It's interesting that we spend so much time, as parents, discussing discipline and the idea of punishment. We dissect and discuss - to the point of turning blue - what is and is not appropriate means of punishment for our children.
We carefully weigh the pros and cons of time outs and standing in corners and spanking.... or, not spanking. We spend hours in deep discussions where we lay bare the 'wooden-spoon' childhoods we once had and how we would *never* do that to our children......
However, as adults: we can't whip that wooden-spoon out soon enough.
The Barista at Starbucks takes too long and effs up our drink..... oh - we are going to lose our mothertrucking sh*t over $4.00 purchase as though the success of our entire day could have been found at the bottom of that tall, while cup.
Do we have concern for the aforementioned Barista?
She works there.... that's what she get's *paid* to do.
Now, before we get too far, it's important to note that I have lost my ever-loving schmidt at *more* than one tmobile or comcast or verizon representative. *In my defense* - I *always* start the conversation by saying, "Listen, I understand you're just the poor bastard who answers the phone. I know you're not actually, personally responsible for this companies decisions, but as these calls are recorded, I'm about to lose my shit all over this phone line and you're free to hang up - or listen so that some f*cker above you will hear my frustration and fix sh*t. From here on out - "you" simply refers to your company and my problem(s) with them - and does not mean YOU, in the personal sense."
Most of the time, my corporate tirades are amusing and they rarely hang up on me. Also- a bit of humility on my part and understanding of their limited control in my situation almost *always* means that they sort out my problem for me.
But, for the sake of clarity - I am *not* above telling people where the hell they've gone wrong and how they can fix it ..... however, I *try* to leave such tirades for nameless and faceless companies - and not for the people in my life. just sayin'.
I am increasingly happier than I sheltered Yoga Girl and El Capitan from the public attention. I know that might sound strange - because I was/am - very open about posting my feelings and the myriad of hurdles that have cropped up along this journey to co-parenting with El Capitan - but, I'm not afraid of sharing this journey. It's a f*cking *hard* one - and you can read all the books you want - but honestly, having people go *with* you on this journey is the best thing ever. Getting advice and help in *real time*, not weeks or chapters or months later.... when it's too late to fix things or change things.... that's not really helpful.
This Blog and the *many* people who shared their lives with me has been a tremendous blessing to me and to the children.
At the same time, however, being this open and honest means that everyone knows who did what wrong and when and how... and, well.... everything. lol I don't regret that at all - I don't think people should do things in their life that they aren't willing to tell other people about. PERIOD. So, there really isn't much I would have done differently - but, I think for El Capitan, it's a good thing people don't know who he actually is. lol
I was recently out with some friends and El Capitan came up. At this point... I *know* that forever else it has "only" been 11 months... but FOR ME - it has been waaaaaaay longer. Writing The Book and The Blog, has had me *living* this every minute of every hour of every day in a way that I think a lot of other people going through my situation don't have to. They get to go to work - check out, go to lunch with friends, deal with other people's problems at work or with customers or whatever.... not me.
Pretty much the only thing I've had to do for the last 11 months is deal with this.
Deal with me.
Deal with the betrayal.
Deal with the heartbreak and the loss.
Deal with the children.
Deal with their emotions.
Slowly that started to become healing.... and now we're kind of at a place of growth.
Growing into our new lives.
Growing into our new schedules.
Growing into forgiveness.
Growing into ..... us.
To do that, however, there has to be an element of moving the f*ck on. You can't move forward in your life if you're standing in the mudd of yesterday - crusting over and holding your feet down.... you can't break free and run and skip and *live*. You're just kind of stuck.
I feel like that mudd is a long ways away now.... and the only thing under my feet is bright, green grass.
Until I had lunch. lol
At lunch, another Mom brought up that she would *never* forgive her husband if he cheated on her and how she would spend the rest of her life making him "pay" for what he did. She would screw him in court, take all his money, throw out his prized golf clubs and make sure whatever b*tch he was sleeping with inherited his porn collection.
I don't try to judge people - I get it. I get what she's saying... but at the same time - I kind of don't. Choosing a path of financial and emotional destruction for yourself or anyone around you is *bound* to affect you.... but even if it doesn't affect you at the time - it's going to leave a stain on your soul that you will never get rid of.
You will never deal with that stain.
You will never heal from that stain.
So.... long after he's gone and you're over him, and his porn and his golf clubs.... you'll just be left: stained.
Is that *really* what you want?
I don't think so.
So then that got me thinking... and thinking *hard* - because while we *both* made the sign and El Capitan agreed that I could write The Blog and The Book....I sometimes wonder if I have stained El Capitan.
Sure, I agree that so long as what I wrote is *true* - then... well, those are the breaks. Right? He did that sh*t and he should own it... not coming for Christmas was douche baggery 101. But I have to be willing to admit that the side-effect to all of this is that El Capitan is stained.
Now, on the one hand I think that we reap what we sew in this life.
He was the one holding the needle and pulling it through one bad decision after another. It's not all my fault if the quilt he made casts him in a bad light.... but then again - did I have a right to shine a spot light on it? BUT... is that what I did? I didn't call the media. I didn't think any of this would happen. I *did* start The Blog and write The Book.... and I worry that that *is* a bit of a spotlight.
Back at lunch, the Mom in question then kind of turned things on me and said that there was "no way in hell" that she would "ever" be "friends" with El Capitan - or even be friendly with him and then she went on to suggest that I'm only friendly with him now to try to get him back.
Then I thought about what she was saying.....
So, the person you love more than life betrays you.
You respond by ruining him financially and damaging his property.
Then you refuse to show him kindness.... unless in an effort to get him back.
Wow. I was suddenly a bit sad for her marriage. Just a round of punishment and manipulation... over and over? Really?
What El Capitan did was wrong.... but no one - not me, not our friends, not anyone - has the right to pull out their "wooden spoon" and whoop his ass. Really.
We think about what we say to our children. We think about how damaging our words are.... and *no one*- I don't care *who* the f*ck you are - can be as cold and hard and downright damaging as *I* can be with words. Seriously. I'll cut your throat from across a room just by saying the right thing at the right time: emotional jugular. Bam.
But I find that I'm *rarely* proud of those moments.
As I have moved into a place of honest happiness - with the kids and with myself.... I find myself a bit worried about El Capitan's happiness. I worry about his ability to emotionally recover from the choices he has made - not just the cheating but the months of horrid sh*t that followed.... and I truly worry a bit about that.
Sure, sure..... El Capitan's ex-wife would love for him to be in a permanent fetal position .... but you know what - it's kind of hard to play basketball with your Dad if he can't get up on the floor. I don't want that for my kids. I don't want them to have a Dad who is broken.... ultimately that will be up to El Capitan and not me - but at the same time, if I were to get out my "wooden spoon" every time I saw him..... I could be doing yet more damage to someone who ..... well. you get the point.
