Wondering through the World

15,705 - LJ Idol Season 10, Week 11

adpaz — Fri, 10 Mar 2017 18:04:30 GMT

As I write this, I have lived through 15,705 sunrises and 15,705 sunsets. Many of those changes from night to day have found me sleeping. Many of the movements from day to night have found me too busy to marvel in the subtle changes in color that paint the sky. The blue hour, as it is known, when the sky is awash in various hues of bue, often passes without remark, because I am too busy dreaming, too busy driving, too busy reading, too busy yelling, too busy cleaning, too busy loving, too busy living. At first glance, I think of these moments as inconsequential. After all, they are happening whether I pay attention or not. I cannot control them. I cannot make the sun rise or fall more quickly or slowly. I do not choose the shades of red or orange, blue or black that color the sky. Because I cannot effect it, it shouldn't be important. But it is. Because each of those 31,410 changes are another opportunity to see greatness in the every day. Each pair is another cycle in which I am glad to be alive. Each is a moment that, had things gone slightly differently, I would not have had the chance to miss watching because I was too busy living.

I was born with a small hole in my neck. If I remember correctly it was a small water sac that was pushing on my spine. At three months, I had surgery on my neck to remove it. Had the surgery gone badly, or if I'd not been able to have the surgery at all, I could have been paralyzed. I would have lived, but I would not have been able to spend my childhood playing in the fields around my home. I would not have climbed the large tree in my backyard, or sit under it with a book in summer reading. I would not have been able to break my ankle when my bag of books got caught in the spokes of my bike. I would not have been able to try to take the long, shallow steps under the esplandes at Florida Southern College in one step. I would not have been able to live in a basement apartment of a home on Long Island, which would one day be crash space for my future husband and several friends while they were in town for a gathering of people from the message board we all frequented. I don't know what my life would have been, but it wouldn't have been the one I have now.

On September 11, 2001, I was working in New York City. That day, I was at my company's main office, directly across the street from the Empire State Building. If the terrorists had decided to hit that historic building instead of the Twin Towers, I could have been caught in the debris. Instead of being someone that cried over the fliers of the lost that papered Penn Station, my face may have decorated one of those fliers, earning the empathy of others. I would not have been able to meet the love of my life face to face after almost a year of getting to know one another online. I would not have had a chance to say live in Philadelphia, exploring the area around the University of Pennsyvlania. There would have been no rainy September ceremony in which I pledged to forever love, honor and cherish the man that has honored that pledge to me. I would not have had one last, wonderful memory with one of my best friends before she left this world almost a year later. I would not have been able to find a home in Nashville, to find friends that I can count on, to raise my children, to learn how to fight for what I believe in, and for what my children need. There would be no child named after my father, growing into a young man that my father, my husband and myself could be proud of. So much would have been lost.

Mother's Day, 2007, Rich and I were helping my parents by driving a trailer full of their things from Florida to Tennessee. As Rich moved from one lane to the next, the trailer behind us fish-tailed and we lost control. I still remember watching the world flip as the truck rolled down the interstate, things flying all around me. If we had landed just a little differently, the break in my husband's neck could have left him paralyzed rather than just having to wear a neck brace to help him heal for several months. If the people around us hadn't been paying as much attention as they had, we could have been hit and instead of walking away with cuts, bruises and a stubborn tick, I could have been taken away covered by a sheet. If the accident had been just a little worse, I wouldn't have brought a bright, silly, loving little boy into the world that has helped teach me to look at the world in ways I'd never expected. There would not have been the chance for me to become even closer to my step-mother before she passed away, and my father would have been so alone here Tennessee. I wouldn't have had the honor of being a Parents' Day Out teacher, or the joy of getting to know the little ones that have helped fill my heart and give me new stories to remember every day I'm in their presence. I wouldn't be playing Pokemon Go with my family, or learning karate with my boys, or sitting in Starbucks writing this entry.

Tomorrow I turn 43. By this time tomorrow, I will have lived through 31, 412 blue hours. I would like to say that I tomorrow will be a day of rising early to savor that the hour that changes night into day. I would like to say that I would commit every moment of the day as a precious memory to savor in later years, until I can sit enjoying the sky change from day into night. But almost 43 years has taught me that won't be how the day will go. Instead, I try to sleep in but instead rise with my husband to see him off to judge the local Destination Imagination tournament. I will become exasperated with my children as I try to remind them that on Mommy's birthday, they should be trying to make my day go smoother rather than fight me as I try to get them to put on their gis for karate. I will sweat and strain as I try to master the various kicks, blocks and punches alongside the boys and wonder why, just WHY, I decided to participate in a session on my birthday. I will try rush to the library, wishing I had time to read the book that I'll be picking up while lamenting the fact that I am having to return so many unread. There will be board games and card games, and maybe a special dinner. I may even find a movie for us to watch as a family as the day ends. And I will definitely lose an hour's sleep between that night and the next day, thanks to the time change. None of this will be anything I'll remember as more than a faint whisper of how it probably was when my 44th birthday rolls around.

But if you want to know the truth, none of that bothers me. Because if I'm trying to savor the moments, I'm not living in them. If I try to make every minute of my birthday memorable, I won't be as focused on the now, on just being and living and loving and enjoying it for what it is. I don't need to remember every minute. I don't need to remember the every day as a crystal clear moment. I just need to have the feeling of a past well lived and well loved.

All thanks to a Phone Game - LJ Idol, Season 10, Week 10

adpaz — Thu, 02 Mar 2017 02:54:54 GMT

Our family isn't the most... athletic... family in the world. We have a tendency to spend more time indoors, playing games (board, role-playing or computer - we're equal opportunity) or reading a book. But last summer, something happened that got us outside a lot more, got us walking and exploring more of Nashville. Last July, we downloaded Pokemon Go to our phones.

It really is no surpise that this game appealed to us so much. We've been a Pokemon family for about 6 years. It started with Rich and Teddy playing computer mods of the original Game Boy games, then quickly went to the cartoons, then the card games. We now own several copies of every game that's come out since Pokemon Heart Gold and Soul Silver, and we own more cards than I we know what to do with (in part because my husband runs one of the local Pokemon Leagues). Both my boys own more stuffed Pokemon than I thought would fit in our home. Pokemon is a big deal around here.

We were among the first people to pick up the game. And we kept trying to get into the system during the first crazy days when the company realized they had far more demand than expected. We watched the game time out as we tried to see which generation one Pokemon we could get. Because we knew, we just we knew, that things would smooth out sooner or later.

And as they did, we found ourselves outside more and more. Sometimes it would just be walking around our apartment complex, seeing whether we could find a bulbasaur or a pikachu rather than another stupid pidgey. We got to know a few of our neighbors this way, people who would ask if we caught anything new lately. It was a nice way to get outside after school and work, watching the boys run ahead with Teddy's phone to see what they could find before they hit the corner. On the weekends, we would often go to places we were already familiar with, places that had a lot of Pokestops where we could get more pokeballs and berries that would allow us to catch more Pokemon. Walking through Centennial Park, we would cross Pokestop after Pokestop, watching Pokemon gather on our screens like my cats around an empty food bowl. Or we head to Fort Negley, walking the path around the old fort, reading the plaques of information about the historic site between looking for new Pokemon to catch.

