episode four

I don’t want to say it…
I don’t want to say it.
Not again, not again!
It’s not fair at all–she always has the last word either way!
Leaving me to watch my pride be stripped of what was suppose to be my chance…to be.

She glances once.
She glances twice!
She glances again–and I wonder?
Curiosity schemes a heart beyond the norm
As never before, had she (like often as she would) hesitate to care
about me.

And so She asked:
“Do you love me?”

Hon skakade på huvudet ännu en gång. “Tyvärr finns det ingen bok med titeln du söker” svarade hon mig kort och sneglade än en gång på lappen jag så snabbt skrivit ner. Samtidigt kände jag en smärre panik långsamt växa inom mig; är det kört nu? Vad blir nästa steg? Jag stod och trampade på stället, svetten som uppenbarade sig i pannan orkade jag inte fokusera på. Lyckligtvis tog jag mig en snabb titt på skärmen och ganska snart utbyttes min desperation till irritation; kostym stavat “kostum” brukar inte ge några träffar. Efter detta missförstånd gjorde hon en ny sökning med min blick stadigt vilande på skärmen och denna gång med positivt resultat “Nej men, se där. Undrar varför jag inte fick upp den första gången?” svarade hon förvånat. Jag himlade med ögonen, tog ett stadigare tag om väskan och lät mig ledas bort till de bortersta hyllorna fyllda med historisk litteratur. Med boken i min hand, lånekortet i andra och en viss lättnad lämnade jag biblioteket; nu äntligen var jag på gång!

x

So what happened with A.G.?  All I know is what follows:

So here i am the next day all excited about the prospect of liking someone who wants more than sex and I text him the next day and hear nothing. I text him the day after and hear nothing. The day after that I finally figure out I’m not going to hear from him.

Yeah, sometimes it takes me a while.  I talk with some girlfriends and tell them what’s going on – they all say to give him a chance.  He’s my type, blah blah blah, he’s attractive and I like him and they can tell – give him a chance.

So I silently give him his chance.  Two days later I get a text message from him that says “I’ve been really sick.”  That’s it.  I feel ignored and… useless.  I also feel like he was angry because we didn’t fuck but now he’s horny and is thinking about how great the kissing was – so I say “I hope you feel better.” and leave it alone.

A week and a few days pass by and yesterday I get a text that says “It’s been a crazy week.”  from a number without a name – turns out it’s his number and as I’ve deleted him from my phone (which rarely happens), I didn’t know it was him.  Slight discussion ensues and we begin chatting again.  He messages me again and I bluntly (though decidedly unwisely) say, “Are you txting me because you are horny?  Really.”

Yes, yes I know that’s not the coy way to play it – but I’m pretty much done with coy and “stupid girl” role right now.  I’m done fucking with these bullshit men who only want to know what it’s like to fuck me – and get butthurt when they realize they won’t ever know how it feels to be inside me.  I’m really done with it.

Not that I don’t want to get fucked – because I do.  I just want to get fucked by the same person repeatedly, for a lengthy amount of time equaling up to months and years.  I want to get fucked by a person who wants to do more than fuck me.  I don’t really believe that’s too much to ask.

So A.G. and I are talking and out of the blue he says “Will I get to see your hot bartender friend again if I come to your birthday party?”

Yeah.

Haven’t talked to me for weeks and the first night we actually chat for any length of time, you ask about a friend of mine.  That’s hot.

Next Up: O Rly? Ya Rly.

… sollte sich bild.de abonnieren und auch mal seine Lebenszeit verschwenden und Kommentare zu den “Artikeln” lesen. Dort entstehen nichtige Diskussion über Kapitalisten, den kleinen Mann, das Studentenpack und weitere gesellschaftliche Stereotype. Einfach nur köstlich. Schöne “neue” Web 2.0 Welt. Schade nur das wirklich alle mitmachen. Ich habe ja nichts gegen eine gut geführte Diskussion. Ich bin ja auch eigentlich immer Kontra.

Ein Freund von mir wollte mir sogar schon vor einiger Zeit die Freundschaft kündigen, da ich auf seine Argumente immer etwas dagegen sagen konnte. Aber sozial akzeptierter Alkoholismus knüpft Bande, die selbst das Wort nicht zu trennen vermag.

Hier nun eine kleine Auswahl an geistigem Dünnschiss, das Thema des “Artikels” war übrigens ein studentischer Nakedei-Kalender.

Mehr Bafög! Damit die Studenten endlich auch mal zum Friseur gehen können!

Stimmt, und vielleicht noch etwas Gehirn dazu.

Was soll das alles eigentlich? Ich bin jetzt seit zwei Jahren mit dem Studium fertig und habe es in der Normalstudienzeit abgeschlossen. Habe kein BAföG bekommen und hatte immer weniger Geld als all die anderen ach so armen Studenten, die 8 Jahre und länger studieren. Lehrjahre sind keine Herrenjahre: Bildung sollte kostenlos sein, für seinen Unterhalt, aber sollte man schon auch selber noch was tun. Außerdem zeigt meine Erfahrung, dass viele dieser Studenten lieber eine anständige Lehre machen sollten. Wir lassen in Deutschland viel zu viele zu.

langsam wird es dreist. ich denke, bevor die großkotzig nur noch forderungen stellen, für die andere leute erst einmal arbeiten müssen, sollen die mal was leisten. es gibt in diesem land nicht nur studenten, die was für ihre bildung tun müssen. wie viele finanzieren sich privat (oder lassen sie sich von den eltern bezahlen) ne ausbildung, damit sie später überhaupt ne chance auf dem arbeitsmarkt haben? ich habe von studenten in den letzten wochen und monaten nur immer forderungen gehört, aber nicht lesen können, was sie selbst bereit sind für den staat und den steuerzahler, die ihnen das studium ermöglichen,  aber frau schavan hat ja ein sehr deutliches zeichen gesetzt: WER AM LAUTESTEN SCHREIT BEKOMMT WAS!