SO. For that reason, I'm really glad no one knows who they are. I think the world is quick to pull out "wooden spoons" and dole out punishment where we feel it needs to be done.... and because these are "adults" (and that's in ""'s because we all know that Yoga Girl is a barely out of diapers... bwahahahahahaha) - and we feel less of an obligation to guard their self-esteem and sense of self.
Is that right?
I mean, let's put on our 'human' hats..... forget what they did, this is someone's *daughter*.... this is someone's 'The Girl'.... shouldn't we try to honor that? El Capitan is still someone's son.... shouldn't that count for something when we deal with them?
I left that lunch - and that Mom's tirade.... *really* glad that the general public doesn't know who they are... because we will *all* be forever altered by what happened... but doesn't mean we have to be stained.
I know I don't want to be stained... though at this point I think I always will be to some degree - but I'm glad that they have avoided that fate.
They might not deserve it.... sure. But, I'm glad non
Sorry if this is lame... but The Girl is still poorly tonight and I need to go bed with her.
I leave you, instead, with a NOTE that I posted on Facebook in 2009. Though slightly dated, as now Miley sports a shaved head *and* skimpy clothes... it's still relevant.
So. Seriously. Did anyone else see the whole Miley Cyrus deal on the Teen Choice Awards?
I get it, I'm old... yes, I know I'm fat - too fat for those Miley Short Shorts - but trust me I'm not jealous. I'm thrilled that Miley - like MOST 16 year old girls - can wear her short shorts and wear them well... what I have a teeny-tiny issue with is that she wore them (barely) while performing on a show that is geared for girls even MUCH younger than she is.
And the pole dancing? really.... pole dancing? Did someone forget the "teen" in Teen Choice awards?
I remember being 10 years old and my favorite babysitter was Shawn Schaeffer. She was sooooo gorgeous. She has this fantastically large 80s hair that was dyed blonde in streaks, she wore the balloon pans that got tight at the ankle with a big belt and big head-bands. She would come over with her stack of Pee-Chee folders that were folded over on another like a big Trapper Keeper and she's colored on them and they looked so cool. She would turn on MTV and play "She's a Man Eater" on my parents stereo way louder than I knew you were supposed to.
She would sit at the kitchen table and talk to me for hours and about boys and kissing and cool things... like, she told me that I should always brush my tongue when I brushed my teeth: she said one day the boys would appreciate that.
I didn't know what that meant, but I sure as sh*t started brushing my 9 year old tongue that night.
And I still do.
She showed me her padded and fancy lacy bra - but not in gross way... she told me to always buy the panties that match AND - *most* importantly: always wear a bra to bed.
And for nearly 20 years I *did* wear a bra every single night... .too bad my sh*t sags anyway. LOL
We would make brownies and lick the spoons clean.
We would sit for hours watching videos and she would teach me the latest dance moves.
We would pour over Seventeen magazine and look for her Prom dress.
To this day, I *still* have the page I pulled out of Seventeen that I thought should be *my* prom dress one day - it's still all creased and folded and tucked inside my brown, suede covered diary with the horse head on the front.
Shawn was all one glove without the finger-tips and lacy everything and cropped tops - but only cropped jsut above the belly button. She was hoop earrings and bangly bracelets and small heeled boots that laced over her ankle pants.
She was: ALL THINGS COOL.
I looked up to her.
I idolized her.
She was everything I wanted to grow up to be.......
So. What are girls NOW going to be looking up to? Sure, at the time Madonna was risque - but she was GEARED for young adults and teens - not TWEENS!
I WANTED to dress like that - but at 9 - I couldn't. Not only was I not allowed - more importantly - they didn't really MAKE those kinds of clothes in my size - and if they did - they weren't quite as revealing. You couldn't walk into the nearest Target and buy a cart full of slutty, revealing, crop-topped clothes in a size 6x,,,,, but you sure can now. Is no one else worried about this?
Not only are we allowing our "tween" girls to dress like they're getting ready to strap a mattress to their back and make their own money to spend at Platos Closet... but we're actually marketing clothes directly to them!
And what happens if we allow them to live out their lives in their tween/teen years - it seems to me that there's nothing to grow up for - nothing to look forward to because they've dressed and acted liked they were 21 since they 9 yrs . old... then what's next? What's going to happened to these girls?
Tweens have their own demographic now. Their own marketing scheme's - and that's just wrong. I won't even get STARTED on the whole "tween" market in photography... did you know there is a big push to offer Senior Portrait style sessions to "tweens" now - as though there is this whole entire market for tarting up your child so I can make money of it....
Fuck it. I won't bother teaching The Girl how to feed herself or crawl. I'm going to slap some nice ComeF*ckMe heels and get to her start walking in those - meanwhile I'll teach her how to apply her eyeliner and lipstick... at this rate, I'll have her married off and pregnant by the time she's 13 because she'll already have a cell phone, a credit card, and a steady boyfriend by fourth grade. Perhaps I can get El Capitan to erect a stripper pole in her room - just so that by sixth grade she can keep up with all the other girls.
Hell... it's going to be a sh*t load cheaper than paying for college.
Thanks Miley Cyrus.... you rock.
The last few days have been pretty eventful.... needless to say, it was good to have a long lie in this morning just snuggling and watching TV together.
The Girl, while totally distracted by her own reflection, is in otherwise good spirits. She still has blood (more of it in fact) in both eyes, but she's been entertaining us with her clapping and dancing skills all afternoon.... so I think she's good.
*Prior* to The Girl bleeding into her own eyes.... and yes, it looks *as* gross as it sounds..... we were having a pretty decent weekend. Saturday is El Capitan's day with the kids, and The Boy was eager to "make him a present".
He had a red present box left over from the Dollar Store at Christmas time and he ran to his room to dig around and find a super hero toy for his Dad. He decided on a blue and red Spiderman car and popped it into the box. Then he asked me to fold up a piece of paper to make him a card.
Now, I realize that this is the usual kind of thing kids often do - re-purpose toys and things around the house as "presents" for people in their life... however, neither The Boy or The Girl has ever done this before. It isn't a holiday or someone's birthday - so I was surprised that The Boy was so determined to get it done before their Dad arrived.
Surprised, but fully supportive.
I folded down a piece of paper and handed it to The Boy who promptly wrote the note above - and then... to my complete and utter shock: make 6 hearts.
Firstly, I was totally impressed with his handwriting.... not too shabby. But the hearts.... the hearts were what got me. I've never seen The Boy make hearts like that on *anything*.... I didn't even know he could make hearts that well. It actually stung a little to give that note away.... just because us Moms usually like to hoard and keep such little things.... but El Capitan arrived and The Boy and The Girl ran up to him with the present.
I commented to El Capitan that I was bummed he was getting to keep the note and he laughed... because he knows what a hoarder I am when it comes to stuff like that... but I could tell he was tickled to get the note and both the kids were jumping up and down.