But my favorite places to go have been Nashville's Greenways. The paths wander throughout various parts of Nashville, always in undeveloped areas where we can enjoy the foliage around us, seeing the occasional animals that some of the Pokemon have been modeled after, listening to rivers and streams burbling beside us. The kids are out there for the Pokemon, but I'm there because it connects me to my childhood in the woods of Upstate New York. During these times, I happily passed my phone along to Peter so I could enjoy walking beside Rich while my son could run forward with his brother trying to catch everything in sight. We've managed to walk part of three of the greenways so far. Eventually, I'm hoping to walk all of them.

We haven't been out as much this winter, but the weather is starting to warm even more here in Tennessee. In just a few weeks, the boys and I will be out for spring break. And Rich is taking the week off for a little stay-cation. I suspect we'll be taking quite a few hikes then, exploring more of the greenways and catching new Pokemon along the way.

A Glimpse of Who I Am, or Why I Can't Make a Choice - LJ Idol, Season 10, Week 9

adpaz — Tue, 21 Feb 2017 23:59:42 GMT

"I'm going to have to look up what this prompt means," I told my husband as soon as I read it.

"Why? What is it?"

"The Trolly Problem"

I had to admit that I'd never heard the phrase before. And from the time he explained that it involved the difficulty of deciding the value of one life versus the lives of many, the problem has been percolating in my brain. Because even now, several days of thought later, I have no idea how I would choose.

Part of it is my difficulty in thinking of things in generalities. A part of me is always tuning over the "What if"s... like, "What if the one person on the track was someone that I love?" or "What if one of the group on the main track is someone that I despised, or someone that has hurt so many others?" I just can't simplify my thinking down to an either/or without the other possibilities intruding.

Another part is my honest belief that the needs of the many do NOT necessarily outweigh the needs of the one (or the few). Because everyone matters to at least one person, and that loss would be felt so deeply by those left behind, that it makes every life lost as important as any other. The lives of complete strangers half a world away are important, but not not as important as the life of the child I've raised in this world. I would venture that the same could be said of one person when it was a choice of the life of their child and my family.

The most important part, though, is my natural empathy. I have a tendency to put myself in in the shoes of others without meaning to. I imagine what they are feeling and having those feelings affect me deeply. I was living in New York City in September of 2001, and those last months were the hardest I've ever lived through. Every day, I had to walk through Penn Station, ever surface covered with posters of the missing and presumed dead. I spent much of the time in those months trying hard not to cry as I wondered about the lives those in the pictures had lead before that day, as well as the pain that their families were going through. I cried as much, though not for as long, as I watched Owen and Tosh die in Torchwood, or Amy and Rory disappearing into the past in Doctor Who. Fact or fiction, I have a tendency to immerse myself in the world around me, especially when the world is full of sorrow.

So if I were faced with a trolly heading toward a group too far away for me to hear, and I could divert it to hit only one person, it would probably hit the group. Not because they are less important, but because I would be paralyzed with indecision as I try to find any way that I can save them all.

Learning to Keep Your Mouth Shut - LJ Idol, Season 10, Week 8

adpaz — Fri, 10 Feb 2017 23:28:41 GMT

Monday is the 11th anniversary of one of the best, and sometimes scarriest, days of my life. It's the day I first became a Mom and the day I started learning things I never thought I'd need to. Like the fact that my heart can hold more love than I ever thought possible. Or that sometimes you say things you never expected like "Please take the turtle out of your mouth" or "No, I don't think Makuhita left all the toys all over the living room floor." Or that sometimes you feel like you are a maid more than a member of the family. Or that things have really changed a lot from when you were in school. Or that having two kids isn't quite double the work of one, but it's not just the same as having one either. But the most difficult things that I've had to learn is when to keep my mouth shut and let my kids make their own mistakes.

As a parent, there is a large part of me that wants to make life easier for my kids than they were for me. I don't want them to have to be teased because of things beyond their control, or have them feel less about themselves because of the cruelness of kids their age. I don't want them to feel like they can't talk to me about things going on in their world. I don't want them to make the mistakes I made by saying things I have yet to live down, or doing things that still bring embarassment when I think about them, or burning bridges that cost relationships I wish I still had. I want them to have a good life, a happy life, a life without worry and pain and want. But I also know that letting them live a life without mistakes, a life without taking responsibility for their own actions, is going to do them no good whatsoever. So even when I want to correct them and protect them, I'm learning to shut up and let them make their own misakes. Instead, I'm trying to only put in my two cents when they ask for it.

I'm learning that it's best to stay silent when my eldest decides not to participate in his school's book challenge, even when I think it's something he may look back on missing with regret.

I'm learning that my lips should stay sealed after three reminders to my youngest that his homework needs to be done, because anything more will not teach him to take responsibility for his own actions but will instead teach him only that Mom's a nag.

I'm learning that keeping my comments to myself about my eldest's friends that are, in my mind, not a good influence, because he's got to learn to trust his own judgement.

I'm learning that even if I'm upset about something my son has done - spending all his time playing video games instead of doing his homework, or his refusing to do his chores when he's supposed to - it is not the time to let my anger fly in his direction, making him feel as bad as I do because of his thoughtlessness.

I am learning that I can still be a good mother without having to have my say on every part of either of my boys' lives. I am learning that it's more important for me to be there when they need me, to let them learn from their own mistakes, and to let them know that, even with those mistakes, I still love them and am there for them, than to be there to fix everything that goes wrong. And for all that I'm far from perfect in realizing which moment is which, I am learning when it is best to have no comment and just let them be who they are.

Mountain Living

adpaz — Wed, 01 Feb 2017 00:58:54 GMT

My grandfather bought the valley and much of the mountain land surrounding it back in the 1950s. At first, the land was a summer home for my grandmother, my father, and my aunt and uncles to come to away from the NJ hustle and bustle. My grandfather would come up on weekends, spend the time with his family, and then drive the 3 hours back before work on Monday. When my dad, the oldest son, decided to bring his family back home, my grandfather deeded him several hundred acres up the mountain and on the other side of the county road. This is where I grew up, and the place I always think of as home.

I didn't know a lot of the above growing up. By that time, my grandparents had retired and were living in the valley full time. So for me, they were just always there. And that part of my world was unchanging.

When I was young, we would often drive to visit my grandparents. Even though they only lived 5 minutes away, it was safer for my mom than to walk with two young girls down a country road. It was an almost magical journey. At the top of the drive way was a wide turn around. Two dirt tracks headed into the trees. It was impossible to tell, if you didn't already know, which road would take you to the place you needed to be. The road to Grandma and Grandpa's house was the one on the left. The quarter mile of the drive, headed back in the direction we'd just come from, was canopied by trees. In the spring and summer, I loved to watch the sunlight dappling through, making patters on the grass and dirt before us. When I was older and would sometimes walk there, I would hop between the shadows, pretending the bits of light would burn me if I touched them. It was magical.