Meine Güte die sollen froh sein wenn sie überhaupt eine Chance zum studieren erhalten, seit wann stellt man foderrungen wenn man etwas lernen darf mit dem man (voraus gesetzt man gibt sich mühe) später viel Geld verdienen kann bzw einen tollen Beruf ausüben darf. Also ehrlich gesagt bei denen hackts da studieren anscheinend die falschen, mit denen wird doch zum Grossteil sowie so nichts, wenn die noch vor dem eigentlichen Arbeiten “wohl gemerkt nicht lernen” schon nur noch das große Geld im Kopf haben.

Seit wann kann man forderrungen stellen wenn man die Chance erhält etwas ordentliches zu lernen in dem fall sogar zu studieren…….????????Erstmal Leistung zeigen, etwas wirtschaften und dann foderrungen stellen nicht fürs erlernen bzw studieren eines tollen Berufes Geld verlangen das kommt wenn man etwas taugt doch so oder so danach wenn man letzendlich in dem erlernten, studierten Beruf auch arbeitet.

Was ich alles so von den studentischen Aushilfen höre………Die sollten mal Ihr BAföG nicht immer in den Kneipen und Discotheken versaufen…..von Donnerstag bis Sonntag unterwegs und dann den Rest der Woche rumjammern es gäbe zuwenig Geld -> DAS ist lächerlich. Natürlich ist das nicht NICHT AUF ALLE Studenten übertragbar, aber ich glaube den Großteil trifft man damit ganz gut!

Ich finds zum Kotzen.
Unsre armen Studenten.
Ich zahl mit meinen Steuern deren Studium, die wollen mehr Kohle.
Nach dem Studium geht das Gejammere weiter, von wegen ” sooolange studiert und jetzt sowenig Verdienst.
Zum Schluss wandern sie aus und das Geld vom Staat- sprich: meine Steuergelder sind in die Luft geblasen.

Ach die armen armen Studenten. Wenn ich unsere Studenten in der ganzen Nachbarschaft anschaue fahren die alle Auto, haben eigene Wohnungen und feiern bis in die Puppen.
Die sollen doch Jobs annehmen, dann können sie auch Studiengebühren bezahlen.
Ich zahle schon seit 25 Jahre in die Kassen und wenn ich höre das ich in ca 25 Jahren ca 40 % Rente bekomme kommt mir heute schon das große Kotzen.

 

Mark 7:25b-30
A woman whose little daughter was possessed by an evil spirit came and fell at his feet. The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter. “First let the children eat all they want,” he told her, “for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” “Yes, Lord,” she replied, “but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he told her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.” She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

I wonder if I would have the wisdom of the Syrophoenician woman when Jesus speaks to me in parables because I consider myself very dumb when I read passages like this one selected above. This lady came to Jesus in pain and had a desperate need for Jesus’ miraculous touch on her daughter who was demon possessed. However, she was not Jew and Jesus was there to save the lost sheep of Israel. Would she have any place before a foreign God whose objectives seemed different? In times of desperation, do we seek anything that will give us a solution to our problems?

What Jesus asked her was whether it was right for him to turn his attention to the gentiles before he was done with the Jews and her response showed him that she knew Jesus was here to save sinners, not just a race of people. She must’ve noticed it in the sarcastic language Jesus used to describe gentiles or in his manner of speaking but her answer was apt. I often feel like a servant before Jesus, my Lord, whose crumbs I am not fit to take. In Christ, we have victory from the dominion of sin and suffering because through his death and resurrection, we have the hope of eternity. We all have needs and I know today the Lord speaks to me as clearly as he speaks to you that he wants for us to put our faith in him and know that he will answer our pleas in an amazing way!

In His Loving Service,
Vineet

Man Made Beauty or A Concrete Jungle?

The army of brains in glass domes on wheels who work for computer companies know that flancers love wasting time. And so they specifically design small electrical items that don’t do what they are meant to do, precisely so that flancers can squander hours of every day swearing and thumping them. Most - if not all - laptops have the emotional button-pressing, wind-up skills of a top criminal psychologist crossed with a five-year-old.  They know exactly how to set synapses to ‘enrage’ and push you, the hapless operator, in all the right ways…until you explode in a teary flurry of expletives and collapse sobbing, begging for it all to be over.

Nine times out of ten* the more aesthetically gimmicky a gadget/computer/Operating System is the more things there are about it that can break down at stupendously inappropriate moments. Like deadlines for example. Gimmicky techno-things are also a lot like high maintenance girlfriends: they look utterly sexy.  You don’t feel you can really afford them.  All your friends are slaveringly jealous and want one too.  But within 6 months they become a totally useless pain in the arse that demands hours of your attention just to get them to execute one simple task which they then do reeeeealy slowly just to get back at you for asking. They sit on their 100-thread count tablecloths like small electrical Jennifer Lopez’s, stipulating the correct air temperature and humidity necessary for them to perform.

The primary hurdle is usually the relatively uncomplicated task of asking said gadget to be ‘on’.  If you have had a laptop for like, centuries (i.e. about two years) it will probably be as reluctant (and as speedy) to warm up as an eighty-year old ejected from bed at 5am by a shouty army Sargent demanding 50 press ups in the mud. So you press ‘on’ and then have time to go and make coffee, have a shower, do your shopping and solve the global fuel crisis before it’s ready to do anything.  At this point, a small box will pop up bearing a cheery  yet unfathomable message that requires you answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.  Fear immediately descends because you know that one of these choices will wipe your archived copy from the entirety of last year and the other choice will launch a warhead at Wales. By now you will be so angry that you could easily kick a puppy without remorse, so you drink more coffee (just to ramp the old blood pressure up further) which is when your screen will freeze because you had the audacity to ask your hellbox to launch internet AND  Skype SIMULTANEOUSLY.