As they drove away I thought about how far The Boy has come in the last few months and in the last year. At Christmas he was pretty angry.... and I think he still is. He say's things from time to time, about how El Capitan lied about something, or did something he thought was a "bad decision" - but I think that that is normal. While I would love for more of this to pass him by - he's a smart and intuitive child who better understands what's going on around him than I wish he would.
The present was nice - and sweet. The note was cute.
But the hearts.
The fact that he took the time to make the hearts - and make six of them... he even counted them out - it shows just how well The Boy *is* actually doing. It shows that in spite of everything that has been said and done and the holidays that have been missed - The Boy still loves his Dad.
More importantly.... The Boy feels comfortable and confident in loving his Dad.
Boo and f*cking Yah...... seriously.
Aside from my personal growth and recovery - I have been greatly concerned about The Boy's ability to love his father in spite of everything that has gone on because I know that deep down - the ability to love someone regardless of certain failures is key to his ability to adapt and grow without in situation.
I am thrilled from my head to my toes to see that The Boy has gotten to a place where he *wants* to draw hearts on a card *he* wanted to make for his Dad.
Every little boy should get to still love their father like that - regardless of what they've done.
I'm going to go ahead and toot my own horn and say.... booyah! Nailed it! :)
Being a parent is hard enough.... being a divorced parent is even harder. I spend so much time reading and wondering what I'm getting right or just how many, many ways I'm getting things wrong.... and it seems like victories of any kind - big or small - just don't come around enough. This small victory is mine and I'm going to grab it and revel in it just a little bit..... MAN - I'm so proud of him. Proud of *ME* that I was able to help him to get this place emotionally... that I was able to steer us around and over and through the emotional landmines of the last 11 months to get us HERE - to this place where I feel whole and happy and.... excited for the future.
To this place where The Boy is happy and excited to see his Dad.... and writing him hearts.
It may not stay this way..... but *today* - I'm all hearts and motherf*ckingunicorns (and two bloody eyes) around here.... and I'm pretty happy about that!
Now... off to get those missed hours of sleep......
Let's just start with that, shall we?
So, yesterday - it was a really nice, nice day - sunny and warm and not a dark cloud in the sky.... and it's El Capitan's day so they head out for adventures at the zoo and at FroYo ... the usual. I was looking forward to my day with them - thinking about may be going to the Oregon Coast, or possibly hitting up a local park trail. However, Mother Nature has other
plans for us and instead.... it rains. The sky is cloudy and it's cold and windy. Damn.
So, we take out time getting up and going today..... and eventually I decide to take them to a Pizza place that has a giant 100 ft high climbing/sliding structure and those huge blow up slidey things. The kids *love* it there, but it costs money to get in and play and then there's the cost of food, however, I wanted to let them run out their weekend energy and have fun so we get there.. pay - order a pizza - but only a small pizza with pineapple for the kids.
First pizza has only pepperoni.
Second pizza has only cheese. Can they just throw on some pineapple?
Nope... THIRD pizza comes... it has pepperoni AND pineapple.
F*ck it. I pick off the pepperoni and serve it to them.
Done. I'm not sure, I'm not bitchy... it's just pizza - we're there to play for several house, so I'm not in a hurry and I'm not above picking off the pepperoni.... no biggie.
(But *seriously* you have ONE JOB! and it's making a pizza with ONE topping.... sigh.)
I've settled in with the Kindle to watch The L Word and/or Twilight.... and not long after the third pizza arrives and is cut up on their plates, The Girl comes running back over and say's she wants to go home, which is odd. As I said - they *love* it there and usually we stay for hours on end... but my kids aren't the whining type - so if they say they want to go - we go.
I tell her to give The Boy a ten minute warning and she's grumpy: she wants to go NOW.
Odd.... but The Boy comes bounding over and I give him the bad news - he turns to The Girl and questions her - Do we have to go?
Yes. - The Girl is emphatic on the point.
The Boy looks at me curious... even he knows this is odd, but he just got over a cough/cold and she's got a wee cough and a runny nose - so I chalk it up to that and we go home.
We arrive home, settle on the couch and watch Garfield: The Movie.
Then The Girl and The Bubbie make chicken pot pie for dinner... The Girl's favorite.
Fifteen minutes later, The Girl is sitting back on the couch and The Bubbie is calling for me to come look at The Girl's eye and do it *now*..... she yells it to me in that sing-song voice that screams "get the f*ck in there right now" - but cleverly disguised in a melody - "honey.... come here.....".
I get to the couch and The Girl looks.... fine?
"Look at her left eye........" say's The Bubbie.
Just then The Girl looks up at me and I can BOTH of her eyes - in the white part - are filling up with blood that covers the entire upper eyeball and is circling down the colored part of the eye.
What. The. F*ck.
No falls, no tripping, no excessive eye rubbing or poking or coughing or vomiting has happened.... so I have no clue why there is blood in The Girl's eyes. I immediately call my friend is who an EMT and she say's to take The Girl to the ER.
Shoes on and off we go........
On the way, I try to call El Capitan, but... as I still don't have the number for *his* iPhone... and the drug-dealer/disposable phone won't connect my call to him and texts are going unanswered ... I resort to calling Yoga Girl who promptly send my calls to voice mail (In the history of our time I have called this number two times now.... just FYI - and the last time was *also* for a medical thing related to the kids.)
"Hi. XXXXXX, this is Elle. I'm trying to get a hold of XXXXXXX, I am on my way to St. Vincent's ER with [The Girl] because she has blood pooling in the whites of both her eyes. To my knowledge she hasn't fallen or anything... in fact I have no answer for why this is happening, but we're on our way there now - can you let XXXXXXX know. Thank You."
I post a picture of the bloody eyes on Facebook and shout our for ideas as to why this is happening (I have lots of clients who are nurses/peds doctors....) - and off we go to the hospital.
We arrive and I give them our new State sponsored Health Insurance and they send us to the waiting area.
We have never had the State insurance before - until El Capitan was no longer with his employer, we *always* paid for the full-up best PPO plan that we could. Even then, according to our *taxes* - our out of pocket expenses for health care was over $12,000 per year - which was nearly 22% of our combined annual income.
For five years running we incurred these costs - totaling nearly $60,000 in medical care.
Why don't have I f*cking savings?
Why don't have a 401k?
I currently pay $430 a month for *my* insurance and then the kids are on the Oregon Health Plan - which is a state program for low-income families. Good times..... for now, it's the best I can do - and it's only their third month on the program.
We get called for the triage nurse and she asks The Girl if she hit her head.....I start to say no when The Girl pipes up, "Yeah.... I was at the top of the slide and some people were in my way and the girl was talking to the older girl and I went down the slide and I bumped a bigger boy at the bottom."
Wait. WHAT? Huh.......?
The nurses asks her what she hit and The Girl points to her forehead/between her eyes area.
Mother of The F*kcingYear. Awesomesauce.