Eventually, the trees would part and we would be in the valley. Again, the road would fork. If you continued straight - though not very far - you would come beside the old house, the one that my grandparents, Dad, aunt, and uncles lived in during their summer visits. It was old, a little ramshackle, but still a place I loved to visit. From the time I was five, my youngest uncle and his wife lived there. My Aunt Laura was the crazy aunt everyone told you about. Heck, she still is. And I love her for it. We would have bonfires in front of their home where I could watch the embers fly into the sky as we toasted marshmallows over the glowing coals. I would go inside and look at her humor books, lay comfortably on her couch, and often fall asleep. It was one of my favorite places to be.

If you made a right behind the house, then wind around just a little more, you'd come to my grandparents' home. It was a mobile home that they'd added an addition onto. A wooden front porch stood at the entrance, a place to stay dry while watching the rain came down or to stay in the shade during the hottest days of summer. That porch was where I helped my grandmother shell peas - one of the few culinary tasks I still enjoy. Right inside, in the front room, was where the Christmas tree would stand, decked out with ornaments and plenty of gifts under the tree. It was also where my cousins and I would sleep when they would come to visit. My grandparents' house was a place I could spend time with family I didn't see as often as I'd like. It was where I first encountered the "kids table". It's where I had pure maple syrup made from the trees my grandfather and uncle would tap. Even better than the syrup was the maple candy. It was a safe, wonderful place for me.

But even better than the homes was being outside. About 5 acres, if I had to guess, was kept mowed all year round. A lot of it was just an area where we could run and play. It was where my aunt and uncle got married. It's where my cousins and I would come up with games to play. It was from there that I would watch my grandfather's garden grow, or hear the chickens in the coop out back clucking and cawing. And if I went past the house, and around the stand of trees, I would find the small pond, and see the dam that the beavers would make there. Sometimes I'd go with my cousins, but my favorite times were when I'd go with my grandfather and he'd tell me about it. He didn't talk a lot because his stutter made it difficult, but he would still make time to tell me little things about this or that with the beauty around us. Or he'd teach me songs like "Marsie Doates".

I was going to write about my home town, and what life was like there. But I realized that for me, where I come from will always be more that mountain where I would play and grow and learn than the town close by.

More than Self Defense

adpaz — Mon, 23 Jan 2017 02:25:28 GMT

"You have to turn on your heel before you kick."

I looked up to see the boys' Sensei, Max Scruggs, head toward Teddy as my eldest practiced his back kicks, hook kicks and spinning kicks against the bag. I could see the frustration on Teddy's face as Sensei corrected his stance and moved his back foot into the proper position, but he said not a word. And under Sensei's watchful eye, I watched as he tried again. And again. And again. Not once, even after Sensei continued to correct him, did he let his frustration get out of control.

This wouldn't have been the case three years ago when he started karate under Max. Three years ago, Teddy could barely control his anger and frustration, instead stomping his feet, yelling at me, or throwing a temper tantrum when he didn't get his way. Honestly, it was part of why I wanted him to start learning karate. I'd heard from friends that karate was a good way to gain self-control. I'd heard from other friends that Max's school was the one I should bring him to. For all that I knew I wanted to bring him, it took me a few years before I actually did.

That first Saturday, I remember sitting in the church gym that houses Max's dojo, watching as Teddy took his first steps toward learning Wado Ryu Karate. But more than watching him, I remember talking with Max. He had (and probably still has) a two week trial period. It's as much to make sure that his dojo is a good fit for the person coming as it is to make sure that Max feels the new student will be a good fit for his dojo. He doesn't want kids that just want another sport, another bit of athletics to notch up. He wants the kids that he knows are going to learn, that are going to be WILLING to learn. And he teaches more than karate. He teaches life. He teaches kids to stand up for themselves. He teaches that the best way to win a fight is to avoid one if you can. He teaches that you need to be responsible for your own decisions. And he teaches that, if you don't give up, you can accomplish just about anything. One of the best lessons that he taught me, though, was not to underestimate either of my boys.

That first day, he naturally assumed that Pete would be taking karate as well. After all, his monthly fee was a family fee rather than an individual, so it wouldn't have cost anything more for him to join Teddy on the mat. "Oh, no," I told Max with a chuckle. "I wouldn't subject you to that!" Pete had a difficult time staying still, a difficult time doing tasks that took concentration, and a very difficult time being told what to do. I didn't want Sensei to waste his time with a child that I didn't think would be ready. But Max told me not to worry about it. That Pete would be fine. Just to let him know that he was expected to be on the floor, and that Max would take it from there.

For the first six months, Pete was on the floor, but would spend most of the time twirling in circles on his square. Max let him. He would talk to Pete but he wouldn't push him. Once Pete started to actually focus on lessons, he asked a little more of him. And a little more. And then even more. It was probably a year of Pete being on the floor before he even got his white belt (which required him memorizing the student pledge). Then Sensei started to be a little tougher on him. While Sensei did give him a little lattitude when it came to moving around, he didn't let him fritter away the whole session. Instead, he would send Pete off the floor if he became too disruptive. It was another nine months, with Pete being able to focus a little more each time, before he earned his yellow belt. Then Sensei tackled Pete's temper, sending him off the floor when Pete would stubbornly say he was doing something right when he obviously wasn't, or when his temper tantrums would start. It only took about six months for him to earn his orange belt. And now, he's over half way to earning his blue. He still has his moments, times when Sensei has to lay down the law. But he has far more moments when he beams from Sensei telling him how proud he is that he's come so far, giving him high fives, and helping him razz his big brother whenever he can.

Pete isn't the only one who has come a long way, and isn't the only one I've learned not to underestimate. The same can be said for Teddy. When he started karate, Teddy thought he knew everything. He was, and still is, a smart kid. He learned the student pledge between his first and second sessions. Learning the vocabulary words was always the easiest stripe for him to learn. These things, I knew, would be no problem for him. But I worried, especially after seeing how low his initial kicks were, how winded he got after running one lap around the mat, that he wouldn't be able to be in it for the long haul. I worried that I would have to keep forcing him to go, because once it got hard, he would want to quit. For all that there was a little of that, the desire to stop because he was having too difficult of a time with the kicks and that he would rather spend his Saturday mornings playing video games on his DS, he's come to actually be ok with going to karate. He's gotten to a point where not only can he run six laps around the mat without needing to stop, but he does it as soon as he bows onto the mat. I've watched his kicks get regularly higher, his blocks get sharper, and his immediate move to his gear when Sensei says it's time to spar. I've watched him earn each and every stripe, now well on his way to getting his purple belt.

But honestly, one incident above all others have made me proudest, and have shown me that he's learned so much more than just karatefrom Sensei. One day last semester, Teddy told me that a kid in his improv club at school had gone a bit nuts. The kid was throwing chairs, yelling and screaming and, if I remember correctly, starting to get violent with one of the other students. "I thought about stepping in," he told me, "using some of the karate that Sensei has taught me. But then I remembered what Sensei said, that the best way to win a fight was by not getting in it. And I decided that was the best thing to do. Besides, the teacher had it." And that made me realize just how much he was getting. He wanted to step in, and probably could have held his own. But he realized that fighting wasn't the most important thing. It was keeping himself safe. And realizing that the teacher had it.

