This morning Joshua came stumbling out, eyes still closed, hair a mess, leading straight to his Lego rug as he does every morning: “Happy Birthday Mom!” He couldn’t even look at me because his eyes still were halfway shut from sleep goo. (Kidding no goo!) I did see his little smile as he walked by. He places great importance on wishing happy birthdays, and happy holidays. His feelings get hurt for others if the celebration of their day or holidays is not expressed with great importance. After Daniel woke up, he came over got in my face with a huge smile and said: “It’s your birthday Mom.” Ariel stayed in her room drawing when she woke up, Joshua went in to remind her and she said: “Joshua, I know it’s mommy’s birthday. Mom Happy Birthday!” She came out to give a quick hug and went back to her room. Lol!
They got me a Pokémon card, and little stuffed animals.
David picked them out for them, so I could take them with me on my trip. In hopes of soothing me and making me feel like the kids are with me. They told him what to get, but he could not find the Pokémon figures they requested. (Though I am sure those figures would have been snatched from my grip within seconds.) Present for Mom or the kids? Hmm…. After finishing school today, I went into a cleaning bliss. I had to get all of their school stuff prepared for their evaluation next week — I have been doing that for a couple of days. The house has escaped me and it causes me to feel so chaotic. The cleaning has helped my brain get back in order and it makes me feel good. Not all the time, but at the moment it is good. I received an unexpected email from my dad. I loved reading every word and I laughed so hard. It is one of the best presents he has ever given me. He gave me words.
There are some significant ways to show me that you care about me.
One is sharing music, another way is sharing words. It especially means a lot when people are sharing with me how they feel. It is so difficult for me to remember how people feel me about including family. I have such a hard time knowing that I matter. I wish I could explain it better, but I can’t. It is not based on insecurity, it is stemmed from getting confused about the relationship. I try to think of solid ways to help me grasp what others feel about me — it seems to escape my mind at times. It happens mostly when I am under stress or filled with anxiety, those times I need reassurance that people are still my friends, they love me, or care about me. When I am feeling balanced I am fine and do not feel this. That has its own problems because when I feel like everything is fine, I have ended up sideswiped and surprised by people suddenly disconnecting from me, or no longer wanting to be in my life.
I have several posts that I have worked through dealing with my dad.
There has been a lot of confusion, and hurt with that relationship. However, my mom has cleared up many things for me. The bottom line is my dad loves me, I know this, but he does not understand how damaging his words/actions have been to me throughout my life. I do not feel the need to talk to him about this. I do not think it will be beneficial, at least not now. Maybe sometime in the future when I can articulate exactly what I want to and I am in a place to hear him. Despite any of the things from our relationship, my dad is a wonderful person and has been a great father in many other ways. He is just as caring and loves people with an outpouring that is as extreme as his faults in communication.
He is giving and kind.
I do not believe he reads my blog, I did not ask him if I could share this, but I have to because (I am kind of tearing up here) for me his email meant the world. I am not sure others will understand this. He took the time and gave me wonderful details of my birth. Some I already knew, others I did not. It shares both of my parents’ personality and I loved every bit of it. I wrote a story the other day about details. It seemed like a very sad story — I was working out thoughts in my head and remembering things that I had encountered in my life. After writing the story, to have my dad recall these details about me and share them touched me deeply. These type of stories help me connect to myself, and people in my life. I tend to forget so many details about myself, and can fall into a line of thinking that people have forgotten all about me. Possibly because I forget things about myself I feel that other people will forget me too.
I don’t know I am only guessing.
I do have a problem remembering certain things about me. I have tried to block so much of me during my life that it became customary to stuff it down and force myself to forget. (It is ironic that I can remember so many details about other people.) The reason this is such a treasure is my father not only shared some of my details, he shared some of his as well. I find that to be one of the greatest gifts. I really don’t care if his last paragraph is chock-full of my poo art, I did that frequently as a child. Apparently, I took great pleasure in being creative with my poo….multiple times. My boys have taken after me as well. Nice. Another irony I can barely discuss my boys poo issues! Strange indeed. Thankfully they have not adorned the walls or filled Lego’s in at least a year. After I share my dad’s email I have pictures. My birthday pie has Pi all over it! Ha ha ha (Tasty homemade gluten free cherry pie. Anyone remember Warrant? Goodness! I thought that song was about cherry pies, and it made no sense to me at all. I am not explaining it! I may not understand it still! Lol!)
Maybe I shouldn’t have poo and pie so closely together in a paragraph?
Email from my Dad, I edited some things for privacy sake.
I am reminiscing about that special day 39 years ago….WOW…where’d the time go???? The events leading up to your birth….I have a short leave before having to report to Fort Dix, NJ to out process to go to Germany….We’re at my Mom’s house, I’m playing Strat-O-Matic Football and your Mom’s water breaks while at the kitchen table…the exclamation, “Oh, my God! My water broke!”…the ensuing excitement (actually panic I think is a better word) from everyone except your cool, calm Dad who replies, “It’s your first, we have plenty of time” (translated, “I should have plenty of time to finish this game”)(actually I really did believe we had quite a few hours of labor to go)….
I remember posing the question, “Would you rather spend hours waiting in the hospital or here?” It worked for a little while but I was finally double-teamed by Mom & your Mom….so we head to the hospital….I still remember some key phrases from your Mom while in intense labor, “YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!!” and “I’ve changed my mind”….the first comment I mentioned was done in a manner that prompted me to make sure there weren’t any sharp instruments within your Mom’s reach…then there was that spinal block and your Mom saying, “I can still feel everything” & the response from the staff, “Oh, it’s just pressure you feel” and of course that glorious moment @ 11:59 PM, out pops Angelique (my middle name)!!!!!!
I mentioned to the doctor that he had projected you would be born on the 30th….he said had he remembered that he would have washed his hands for another minute…of course we can’t leave out that post birth moment when your Mom lifts her legs out of the stirrups and the nurse says, “You’re not supposed to be able to do that”, (she was supposed to be “paralyzed” from waist down), and your Mom’s response, “I told you I could feel it”!
Ah, the memories….Later on when you both had joined me in Germany and I had your Mom convinced that since I was experienced at changing messy diapers (my uncle and aunts), that she should take care of changing yours to gain the same valuable experience I had….of course later on Mom spoiled that by saying, “He told you what???, don’t let him get by with that just because he’s changed messy diapers before.” (It was nice while it lasted)….Oh, and who could forget the day I left your diaper off because you had a bad case of diaper rash….I left the room for 20 seconds and when I got back you had distributed diarrhea all over yourself, the furniture, the floor and had you been taller, probably the ceiling…..oh, the good ol’ days……
We cannot display this gallery