Based on this information we now "move up" the scale because now this is considered a 'head injury' and a short time later we are called again and taken back to an eye exam room.
Where we sit..... for over 30 minutes.
But... I'm a patient person - remember me and my three pizza fiasco....? I'm not above waiting. I'm certainly aware that a hospital is a *busy* and not only are we not the only sickest people there - we are likely not *the* sickest people there.... so, happy to wait.
Eventually in walks a student on loan from Oregon Health and Sciences University - who tells me that he's a resident and that he'll see our case and present it to his main doctor guy.
Cool. I've seen Grey's Anatomy/ER/Chicago Hope... I know how this works: no worries.
We're going to call him Super New Doctor A.
Please note... the "A" is not going to be for awesome.
Super New Doctor A listens to her heart.
Super New Doctor A listens to her chest: for the cough.
Super New Doctor A asks The Girl to cover one eye and tell him if she can still see him.
Being three f*ckingyears old... she covers both eyes and replies, "No."
Super New Doctor A takes his hand and covers one eye and asks her again if she can see him.
Super New Doctor A does it with the other eye: she can still see him.
Super New Doctor A tests The Girl's perriferal vision on ONE eye... but doesn't bother with other.
Super New Doctor A notes that her face seems "swollen" and asks if that is normal: it is not.
Super New Doctor A asks me if we have any blood disorders in our family: we do not.
We do, however... have a history of a special kind of cataract.
When The Boy was three and I was pregnant with The Girl, I noticed he was holding toys very close to his face and I assumed he probably needed glasses. With threeish weeks left in my pregnancy, I took him to Wal-Mart for an eye exam.... I left with an appointment at The XXXXXX Eye Institute, after having been informed that The Boy was completely blind in his right eye.
The Wal-Mart doctor said he had a cataract that had totally taken over the entire eye.
The next afternoon, we were seeing Dr. XXXXXXX, a world-renowned specialist in these kinds of genetic cataracts. Unlike "normal" cataracts - that your Grandma might have - they are not chalky white or blue: his are black. Solid and snake-like, they swirl around and make spots, or take over the eye altogether.
Five days before my c-section, The Boy had a total lens replacement in his right eye to remove the cataract and restore his vision. Our out of pocket that year was nearly $14,000.00.
In Kindergarten, The Boy went blind in his left eye when *another* cataract took over that eye.
$8,000 later.... and another total lens replacement, he could see again.
I tell the doctor that *this* kind of cataract has to be seen with a infrared light - usually found on the BACK of the standard eye exam took that doctors use - AND - we have never known if an injury sets these cataracts off or if it's just a natural progression, but he should check The Girl for this now.
Super New Doctor A chuckles.
Super New Doctor A then say's this.... "You know... in all my years of education I've never heard of such a thing and I question whether a "black" cataract exists."
Excuse me, f*ck what?
I say nothing... becuase I'm sure that I've misheard such a thing... right?
Super New Doctor A then goes on to say.... "I'm not saying such a thing can't exist, but it seems unlikely as I've never heard of it."
Literally - STRUCK by DUMB.
So.... let me get this straight, I've paid over $20,000 to TWO hospitals for two unnecessary surgeries performed by a world-renowned pediatric eye surgeon.... and all because *you* -
Super New Doctor A - RESIDENT - has "never heard of such a thing."
Super New Doctor A smiles and chuckles a yes.
I said nothing.
He then tells me that the Subconjunctival hemmorrage - was caused by extreme coughing and is "nothing to worry about" - but perhaps they'll give her some tylenol and a treatment of albuteral.
Ok..... I say - sure.
He comments that he thinks we're "not on the same side" in seeking treatment for The Girl.... to which I reply: it would seem that way.
He gets up and tells me he's going to order the albuteral and meds and have the main doctor review his decisions.
Now. *IF* my child has such a severe cough that she blew out the blood vessels in here eyes... why is she not really coughing now?
Doesn't that warrant a possibly ex ray to rule our pneumonia or bronchitis.....?
Possibly talk of asthma?
Finally El Capitan arrives.... hooray. I fill him in on Super New Doctor A - to which he's annoyed.... but there's nothing we can do.
Shortly after The Real Doctor arrives, he doesn't evaluate her eyes.
The Real Doctor doesn't feel her face, her forehead, her cheek bones.
The Real Doctor doesn't look for those fictitious "cataracts" I'm obviously lying about.
The Real Doctor doesn't perform and eye exam.
The Real Doctor listens to her chest: it's clear he say's.
The Real Doctor notes the absence of "extreme" or "severe" coughing.
The Real Doctor asks The Girl if she got hurt today and The Girl repeats the *same* story she told the nurse when we got there.
The Real Doctor decides that The Girl has a head injury and that there is visibly swelling in her forehead, between her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose and her lips.
Yup... there sure is.
The Real Doctor decides that this is a Subconjunctival hemmorrage from a head injury.
The Real Doctor say's it's ... "no big deal" and he'd take The Girl home, feed her dinner and put her to bed.
El Capitan asks if we should wake her every few hours: No, there's not hard and fast rules for that and The Real Doctor doesn't feel that The Girl would need that.
No facial exam.
No cranial exam - which instruments or hands.....
He sends in a nurse with tylenol, a sticker and a bambi stuffed animal.
That was nice, The Girl was tickled.
The Discharge nurse walks in to have us sigh our papers and give us our instructions but while I'm singing the paperwork she gets a phone call, which she answers.... then she looks up, gives El Capitan a 'thumbs up' sign, a nod and waves goodbye.
So we leave.
Several of my nurse friends assure me that this is "no big deal" and while it looks scary - it's nothing and The Girl will be ok... though two of them are clearly surprised that no further tests were ordered after The Real Doctor determined it was head trauma.
Whatever. I'll be calling our eye specialist in the morning and getting The Girl over to see him ASAP... you know - the one who 'makes up' cataracts that don't exists and puts my child throw two major lens replacements just for financial gain.... and man - he must be good since he had the Vancouver Wal-Mart eye doctor in on his plan.... I wonder what her kick-back is for that.
Super New Doctor A You have ONE JOB: to do a thorough exam on my child.
You did *not* do that.
The Real Doctor, you have ONE JOB: to do a thorough exam on my child and work with your student to compare notes and decide on treatment.
You did *not* do that.
And this... f*ckers: it's PIZZA.
It's my child and her blood filled eyes.... which is *kind of* something I would really, really like you to get right. It's not that hard... it's ONE JOB - for which you get paid a sh*t ton of money.
You should do that job *without* making me feel like some kind of white-trash/social assistance/Munchhausen-Mom...... THAT shouldn't be too f*cking hard.
Especially since *both* my children have *Always* enjoyed the sh*tty service supplied to them by St. Vincents and as such... their *entire* medical charts are on your damn computer.
Look that sh*t up.