Both my boys still have a lot left to learn from Sensei. Their black belts are still a few years in the future, I suspect. But they both have learned so much. Both literally and figuratively, they have learned (and are continuing to learn) when to turn their heel and when to kick from where they stand.

Separating Fear and Love

adpaz — Sat, 14 Jan 2017 14:20:38 GMT

For many, many years, fear had been an integral part of how I loved. It wasn't fear of abuse, or fear of something horrible happening to the person I loved. It was fear of being unlovable, of being left alone. That fear helped shape many a bad decision, ruined friendships, and came very close to making the fear a reality.

The first person I loved, that I still love, is my father. I'm a Daddy's girl through and through. He is the one that taught me about computers, shared his love of books, was the one I still come to with my problems, and the one that I know will love me no matter what. He's also the first man to, in my childish mind, have left me. As an adult, I can look back and know that the fighting between him and my mother had nothing to do with me. But I still remember hearing them fighting and promising them through sobs and tears that I would be a good girl, just please stop fighting. I still remember my father moving out when I was 11, and me wondering what I'd done wrong to make him not want to live with me anymore. I remember my worries when he moved to Florida - it was so far away from New York. Would I ever see my Daddy again? Fears of a child, and all of them unfounded, but the niggling worry and doubt about my worthiness to be loved remained.

The first time I really fell in love was when I was 16. I'd met Paul not long after I moved to Florida to live with my dad. And honestly, the first time I met him, he scared me a little. He was a long-haired metal head who wore ball chains around his wrist like a bracelet, cammo pants and looked like no one I'd left behind me in New York. He came across him as I was walking across campus and, horror of horrors, he asked me the time. I think I stammered that I didn't have a watch and hurried on to my destination. It wasn't until several months later that I met him again, this time through my best friend Noelle, and learned that my first impression was so very far off. Over the rest of that school year, we became friends. Over the summer, we spent a lot of time on the phone together, and that was when I first realized I was falling for him. I was afraid to tell him, in part because I was sure he had a thing for Noelle. But I told him, and then had to deal with a few days of his fear of being in a relationship at all. Before school started, however, we had both faced our fears and we were a couple. For three months, it was bliss. Every possible moment spent together, taking the physical part of our relationship slow. He would leave flowers and stuffed animals in my locker, he would walk me to class. He would hold me and kiss me and I thought this would be the man I'd spend my life with. Until, of course, he made one stupid decision which caused my dad and step-mom (who didn't care too much for him at the time) to tell me that either I needed to break up with him, or they would make sure I could never see him again by taking me out of the high school where all of my friends were and making me start all over again. I was a coward. I chose staying with my friends. For a little while, I tried seeing him behind my parents' back, but the fear of being caught overwhelmed my need to be with him and I broke things off.

Through high school and much of college, I jumped from relationship to relationship. I wanted to be loved so desperately, and I didn't want to be left alone. It wasn't long before I was dating guys that didn't really give a damn about me, they just wanted someone that was easy. Oh, they'd tell me they loved me, but they were more interested in fooling around than spending any real time with me. And I was ok with it. The crushes I had that would have respected me didn't feel the same way about me, so if I was going to be loved by anyone at all, I had to be willing to do whatever it took to keep them. So I let myself be used for sex. I let myself be used to make other girls jealous. I let myself be used however the person that "loved" me wanted to use me.

By the time I met Tom in my second year of college, my self-esteem was practically non-existant. I'd been dating a really great guy, but he could see that it wasn't going to work between us long term and was expecting our relationship to wither once I left to go back to school. He didn't tell me this, of course, until after I'd broken up with him, but the fear of him dumping me must have been there. So when I met Tom and he told me how beautiful I was ("Though if I'd seen your weight on your profile before I met you, I wouldn't have been interested"), I was willing to jump to this new relationship. Because if he could want to have sex with me, if he could love me, inspite of the numbers on my scale, then it had to be true love, right?

Instead, I spent seven years finding out just how bad my self-esteem was. Because being with him was more important than anything, I spent the money that should have been going to pay for college to get hotel rooms when he'd come to visit, or putting gas in my car so I could go see him an hour and a half away. When I didn't have the money to finish my degree, I moved to St Pete so I could be near him. I became a swinger because it was the lifestylle he lived and if I wanted to be with him, that was the lifestyle I needed as well. When we fought and he would put me down, I would beg him to come back to me, promising him I'd do anything if he wouldn't leave me. After one particularly bad fight, we broke up and he asked the mother of his son to marry him. Yet, I begged him not to do it, begged him to stay with me. And he did... though he still married her anyway. For 5 years, I allowed myself to be hidden, to be someone that was good for sex but never good enough to leave his wife for. I beleived him when he said he wasn't making the choice between me and her, but between me and his son. For all that I so desperately wanted to be his one and only, I was convinced that he was who I deserved, so something was better than nothing.

It took those seven years, moving back in with my parents, and a lot of therapy for me to realize that he was more harmful to my psyche than he was helpful. But the fear of being alone still wasn't completely gone. It took dating (long distance) another man for me to be able to tell him no when he came to me with a ring and divorce papers. I did still love him, but I knew that I couldn't trust him. And besides, I had someone else, right?

The new relationship took me to New York City, where I found myself with someone with even worse self esteem than I had. His mother didn't like me, thought I was after him for his money, and rather than tell her he wanted to be with me, he tried walking the tight rope between the two of us for over a year. I wasn't used to being the stronger one in a relationship, and in him, I started to see some of the neediness that had been my own pattern for so long. But again, it took my attraction to someone else for me to say, "I can't do this. I'm trying to pull myself up and I can't pull you up too." Within a couple of weeks, I was dating Rich. Within a few months, Rich and I were engaged. And by September 2003, Rich and I were married.

My fear didn't diminish when Rich and I got together. It didn't matter that he gave me not only what I wanted - a person who loved me, had a sense of humor, was a geek, made me smile, made me feel special - but what I needed - someone that refused to give up on me and who wouldn't leave no matter how much I pushed. For the first several years of our relationship, I was looking for an escape hatch. Not because I wanted out of the relationship, but because I was sure it would implode. I told Rich that I was polyamorous and that, if he wanted to be with me, he needed to accept that. I was convinced that would push him away, but he stayed. I dated other men - always with his knowledge - sure that he would get tired of it. But he stayed by my side, knowing that this was a part of me and that to love me meant loving all of me. He let me be who I had to be until the fear diminished, because he truly did love me. It took me years to realize that I deserved his love, and that I really didn't have anything to fear.

