A Letter to my son Alexander Jordan

First let me say that I love you.  You are, and always will be, my baby.  You are the only person on the planet over age 5 that is allowed to sit in my lap, because sometimes a mother just needs to hold her baby.

I wish I could say I remember your babyhood, and toddlerhood, but I cant.  I was working, and for the most part I was only called on to be the bad guy.  I was the one to provide rules, and discipline.  I think this is part of our problem in communicating with each other, since you were very small I have been the parent to spank you the most, yell at you the most, make the most rules, say “NO” the most, and the list goes on.  And now it is a pattern, I call your name, and you go on the defensive.  You know every single one of my buttons, and you can press them all in succession without a thought, and I get defensive back, and we hurt each other.

This morning I kicked you out, Again.  Because I love you.  Alex, I have never asked anything from you but to do the minimum required to be a good man.  What this means to me is that you take responsibility.  Responsibility comes in many forms, but for a father of two little girls, it has some basic requirements.  The first is that you have a job, that you are able through your work, or the work of you and your partner, to support your family.  What this means is you can provide nourishment, whether in food, clothing, a home, or love.  It does not mean you get to sit around, do nothing, call yourself a piece of shit, and hope the rest of the world agrees and leaves you alone.  The second is that you provide a safe environment for you children, this comes in many forms, from protecting them from others, to protecting them from yourself.  It will be cute the first time Adrian or Heidi say the F Bomb, it will not be cute when they use it on you, or other authority figures.  This means adapting whatever environment you put them in to them, not them to it.  Is it safe where they are?  Are the people around them thinking before they speak?  Are there hazards to their health?  Is the door shut?  etc.  The most important though, is that you accept responsibility.  If you didn’t provide a safe environment, you cannot punish them if they get hurt, or head for trouble, they were not the ones responsible, you were.   If you have not given them safe shelter, it is on you when they get sick.  etc.

These are the things that ALL parents are expected to do.  Not just you.  Not just me.  ALL parents.

But again, you call yourself a piece of shit, and hope that no one will expect anything of you.  Well, as your mother, I expect things.  I expect that you can, and should be a good father, good man, and functioning member of society.

This is the part in our cycle where you tell me that I am expecting you to be perfect, and that I am all kinds of fucked up.  And this being the case, I should not talk to you about parenting, or adulthood.

And I fire back, and it all explodes in our faces, and we both lose.

About today though, something has to change Alex.  You are coasting along again, hoping for what, I do not know.  You are spending time everywhere but where you need to be, hoping that being somewhere else will make you happier, and it wont.  It is a fact that wherever you go, there you are.  You are no happier today than when you lived on Charles, Chase, Amidon, Main, or Oliver.  Because being happy, is like being a piece of shit, if you believe it, it is true.  I do not believe you are a piece of shit, I believe you are the young responsible man I raised.  I believe you are unhappy with yourself, and your life, because once again, if you believe you are happy, you will be.

I decided, once again, to be the change.  So I kicked you out, not because I do not love you, but because I do.  I love you enough to know that you have to figure this out, and I cannot help you, much as I try.  So I have to kick you out of this nest again, and hope you learn how to fly before you hit the bottom.

I love you.

Momster

Food Porn

Breakfast: cereal milk coffee with creamer. Lunch salad soup breadsticks. Peach tea

Sabotage

Sabotage is a deliberate action aimed at weakening another entity through subversion, obstruction, disruption, and/or destruction. So, why is it that I sabatage myself more than anyone else ever could.  I stayed home sick from work at Job #1 today, now I am sick, my allergies are kicking up something fierce, and I have a cough, so it wasn’t a lie.  But I have gone to work under worse circumstances.  A few weeks ago I started walking to work, and yesterday I rode a bicycle.  And yesterday afternoon, when I rode said bike home, I started to hate myself.  Why is this so hard?  Why am I not pedaling all the way?  Why am I so lazy?  Why didn’t I just walk?  Why am I so afraid?  Why am I doing all this?  After all, there is no one to care but me.

And thats the thing, there is me.  I want to care, I want to get healthier, I want to be worthy of the gifts that God and man have given me lately.

So I stayed home today, to think, to decide whether I need to go to the Doctor, because for some reason I am trying to kill myself.  By not taking my medicine, not using my insulin, not eating right, and just in general, not giving a shit.

This getting in shape is causing me unexpected problems, like being so restless once I get to work, that I get up and walk around a lot.  Pain in my feet, and hips.  And yesterday, after riding the bike home in the heat, I called in at Job #2 and slept for 3 hours.  I have to learn to function through that exhaustion, so that I do not give up.

So far today, I have cleaned my apartment.  Except for the dishes… Did some laundry.

Got blown, played a silly game, put some boxes of stuff away.

And sat here thinking…I need to write this shit down, and out of my head.

Letting Go

Today I have to let go.  My stepdaughter is not going to like me.  There is nothing I can do about this.  I have rules, things like smoking pot, and skipping school are against the rules.  There is always a blow-up.  I get too frustrated and angry.  Then I say and do bad things.  I cannot take this responsibility anymore.  This child most obviously does not want my help.  We just got her back from states custody less than 2 weeks ago.  Two of the reasons she was in states custody for a year are listed above.  If I keep getting this angry, I am going to lose the man I love, and not just the battle.  So I need to relax, and let her go on and destroy herself.  I feel like grieving.

What I needed Today

God, grant me the SERENITY

to accept the things I CANNOT change,

The COURAGE to change the things I can,

and the WISDOM to know the difference.

Being the Bad Guy

This is my role. In our family, I am the caretaker, facilitator, and big meanie. Tonight I went to my step-daughter Kristina’s Myspace page. To say it was entirely inappropriate for a teenage girl would be an understatement. When I visited her page a few weeks ago, it was silly and sweet. Today she asked me to go look at her new pictures. She had changed her name to ” Lil Mama Mother Fucker” and had added pot leaf and booze graphics. I admit to having a fit. I tried not to, but when I asked her why she had done this, she said “thats what I like” and then “cause they were sparkly.” Ok, I was scared. I admit it. I tried to have a rational conversation with her. She is 16, need I say more.

The Family

Well, until today, my family consisted of myself, my boyfriend, Richard, my sons, my nephew, and my boyfriends’ daughter.  This morning I decided to let my nephew go back to his mother.  First, let me say, I do not like having that kind of power, and as an added bonus, I don’t like using that kind of power.  My sister is a cocaine user, she has had run-ins with the law on numerous occasions, but so has my boyfriend, a meth addict.  It seems as if when I cleaned pot, cigarettes, and alcohol out of my life a few years ago, they decided to haunt me in other ways.  Anyway, after much thought, and after having custody of my nephew for almost two years, I accepted that I cannot change things for him.  I cannot make his mother go to treatment, or therapy.  He is thirteen, his personality is in place, has been for years.  No matter where he is at this point, his decisions are going to be the same, same friends, same paths, etc.  I love him, but I have to let him go.