After being out of the job market for almost 7 years and on SSDI for depression, anxiety and PTSD for 4 years, I decided to try my hand at customer service again. I'm working for a florist call center 20 miles away, 4 days a week plus overtime. I'm not the sort to do something halfway. Either I'll swim or sink. For a month now, I've been swimming. Thank God fat floats! :)

After Comcast's two full months of classroom training, my new employer's two *day* training was a bit of a shock. The rest of the "training" comes through messing up real-life situations with customers. O joy. Prepared? Not at all. Able to make mistakes? Quite well, thank you. My backside objects to sitting for 10 hours a day four days a week. What to do about it? Work some overtime. Voluntarily!

I'm still going to the gym 3 times a week whether or not I want to (and mostly, I don't want to!) and cooking occasionally.

I'm off Friday - Sunday unless I request overtime. Today I slept until 9:30 am then had therapy at 10:30 and lunch at Bonefish Grill in Mystic. I've spent the rest of the afternoon domesticating (and Lord knows it's needed!). 

We're having lovely fall weather and I'm wearing shorts, sneakers, and a tank top. New England, I love you!

Throwback Friday

I recently came across a few blog postings I wrote on a social media site years ago, and I thought I'd re-post some of them.

April 22, 2005
The Honesty's Too Much

I'm "dating" myself by knowing the words to this song, but there's so much truth ni it... "Sometimes when we touch, the honesty's too much and I have to close my eyes and hide... 'til the fear in me subsides." For me, I'm so tired of the truth hurting. Why can't the truth be happy sometimes? Why can't "happily ever after" sometimes exist for ordinary people? Is this all there is? Today at work, a really crappy, hectic, nobody-appreciates-anything sort of work day, I had a couple of customers ask me how I can be so CHEERFUL. Well, shoot, I don't KNOW???? My standard response is "Well, there are enough unpleasant people. Why should I be one of them?" Right now, though, I don't know what the point of this determined cheerfulness IS. I want to feel something GOOD - not just put on a happy face .I want to be able to mean it when I say "I"m great, thanks". I want to BE happy.

May 7, 2005

Sitting here thinking about life, and here are some things I've figured out:
#1. I'm an adult. my navel and nose and ears are pierced because I WANT them that way. Not for any other reason. Ditto my tattoo. I do not need or want approval from anyone.
#2. There are a lot of people who aren't ever going to be happy with me just the way I am. Fortunately, that's okay with me. They probably don't like themselves, either.
#3. Sex and love aren't the same, and while either is okay alone, they're way better together. A selfish lover doesn't understand that it is a gift from one person to another, and therefore that lover doesn't deserve that gift. (It's not usually that great with that self-absorbed sort of person, anyway.)
#4. I remember growing up and wanting to be drop-dead, head-turningly gorgeous. Then I found out that "cute" wears better and ages more gracefully, and in the interim, we've had to develop brains and personalities. We're not as likely to wake up one morning and say "Oh my GOD, I'm OLD!" WE're too busy living. just the way I am. If I believe I"m a goddess, I'm a goddess. If I believe I"m worthless, then I am.
#5. I'm worth waiting and working for. I deserve to be at the top of the list. I'm just fine the way I am, not younger, older, taller, shorter, thinner, fatter, etc. I'm okay THIS way! I'v made some mistakes along the way but I've learned to like myself.
#6. People who need their egos stroked constantly are never worth the effort. They require perpetual maintenance. I don't have time for that.
#7. I"ve raised three beautiful, intelligent, decent sons. That's quite an accomplishment. People who say "But there's so much MORE you could have done instead" are missing the point - doing what fulfills one the most.
#8. People are going to talk. No matter whether you're wonderful or horrible, there are just some people who love to gossip, and if they have to make it up, so be it. You won't convince people that it's not the truth, but if you know you're a good person, you an live with yourself. As Edgar Guest said, "I have to live with myself and so I want to be fit for myself to know." That's important to me.
#9. Do what makes you happy. You may never be wealthy, but you'll be rich in experience and joy. That's hard to steal and they can't tax it.
#10. Some people are just unpleasant for the pleasure of it. Don't give those people pleasure by letting them know they upset you. Smile and look right through them, or pretend to be confused. It ruins their day.

Equality, Persecution, and Reality - A Perspective - or “You’re Not That ‘Special’”

I am SICK of every group campaigning for *special* protected status and for *special* rights not to be offended or not to get their way at the cost of others' rights. We as a society need to get over ourselves in a BIG way! I'm tired of people expecting *special* protection or laws or consideration because they perceive themselves as different. Equal does not mean "more than".