That doesn't mean that fear has left my love for him. Every once in awhile, I'll be convinced that he could do better and that he'll realize it. So I'll push and shove, trying to get him to prove my fear true. But instead of letting me push him away, he just holds me tighter, loves me more and proves, in word and in deed, that my worries are unfounded. And once the fear has passed, I hold him just as tight. Twenty years ago, I wouldn't have imagined this life for myself. Twenty years ago, I still wasn't worthy of love so I had to hold on to love wherever I could find it. Twenty years ago, I didn't have enough love for myself, let along for a good man and two wonderful (if frustrating) boys. Twenty years ago, I didn't have hope. I'm so glad that twenty years ago, I was wrong.

LJ Idol - Boys' Best Friends (Season 10, Week 2)

adpaz — Sun, 04 Dec 2016 18:33:53 GMT

Yeah it's silly, don't believe it
But I promise you it's true
Lots of people really love you
But your pillow loves you too*

Before Teddy was born, my step-mom took me shopping for fabric. She wanted to make some blankets and pillows for him, cute things to brighten up his crib. Along with the Loony Toons Babies and the cute bears that had been chosen, I found the softest blue fabric, dotted through with white clouds and bright yellow stars and crescent moons. The others would be nice for cute bedding, but this would be perfect for warmth. I added it to the pile. And it wasn't long before both my son and his new bedding - a blanket, a baby pillow and a small body pillow - arrived in the world. The blanket was one of the first that he was wrapped in, keeping him warm as he grew. And as he got older, switching from a crib to a toddler bed, he kept the body pillow with him. We didn't know just how important it became until one night he lay in bed, crying for "Bodie". We looked where he pointed and there lay the body pillow. As soon as we gave it to him, the tears stopped and a smile lit his face.

For years, Bodie was Teddy's constant companion. To story time, to the grocery store, to Parents' Day Out, Bodie came along. We made a mistake one time of forgetting him on a trip and not, 30 minutes into our 10 hour drive, deciding to go back to get him. Teddy got no sleep that trip. Neither did I. After that, Bodie was the first thing we made sure to have packed whenever we went anywhere.

As he got older, Bodie started to show more and more wear. Knowing that there would be a day that the patches she'd sewn into him would no longer hold up, my step-mom took the blanket and turned it into two larger pillows. (She'd wanted to turn it into another body pillow, but there just wasn't enough fabric.) As far as Teddy was concerned, though, those pillows could never be a replacement for Bodie. But that was ok, because the pillows found their own home before too long.

When Teddy was 2 1/2, his baby brother, Peter, came into the world. My step-mom never had the chance to make him his own bedding set - she'd had a double amputation thanks to diabetes, and passed away from a heart attack four months after Pete was born. But that didn't stop Peter from finding a friend filled with fluff. He soon latched on to the pillows Mom had made as replacements for Bodie, and they became his best friends.

Like Bodie and Teddy, Pete and his Plos went everywhere and did everything together. In the grocery store, one of his Plos would become a sled for him to slide on down the aisles. When we would wait for Teddy to get out of school, Plo would be his sidekick to help him fight "Invisible Man", the sometimes-villain, sometimes-hero that Pete spent his imagination time with. And when things wouldn't go the way that he wanted and he'd end up in tears, Plo would be the only thing that could help calm him to a point where we could talk. Over the years, one of the Plos has disappeared, but as long as Pete still has a Plo to keep him calm, all is right with the world.

For Teddy and Bodie, a few things have changed as the years have gone by. Once he started school, he stopped bringing Bodie everywhere. But he was still his bedtime companion, still one that he'd play with at home. He even gave Bodie a face, drawn on with red Sharpie. There is a permanent fold in Bodie's middle where Teddy will sling him over his shoulder or the crook of his arm. His stuffing is matted and his color has faded a lot. But that doesn't make him any less loved.

As for Peter and Plo, Plo still goes everywhere that Pete can take him. During the day, he waits in the car while Pete is in school, because Pete knows that a second grade classroom isn't a safe place for a Plo. But he wants to make sure that his best friend is waiting for him as soon as he walks out the door, and I make sure it happens. Like Bodie, Plo has lost a lot of his color, and his stuffing isn't as spry as it used to be. But also like Bodie, that doesn't make him any less loved.

I'm a firm believer that everyone should have that one friend that they know will keep any secret, that they have no doubts will love them no matter what. I think everyone should have a friend that they know will be with them through thick and thin, who will be there to comfort them when they are sad and share quiet joy when they are happy. I'm lucky that, in Bodie and in Plo, both my boys have this kind of friend. And that even, in the unlikely event that my boys set these friends aside as they grown into men, neither they nor I will ever forget the special bond they once shared.

One day you'll be all grown up,
I'll be nothing, skin and bones
But I helped you to get bigger
Don't forget me when you're grown*

Pete holding Plo, and Teddy holding Bodie on our recent trip to Philadelphia's Franklin Institute

*These lyrics are from Bill Harley's "I'm Your Pillow". It's from his albumTown Around the Bend and from the first time I heard the song, I knew that it was perfect for my boys and their best friends.

I'd forgotten to put up the link

adpaz — Mon, 28 Nov 2016 18:40:32 GMT

Voting has gone up for my LJ Idol post about dealing with Pete and his SPD. If you liked the post and haven't voted yet, please feel free to do so. I can always use the votes!

His Struggles are My Struggles

adpaz — Thu, 24 Nov 2016 00:42:33 GMT

At first, I thought he was just a crazy kid. He was always jumping and climbing. He hated wearing clothes. Getting him in the tub was next to impossible. Brushing his hair... ha! I was lucky that if I could get a comb through it without screaming and tears. When he was three, three and a half, he was diagnosed with Sensory Perception Disorder. For those unfamiliar with the term (as I was when the pediatric rehab therapist told me it), SPD is a disorder often found in conjunction with autism, though it's not exclusive to it. Someone with SPD's senses don't work the same way the rest of ours do - sometimes they are more sensitive textures, sometimes they have to fight to feel anything. Even soft lights and sounds could bother someone with SPD, while another SPD person might not be bothered by noises that could hurt anyone without the disorder.

Peter is what is known as a sensory seeker. He would run full tilt into a wall because he wasn't aware of the area around his body. He hated the feeling of clothing on his body, so he would be naked as often as he could (to the point of trying to take his clothes off in the grocery store). Nothing ever tasted right to him, to the point that all he would eat were chicken nuggets, fries, and PBJs. For him, the world is a very different place than it is for me, his dad, or his brother.

Kindergarten was hard. He spent much of the year rolling around on the floor with his shoes off, his arms tucked into his shirt. He would wear shorts and a heavy winter jacket in August. For all that the teachers did what they could to help him - including keeping a basket of sensory toys that he could use at any time he needed - he still had a very difficult time because he couldn't accept responsibility for his actions. His diagnosis of ADHD helped some, letting him concentrate so he didn't feel the need to be so active all of the time. But the sensory problems weren't anything that was going to go away. So we continue to find ways to deal with them.

He's in second grade now. And he's come a long way. I no longer need to worry that he's going to get naked in public, though getting rid of his clothes is always the first thing he does when he comes in the door. He can sit at his desk and work without the need to get up and move around. Thanks to karate, he's become more aware of where his body is in space so he's not needing to run into walls to keep track of his boundries. He is more willing to try eating new things, regularly eating pepperoni pizza along with his PBJs. He'll actually enjoy baths every once in awhile.