One job... and that *this* point: I'll take my chances with the Wal-Mart eye doctor and the little dude makin' my pizza at the pizza place today.... at least he kept trying.
Upside: I don't have to pay a motherf*ckingmeaselypenny for this shoddy-a$$ service.
Better Upside: Yoga Girl, El Capitan and I worked together for the betterment of the children.
Sweet.... that's a small victory I'll take tonight.
Two Bloody-Eyes - Sigh.
What a start to the week........
Today started at 4:00am when my alarm went off... though, it didn't *actually* need to go off because I hadn't really slept all night because I was waiting for it to go off and hoping not to sleep through it.
I got up, got ready, packed up all my diet foods and my 80oz. of water and blah blah blah and then set off for Miss B's house. Miss B had to go to Tacoma for a meeting for work and I volunteered to ride with her to keep her company, then she let me borrow her super fancy and super fast Mercedes and I drove up to see McGhee in Seattle.
The weather was fantastic. The sky was crisp and clear and despite the early morning hour, Miss B and I were chatting the whole way up. It's sad, but once you have kids, your 'free time' becomes almost nothing and Miss B and I are lucky if we can squeeze in a few hours a *year* to hang out and talk... today's three hours up and back were a luxury for our friendship and once I hope I took full advantage of.
It was only until we got home that I realized we hardly spoke of El Capitan or the divorce .... *at all*.
That's kind of awesome.
I *love* Portland: it truly is a weird and wonderful place. I don't think I'd ever want to live anywhere else on the planet (except for Glasgow) - oh... and except for Seattle. Born and raised in the Emerald State, it doesn't matter how many times I drive into my old hometown, it always makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. I have so many great memories of walking down to Bear Creek and riding down the slow moving inches of water on our black inner tubes, or going horse-back riding.
It's crazy, but to this day I'm still very close friends with both of my childhood best friends.... it boggles my mind to recognize that the *same* girl who used to play Barbie's with me a Grandmother now (and a GORGEOUS Grandma at that.... but still- she had a kid who *has* a kid!?!?!). That's kind of nuts.
I can still close my eyes and be sitting on the green and black patterned floral carpet at her Mom's house - way at the end of the hall where the closet was. We'd open the door and crawl under the lower shelf, hiding in there from her older sisters and playing with our Barbies for hours. We'd tape tor-up pieces of paper around the end of our fingers and pretend we had super long, beautiful nail - and we'd use them to eat popcorn and drink this apple juice concoction from the Schwann's man out of baby bottles.... I'm not sure *why* it was baby bottles and popcorn... but we were seven: logic was short on demand.
I can see us racing around the block - it was .25 miles if you went all the way around once - and we'd dash around and around for hours while plastic playing cards went click-clack-click-clack-click-clack while they were clothes-pinned to slap against our spokes as our wheels went round. There wasn't a clear/slightly-sunny/almost dry day that we weren't all outside chasing each other, playing flashlight tag and riding our bikes... nowadays: there's no one outside at all.
Where have all the kids gone.....?
We used to play outside for hours - I would leave the house at 10 am, call and check-in at lunch time and then be home "by dark". My Mom never knew where I was or who I was with, sure, she had a reasonably decent idea of whose house I *might* be at - but she never knew exactly where unless I was standing in front of her. I think about it now and realize I was the same age as The Boy is now and I cannot imagine letting him have so much freedom and autonomy.
F*ck, I don't let him play out front unless I'm sitting out there watching him.
Driving past my childhood home on empty streets I thought about all the amazing childhood memories I have... and then I thought about how The Boy won't have the same memories. He's not having the same adventures walking through Mary's yard and collecting grasshoppers and tucking them into his pockets: like I did. He's not down by the creek looking for frogs and catching tadpoles. He's not climbing the neighbors tree's and getting yelled at.... then having to rake their leave to apologize for being rude.
And... why not?
Why isn't he out tearing up the streets with his Huffy bike and a sense of misplaced confidence and adventure that only a young child has.... that kind of fearless - I-can-jump-off-the-curb-without-breaking-my-foot kind of attitude (incidentally... I was wrong: I could not).
He's not out there because I won't let him. I'm too afraid of the stories you hear of children stolen from their own driveways.... getting his by cars... insert any horrific evening news story here.
I'm *afraid* to let him out of my sight - my adult knowledge of all the things in this world that can hurt him are holding him back from having those same kind of amazing childhood memories that I have.
Driving past my old house, I thought about how wrong that is.
How wrong *I*am.
But alas... this is what happens when we become adults. This is what happens when we live in a world where we are afraid to trust our neighbors, when we don't even *know* most of our neighbors... we hide in our homes, we keep our children too ourselves - robbing them of adventure and fun and friends and mischief.
Of course, we aren't just robbing our children .. we are often robbing ourselves as well. Miss B was noting in the car how *well* I'm doing... how I clearly, *really* am over the whole ordeal with El Capitan.
That I'm *happy*.
She said she wasn't sure that she would be in my shoes at this point if it had been her.
I'm not so sure... Miss B kicks a$$ and takes names... so I'm guessing she would be, but you never know.
When we're kids, we fall off our bike and we scream and cry and wail with allllll our might until our Mom comes running with a tissue and a band-aid to cover our eversotiny boo-boo. We carry on as though we lost an entire limb: only to require a kiss and a 2 inch band-aid to make it all better. Then we jump up, wipe away our tears and ride off with the same careless abandon: free of our injury.
We shake things off.
We carry on....
Then we *play* on.
We don't push our bike home in defeat.
As adults we need to learn to do this more often. We need to wallow and cry and wail and let those who love us provide love and band-aids. Then we need to get up - get BACK our bike and pedal on in freedom and joy and looking for the same adventure we were hoping to find before we fell down.
In stead, too many of us are just pushing our bikes along. Slow. Cautious. Missing adventure.
Not me..... I don't care how many times I fall off my bike.... I don't care what size I am, or how old I am.... or how much it hurt the last time I took a dive..... I'm going to get the f*ck back and pedal away as fast as I can towards the next adventure life has in store for me... with that same careless abandon and sense of excitement that I've always had.
Why should I want anything else for adult-self than childhood me had?
Why should I just *move* on.... when I could *PLAY* on......?
I'll take my brusises.... there are always more band-aids, but there aren't always more days of adventure promised to us, and I for one... am not going to waste them.
As for The Boy.... tomorrow will be mudd and frogs and dirt and adventure.... just the way it shoudl
Let me be CLEAR, crystal and otherwise: I would never advocate bullying or *any* kind of discrimination based on someone "health" status. However, *this* guy needs a Public Service Announcement stapled to his chest.
Last year in Canada, Master Cpl. Mathew Wilson, was charged in Ottawa after military police alleged he knowingly infected six women in Perth, Kingston and Ottawa with herpes from 2004-2009.
One of those women "allegedly" infected in a blog reader.
