was born. It doesn’t help that my dad and step-dad can be mistaken for each  other in pictures by even family members, so telling him “that’s not Grampa, that’s Grampa K___, my daddy” has caused issue a couple times. I never got to meet my dad’s dad and my son will never get to meet mine. Kinda depressing. But so far there is no sign that I’ll be passing PKD on to my children so that’s one less strike to the pattern continuing on.

I miss my dad. No, I didn’t get along with him well, but I do have some fond memories. He didn’t know what to do with me past childhood, so the one time he saw me sick as a teenager (I think 17 or 18) he tied me up in a blanket, plopped me on the couch and spoon fed me greek salad (I had no arm access). I found it too endearing to be annoyed. The last time I saw him was a year before he died. It was the day before my older brother’s wedding and I had been up all night because he hadn’t showed up at the bus depot when he was supposed to. Or on the next bus. Not answering his phone. His landlord and friend couldn’t get ahold of him, and the hospital said he hadn’t come in. I was convinced that he died on his way home from dialysis or was laying beaten in an alley somewhere. Finally the next morning, the bus rolls in and off he comes like nothing is wrong. I had a HUGE hissy fit crying in the middle of the bus station and yelling at him and he just gets a big grin on his face because he saw that I cared. So ya, he laughed and smiled and hugged me like I’d given him a present even though I was probably embarrassing him. Somehow, that’s a happy memory for me.

He’s the crazy man that taught me to shoot when I was five, that convinced me that making itchiban was a valued skill in a caregiver (aka me caring for him), that fed me squirrels that my brother shot (ok meal for a little kid, lol) and kept the actual boogie man in the basement to scare us (the family is known for wacked senses of humour) and bad and all, he helped me become the person I am and I wouldn’t ever ask for a different dad.

Day of the little angels

November 1st comes again. One of the few days that comes to stick out in my mind now seeing as it is the Day of the Little Angels or Day of the Innocents. Ok, it’s a Mexican holiday, but I choose to recognize it too. Maybe you remember me posting about it last year, maybe not.

Really, I’m just out here to remind us that today is a day to (aside from our normal remembrance) honor the memories of our babies that cannot be with us. I wont be buying them any toys, I can’t make their favorite foods, but maybe I’ll light a candle and say a prayer for them. Maybe I’ll tell them a story and how much I love them. Maybe it wont be much of a stretch since I already talk to myself anyways. 😉