But for all his stride, we still have struggles. If it were up to him, he'd never ever wear underwear. In fact, he goes out of his way to prove to me that he's put them on whenever he does wear them. Haircuts are still traumatic, and the only way I was able to get him to let me cut it the last time was by promising him I'd have mine cut as well. His head is so tender that he screams whenever a comb would go through a knot. But I'm ok with the struggles. Because for all that, sometimes I wish he were more compliant, that he'd listen and do what I ask more regularly, he's my son and I wouldn't want to change who he is at his core. The struggles that he faces, the struggles I face with him, are what make me know that we're family. And it's more proof than anything else that this boy is mine.

The Tidbits - LJ Idol Season 10, Week 0

adpaz — Thu, 10 Nov 2016 00:47:48 GMT

When I've written my intros for participating in LJ Idol in the past, they've often been a variation on a theme (like this one). I talk about the many facets of the gem that I am. I talk about being a wife, a mom, a geek, a reader, a writer. I talk about my depression and my fight against it. I talk about all the things that make me who I am.

Those things are important, as they influence how I write and how I choose to interpret the prompt. But all of you veterans know these things, and you newbies.... well, that's why I linked the past intro above. Instead, I'm going to give you some snapshots into me, little bits of trivia that you may never need to know, r that may later expand into my writing on a topic. Only time will tell.

I love to write stream of consciousness. I've had some of my best pieces totally change because of it.

This Halloween was the first year I've made costumes for our family based on a theme. We were characters from Steven Universe - my eldest was Steven, my youngest Peridot and I was Amethyst. My husband was going to be Greg Universe but we couldn't find the right hair.

I hate to cook, but I love to bake. My husband is actually the cook in the family.

I teach a class of six 3 year olds at a Parents' Day Out Program and I really love my job. It gives me a chance to snuggle kids, play with them, teach them crafts and watch them grow.

My eldest son started middle school this year (which, here in Nashville, starts in 5th grade). Even this far in, I'm still having a hard time believing that my baby is old enough to be in middle school!

My youngest son has ADHD and Sensory Perception Disorder. We've had a difficult few years, between the diagnosing and trying to find things that help him learn and be comfortable. Looking at him when he started kindergarten, and seeing him now in second grade, I'm constantly amazed at how far he's come.

The other day, I had my hair cut for my youngest. He'd had to have his long hair cut, something he'd been fighting for years, and I told him that if he'd cut his, I'd cut mine too.

I love to read graphic novels. It's not exclusivelt what I read, but it has been making up a large percentage of my reading of late.

I have a phone phobia. Email or text, no problem. But if I have to make a call it takes awhile to psyche myself up.

For many years, I didn't really watch much new TV. Lots of Netflix catching up on old shows, lots of DVDs out of the library, but new shows didn't catch my attention. It changed with Arrow coming out on CW. Now I have about 20 shows each week that I'm trying to keep on top of.

For all that I think I have a good sense of humor, I don't really seek out comedy. I think some of it is because I have natural comedy around me all the time in the form of my husband and my boys.

Every few years, I go on a big organization/change my life kick. I always have great plans and great intentions, but after a few weeks, it falls by the wayside. I haven't found something to help it stick yet.

I'm hoping LJ Idol will be the exception to that. I've either dropped our or "byed" out the last several times I've played. But this time, I want it to be like the beginning. I want to see it through to the end... or at least as far as the votes will take me.

What I'm Watching: Quantico, "Aquiline"
What I'm Reading: Three Bedrooms and a Corpse by Charlaine Harris; Suicide Squad Most Wanted: Katana by Mike W. Barr

Stepping Up to the Edge of the Board

adpaz — Mon, 31 Oct 2016 21:10:11 GMT

It's been several years, several seasons, since I've been ready to jump off this diving board and into the (sometimes shark-infested) waters of LJ Idol. But my boys are learning to swim on their own (or as much as a 10 and an 8 year old can), and I miss the water. I miss the people I swim beside and against, I miss the competition and the camaraderie that a weekly challenge like this brings. I miss pushing myself to be better, to dive deeper, and to keep going until I can go no more.

So here is my declaration. I am ready to participate in Season 10 of LJ Idol. I am ready to write, to judge and be judged. I am ready for the insanity that only Gary knows how to bring. I'm ready.

*jumps, hitting the board one time before propelling into the water*

*splash*

Worries, Coming This Fall

adpaz — Fri, 09 May 2014 01:11:25 GMT

Pete starts kindergarten in the fall. And while part of me is really excited, another part of me is scared to death. Because I'm not sure how he's going to handle school.

I didn't have the fears with Teddy. With Teddy, it was more fears that he'd be bored because he was too smart. I was a little worried about teasing because of his weight, but I knew that he could make friends easily. When he was in PDO, he had several "best friends" that he played with every day. So the worries about how he'd handle school weren't as great.

Peter's a different kettle of fish all together. He doesn't have the desire to learn like Teddy does, but he's definitely got brains. He just chooses to use them when he wants to use them and no other time. Up until he was 3, I didn't worry about him. He'd been doing well in PDO, excited to go, loving to do artwork every day he was there, playing around the kids but that was the age. But when he came back just before he turned four, PDO became a different story all together.

Some of it, I think, was because it wasn't a good fit for him. He loved the art projects, and the teachers in his room were more focused on getting them ready for school, so there were a lot less of those. And he and his teachers just didn't get along. Pete would throw major temper tantrums when he was told to do something that he didn't want to do. He constantly had his hands in his mouth or down his pants, and he hated to wash them. For sanitary's sake, he needed to, but it was a really rough time trying to get him to. And the director told me that I needed to see about having him tested or going through the Regional Intervention Program because he was so far behind where he should be at his age. That, and none of the other kids really wanted to be around him because he was a bit weird. That broke my heart, even if Pete didn't seem to care.

By the end of the year, I was told that they thought he may fit in another program. They did let him graduate with his class, but even I could see the difference. Most of the kids up there stood (relatively) still while doing their graduation program. Pete twirled in circles, played his blow-up saxophone upside down instead of the way it was supposed to, and just generally acted closer to turning three than turning 5. We'd just started the RIP Program, right before PDO was out, so I hoped that it would clear up Pete's issues.

It helped some, but it helped me more than it did Pete. I was able to figure out ways to guide him without the threat of constant punishment. I was able to find things that worked to keep things on a bit more of an even keel. And I was able to find ways to bring my own stress levels down. But make Pete be ready for school? Be ready to sit in a classroom 8 hours a day? He could barely handle it for the two hours that we were there, and we moved between tasks every 15 to 30 minutes.

I was lucky to get him into another Parents' Day Out program, and this one was a much better fit for him. It wasn't just focusing on schoolwork. Oh, they definitely worked on writing their names, and learning their letters, and things they should have a handle on by the time they hit kindergarten. But they also did art projects every day, went outside to play daily (weather permitting) and didn't have to take naps. Naps had always been Pete's biggest problem at his previous PDO because he just refused to lay still and be quiet.