Note: Despite it’s apparent stupidity, your laptop actually has the ability to telepathically communicate with other electrical goods in your home too. So whilst it’s rumbling to life in its own sweet time, your TV will probably go on the blink, your coffee machine will start making tea and your hairdryer will give you an electric shock.

You desperately want to throw it out of the window,  but you can’t because you haven’t got a spare 300 quid for a new one (which will descend into this sort of immature, teenage stroppery within 18 months anyway) and you know for a fact that editors will not accept copy written by hand on a sheet of creased A4.

So you shout at it some more and when it decides to finally whurrr to life you feel vaguely triumphant – as if this attitude-riddled box of wires and lights has heard your rantings and decided that you - as the human - are to be obeyed.

But underneath that shiny casing beats the heart of a cruel, sadistic yet-even-more- intelligent life form, waiting till you’re out to explode and set fire to your house.

TODAY’S FOOTNOTES

 *By which I mean ‘ten times out of ten’.

So the part of this that’s really crazy is – the couple who were leaving and I enticed them to stay and drink with us for a while – I completely forgot about them until the next Monday when I was at work.  I thought a new client had come in, but oddly enough, it was the male half of the couple.  Turns out he’s our delivery man.  Weird, I know.

He lights up! when he sees me and he says “Omg well hi Annie!” and I’m in my head saying “Well hi… weirdo?” but I smile and say “Hey buddy! How are you?” Which leads to a bunch of chitting and chatting and us having a generally good time for about two hours.  He doesn’t have a clock and I never have any real work to do.  He goes out with me on a smoke break and he says “Well can I come back later and pick up the order forms?”

Of course I said yes.  I always say yes.

So He comes back at 7:30 and it’s dark – winter is coming – and he wants to talk.  He tells me that the woman who I thought was his wife is actually his girlfriend.  I find that interesting as they have 5 children – two of which are his.  The other 3 are by three different men.  I tell him they should facebook me and he makes a face like he has to poo.  I ask if he’s a myspacer or -ack – a tweeter instead of FB and he says “We don’t have a computer… it doesn’t do good things for us.”

I immediately make a frown and say “Porn?”  He says “Worse.”  I say, “You cheated?”  He says, “Nope.”  I say, “She cheated?” He says, “Three times.”

We start talking and at some point he says, “Would it be so bad for me to cheat on her?  She did it to me.”  and I know exactly what he’s getting at.  He wants to fuck me.  So many of them do – I can almost smell it on them like cologne.

During our conversation, he tells me that she is so jealous that she has stalked women she thought he was interested in – that she’s been violent before, and immediately I know even if he was single, nothing would happen between us.  That type of crazy just isn’t my style.

So weeks pass, we don’t talk at all, none of us – except for the occasional stupid forwarded text from her.  Then yesterday out of the blue he texts me, D-Man, we’ll call him.  D-Man texts me and says “So about your birthday party (which is coming up), what kind of present should I get you, and will I be getting raped afterward at your house?”  I tell him “Uh… something expensive and no.”

He immediately responds and says “Well since I’m not getting raped, let me know what day it is so I can make sure not to be there.”  I tell him “You better be there and you better bring your wife too.”  I consistently refer to her by either her name or the pronoun Your Wife just to keep things in line.  He says, “But I don’t want to bring her, I want to be with you that night.”

Crazy, his wife, she’s like 5′10” and maybe a buck 20.  The chick is a butterface with a great body and a nice enough personality.  But he hates her.  Literally, he’s been emasculated by her and feels trapped because she has two children with him.  He hates every minute of being around her – he says.  But let me say this – if it was bad enough, he wouldn’t be there.  He’s still sleeping with her at night – they’re still fucking – He’s still supporting her while she’s in school.  He can say he hates her all he wants, but I’m not an idiot.

So he is texting me about how much he wants to be with me and I know it’s leading to a bad spot so I regulate and get it straight.  My text says something like, “Look, ur rly cute n if u wer sngle, id b all about tht, bt ur not. i dnt fck married men.”  The next text: “& i dnt apprci8e u tryng 2 use me 2 get back @ her bcos ur mad @ her rite now.  uncool.  get it 2gether.”  The last text: “U wanna b my friend, b my friend. but im not fckng u – ever. it will never happen baby. ever.”

That’s clear, isn’t it?  I think the only clearer thing I could have said was “SHUT UP BITCH, I DON’T WANT YOUR DICK.” But I’m much too classy for that language.  LOL!

So he texts me this morning and says “Annie do u live alone?”
Me:  Yep, y?
Him: Maybe I can come over 2night n say hi? LOL
Me: Ur welcome 2 cme ovr n say hi, y dont u bring ur wife w/ u?
Him: No I wanna come by myself.
Me: Thats fine, we’ll sit outside n smoke.
Him: U wont let me come in?
Me: Nah.

How much clearer can I get?  Apparently I needed to get a lot clearer because 2 hours later I get a text: “I can’t do this. I don’t wanna b that guy. I have 2 believe she won’t cheat on me. I”m a pussy.”

I return a text that says “What the hell are you talking about?  Did you think you were gonna fuck me?  How do I make it any clearer to you?  We’re friends.  That’s it. Really.”

I get no response.  Around 8 I send a text that says “D-Man, did you get my text?”
Him: Yeah, I’m @ home.
Me: O… K.  So u can’t respond?
Him: No, texting is cheating.
Me: uhm… latez.

Seriously?  That brand of crazy between him and his wife is just one I can’t get with.

The thing that makes me most angry about it is he really was using me – even though I said it in the beginning and he denied it.  Even though we didn’t have sex, the point is he finally got some attention from a woman that he doesn’t get at home – and that had him flying high.  I mean… when a chick tells you she’s never… NEVER going to have sex with you and you somehow still think she’s trying to have sex with you….

That’s a brand name I never want to have in my home.  Crazy: It’s always around somewhere.

-

-

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-Next Up:  S.13 – Orientals.

