A Couple More Pics of Chrissy

 

Like I said, she was dancing...LOL

 

                                           I think she was trying to catch a snowflake on her tongue...

Welcome Back, Me!

Whew! I've missed y'all!

     Let me give you the rundown on what I've been up too...



    Ross was sick for a few days, with a cough and runny nose. She was miserable. She spent a lot of time on my lap, staring at my Netbook. Only because the only thing that kept her happy was to be on my lap, watching movies from Netflix.com on demand. Then, just as she was starting to recover, we got smacked with this huge snow storm. Here are a couple of pics.

 

 A pic of my snow covered back yard and driveway.

 

   Chrissy, looking cute with a snowflake on her nose...

  So, the girls were out of school. It's great having the extra hands around home, but they also add to the chaos in some ways! Anyway, on the first day of the snow, Tallen stared out the window too much and wound up with a puking Migraine, that lasted all night and part of the next day. It's so sad when someone that little can get such bad headaches. I have Migraines myself and can sympathize. He really needs some good sunglasses for days like those, as they would probably help prevent the headache from ever starting to begin with, but I have not been able to find real  sunglasses that will fit him correctly. Then, just as he was recovering from that horrible day...

   I discovered this awesome online school for for him and Ross. I wish I had found it ages ago. It is very affordable and easy for the kids to navigate. I am always able to keep track of their progress and they can redo each  activity as often as they want. It would work great as a stand alone home school curriculum, but I am using it as support for the things we are already learning. Another plus is that, because it is done on the computer, Tallen does not object to doing the exercises. He can type as well as anyone else, but hates to write, due to some dexterity problems that he has. They have enjoyed this program so much. We have spent many hours working with it. I plan to do a more detailed posting about this program, in the near future.

  Hubs went out of town on Monday. I was thinking "Woohoo! Now I can work and play online, with no interruptions from him!" But I literally started feeling sick right after he left. I think he hexed me. By that afternoon, I had lost my voice completely and had a horrible cough. I am feeling a lot better today. Hubs comes home tomorrow.

   Today is my oldest son's birthday. He's 21 today. I loved that he was born on Norman Rockwell's birthday. Happy Birthday, Cota!

Guest Post By Cina

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f I wanted to sound really adventurous and defiant, I'd go ahead and tell you that I busted Mom in the head with a mustard bottle and took reign over her blog. Unfortunately, being the ever-so polite and venerable daughter that I am, I simply just offered to write her post today while she recovers from her cold, which pitifully but humorously brings out her "inner man" every time she tries to raise her voice. Boring, right? Well, at least everyone else brings a little more excitement. As I sit here trying to manage this miniature keyboard in my Snuggie while eating Fig Newtons, Tallen is watching angry Japanese people perform ridiculous stunts on Youtube and Ross is bawling her eyes out at the fact that "Girl-punzel", as she likes to call her, has just lost all of her luxurious hair.


The snow is positively delightful! I'm pleased to say that we actually have SNOW this time, opposed to that icy wannabe snow that wore out its welcome last time. It has gotten me out of school for the past two days, but not out of doing homework. Can you believe my Spanish teacher actually told us what assignments to do on the days that we were expected to miss because of snow? Sheesh! (I complain like I've been working, but the truth is that I've hardly touched the assignments, haha.) Other than that, I've had a lovely time off with the family. Tallen and I really had a heart-to-heart when he explained to me that "poop is a little piece of crap that comes out of your butthole". I swear, he's such a profound and insightful child; I don't know what I'd do without a brainiac little brother like him.


I wrote/composed a song with the help of my Casio! As positively absurd as it sounds, I wrote it in the wrong key. I believe it would fit a man's voice better; every time I hit the low notes, people think a lousy Johnny Cash impersonator has just entered the room...or that Mom is trying to raise her voice again.


Please pray for Mom to become well again. I know the roads aren't icy everywhere, but, nevertheless, drive safely in your travels and I wish all of you the best. Sorry for the minor inconvenience, but Mom will be well again soon and you will no longer have to deal with a cheap imitation.

Much love,
Cina

I Love You

I have been giving a lot of thought lately, to those three words. About how important they are and how everyone, from the tiniest baby, to the toughest man, needs to hear them. Their absence in a person's life, changes who they become. Just as hearing them too often, with no true feelings behind them, does the same.

My sister and I were just discussing the other day, the fact that our mother has never once told us that she loves us. Never. Basically, I'm fairly certain, because she simply doesn't. After this many years, after all she has done, I probably wouldn't believe her anyway. I hold this against her a lot. Not because I give a rat's behind that she doesn't love us. but because she never taught us to say it. Every day, I am thankful that we kids, some of us anyway, had the inborn sense that we were so much bigger than the world she presented to us as children. We instinctively knew that her way was not the proper one.