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER OF IMPORTANCE:

A) In places of business, etc., I'm in favor of a two-person-size "family" bathroom (in addition to single-sex bathrooms), perfect for folks with small children or persons who are not comfortable with the restroom marked for their biologically assigned gender. TAKE TURNS. Heck, I was born a woman and am happy as a woman, but I'd be comfortable in a gender-neutral bathroom. That way nobody gets offended and nobody feels he/she is in the wrong bathroom. Problem solved, and nobody has forced anyone to feel she/he is in the "wrong" bathroom. (One of my closest friends is TG, and while I wouldn't ever want her to feel uncomfortable, I don't want anyone else to feel uncomfortable in the name of political correctness. We are ALL entitled to feel the way we feel and to believe the way we believe.)

B) The race issue: "The Lord God made us all." Or however you personally believe we got here. Assume that other folks look just like you inside and have feelings, too, that are AS important as YOURS. *Nobody*, black, white, Asian, green, or purple, gay, straight, or metrosexual, is entitled to ANY special privilege. Get over it. Most of us, like it or not, has ancestors who were criminals or slaves or indentured servants or prostitutes. None of us has the right to assume we are superior to any other group. To believe otherwise is a sure indication that one has HUGE doubts about one's self worth. Just sayin'...

C) The police issue: The police are here to protect you. And you. And me. Admittedly there are some bad apples in any barrel, but only an idiot would deliberately harass a rabid dog. Most cops are WONDERFUL people who know every time they put on the uniform, they COULD come home dead at the end of that shift. EVERY time. Would you do that, even for people who are criminals? Most likely not. Stop making the jobs of the police that much harder and that much more dangerous. They here to protect us, not to infringe upon our rights. If you or your child or your grandpa gets smacked down by the police, first ask "What was this person doing to cause that to happen?" instead of immediately screaming "Police brutality!" If the answer is "Nothing", *then* consider brutality as a possibility. If you're sassing and cussing a cop, I *pray* somebody maces or smacks you upside the head the way your momma should have done.

D) The size issue: I'm a Rubenesque 52-year-old (mostly) white woman. I didn't choose that and I am NOT an overeating lazy sloth. I don't spend most of my time sitting on my butt and eating bonbons. I remember being in an economy class airplane seat 3 years ago and praying I wouldn't have to ask for a seatbelt extender. If I had needed it, I wouldn't have had the gall to blame the airline for not making the seats wider. I haven't indulged in plastic surgery to make me look 30. Yes, sometimes it would be nice, but this is ME. Accept that. Seriously. If you don't like it, there are plenty of people who think I'm just right. I can live with it.

E) PLEASE stop blaming specific political parties for what is wrong with our society. If I don't like someone, including politicians, I blame that person for the problem, NOT his entire political party, his church, or his great uncle. His parents? Possibly, but only if I know they fed into it. I'm sick to death of "The Republicans are to blame..." or "The Democrats are at fault in..." PLEASE SHUT IT!" "If you vote for so-and-so, I'm unfriending you." Go for it. If you posted that crap, there's a very good possibility I've already blocked you because if our friendship doesn't allow us to agree to disagree in an agreeable manner, it's not a friendship. It's a tiny dictatorship and I'm over it.

We are all different. That's what makes each of us who we are and that is what makes each of us special. More importantly, we are all more alike than we are different. That's what makes us human. I'm stunned at how many people are malicious and cruel towards other human beings yet claim to be good Christians or Muslims or Wiccans or whatever. If you're one of those, you should be ashamed of yourself. If you are teaching your children to be that way, you should be doubly ashamed of yourself. If you let your child behave like the spawn of Satan then blame the police or the teacher, I'd like fifteen minutes alone in a windowless room with you - and a baseball bat! Stop blaming other folks for your failures.

Accept that life isn't fair, but as long as you're treated no worse (and no BETTER) than anyone else, you're doing okay. Don't expect life or other people or the government to treat you like you are, as George Orwell o brilliantly put it, "More equal than other animals". You're NOT "more equal". You don't deserve to be treated as if you were. Understand that human beings are horrible at times. If you witness it, say something, but don't get down on their level. If it’s appropriate to do so, call the police about it. If you don't understand that everyone should be treated with the same consideration and respect as you yourself expect, I feel very sorry for you. If you are rude or unkind and say hurtful, negative things, what goes around comes around, and there's a great probability that *you* have issues about your looks, your weight, your peenis size, or your IQ. Don't think the rest of us are unaware of that. If you don't show compassion, I don't like you. If you don't treat others as you expect to be treated, yet make allowance for the fact that they may not be as decent a person as you strive to be, you're a miserable person, whether or not you admit it. In short, get over yourself. Thank you in advance.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFKTWSwzjgM.