I wish I didn’t have to write this.  I am so upset and disappointed in myself.  If you read my last post you already know the back story to our toilet learning process with M.  It has been very frustrating because we have gotten mixed signals.  He will work with his preschool teacher on sitting on the potty, but not us.  He likes wearing big boy underwear, but won’t potty in the potty or anything else, including diapers at school.  And finally, he ended up hitting a wall on Friday.  It was like the holding it in thing at school was just physical training for the main event.

On Friday, as I mentioned in the last post, he had an accident at school at about 9am and then didn’t go the rest of the day even though he had a diaper on.  Well, here is the kicker… he went to bed that night without going potty, woke up dry, and was dry the whole next day.  Friday night he woke up at 1:30am wiggling and whining.  I tried to tell him to just go in his diapers, let it out.  I tried rubbing his tummy, etc.  He fell back to sleep, but did the same thing at 2:45am, 4:30am, and 6:00am.  Between him and A’s snoring, I only managed 4 hours of sleep.  I had to be up for a work retreat that morning so I headed out.  I was stunned when I got a call from A asking if I had changed M’s diaper before I left because it was still dry.  We agreed to have A talk to M and tell him that we are not going to work on the potty stuff for a while and that it is totally fine for him to use his diaper.

My mom picked him up later and brought him to Brown County where I was so they could spend the day and then stay the night at the hotel with me.  I kept calling to see if he would finally let loose.  By 4 pm he still hadn’t and I was freaked out.  He was still begging to change his diaper even if he was dry and would sometimes do the pee pee dance.  At this point I asked A to call our doctor and see what we should do.  His text back made my heart sink!

“Not good baby.  We need to take him to the ER.  He said it is unheard of that a 3year old could hold it for close to 24 hours.  It doesn’t happen.  If he hasn’t had a wet diaper then something else is up. It’s not a UTI either.  He said, with a UTI he would automatically have spasms and it would be coming out even if it hurt when it did.  He said we need to get him to the ER to have an ultrasound done.”

Now, please keep in mind that by this point it had actually been 33 hours since he had peed!  And a full 2 days since a bowel movement.  I read this in my retreat and was instantly in tears.  Being me, I had been talking to everyone about him so they all knew what was going on when they saw my face and heard me say ER.  I remember hearing one person say “Hold it together Crystal cause it won’t do him any good”.  I gathered my composure, grabbed my mom and M and we set out for the ER in Bloomington.

I was very thankful that it was a slow night there.  We got right in and they started gathering information.  They took us to a room and brought in a special bladder ultrasound to measure the amount of urine in his bladder.  We had to restrain him for this because he wouldn’t lay still.  I felt so horrible just because I knew he was scared.  At least I knew they weren’t hurting him.  After it was done, which was very quick, I picked him up.  Suddenly I felt warmth radiating from his diaper and I shouted “He’s peeing he’s peeing!!!”  Sure enough, he let totally loose as we all (even the Nurse Practitioner) did the pee pee dance.  I think it was a mixture of the relief of not being restrained and the slight vibration of the ultrasound tool that did it.  I was so relieved.  It was a miracle.  They basically laughed and said he should be fine.  The doctor that came to see us just before we left said that there is always one that will prove you wrong (about the other doc saying he couldn’t be holding it) and that that was some determination (you’re telling me!!).  He also mentioned that his own grandson is 4 and just became daytime potty trained.  I got what he was saying… don’t worry about backing off, it will happen.

When we got back to the hotel he began insisting that I change his diaper even though it was dry.  After 3 hours of this, (at 1am!) I decided to make the 2 hour drive home, just to change the scene if nothing else.  I am glad I followed my gut.  About 30 minutes into the trip he peed and pooped.  He then slept the rest of the night.  He did the same thing in the morning, but each time the insisting was for shorter amounts of time before he produced something.  So, I feel we are on the right track now.

Can you believe this?  A 3.5 year old so persistent and stubborn that he would withhold urinating for 34 hours!?!?!?!  I told you he is MORE!  During all of this I was a mess of guilt and frustration.  I was crying to my mother that I felt so bad but was doing all I could do.  There are just no books for a kid like him.  The only books that talk about strong-willed kids talk about discipline or just living with them and understanding them.  No one talks about the other things, like the weaning off things, toilet learning, sleeping alone, etc.  There are no guides for parents like me.  I looked at her and said “They don’t make a book for him!”.  She looked at me and said “Maybe you are supposed to write it”.  Wow… what an amazing and scary thought.  So, maybe I will one day.  Until then, I will share these experiences as openly and honestly as I can here.

We have decided to remove the underwear (unless he requests them) and just stick with diapers, forget the potty, and just let him be.  We told him that he can tell us if he ever wants to try, and after a few weeks will begin the discussion again.  But for now, we are taking a total break.  There is nothing like the ER for a wake up call.  It doesn’t matter when he does it, just that he does it in a way that builds him up as a person.  It has to be on his schedule and his pace.  No one else matters.  And until he is done, when people ask us if he is potty trained, I will be confident in saying that a trip to the ER puts it all in perspective so no, not just yet.

******************
EDIT: This post has been featured by Annie from PhDinParenting and Jennifer from Blogging ’bout Boys
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Photo by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Who

would have guessed
it

would come

down

to this
in calculating

my day –

matching

the cerulean silk
against the teal,

choosing

the cultured pearls
over the 14 kt. choker,

forcing

my right foot
to

step first
across
my

desperation.

Barbara Moreno

All Rights Reserved

© 2009

Back again with the level of acrid vitriol rising from my chest to my throat.

If only I could spew it out of me in one long projectile stream of self hatred.

And what triggered this beautiful nod towards all things grotesque? What caused the bile-like hatred to begin to burn? A dream. A fucking dream where I watched myself on a stupid home movie behaving in the obnoxious manner that I naturally adopted as the eldest child of three.