And... I can assure you she *was* infected - by him - they were husband and wife at the time.... and he - was cheating. Shocker. :(
Sadly..... this "soldier" just got off because a judge decided (in laymens terms) that he's been publicly punished enough.... of course, the articles fail to mention that MORE than one of these "victims" was married to him.... AND that he sired kids with more than one of them.
All the while - KNOWING he had herpes that he was spreading......
Let me get this straight, for all intensive purposes it seems that soldiers in Canada are taught how to care for and clean their rifle, but not their cocks?
And... soldiers are taught how to properly fire their weapons in battle... but not how to safely blow their load?
I somehow doubt that, very, very much.
Here's why this is *wrong* on a thousand levels: knowledge.
Master Douche Bag here *KNEW* he had an STD.
He new it because his own cock blistered.... he has sores and signs and blisters... oh my.
And then he was kind enough to *share* those blisters with women who loved him and trusted him.
He was thoughtful enough to let his drippy dick infect them with Herpes.
F*ck.... I wonder what his big plans for Christmas were......
*ONE* woman would have been bad enough. ONE wife, infected and spending her life battling an STD that never, ever goes away..... that would have been a slap on the wrist/shame on you.... punishment.
But.... FIVE YEARS of dropping your infected load on unsuspecting women.
That's just douche baggery of the highest order.
Women who loved him, who looked in his eyes and thought they felt love pulsing through their veins... little did they knew it wasn't love: it was herpes.
Women who embraced him and gave themselves - heart, soul and body.... only to have him leave a stain on them. A$$whole.
Oh... but wah.... he's a solder is PTSD .... let me file that under I COULD CARE LESS.
I frankly think that that statement is a disservice to the THOUSANDS of FINE men and woman who have served their country and done it with INTEGRITY and common f*cking sense.... Master Douche Bag, is *not* one of them.
What happened to honor?
What happened to honesty?
What happened to a soldiers duty to protect?
Apparently.... that doesn't include wrapping your bubbly c*ck in a condom.
I'll be honest.... this is sh*t my 5th Grade teacher taught me, there's *no* excuse for this kind of behavior.
I know, personally, one of the women who was HARMED, whose world and life and PHYSICAL BODY - were damaged by this man's lies and deceit and disease..... SHE deserves better than some judge deciding that a "public" shaming was "enough punishment".
She's a kind and thoughtful woman.
She's a loving mother.
She's a good friend.
She thinks of others.... she is GOOD.
She deserved to be loved by her own husband in a true and honest sense.
She was not.
She was harmed by him.
She deserved justice.
She didn't get it.
Shame on those who failed to get it for her.
So.... reader in Canada: do not f*ck this man.
Readers in general: educate yourselves.
Many of us are finding ourselves in situations where we find out our husbands have strayed... or we find ourselves back on the dating market: GET EDUCATED.
The FIRST phone call I made the Monday after I found out El Capitan had had sex with Yoga Girl was to my regular doctor and I had a full STD panel done.
Better to know than get a lovely, bumpy, blistery surprise later........
You need to be educated for your *own* health, but also for any future partners health.
I, for one, will require any future sex partners to be tested as well. It's just common f*cking sense. Honestly.... don't trust someone else with your body.
In the case of the women above - the articles fail to mention that more than one of the women was married to this Douche.... even still.... get educated: get tested.
Oh... and don't f*ck this guy: Master Cpl. Mathew Wilson
I was thinking the other day how *gray* my hair is turning.... I feel like I've lived ten years in the last eleven months. Soooooo many things have happened - good and bad and so much personal growth. Which is probably a good thing because clearly neither of us was doing much in the 'personal growth' department *during* our marriage.... which proved to be rather problematic.
With the media attention slowed to a very minimal trickle my focus has shifted firmly to our future - what kind of job am I going to get? Should I go back to school.....? (feel free to chime in here with any solid advice..) - and also going to the gym *a lot* and working hard at losing weight and taking care of the three of us.
In the same time, El Capitan has turned a corner and has kept his steady times with the kids (two afternoons a week) and thus far.... he hasn't missed one in just about 8 weeks. This has been good for the kids - and I think it's been good for El Capitan, too.
For me, this whole process has been..... a little bit crazy. And - because I crafted a f*cking hilarious sign... I get judged for being "crazy"... or a "psycho ex" and all kinds of awesome things like that. I don't really mind, I mean - I get it... *most* people who make a sign like that are out to get someone - out to hurt someone.. etc. I fully understand and accept how some people can interpret the sign, however, I think that once people take time to read a few blog entries, they can quickly see that I am not crazy (well, not in a totally awful kind of way) - and that all in all - things are pretty good around here....
So, I got a call from a journalist who is doing a story for some magazine on the East Coast and he asked to interview me for his article. Ok.... sure.
We get to chatting and I'm impressed because this guy has done his homework and he knows that The Bubbie first came up with the sign idea,etc. So I explain the sign and the theme behind it and the real estate market in our area... on and on. He asks about the media coverage and how we felt about that - which, honestly, I'm not sure how to answer that question. I mean - our house did sell, and that was the goal - BUT - it came at a pretty public price and I'm not sure (in either direction) if we would do it again or not.
But... knowing me: probably.
He asks me what I think sets me apart from other "scorned" women you see posting pictures of their ex's trashed cars, etc, on facebook.... and I said: because I didn't do that.
He points out that I made the sign which was a very public way to get "vengeance."
He's not wrong... I agree to that, but *that* was never the intention of the sign.....
So I thought for a second and I said...... "What sets me apart is that I did the right thing. I didn't screw anyone over. I didn't drag sh*t out in court. I did the right thing - even when everyone else told me to do something different... even if I was emotionally entitled to do something else: I stayed the course."
So we talked a little more about that.... and then he said that the point of the article was women who "one up" their ex. Hmmmm...... and then there was silence.
I thought about this for a second... and then I said, "What does burning his clothes get me? Or spray painting his car? Other than an arrest record... not much. I took the high road - I can hold my head up. I didn't go crazy. I didn't act in anger or revenge - THAT is how I've one-uppped him. He has to deal with what he did and the damage he caused.... but I sleep soundly at night. In the end... I win. My life is good and whole and happy.... and *I* am good and whole and happy because I didn't freak out and blow sh*t up leaving chunks and pieces of myself littered on the road to healing.... I did the right thing in the face of the wrong thing and there's a victory in that that El Capitan will never know."
To which he replied... "Yes, you make a very valid point."
Then tonight ended with El Capitan and I having coffee at Red Robin. I asked him to meet to talk about us and the kids and a few other things.... and it was nice. Actually, it was more than nice.
That was the first time we had sat down together and had coffee since July.
Wow. That's crazy.
Right about now a year ago... I was a happyish housewife - and El Capitan was starting to flirt with Yoga Girl. In a few more weeks: they started texting.
Tonight, I sat across from my ex-husband and laughed.
Yes.... we laughed.