How To Raise A Happy Child to Be A Happy Adult, Part I

My egg donor was not the ideal parent. She would have been kind if she'd left to pursue her nightclub singing career and left my Dad to raise us. She did more harm than good by a long shot. This left me with long-term  scars and feelings of unworthiness of even the smallest human kindness. If someone is kind to me, I wonder why they'd do it. If I am treated as though I AM, indeed, enough to be loved and befriended by good people, I'm still taken by surprise. Before I ever was a parent, I made a conscious decision NOT to be that sort of parent,

My dad and his parents, my Pappaw and Nanny Childs, were all life-long learners and taught parenting skills by example. They were "old school". We didn't spend out lives in front of a TV and whining that we were bored. I never considered boredom a possibility, and really didn't fully understand the concept. There was always something to do. In fact, I still don't fully understand the concept of boredom.

What I learned about parenting, I learned from my grandparents and my dad. They were strict and believed in working hard, but they loved and encouraged me at every possible opportunity.More importantly, without knowing they were doing so, they gave me the tools to become a good parent.

My second husband remarked during an ugly moment of reality that he'd have turned out much differently if I had raised him. (That's not technically possible, since he's twelve years older than I am.) I had to take a bit of time to process that. I'm pretty sure it was a compliment.

I helped raise my youngest brother, have three sons who are grown, and there's been an amazing little boy in my life from birth-almost 5 years old at present, and the ones I've had the privilege of helping raise have turned out to have some things in common:

Things I learned from growing up and being a parent and teacher:

1)  Build a child's self-esteem based not only upon what he can do, but on the good things he does for others. Teach him to be useful at home as a matter of routine from the time he is old enough to understand what you're doing. Children love to imitate. Matter-of-factly include him in daily household routines, and thank him every time he helps, praising him frequently for being such a good helper. This isn't slave labor, folks. It's teaching your child to be useful and to find fulfillment in serving others and the common good. Praise him, both privately and to friends when the child is around to overhear you.

2)   Expect honesty. Be truthful with your child and verbally communicate to him from the time he is small that we must take accountability for our own actions. I have always believed that if I do something that's going to upset someone else, I might as well just raise my hand then and there and cry "foul" on myself, apologize sincerely, and do my best to correct the situation. Let your child know if he does something he shouldn't you'd rather he tell you about it before someone else does, because you ARE likely to find out eventually somehow. That's what parents do.

When (not if) your child does something he shouldn't, encourage him to tell you what he did, why he did it, and discuss it with you. Together, come up with a solution, and most importantly, praise him for being truthful. This doesn't mean he's going to go unscathed, but let him know the consequences will be far smaller because he volunteered the information and did his best to rectify the situation.

3) Teach good manners from babyhood. "Please" and "thank you" don't cost a thing, but they go a long way in making people feel appreciated. Give your child praise for being polite. If he neglects to do so, stop whatever is going on right then, and say "Please and thank you." Every. Single. Time. Eventually he'll catch on, and it becomes a lifetime habit. Teach an "attitude of gratitude".

My first year of teaching high school English, the first homework assignment I gave, I instructed the students to please do the exercise on whatever page and to write in complete sentences. I was somewhat surprised the next day because not one of 25 tenth-graders in that class had done the assignment. Why? One of them finally raised his hand and said "Well, you said PLEASE, so we didn't think we had to do it if we didn't want to!" At that moment, I realized my sons weren't being raised like most of their peers. They understood that "please" is just a matter of having good manners. I assured the class that "please" doesn't mean the assignment is optional.

"It'll Get Done"

I grew up on a farm. My dad’s parents were an agri professor and a high school principal. My dad had a great work ethic and sense of responsibility, perhaps too great. If something needed to be done, they didn’t wait to be told; they just DID it. Nike had nothing on them, and that’s how I was raised.

I grew up believing all kids had chores, didn’t talk back, didn’t argue with their elders, and always made good grades because it was the done thing. Thanks to my dad and my Childs grandparents, I had a sense of responsibility ingrained in me before I had a chance to get the idea that I was the center of the universe or that I didn’t have to do what I knew needed to be done. If I saw something to be done, I didn’t wait to be told to do it, and I didn’t expect to need to be told. I’m proud to say I’m still that way and wouldn’t change it if I could.