It wasn’t like I even really THOUGHT about it.

By midday, I was making sef deprecating remarks and wincing at the contradictions.

By about 6 I was seething. Wanting and needing some kind of punishment.

By tonight I was desperate to shred my skin. To use a wood plane from my toes to my shoulders. From the inside of my ankle to my crotch.

Yes. Messed up. I don’t profess to be anything else right now.

There is not a single shadow of a soul I can speak this hatred to.

Not a person on earth who knows how much I hate that little girl who I was.

I am burning up in the flames of my own hatred.

I feel very alone and very, very frightened.

Somewhere, somehow, lies something that feels very, very dangerous.

It’s my fault.

My sister is my fault.

But perhaps I am angry enough with her to not really care.

I don’t know.

Sexual Deviance

Oh where do I begin?  I just posted this to my twitter: “i have no idea what I am doing with this potty learning with my STUBBORN 3.5 boy. this is such a battle and I don’t want it to be.”  “NOTHING is working!!! He is so ready, but it is a power struggle. I am just done! My gentle parenting side isn’t finding anything works”  “Even “No Cry Potty Solution” says “sometimes you just have do it” just like when he used to fight teeth brushing and I had to hold him down”  “I hate hate hate that I can’t be the mommy I want to be!!!”  Can you sense my desperation??  Within moments I had 17 responses (can I tell you how much I LOVE my tweeps!? A shout out to them at the end…)

In order to really understand and offer advice, I need to give you the whole story since every kid is different.  So, get ready to know M better than you ever thought you would.

M is amazing!  I am about to talk about a lot of things that might seem negative and that is hard for a mommy to do, so I want to say that first.  I love and adore him and I am constantly amazed by him.  (here it is…) Buuuuttttttt, there are many parts of his personality that make him VERY difficult to parent.  Everything with him is an extreme.  M is just MORE.  He is MORE persistent, MORE stubborn, MORE independent, MORE active, MORE whiny, MORE clingy, MORE needy.  He is the poster child for “strong willed”.  I LOVE Dr. Sears, but I have a hard time when he talks about working with your child’s natural desire to please, because that part seems to be missing with M.  He is fairly defiant.  If you want him to do something, he is VERY likely to do the opposite even if he KNOWS he will receive a negative reaction.  Discipline with him has been just as difficult as potty learning because of these traits.  He seems to LOVE negative attention!  You can’t bribe him usually, everything just has to be on his terms.  He is also a perfectionist!  He wouldn’t let anyone but me, (not even A) see him on his new tricycle when he was 2.5 until he knew he had it down pat.

I learned VERY early that, because of these traits, potty learning would need to be handled carefully.  We did everything we could to make this an easy experience for him.  We have talked about what our bodies do, what our pee and poop are, how bathrooms work, etc.  We have allowed him in the room while we go, read many books, we have potty seats and a chair that he picked out.  We have sticker boards in each bathroom.  We have gently offered to take him to the bathroom and made it very non-pressure.  This has all been over the last year and a half.

He knows what he is supposed to do completely, so his issue isn’t preparedness with that. We have also had his friend from next door potty in front of him and encourage him (she is 6 months older).  He does say he is scared of the potty.  I don’t know why or where it came from.  He has never been afraid of the flush (still isn’t).  He told me one time about alligators in it.  So A got a book M has that shows how things work (love Usborne books!) and showed him how it worked.  We even took off the back of the toilet and showed him and we showed him how no alligator would fit in there.  He hasn’t said any more about that but still says he is scared.  I think he uses that sometimes as a resistance.

There have been a few short spurts (the most recent back in July) when he showed interest.  We would embrace it and encourage him gently.   In July, he would sit on the potty while I read book after book.  He never made any “deposits” and after a few days lost interest.  We took it as a sign he wasn’t ready and backed off to avoid any power struggle.

He started going to a daycare/preschool 2 days a week in Oct.  He is with 7 kids (ages 3-5) and is the only one not totally potty-trained.  I thought this would offer great encouragement.  He does sit on the potty there, several times a day.  He doesn’t like it but he does and counts to 30 with the teacher.  He even takes off his own pants and everything!!!!  But, never gets anything deposited.

2 weeks ago his teacher asked us to bring underwear for him.  He had an accident the first day and cried, but was proud of himself for being in big boy underwear (he even told me “I have accident just like my potty book!”).  At this point he would be diapers with underwear over them at home and during naps at school and then just underwear the rest of the day at school.  The next day he just didn’t pee all day!  They went ahead and left him in his underwear and when we got home and he was playing he had an accident and cried.

After that he started holding it for a LONG time… even WITH his diaper on.  At home we were still doing a diaper with underwear over it since he wouldn’t sit on the potty.  Well he would constantly be asking us to change him.  We think he would feel the need to pee and then hold  it and ask us to change him.  We tried to help him identify this as the feeling that means he needs to sit on the potty but he won’t do it at home!

Then this week came along.  He is only peeing 2 times per day!!  He is just holding it for a long time diaper or no diaper, until he can’t anymore.  He even went 3 days without a poop!!  So, we feel like we need to really get moving on this at home because it scares us.  He doesn’t want to go in his pants or diaper, so we HAVE to get him started on the potty!!!  His teacher felt that Weds. might have been too much pressure (when he finally did put a few drops in) so today she went to underwear with a diaper OVER them.  She said he was a so much better and was all involved with the day.  He even went to the bathroom himself, but still no deposits.  If he is so willing there, then why not at home or grandma’s?

So, how do you get a VERY stubborn 3.5 yo boy on a potty he will run from?  Hell if I know!  I had a total break down tonight and held him there.  It was awful. I am not proud of it and hated myself for it, but I am so freaked that he won’t potty!  (He only went once today at about 9am!!!!! And he didn’t poop all day.)  Of course it didn’t end well.  After I gave myself a time out I talked to him and this is what I told him… “When you were little you didn’t want to brush your teeth, but you had to or they would hurt.  So when you wouldn’t do it, mommy had to hold you down and do it anyways.  I didn’t like to do that, but I had to until you learned that you needed to do it.  This is the same thing.  You don’t want to use the potty, but you have to or your tummy will hurt.  So, until you decide you are going to do it yourself, I will have to take you to the potty and keep you there.  I will stay with you and snuggle you, but we are doing it no matter what, even if you cry.  So, I am going to count to three and then take you in there, sit you down and count to thirty.”  Then I slowly counted to three and carried him into the bathroom. He fought at first, but then it went well and we snuggled while I counted.  Nothing happened, but at this point I just need him to get used to the potty first, right?  Once he is getting used to it, he will be more relaxed and then try letting things out.  right?  After that, we let him pick a sticker and put it up.  He seemed a lot better, but I still feel lost.

So, please, ANY advice?!  We have done all we can.  Am I doing the right thing now??  Here is a list of all the things I can think of that we have tried:

1. The big Lego when he made his first deposit, no matter how small
2. Putting his diaper over his underwear (he just shuts down if you take diaper totally away for a few days it seems)
3. Being consistent with what is happening at school
4. let him pick his potty seats
5. I even promised an iTouch when he stays daytime dry for a week (cheaper than diapers!!!!)
6. sticker board for any attempt
7. lots of praise for any try
8. cheerios in the bowl
9. pick out his own big boy undies
10. books and conversations that he leads
11. Been very positive about any accidents, etc
12. tonight I assured him that being a big boy that uses the potty doesn’t mean he can’t snuggle or sit on our laps or be carried
13. Made a big deal out of any attempt
14. I even called my family doctor who I trust tremendously. I spoke to his nurses and they said to take the diapers away.

So, please, if you have a VERY VERY strong-willed child, I need any advice you have about ANYTHING!  But, seriously, please help me.  I have struggled as his mother since day one because his needs do not fit well with my personality.  I don’t get to be the mommy I always thought I would be because he needs something totally different.  It is hard and there are so many times when I feel completely unprepared and unqualified.  I wouldn’t trade him for the world.  I just need to keep learning how to be his best mommy.  So, please help me with that!!!

Thanks everyone!  And a special thanks to @jet_set @butterflysnbees @StayAtHomeMaven @Crunchynurse @LLeighMartin @Momalom @arlenetorres for your support and thoughts on Twitter!  If you are not following these folks, you should be!!

I got a call yesterday from an old friend. You could I suppose call him a “non-date dating” friend, or a backup boyfriend… or .. well a lot of things. Technically he’s an ex-boyfriend, but our actual dating was so brief it hardly requires mentioning.

I hadn’t heard from him in months. Many many months.  Actually the last time we’d talked I was still in the process of divorce, and had just recently began speaking again.

We didn’t stop talking just because I got married, though it had a part in it. It’s more that he has always been my achilles heel, and yet I know if I really needed anything he’d bend over backward to help.  But let me explain.

We’d been friends and online pals for years. We ran in the same online social circle, and had many people in common.  He was strong and demanding, yet sweet and loving.. A lion, yet a teddybear.  I fell in deep like.  I loved being around him. But since he’d never seemed to return more than a friends-vibe, I did nothing about it.

We would flirt all the time.  We’d joke. We’d talk. He became my advisor, and he was one of the very few men in our circle that never made me his advisor.  I felt safe and comfortable with him, like nothing could ever hurt me. He wouldn’t let it.

At the same time though, he would admonish me on my faults. Point out things I needed to work on. At the time, I believed him. I trusted him. I loved him.  In many ways he was right, but he also put me in a constant state of adoring him and feeling unworthy to do so.  He preyed on my weakness of giving, and gave just enough to convince me to give more.

Then we dated. I was single, and suddenly he was single at the same time.  I’d just gotten out of a very traumatic breakup, and with his manipulations, he was the only man for me.  I fell very deep in love, need, and want with him.  We lasted two weeks, from first kiss to last.  Just long enough for us to have sex, then he disappeared and wouldn’t return my calls.

To say I was devastated would be kind.

It was just over 3 yrs before Luke resurfaced. I’d just gotten married the year before, and thought it hilarious that now that I was married Luke would show up. I called him many names in my mind, but he didn’t know, until I told him, that I was married.

He’d wished me much happiness and apologized for hurting me. He had gotten back together with his ex and didn’t have the balls to tell me.  I told him he was the biggest asshole ever, and hung up.  But he called back, and soon I was under his spell again.  My marriage was not going well, and I should have gotten out back then, but I didn’t.

He counseled me on my marriage, on what to do, what not to do.. what I needed to improve in myself.  He left me in knots so big that a friend of mine insisted that I stop talking to him. I didn’t right away, but a week later when the same friend said “Stop talking to him, or stop talking to me.”  I stopped all contact with Luke.

I’d never done anything like that before. It wouldn’t have even dawned on me to shut out a friend.  It was one of the best things I’ve ever done, and my friend who “made” me do it is one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

About 3 months later, I snuck in a conversation, and saw for myself just how controlling Luke was. Then I didn’t speak to, look at, hear from, or even read an email about Luke for 4 yrs. Then my ex-husband walked out, and I called everyone of my contacts looking for solace. I called Luke.

His voice was the same. His laugh was the same. But there was something fundamentally different. He wasn’t trying to control me.  Not even an ounce of it. The conversation was peaceful, uplifting, and friendly.  It was my old friend without the torture. It was amazing.

We talked again a few months later.  Then again yesterday.  He really is now the man that I delusionally thought he was back then.  It was good see him change.

But I’m a different me now as well.  I’m no longer the massive people pleaser that I once was. I’m not the weak desperate tortured soul either. I’m no longer the masochist for love that I used to be. While I’ve always been independent, I’ve never been this independent of mind.  Its a good feeling. A good growth.