We had a nice time - chatting for a few hours, and talking about the kids and how we think future visits need to go and changing the times for his basketball games... etc. It was.... normal. Perhaps too normal because our waiter couldn't get over how "well" we seemed to "get-along".... and El Capitan said, "Dude... you don't even know the half of it....."
To which I said... "Well, it's easier to get along when he leaves his girlfriend at home because she's just a 22 year old baby and she has to sit in the high chair while we feed her baby food... and *that* gets awkward."
To which the waiter nearly pee'd his pants laughing and even El Capitan couldn't hold in his smirk.
See.... I'm funny. :)
We had a nice night. There are still some things I don't like that he does... but then again - I didn't like everything he did while we were married, so I think it's to be expected that I won't like everything he does when we aren't married anymore.
I drove home tonight - very tired.... but also very.... happy.
I'm still here.
The pain took me down... but it didn't take me out.
The betrayal tore me up... but it didn't tear me down.
The tears swelled up around me... but they didn't drown me.
Not only am I still *here*- but I'm happy and whole and a complete person who can hold their head up.
Not only that.... but I'm feeling strong standing on my own two feet: strong than I ever did while I was married.
I'm not sure that I'll ever believe that getting divorced was better for my children ... but I'm starting to think that getting divorced was one of the best things that ever happened to me.
Guess we'll have to wait and see.... but ones things for sure: I "one-up" and then some. :)
I was talking with someone the other day and they flippantly said.... "oh, I don't care about famous people, they don't impress me."
Now, let me be *clear* - we were talking about like actors or musicians and what not.... and - I can see their point, but at the same time... that kind of thing really pisses me off. And really... if Davef*ckingGrohl sat down on a park bench next to you - you wouldn't be p*ssing your pants?
Really? C'mon... you *know* you would.
Why do we give "famous" people such a hard time and act like they HAVE to be treated differently - I mean - do we ever walk around and say.... "Oh, I don't care about really friendly people who do well in their lives... they don't impress me."
Yeah, I didn't think so.
Now. *I* am not famous. I think, perhaps, I'm... 'infamous'.... and perhaps not in the best way and not for the best thing... but alas: there are very few people who I meet who don't know about the sign or didn't see the sign... hence: some level of so-called 'fame'.
I did *nothing* to attain it. It doesn't pay me squat. It doesn't affect my daily life. In fact, it has no *real* affect on me or my life at all... other than that fact that I have ZERO f*cking privacy. lol That has made 'dating' very difficult..... if someone finds out my full name *before* they've had a chance to really get to know me - then they can google me and fill in their own blanks. Which is a little unfair - but that's the way it is.
Oh... and again - any future in-laws have a Book and an entire Blog to read and they'll know almost everything there is to know about me.... sigh. oh well.
Did I *ask* for this.... hell no. But... it is what it is.
So then *after* my conversation with this person I thought... feck - will this kind of sweeping "I don't care about you because you're "famous" apply to me as well? Like - is there a barometer of fame? So like the slightly famous don't get written off as quickly as the 'uber' famous?
Like..... I'm Wal-Mart to Kim Kardashians Nordstroms? Or may be I'm the 7-11 to her Nordstroms.... but you get the idea. So, so the blue collars of fame get more love than the rich, white collar kind?
I mean... I'm just curious.
I can't tell you *how* many famous people I have dined with... sat next to - and I no freakin' clue who they were... why the hell would I? I don't card people and ask them for their resume upon meeting them. I like people - I like meeting people. I like talking to people - all people.... and if you aren't afraid to walk up and say hello to someone - and they later turn out to be 'famous' - who the hell cares?
I hate to break it to the planet... but so-called 'famous' people sh*t, shower and shave just like the rest of us. They are normal people living their lives and they have friends... famous friends and un-famous ones alike. Sometimes people want to be famous - like... said Kardashians.
Some people are really talented and become noticed and famous for those talents... should those people not be celebrated for working so hard and honing their craft? I think *all* people are who successful are pretty inspiring whether they are famous or not.
I really *can't* stress enough how... 'un-famous' I know I am... but still.... this whole conversation got under my skin a little.... clearly.
I mean - for instance... when I was a working photojournalist - who the hell else was I *supposed* to make friends with? You spend day in and day out on tour or working with artists.... so... eventually you make friends with some of them. It didn't change my day-to-day life. It didn't make me any richer or more important... nor did I think it made me 'self-important'. They were people.... just people who made (usually) really cool music (which I usually liked) and that's kind of rad.
Of course... I really respected *everyone* equally. I would get *just* as excited about seeing Joe and Doug and Trey (roadie/tour manager/merchandise manager) of a certain band - it was *great* to see these guys time after time, and I'd spend just as much time with *them* as I would the artist/band.
I find that anytime you're willing to sit down and talk with someone - *anyone* - you'll find some common ground, you'll learn something interesting and you'll find something you like about them... and BAM: you just make a friend. Done. Easy. Simple.
Why should I care if that 'someone' is 'famous' according to some social standard?
Oh... yeah - I don't. BUT - that 'don't' - doesn't keep me from bothering to get to know them.
I guess what *I'm* saying is that I find alllll people impressive. Life is f*cking hard and anyone else slogging this road right along with me is someone I'm bound to enjoy getting to know... Period.
I think I'm just b*tchy tonight. lol
On that note..... well - the dating note (which is lost in the above somewhere) - can I just say how *hard* it is to start over at 37.... and *not* only that - but start with over with this GIANT thing in your past (like making a sign, making international news and winding up on The View.....? oh yeah... *that*) man..... it's like - don't *ask* me a hundred questions about what happened, and the sign and the media and then *tell* me that I'm clearly not over El Capitan because I spent too much time talking about "him".
I wasn't f*cker... I was answering your questions... your dozens of questions... lolol - so that's a lot of answers and a lot of talking.... I would have been just as happy discussing macroeconomics or the alignment of the planets.... seriously. *YOU* asked... I answered. Don't go assigning *your* personal baggage to me. I met someone who nodded with everything I said... gave me those sympathetic eyes that said, "I've been there... I feel your pain...." - so I'm like - cool... this is going well?
They turn right around and say.... "I have some great book to help you heal from this - I used them during my divorce five years ago.... don't worry - you'll get there eventually."
Um.... dude. I drove there, through many, many storms, crashed and burned more than once... but we got *here* - see that's my disheveled old car parked waaaaaaay over there and if you look in the trunk you'll find the baggage I left in there, too. See, I parked that sh*t and now it's just me on my own two feet: walking away, head held high... and proud.
I'm fine. Really.
And I'm not judging... but five years later the *only* conversation I better be having about El Capitan will be parenting related.... good grief. If I've debated whether or not El Capitan was worth *ten years* of my life *with* him.... I can sure as sh*t assure you that he is *not* worth *five years* of my life once he's gone... that's just crazy talk.