I raised my sons this way. They’re not perfect but they are not lazy. They are “self-starters”. I’m a “self-starter”.  I am seriously allergic to lazy people and to people who assume somebody else will take care of whatever needs to be done in life.

I’m trying to put in a board and bead ceiling and remodel a bathroom. I have a tenant arriving in 3 days and the house is totally not ready. The person who is supposed to be responsible for these projects has torn out everything under the sun, made a huge mess and in the long run will cause the scope of the project to be much bigger than it started out being.  A few minutes ago I asked if he was going to his Friday night get-together,  and he replied in the affirmative. He asked if I wanted to go with him. Of course I’d like to go spend a couple of hours with grown-ups and get out of the house. Instead, I replied that since the projects were nowhere near completion, I planned to spend that time working frantically on completing them. His response was “It’ll get done.”

That was the wrong thing to say to this farm girl. “It’ll get done” because I’M doing them instead of doing what’s fun. I’m doing what’s needed!

Over the past six months or so, I’ve gone from being indifferent to video games, computer games, and movies to having almost a hatred for those things, because they get in the way of what needs to be done. When entertainment gets in the way of what needs to be done, frankly, it infuriates me.

I cannot change this behavior in someone who is a grandparent, and I now realize I should not need to try to do so. My give a damn’s busted. Period. The only person my flexibility in this matter is hurting is me.

I have also received reinforcement for my belief that most folks of any age who have ADHD don’t have a deficit of the ability to pay attention, to focus on what they want to focus on; they can focus on whatever they want to focus on to the point it’s obsessive. If they don’t want to pay attention to something, “BANG !” that ugly “deficit” rears its head. As we say in south Arkansas, “That dog won’t hunt.” It’s not the ability to pay attention that’s lacking; it’s the lack of giving a crap about whatever you’re supposed to be paying attention to that is lacking. This isn’t a “disorder”. It’s a bad attitude and laziness.

I fight a lot of the time not to be anxious about things I can’t change, and it’s an uphill battle. There’s a big difference between that and just assuming that if I don’t do what needs to be done, somebody will magically take care of it since I didn’t. Folks, this is the real, grown-up world with responsibilities and having to do stuff we don’t feel like doing, not a fairy tale.

It’ll get done, because I’ll do it.

You’re welcome.

The Holidays

Not by my choice, I have a lot of family that doesn't seem to have time for me unless they need something. so I do my best to appreciate the friends who try to fill those empty places in my life. I grew up with my dad's extended family and loved Thanksgiving and Christmas. For most of the past twelve years, I have grieved my way through those two holidays and the period between them. I had Thanksgiving dinner this year with George and Bill and was just grateful I wasn't alone, but managed this ONLY with the addition of a sedative to my usual "happy pills".

Apparently my leaving an abusive marriage 12+ years ago has cost me the right to my sons' time during holidays, and frankly, this is one of those times I almost wish I'd just stayed and let the beatings and rape continue. At least I wouldn't have to scramble for manufactured "family". Anyone who glibly tells a battered woman (especially with childen) "Just LEAVE! You'll be FINE!!" doesn't have a CLUE about the realities that one act causes. I've been accused of abandoning my sons and of being a loose woman and bat-sh*t crazy. Please tell me how this is really a GOOD thing, because at the moment, I'm not seeing it.

It turns out i wasn't just giving up the right to be abused, beaten, raped, and publicly humiliated; apparently I also unwittingly was giving up my rights to be included in family plans for holidays or any other time. 

My sister, who has now decided she is a "he", was always a butch lesbian, and I remember having to dig in my heels to get the children's sperm donor to allow our middle son, Tyler, to spend a few weeks with her in Boston, along with her "life partner" and the partner's kids in the summer before 6th grade. Believe me, this didn't go over well with my mother or the children's father, who had nothing good to say about the potential harm this could do to Tyler. I maintained it was hogwash and insisted he be allowed to go. I think for the most part, i made the right decision. The only thing I didn't count on was that after my divorce, that sister would help the ex get sole custody of the boys from me and signed over to their father. Now Tyler has migrated to Boston to be near "Uncle Miles". I don't give a rat's rear end what someone's gender identity or sexual preference is, and have always defended folks' right to be who they are, but for that person to believe she/he has the right  to interfere in my rights as a parent and teach my sons not to love me is beyond ironic. 