But just because it was a better fit doesn't mean it was a perfect one. The tantrums weren't as numerous, but he still had problems keeping his hands out of his mouth or out of his pants. And he would occasionally throw raging tantrums. He liked to run around and spin on tables, heedless of what was happening around him. And when I'd get there to pick him up, about half the time, he'd run off to the door of the church while I was trying to talk to his teacher. He couldn't sit still.

This winter, we had him tested for occupational therapy. His pediatrician was concerned about the way he was holding his pencil, gripping it in his fist instead of holding it between finger and thumb. It took us awhile to get him in for the eval, but the eval confirmed that yes, Pete did have a problem. He has something called "Sensory Perception Disorder - Sensory Seeker". Basically, he neurologically can't help want to seek out new sensations. He just needs more, more, more. And it explains a lot of the issues that he's had these last few years.

You'd think it would make me feel better, right? At least I know what's wrong, and he's going to therapy weekly to help him find ways to cope with it. But it makes me worry all the more. Because I'm not sure he'll be ready when August roles around to start kindergarten. He still has a hard time standing still - I was talking with his teacher today (they're graduating in two weeks and they were practicing for graduation) and she told me that he's at the end of the row and they worry about him falling because he gets so fidgety. And we can try to find ways to help keep him from fidgeting, but I'm not sure what will work best. Therapy has been suggesting crunchy foods like pretzels or hard candy, but Pete doesn't care for those. So we're still working it out.

I worry that we won't have it worked out by the time he starts school. I've requested that he have the same teacher Teddy did - I know her and I know her teaching style and it's a lot like the teachers he has this year at PDO. It will be a good fit for him. But kindergarten is also going to push him a lot more than PDO did. He'll need to sit for longer periods of time, he'll have less time to run around. How will he handle it? At his therapist's suggestion, we're starting the year off without the IEP because we want to see what he can do. But will that make it harder for him in the classroom. Will these classmates also steer clear of him because he's too "weird"? Am I setting him up for failure?

I know I'm probably worrying over nothing. There's three months before he starts school and a lot can change in that time. And he could surprise me. But he's my baby. My youngest. And I want him to be successful in school. I want him to be well liked and not a "problem child" that the each successive teacher is going to be dreading. I don't want him bullied or teased or made fun of. I want him to be happy. And I'm so scared that he won't be.

Not the same dream - LJ Idol, Season 9, Week 8

adpaz — Mon, 05 May 2014 18:13:31 GMT

When I was 10, I wanted to be a teacher. My plan was to go to college, get my degree, get married, have two kids - a boy and a girl - and have fun with them every summer when I wasn't having to teach. Details didn't matter, because it was my future. It was going to be perfect.

When I was 20, I realized that for all I was a great one on one teacher, I couldn't handle being in a classroom with more kids who didn't care what they were learning than did. Instead, I'd found theater and wanted to be a theater manager. I still was going to be a parent some day, if I could convince my boyfriend of the time that he wanted another child. Only one this time, though. I'd make an awesome step-mom to my boyfriend's son. It would be a great future.

When I was 30, I had no idea whether I'd have a career. I hadn't finished college. I'd spent the past almost 10 years bouncing from one kind of job to another, and none of them kept my interest for long. But I was newly married, to a much better man than my ex. Like me, he wanted children - two or three. We weren't ready to start our family yet, but it was in the plans for the years after he'd gotten his doctorate. He was going to be working in a lab, making lots of money as he pushed on toward finding the cure for cancer. I was looking forward to this next, wonderful chapter in my life.

Now I'm 40. I don't have a career outside of the home. Instead, my days consist of constant cleaning of the town home apartment my family and I live in. It consists of being a taxi driver to my sons, making sure they get to school or friends' houses, events and regular meetings. It consists of me being a sounding board for my husband when the stresses of his day are getting to him. It involves making sure that I don't spend to much before the bills get paid, and making sure I take my medication so I can handle all of these things. It's a far cry from my expectations 30 years ago, but it doesn't make it any less perfect.

Am I happy with the route my life has taken? Yes, and I wouldn't change any of it. If the 10 year old me had her way, I may have been happy teaching, but I also may have felt stuck in the job, dejected and depressed because I couldn't see a difference I was making in the lives of these kids. If the 20 year old me had her way, I would never have had a child of my own because my boyfriend wasn't going to change his mind. If we'd ever gotten married, I don't think I would have been able to trust that he was't cheating on me and I would have been miserable. If the 30 year old me would have had her way, life may have been more secure financially, but I wouldn't be calling Nashville my home. Rich would have finished his post-doc and we would have been back in the Northeast with Rich running his own lab somewhere. I wouldn't have been able to spend the time with him that I can now that he's had a career change. I wouldn't have some of the close friendships that I have, or allowed my children to grow in their own friendships. I wouldn't have been able to be physically close to my father as we both went through our rough times.

This isn't to say that my life would have necessarily been worse had different choices been made, but it wouldn't have been the life that I have now. I wouldn't be the me I am now, with the boys that I'm raising now, married to the man I love now. And for all that I have problems - depression, money woes, dealing with Peter's Sensory Perception Disorder and trying to keep Teddy's intelligence stimulated where the school cannot - I wouldn't change it. I love my life. I love who I am, warts and all. And I love looking forward into the future, making plans and knowing that even if they don't turn out the way I want them to, it will still bring me to where I need to be.

Imagination - LJ Idol, Season 9, Week 6

adpaz — Fri, 18 Apr 2014 22:27:57 GMT

His small hand slips into mine as he readies himself to jump from the van door to the pavement below. Almost as soon as his feet touch earth, his hand is gone so he can run to the grass area in front of our van. So much energy, I think with a smile, I closing and locking the door behind him.

"Come on, Pete," I call to him. "We need to get you in the classroom." Without hesitation, he is by my side once more, hand slipping in to mine for the walk across the parking lot. It isn't long before he begins skipping, his jacket billowing behind him in the breeze of his movements.

"Your skipping is getting better," I tell him, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Without looking up, he tells me, "I'm not skipping, Mama. I'm jumping over lava!" It's only then that I notice that each time he rises into the air it is to assure he doesn't step on a crack in the pavement.

I feign horror. "Not lava! What are we gonna do? I don't know if I can jump over lava."

He raises his head, blue eyes twinkling with his smile. "Don't worry, Mama. I'll help. Just jump when I tell you."

The rest of the short walk is the two of us, jumping over cracks as we get closer and closer to the door. Each other parent that I pass gives me a knowing smile. They're only young once. Eventually, a crack will just be a crack instead of a path of lava or a raging river. Too quickly will I be Mom instead of Mama, and his hand won't fit completely in mine. I need to take advantage of these moments while I can so that, someday when he has children of his own, he'll remember how much fun he had with their grandmother when he was a little boy, jumping over cracks himself.

Learning to Stand Tall Enough - LJ Idol Season 9, Week 4

adpaz — Mon, 07 Apr 2014 15:10:24 GMT

At first, everything was wonderful. He made me feel special when he made love to me, when he introduced me to his 3 year old son, when he introduced me to his friends. He convinced me that I was beautiful. I believe me when he told me that he loved me. After all, he wouldn't say it if it weren't true, right?