But one memory has stayed with me for years, as clear as if it was yesterday. I was seven years old and my daddy was sick. He was dying. I knew that he was dying because, every chance she got, our mother would tell us kids, "Your daddy's not going to be with us much longer." She would say this without emotion, without sadness. Not caring that it ripped our guts out, every time we heard those words. She told us this several times a week, beginning well over a year before he actually passed away. I tried to push it to the back of my mind. Surely she was mistaken. He couldn't die. He was the one who loved us. We loved him. God wouldn't take him away from us. Would he? But, as the months went by, I couldn't deny that he was wasting away. Soon, I wouldn't have a chance to tell him that I loved him. I didn't know how. I was embarrassed. What if Mom heard me? What if she laughed at me? I gave this a lot of thought for several days, trying to get up the nerve. I know this sounds crazy to most. You would have to have lived with her to understand.

One day, I saw Daddy sitting alone in the kitchen, in a ladder back chair. This was my perfect chance. I walked over to him, "Daddy?" He didn't look up from whatever it was that had his attention, "What Baby?" Feeling stupid, I almost said, "Nothing..." and walked away. But, as I looked at him, with his hair all gone, his cheeks sunken in, his beautiful blue eyes seemingly twice their normal size, because his face was disappearing around them, his chest covered in red and black marker lines, showing where the cancer was and where it wasn't, I knew this may well be my last chance. I looked around quickly, to be sure we were alone, "I love you, Daddy." I held my breath, waiting for his reaction. He turned to me and smiled, "I love you too, Baby" Then he hugged me tight. I took a deep breath, the weight of the world, now gone from my little shoulders. Not long after that, he went back to the hospital. I would never see my dear daddy alive again. I vowed then, all those years ago, that my children would never feel ashamed to feel love.

When I finally gave birth to my own kids, I knew immediately that I was different than my mother. Within seconds of looking down into my new babies' faces, I had blurted out a tearful, "I love you!" It was and is second nature. I tell them every day, many times a day. As a result, my children tell me, their fathers, their siblings, and even some friends, that they love them, without hesitation to worry how they might look, or to care what others might think. We'll shout out I Love You's across crowded stores or restaurants, if we are parting ways. The important thing is that we really mean it. I managed to "break the cycle", so to speak.

Many Mother's Days, I have visited my mother, to offer up obligatory gifts and well wishes, only to find her sitting by the phone, boo-hooing, crushed that almost none of her eight children has called. Feeling sorry for herself. For a split second, I almost feel bad for her. I guess because I have the trait of empathy, that I most certainly did not inherit from her. But then I think, are you for real, Lady? Did you honestly expect to throw eight kids into the wind, to fend for themselves, with no help from you. Never hugging us, never mothering us, never even telling us that you loved us, while we witnessed you loving all over drunks and perverts that hurt us, declaring your undying love for them. Did you really think that we would flock to you on Mother's Day, thanking you for doing such a great job!? Give me a freaking break! Any hint of sorrow for her vanishes immediately. I am only there for selfish reasons. Trying to feel normal. Trying to pretend that I have a mother. She taught her kids that love is always conditional and never sincere, and some of them weren't smart enough to ever see through that.

One night the phone rang late. I answered and it was my brother. He had been drinking. He said lots of stuff, but before he hung up, he said, "I love you" I immediately turned to Hubs and said, "My brother is going to try and kill himself." He asked how I knew this. Had he told me that was what he planned to do? "No. But he told me he loves me. He has never said that. He's planning to die." Hubs looked almost amused, "You mean to tell me that just because he said he loves you, you think he is going to kill himself?" This is alien to him, as his family always says they love each other. I nodded. "I have to call my sister, so she can drive over there." My sister went to check on him and sure enough, he had taken a bunch of pills and washed them down with liquor. Case closed. Sad but true.

If you leave here today with nothing else, please take with you the knowledge, from someone that knows first hand, If you love someone, tell them. They need to hear it. It'll be good for both of you.

I Love Y'all : )

Face It, Time Flies, Even When You're Not Having Fun.

Sometimes, when it's quiet (I promise, that does happen occasionally here, at The Castle of Chaos), it hits me like a ton of bricks. Here I am, barely a gnat's sneeze from turning 40 years old. How in the hell did I get here so fast?! It is so true that life is what happens while were making other plans.


     I wonder if I unknowingly set myself up for this rude awakening, by putting my head down so many times in my life. Whenever my life was unhappy, I made it through each situation by putting down my head, shutting out the world, snapping into survival mode, and charging through it, like a bull. It kept me from losing my mind on many occasions. When, I was molested, as a small child, I dropped my head. When my father died, I dropped my head. Being abused, going hungry, being teased, abandoned, used, battered, raped, sick, divorced, homeless, and on, and on, and on...Each time, I dropped my head, surfacing on the other side, happy to have survived. Too naive to realize that, while I had succeeded in blocking out the bad things, I had also succeeded in missing out on many great things. Things that I can never get back.

      I never went to a school dance or prom. I never went to college or traveled the world. I have never even been to a simple concert. Which leads me to wonder if a life lived in fear can be fulfilling. Have I really "survived" or have I just managed to keep a heartbeat, as I pissed away 38 years. Fear, my dear readers, is a killer of dreams...