In some ways, its tempting to pursue something with Luke now that he’s the man he is today.  But my mind still remembers the man that he was, the man he’s still capable of reverting to.. and I keep my distance.  A few thousand miles also helps.

A place was set for each of us,
quernTo rome this varied world,
And if we try to imitate one another,
Then the concept of individuality becomes blurred.
One heart beats as a single drum,
A pair of lungs breathe in and out,
Our eyes and ears perceive all that surrounds us,
A mouth was given to speak and shout,
Our own opinions from the depths of our souls,
To express each and every thought,
To show the world what we’re all about,
And to recount all that has been taught.

Friendships are formed on what we first see,
For what we like about an individual,
A personality forms a bind with another,
But when fused can cause certain misery.

we build ourselves upon what we are,
Adopt traits and tastes and views,
But some of us are incapable of that choice,
And start to copy, lend or use
Another’s identity that’s perceived to be cool,
Someone admired and looked upon to be
A strong individual and person with conviction,
And that someone turns into you from me?

You can’t take my identity and use it for your own,
It’s me all the way through,
I started the project off of my own back,
,
That’s why its called me and not called you.

Take a drawing from a child in school,
Take the credit for your own,
For when you try to impress me by being me,
Your imitation seems very drone.
You’re a fake me from top to bottom,
Threadbare as an old carpet tread,
You’re bad quality of the real thing,
You’re the old, fake bike thrown in the shed,
Abandoned for quality and something real,
A substance for what its worth,
Just remember being me as me is hard,
But being me as you is much worse.

People see through the mockery that you conjured,
They know the real deal,
It’s like having quern instead of good meat,
And you know how that makes people feel!
It angers them beyond belief,
It upsets them to their core,
And if you think friends are angry,
Then you have no idea what’s in store.

You’re trying to hallucinate my being,
You’re trying to replicate me,
You’re hurting me beyond all that is known,
And to me that’s a sheer clemency,
For until you can be strong and stand alone,
Be who you were placed to be,
Then there’s no more friendship between you and I,
And I go from being you to me!

 D.I.Y is simply time-wasting with wood for the bored and middle-aged, but has snuck under the radar of everyday life disguised as a means of generating pride and a sense of achievement via a nasty, unsafe set of shelves. 

Thus rendering it  a perfect, bored flancer past-time.

Flancers are bored, creative people. And when ‘bored’ and ‘creative’  meet with ‘practical’ and some plywood, the end result is often something that was meant to look wonderful, but in actuality is a half-finished, useless piece of something cluttering up the hallway/worktop/shed. Non-flancers beware: if you ever catch your work-at-home comrade eying-up a broken spice rack or saying something terrifyingly prophetic like ‘d’you know, a shelf would look really GREAT there,’ immediately attempt to talk them out of it/strictly forbid them/issue a sedative.  Because when you return home from your proper job, your house will look like a small amount of plastic explosive  has been detonated where once there was a wall or perfectly nice space. And it will stay this way for up to a year.

For flancers, it’s not about the finished item but simply doing something with their hands. Because if they are dismantling a bookcase and replacing it with a pointless wine-rack  they won’t be pushing a Ginster’s pasty dipped in Nutella into their own face. Which for many flancers is a daily – nay- half-hourly hazard.

If you know a flancer that lives alone (and many of them do because they are impossible to live with as this blog as demonstrated. Either that or they live with other self-employed writer-types in an attempt to cancel each other out) you can guarantee that periods of worklessness will coincide with a grand unveiling of some sort of  horrible DIY project. This project will start out as ‘Project:Paint the Kitchen’ but will soon evolve into ‘Project: Take the wallpaper down in the kitchen so that you appear to live in a slum. Buy some paint. Leave it in the hall for you to smash your shins on. Use paint tin as doorstop.’

The other thing about flancers is that won’t start small. Their creativity having been thwarted by uncontactable features editors/literary agents (none of whom seem to have a ‘reply’ function on their email accounts these days) will have resulted in self-esteem so low that only constructing a gazebo in the shape of the Taj Mahal will serve to rebuild their dwindling self-worth. 

The best thing to do is either get them so smashed on coffee before you leave them alone that they daren’t pick up a power tool or buy them a flatpack and hide all the screws.

There’s a saying: ‘If it Aint Broke, You’ll Have Nothing to Do

It won’t let the lonely forget, this shade of desperation is just for you.

‘Who irons for God’s sake?’ Asks the world in unified disbelief.

Answer: Flancers.

They LOVE it. It take ages and they can feel virtuous. ‘Want to know what I’ve ACHIEVED today? This!’ the flancer gloats, pointing at an enormous pile of flannels, socks, bed linen and teatowels (probably none of their clothes.  Flancers tend to subsist on a holey, elasticated, greying, soft-clothing-flavoured wardrobe. The sort of things you put people with mental illness in so that they don’t hurt themselves.)

 If you are the victim unfortunate enough to have stumbled upon this sort of  Widow-Twanky-On-E-Numbers scene,  chances are something you didn’t want ironed is also in that flattened pile of smuggery currently teetering higher than your fridge-freezer combo. Like your crease-effect party dress, your crinkle-effect bed throw or your dog. 

Nothing is safe from a flancer with a Russell Hobbs 14993* set to ’steam’.   How to spot a workless flancer? They are wearing an ironed hat, draped in an impeccably steamed tablecloth and their handbag (filled with perfectly square handkerchiefs) will probably have a  crease it that you could cut cheese with.  The reason why is because ironing is a brilliant distraction from no-work hell because you feel so satisfied when you’re finished – hey! you even have the perspiring brow and rosy-red cheeks that universally indicate ‘effort’. 

So when you get home from your proper job and your flancing housemate/partner is standing proudly next to an ironing basket full of precisely pressed goods wearing a face like a five-year-old that’s just presented you with  a paper plate covered with dried pasta and sprayed gold; fake the same level of enthusiasm**.  

Flancers  need all the love for their work that they can get.

TODAY’S FOOTNOTES:

*Go nuts, my workless comrades: http://www.argos.co.uk/static/Browse/ID72/14418661/c_1/1%7Ccategory_root%7CKitchen+and+laundry%7C14418476/c_2/2%7Ccat_14418476%7CIrons%7C14418661.htm

**Hell, you could even stick a perfectly ironed sock to the fridge if you liked. They’d love that.

(Transcribed 11.15)

So I don’t have a lot of friends – like I said before.  I don’t have many at all, which is okay for me.  I know it sounds totally lamez, but I’m pretty fulfilled.

Oddly enough, in contrast with all my one night stands and cock gobbling, I go to church all the time.  I love going to church.  Maybe this is God’s way of helping me to fix what He wants me to fix in my life, iono.  I go all the time though, I volunteer a lot, and I work a lot.  I worked 72 hours this week I think.

I don’t have an empty life, but the friends that I do have are just as thirsty as I am.  Moreso, maybe.

For example, my bff of 7 years has two children – my godson and her daughter.  Both are by two different men who she met on one night stands – and that’s because she’s thirsty.  I can’t tell her that, but I’ll say it now.

So I feel like when I’m around my friends who are thirsty, I don’t get a lot of attention.  One thing about thirsty people is they want attention from anyone, so that means your conversations go a little bit like:

Me: Hey girl what are you up to?
Friend: Girl I”m….

and 20 minutes later I haven’t said a word and I’m still listening to… whatever it is they’re talking about.  I’m unimportant to them unless they want someone to listen to them – and then I’m the greatest person in the world.  I feel like they don’t care at all.  My friends will interrupt and talk over people – not even listening to you for a minute.  Seriously, the only people I know who actually listen when I talk are my parents.

Which makes me feel hella lame.

Being thirsty has taken up my entire existence – this search for one person who will just say “Anastasia, you’re okay.”

I’m not looking for sex, honestly.  I’m not looking for another penis to gag on, or passing out in vomit.  I’m not really looking for waking up and stepping in the vomit on my floor because I tried to get out of the bed when it happened.  I’m not looking for “You dirty worthless whore, I’m gonna stick my penis inside you or choke you until you scream.”

Maybe some people do want that, but I don’t.  I just want to be okay.  I’d like for people to acknowledge that I’m okay, but I’d like, more than that, to acknowledge it in myself.

I’m tired of being that person who someone always wants something from.  Whether it’s sex or money or me sitting on the phone for 30 minutes listening to someone jib and jabber on about nothing – someone always wants something from me.  I just want to be wanted for more than what I have… for what I am.

My friends…. sweet Jesus on the throne…. my friends.

This dream started out in the same way, progressing through the pain as I have come to expect. Typically as my fever fades, so does the pain. It is a slow process and even after the fever is completely gone, my body retains a sore sort of misery deep in my bones. This time it was different.

There was a soft breeze that blew down from the staircase behind me. It was enough to make me shiver. I was suddenly standing free of my chains and the pain, while still there, was muted. I was almost thrust up the stairs, through the ground and found myself standing in a forest. I stood there for a moment, amazed. None of the previous movement had hurt.

There is a darkness in old growth forest. The trees tower above you and it is so dense that nothing much but decay reigns on the ground. It is always cool and sunlight never reaches deep. I generally love nature, the outdoors, but deep in my gut I knew I was not safe.

In dreams I often find myself moving without really knowing how I got from one place to another. That’s how I started down the mountain. I would focus on a tree or a rock and suddenly I would be there. It felt like a headlong flight down the mountain, pursued, dangerous.

I came across a stream trickling down the slope and I followed it. The forest lightened, thinned. I felt better, but I knew I was still being pursued. I crossed the stream before it got too deep and felt immediately safer. I slowed my movement, but didn’t stop until I reached the edge of a meadow.

There was an old dead tree at the edge of the river with a hollow at the roots. I waded through the meadow grass, basking in the glow of the sun. I was suddenly bone jarringly tired. Everything just caught up with me and I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I veritably melted to the ground, the warm grass my only pillow.

My lids grew heavy. I was warm but in that soft, pre-sleep way that is comfortable. I felt safe, looked after and just before the image faded, I raised my head and saw a huge grizzly bear standing on its hind feet, watching me.

Beste Spam Mail aller Zeiten. Zumindest was den Betreff angeht, welcher auch gleichzeitig Beitragstitel ist. Meine fresse wo haben die nur meine Email Adresse her.

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Twitter will be down tonight as part of its scheduled maintenance. For those of us in Colorado, Twitter will be down from midnight to 2am. If you’re one of those folks who stays up late catching up on tweets (and learning how you can have perfectly white teeth for only a couple bucks), you might be at a loss as to how to spend that time.

Fear not, I’m here for you sleep-deprived zombies. Here are three things you can do during Twitter’s downtime:

Hop over to Yelp and review the last couple of places you had lunch. Businesses love your feedback, and so does Laura L., community manager for Yelp Denver. Be constructive, be fair and please proofread what you write. Which leads to No. 2…

Work on your grammar and spelling. Last week I chatted with Mignon Fogarty, host of the peerless Grammar Girl podcast, and she concurred that Twitter is home to some pretty appalling displays of poor grammar and spelling. Take this time to review your last few pages of updates, and assess how well you’re communicating. Specifically, learn the difference between its and it’s.

Unfriend some people. The Oxford University Press recently named “unfriend” its word of the year. In celebration of this feat, spend a few minutes unfriending, unfollowing and unfanning those users who plague your social media salad with fail sauce. It’s cathartic and will make you more attractive to the opposite sex.

There you go! By the time you’ve done the above, Twitter will be up and running and you can be micro-hilarious all over again. Yay! I would advise you to get some sleep instead of playing on Twitter, but that level of consideration makes me uneasy. I only want the worst for you. Enjoy!