Oh... and *more* thing on my b*tchy radar tonight.... El Capitan wants to join a basketball league which happens to be on the day/evening he has the kids and he asked if he could potentially move his day with them.... I said sure - what do I care?
Holy hell.... have I caught crap for that.
Yes... people have a point - I miss out on plenty having the kids 95% of the time - and yes.... I don't get to join a basketball league... (ok, seriously - can you just imagine that? lololol) - but... why the hell do I care what day he comes to see the kids? Sure, I'm used to that one day - and it's easy and convenient and I kind of have a bit of a weekly ritual... but - is it *really* that big of a deal to move days?
No. So why the f*ck make it one? Isn't *that* drama? Isn't *that* trying to hold onto things with him by continuing to cause problems and be a hassle to deal with......? Whatever... move your day - I don't care. It makes no odds to me so long as he see's the kids... *that* is what matters the most to them - so *that* is what matters the most to me. Simple. Easy. Done.
So there you have it... my One Thing - for someone in my life who might not 'deserve it'. I did my first One Thing for El Capitan... and not because I'm damaged and bitter and scorned - but because I'M NOT. lolol
Of course... I was none to thrilled to hear The Boy telling The Papa tonight that he asked El Capitan if he had a girlfriend and he told The Boy that he did NOT. sigh.
Before The Papa could reply The Boy said, "Yeah.... I don't know why he has to lie because I've seen her and I know her name and I know he has a girlfriend because he said so a long time ago.... I think sometimes when you tell lots and lots of lies you can't remember them all."
This was followed by a big pause and then The Papa said, "Yup... pretty much."
To which The Boy said, "Yeah, that's why I don't tell lies. If I hit sister, I just to go tell Mom right away... I don't like about it. Lying is a bad decision."
So... booyah. This is me. Whole, standing on my own two feet with a kid who knows right from wrong in the face of one parents dishonesty.... and *why* is that? Because I've stuck to my damn guns, done things *my* way and the three of us have (thus far) come out the other side of it *better* for it all.... fame or no fame... we're better
Last week was a bit of a rough week in the way that I sometimes feel as though the world at large has shoved me into this 'scorned and bitter' box that I can never emerge from..... I get it - right - like, I under that *that* is the premise of The Blog and I've been *very* open about the pain and just how deep that pain has cut.
The upside is that those posts were helpful to at least a few people who emailed to say that they were. People who said that they connected with the level of my own, personal torment and issue's - which, someone in my shoes (either male or female) almost always feels the same way: cheating creates a common bond, that's for sure.
I don't need the accolades or applause of hundreds or thousands, it feels just as good to be validated by one or two people. I've said it dozens of times, but often, we discount the power and the value of being touched by one person - or having touched one person. I feel like we spend our whole lives wandering the planet waiting for the approval of dozens of people - meanwhile we miss the validation of one person - when that *one* person might make all the difference.
I feel like .... at large - we don't stop to value that one act or that one person and in doing that - we are short changing ourselves and others. One person may or may be able to save the world... regardless though - one person *can* make the difference in another person's life.
Growing up I was always a bit inspired by the cop and fireman and paramedic shows - I'm always in awe that these people will run into burning buildings and dodge bullets for total strangers. We make TV shows and movies and calendars full of hot bodied fireman - and we kind of idolize them, but we truly forget the toll *our* lives can take on them.
We bitch and moan about cops who pull us over and ticket us (usually for doing things like driving too fast or cutting people off in traffic.... etc, etc) - but we sure as sh*t hope that same cop will break the speed barrier to get to our home if our husbands are out of town and we hear a noise downstairs. Being a cop must be hard. lol
I have friends who are married and are both paramedics. Knowing them, hearing their stories - the drunk people who call 911 and claim illness only to have my friends arrive and inform them that they didn't have enough money for a cab and they thought an ambulance ride would be cheaper.....
Sometimes though, their days at work are much harder.
These people don't consider *who* might actually be needing a 'real' ambulance while drunkards are getting a (very) overpriced ride to the hospital - we don't think about what we might be costing someone else.
But we're drunk.... so - you know.... free pass - right?
Recently, one of them rolled on a call for a 4 year old girl who had been hit by a car and, sadly, she didn't make it. I don't this girl, or her family... but I know my friend - and it warms my heart as a mother to know that my friend did *everything* they could for this little girl.
I know they tried every medical trick, they begged to their God, any God.... anyone.... they begged and pleaded and worked every angel they could... and then halfway to the hospital, they called time of death and it was over.
The thing is: it's not over.
There's hours of paperwork, cleaning the rig and all the rest of it... but aside from the 'work' aspect, there's the emotional one. Sure, sure... they are trained and provided with counseling - and they are professionals, so they are trained to better hand these events - at least more-so than us mere mortals.
However, I can tell you that sometimes, these events can leave their mark on a persons heart and soul. I know the loss of the little girl hit my friend particularly hard...... and it makes me a bit sad. Of course, I'm proud of my friend - and proud of the work they do and the compassion and professionalism that I knew they do their job with, but also, it worries me.
We function in a very 'me' world - I need help - someone come help me - I'm not sure we really stop to consider that the day in and day out toll that 'helping' all these people might have on those people who so willingly come running. Sure... i know they are getting paid - I know they are trained and get counseling, but that doesn't that certain events or certain situations don't leave their mark on them as humans.
I know that my friend who called the time of death on the little girl has been a bit sad about her and her death, which makes me sad.... sad for the little girl and her family - but sad for my friend whose life and heart are touched by the events of a stranger.
Of course we can't control the world - we can't stop bad things from happening... but perhaps we should appreciate - just a touch more - the people who serve us and help us and protect us... and not in the glossy pages on a half-naked calendar.
When we *need* a nurse to come to our bedside - we're alllll over hitting that button to make them run, however - if our *friends* are nurses - are we calling them to check in on them and see how they are doing? Are we letting them know *just* how much we appreciate their willing sacrifice of their time and the continued toll certain events take on their emotions? Probably not.
So.... THIS WEEK is going to be about the Power of One for me.
One Compliment - to help make someone else's day better.
One Good Deed - just to be helpful......
One Thank You - to someone in my life who affect *me* by their actions
One Stranger Thank You - to someone who affects unknown and countless others with their actions
One Act of Random Kindness - for an unknown total stranger
One Act of Kindness - for someone I *do* know.
Each day I will see who comes along or what opportunity presents itself.... and then I will blog about it. NOT because I think I'm grate or fantastic or super awesome... I'm *none* of those things, but because I think we could *all* do with a little more random kindness in our lives... and that will start, if we first share it with others.
So.... wanna' do that with me?
Message me or blog comment me and tell me what you did... let's see how many rad things we can make happen!
Mother, "scorned wife", photographer, designer, potential blog writer and recent guest on The View.... life's been pretty crazy as of late - crazybeautiful that is!
You can see some of Elle's photography at: