My Learning Curve

I’m having a hard time believing it’s already December 31st. My, how things have changed in a year. And I mean, changed in ways you would never believe.

August  was the beginning of the most difficult year of my life and December 1, was a day which will be burned into my head for a long time. It was the beginning of a lot of struggles. It was the start of a long road to a recovery hubby and I needed. My, oh, my.

Hubby lost his job a year ago today, and although he had another job lined up, he had no start date. And I may have mentioned this before, but his old boss was excruciatingly manipulative of my nubby, and he was actually still technically working for him, receiving phone calls and helping him out via phone with no payment. This was the beginning of our troubles with the insurance companies because he promised to keep our insurance rolling until his new job started covering us, since my husband was still providing services for him. He lied. He shut it off the very first chance he had.…

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The summer after 3rd grade, I got my period.  Long before the awkward group girl talk in 4th grade about hygiene and bodily changes, I had come into my “womanhood.”

I don’t specifically remember the terror of the event, but I do remember my mom crying a lot and my dad treating me weird for awhile.  I was their first daughter, and obviously no parent wants their child to reach puberty ever, so the fact that mine had come so early really flipped them on their ear.

I was a chubby thing – tall and full figured before I hit the age of 12.  Yet, even though my body was going through these “changes” – I remember how immensely unaware I was of things like body image.  I was comfortable in my skin, I wasn’t even remotely concerned with the impression I gave off to the world around me.  Sloppy, tom boy-esque, bookish but noisy… This was far before I quit high school, and later got my GED diploma, that was not that easy how it is with the websites like this one:

Something I do specifically remember, though, is the day I became...


It’s out there, the beauty

Without a doubt, one of the hardest times of my life was when my mother was dying in the hospital. Knowing her time was limited and having all these things I wanted to say to her but couldn’t, because she simply could not comprehend, was agonizing. It drained me; in the evenings, after a day at her bedside, I would walk back to the apartment Dave and I shared, ironically a stone’s throw from the hospital, to sit on the couch and just stare.

It was very important to me that my mother not see how hard I was struggling; I wanted her to look at me and see the same young woman she had always seen. Even though most of the time I wanted to show up at the hospital unshowered and in my pajamas, I made sure I looked nice. I did my hair, put on makeup, picked out a decent outfit and I always accessorized. My mum and I shared a love of jewelry, you see, and so I wore pieces I thought she would like. When she looked at me, I didn’t want her to see how terrified I was, that I was drowning in fear...

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Bad day

I am having a really bad day. I’m struggling to keep it all together. My thoughts are jumbled, my nose is stuffed and my eyes are puffy. There is too much noise in my brain. Today I am completely overwhelmed by Oliver. When he has good days, they’re good, and he’s a great kid; so much fun to be around. He’s funny and snuggly and surprisingly sensitive to others. But when he has bad days, they’re bad, where he’s rough and difficult and aggressive. And today’s been…well, bad.

He’s so different from Julia. I thought I knew what to expect and then he came along and blew all that out of the water. I thought I was prepared for life with two kids. Fuck, I thought I wanted three kids, but I’m not so sure about that now. I have days where I feel like I have this whole ‘stay-at-home-mother of two kids two years apart’ thing locked down and then I have days like today where I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, or what the hell to do.…

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Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky

If any of you are planning on selling your house or are in the process of selling your house, get yourselves a statue of St. Joseph the Worker, pronto.

Twenty-four hours after we said the prayer and put the statue on our mantle, we got an offer. A good offer. It’s just the offer we’d been hoping for, and if all goes well over the next few days, our house will be officially sold next week. BOOYA!…

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Kinda like the time that lady farted on my leg in the checkout line

Saturday Night at the Italian Hall ’07 was not nearly as interesting as the ’06 version. I didn’t limp to the Hall doors battered and bleeding, as Dave thoughtfully took my arm while we walked there (and I held on for dear life). Unlike last year, this time around Dave did manage to maintain conversation with me while he tried to “fix” his father’s cell phone. He didn’t try to dump the leftover gnocchi into a Ziploc freezer bag under the table and not once did he blame his own noxious gas on the guy sitting at the table next to us.

And – the statement I know you’ve all been waiting for – no chunks were blown. My husband paced himself and held his own.

I was so proud.…

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Husband, take note…

By the time four p.m. rolls around, I am usually hanging on by a wing and a prayer over here – something my children can keenly sense. Knowing full-well that Mummy is rapidly making her downward descent, they either turn into animals or emotional basket cases, depending on if they have napped that day and if so, for how long. It’s my least favorite time of the day; I feel my energy, patience and wherewithal quickly draining from my body (and mind) and I cling to the knowledge that soon, my husband will be home. Soon, I won’t be the only one who is having the stamina sucked out of them by two small children.…

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You don’t win friends with salad

My husband is one of the pickiest adult eaters I have ever met. The list of things he doesn’t eat is longer than the list of things he does and there are many foods that he refuses to touch despite the fact that they have never passed his lips before, ever.

Simply put, Dave likes his starches. Pasta, rice, crusty Italian bread, potatoes, pizza…and I don’t blame him, but he doesn’t balance those starches out with anything else. He’s a meat n’ potatoes but hold the veggies kinda guy. He does eat a select few vegetables and watching him eat them is almost comical: he eats them first, very quickly, in order to get them over with so he can throw himself into the meat and the starches, those sweet, sweet succulent starches.…

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I kind of miss my youthful ignorance

You know those times when you figure something out, or when something suddenly makes sense to you, or you realize that something is actually this when all this time you’ve thought it was that? And when it hits you, you’re all, A-ha! It all makes sense now!

My mom used to call them ‘A-ha! moments’, which, between you and me, sounds like something Oprah would say, but hey. That’s what she called them.

I had one of those moments today.…

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Remember that time I puked all over your bed?

Yesterday afternoon, while stuck in traffic with my hungry children and a bunch of dairy products melting away in the backseat, something funky started going on with the vision in my left eye. It was as if a flashing, wiggly snake was worming its way around my eyeball. I immediately got a sharp, stabbing pain shooting through my right eye and I sat in my van waiting to turn left knowing if I didn’t get home and get some medication ingested pronto I was going to get smacked with a vicious migraine.…

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