Since the children's sperm donor got custody of them, I have seen Joel ONE TIME in 11 years. Please understand I was given unlimited, unsupervised visitation - which was set up in such a way as to be punitive. A judge from the Arkansas Judicial Disciplinary Commission said it was clearly punitive and one of the absolute worst calls he'd seen in his entire career, but i couldn't afford to appeal the decision. So I'll pay for the rest of my life. The boys' father refused to allow me to exercise my right to visit Joel unless a whole bunch of people were there to supervise and make sure Joel and I didn't have any real, heartfelt conversation. I offered to get the Magnolia, Arkansas youth officer, Ronnie Bell, to be the third party and visit Joel at the police station, but the ex refused to allow it. The police wouldn't do anything about it because it was a "civil" matter. (I've been paying child support since that time and still am). Please tell me how this has turned out okay.

When Tyler moved to Boston in the fall, I asked him to please plan to spend Thanksgiving with me. Haven't heard a word from him. Eric and Stephanie have begun a tradition of having a big "Army Family" Thanksgiving get-together for all their friends from Eric's time in the Army. I think that's *great*, but feel that now I've outlived my usefulness, I'm supposed to just fade to grey, and it hurts. A lot.

The Great Turkey Escape

Happy Thanksgiving. I was awake at 5 a.m., lying in the dark, tears streaming down my face. Yesterday was pretty rough and today is going to be the same. One more "I'm so thankful for..." post and I may throw up. 

From the time I was in third grade, we lived at the opposite end of my Childs grandparents' farm, about 3/4 of a mile from their house. A long gravel lane extended from our house to theirs. The first half mile or so was pretty flat, then climbed steadily up a pretty steep hill (by Columbia County standards) to their house. 

My mother viewed Thanksgiving morning as a golden opportunity to have the household staff (her oldest three children) perform several hours of drudge work around the house, seeing as how God had failed to provide her with paid household staff and she was much too pretty to clean her own house, although she firmly believed a house should be kept in a state resembling a spread from House Beautiful Magazine. 

Our mother wasn't big on cooking, so thankfully our daddy fed us until I was old enough to cook. (That was a young age around our house back then. I could prepare a full meal by the time I was 8.) This meant she wasn't asked to cook or host Thanksgiving or any other big meals throughout the year. It was in the best interest of all involved.

Because she was a serious TV addict, our daddy felt behooved to toss out the TV when I was 3. Otherwise, we'd have wandered away and drowned in the pond while she watched soap operas, obvlivious to our existence. Seriously. So TV was a huge thing, especially with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade about to air.

My siblings and I figured out by the time I was in junior high that this half-day festival of cleaning the Bodie plantationwas going to happen every Thanksgiving morning without fail, so when I was in eighth grade, we spontaneously produced and directed "The Great Turkey Escape". 

We woke up at the crack of dawn, made our beds, got dressed, brushed our teeth, and left a note that looked something like a playbill. It read "The Great Turkey Escape". Below, I wrote "Written by Laurie Childs. Produced by Cyndi Childs. Directed by Mac Childs, Jr.", after which I wrote a brief explanation of how the Thanksgiving turkeys were fleeing for their lives this Thanksgiving morning and would be seeking refuge at the home of their grandparents at the other end of the farm. Then just about the time it got light enough to see safely, we put on our coats and shoes and quietly left the house and headed up the frost-laced lane to our grandparents' home.

My grandmother always seemed to enjoy teaching me to cook and having me help in the kitchen when she prepared meals. Yes, it meant working but it also meant being loved and taught and nurtured and appreciated. That wasn't the sort of thing working for my mother included, so I worked my hardest to learn and help. Funny how that works.

The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade would start long after we'd begun cooking, so I could watch it unfold from the kitchen pass-through, occasionally taking breaks to sit in front of the TV, amazed at the floats, enjoying the marching bands. The smells were wonderful, and the feeling I was loved and appreciated made me more thankful than anything possibly could have. My siblings sat in front of the TV and did pretty much nothing, but I didn't care. I was doing what I loved with a woman who loved me.

Every Thanksgiving until I was out of high school, my siblings and I repeated the Great Turkey Escape. Every year our dad made sure she was distracted long enough for us to reach safe haven, and every year, our mother was really, really unhappy about it, and we heard about it in no uncertain terms, but it was worth it.

After the parents made their way up to the big house, we sat down to a wonderful, Southern-style Thanksgiving dinner. In addition to uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents, there were always guests - single or widowed professors from the college, along with any student who had stayed on campus for the long weekend. Everyone was welcome and everyone acted accordingly. It was wonderful and warm and makes my current childless, relative-less situation all the more lonely. 

I'm having Thanksgiving lunch at a restaurant today with my ex, George, and with Bill Dugan. I'm thankful I'm not totally alone.