I should have known the truth from the beginning, though. The fact that he was still living with his ex, the mother of his son, should have been a clue. I let the words, "I'm only doing it to give my son a stable home" convince me that there was nothing unusual about the two of them sharing a one bedroom trailer. I should have known, being a part of the swinger culture, that the woman who told me he'd been screwing her while I was at work was telling the truth instead of being convinced that she was a jealous bitch. I should have seen that he wanted to change me when he told me that if he'd known the numbers on my scale before he'd met me, he never would have been interested. But I let myself be blinded by these things.

I should have opened my eyes when, while I was away at college, seeing him was only on his time table. The one time I tried to surprise him with a visit ended in a huge fight and, eventually, a gun pointed in my face when I wouldn't leave. Yet, I still was convinced that he loved me as I begged him to come back to me. My proof was the fact that he came back. Each fight we had over the years, each time I begged him to come back, and each time he did convinced me that, even though he didn't know how to show it well, he still loved me. Because, deep down inside, I was convinced that he was the one I deserved.

I still remember the day he told me he was marrying his ex. It was right after (another) fight we'd gotten into, the cause something lost to history. He called me and told me that he and his ex would be getting married in three weeks. I sobbed, begging him not to. But it didn't matter to him. He still married her, even as he stayed in my life, saying we'd be "friends", but still fucking me whenever he'd come by. I allowed myself to become "that woman", as he told me that it was a marriage in name only, "for my son." The unspoken message was that I was good enough to take to bed but not good enough to be a mother to his child.

I stayed with him for seven more years after he got married. I debased myself to keep him, allowing him to treat me like dirt. I made myself ready for him to have sexually, whenever he wanted but never when I did. I believe him when he told me that what I brought to our relationship and a quarter wouldn't buy a cup of coffee. I let my self worth lower until, no matter how my friends tried to convince me otherwise, I knew that he was the one I deserved in life.

I finally started to change after my suicide attempt. After a night of drinking and breaking up, I took a knife into the shower, called my best friend to say good-bye, and tried to cut my wrists. The best thing that could have happened was her calling the cops and them showing up. I hadn't cut deeply, but they asked if I wanted to talk to someone. With my quiet, "Yes", I was hospitalized for the weekend. The hospitalization didn't really help (being over the weekend I had no actual therapy and they released me on Monday), but the therapist I saw afterward did. Rather than tell me that I was hurting myself by seeing this man who was obviously using me, she didn't comment on the relationship. But she did start to help me see my own self worth.

Over the next year, I started to stand up for myself. I started asking when he would divorce his wife, as he'd been saying would one day happen. I countered his claim that I was asking him to choose between me and his son with the fact that I wasn't asking him to get rid of his son, just the supposed sham marriage. After one break up, I moved back in with my parents to put physical distance between us, hoping that out of sight would mean out of mind. (It didn't - he would drive to see me and we'd get a hotel room for a few hours. I wasn't quite ready to let go yet.)

Seven and a half years after we'd met, I was finally able to stand tall enough to keep him from walking on me any longer. It was about two months since I'd last heard from him and he called to tell me he had news. "I'm going to make your biggest dream come true." At first, I didn't want to meet him. It was New Year's Eve and I was afraid that I'd fall back into the pattern of being with him. But I couldn't be as strong as I needed to be because I agreed to meet him over my lunch break two days later. He picked me up from work and drove to a secluded area. There, he showed me the divorce papers - not yet signed, but the biggest sign of his commitment to leave his wife to date. And he showed me an engagement ring. "I want to give you what you've always wanted," he told me. And as I sat there, I realized that I didn't want it any more. Or rather, I still wanted it - I loved him and that hadn't changed. But I knew it wouldn't be what was best for me.

"I can't trust you," I told him. "I want to, but I can't trust that you won't do the same thing to me that you did to her. I still love you, and I always will, but no, I won't marry you." He wanted to put the engagement ring on my finger anyway, "just to see how it looks." I'm sure that when I let him, he was convinced that it would change my mind. But after looking at it for a minute, I silently slipped it back off and handed it to him. "I need to go back to work now," I told him.

I managed to keep the tears from my eyes until I walked into the door of my office. Then I sobbed, both for the loss of a dream and the past gone. But I knew that I was doing the right thing for me. I knew I was finally standing tall, keeping my back straight and not letting myself be abused any longer. I had a long way to go to feel worthy of myself, but I'd taken the first steps.

"There is No Arizona" by Jamie O'Neal is the one song that describes my time with him. It took me a long time to realize that Arizona was a myth, but I did. And now, 13 years later, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

More notes!

adpaz — Tue, 01 Apr 2014 13:20:40 GMT

We've got a family member flying in and spending the night Thursday, so I'm in cleaning overload trying to get the apartment in good shape for his visit. He's coming in for the NCAA Women's Final Four and meeting some friends, so he's just staying the one night, but I don't want him thinking "I'll never stay here again!" Luckily, I still have a few days, and I've got two rooms down. Plus, my youngest has PDO (Parents' Day Out) today and Thursday, which means I can focus a bit more on cleaning than I otherwise would, especially in the rooms that he likes to frequent/destroy.

Being April Fools, the youngest's PDO class is doing a backwards day at school today. They can wear their clothes backwards and have been asked to (if possible) bring breakfast for lunch. We had breakfast for dinner specifically so we'd have extra pancakes and bacon for his lunch today. My eldest saw us putting it together and decided that's what he wanted as well, so no sandwich making for me today!

Speaking of today, I'm registering my youngest for Kindergarten today. I'm torn on how I feel. On the one hand, this is my baby. I can't believe he's ready for school. I still remember holding him in the hospital. On the other hand, I'm used to him being out of the house because of PDO, and I've been through Kindergarten Registration already with my eldest. And I'm kinda looking forward to having the house calm enough that I can get things cleaned without worrying about it being a mess 10 minutes later, running errands without worrying about meltdowns and watching some of the shows I enjoy during the day. Plus, I know it's going to be the best thing for him, having a routine that goes 5 days a week.

Yesterday, I focused on the dining room and decided to do a little rearranging. We have the computer desk in the dining room and I decided to move it from one wall to another. I like how it looks, but there isn't a lot of room for the chair to move around in, so I'm going to have to do a bit more rearranging. Mainly, this will involve taking everything off of the bookshelf behind the chair and move it over to another open space in the room. We'll see how much else I manage to get done around here before I focus on that.

It's becoming more and more clear to me that I need to get back into the habit of making daily To Do lists. It becomes so much easier to lose myself in something else or get distracted from what I need to get done. Does anyone have suggestions for a good system that works for you? Putting it on a calendar/an app (computer or phone)/a To Do notebook/posting it online where you can be accountable?

It's LJ Idol voting time, so if you're interested in voting for my piece about another castle, you can do so here.

Off to get my day started!

Finding Another Castle - LJ Idol, Season 9, Week 3

adpaz — Mon, 31 Mar 2014 13:22:58 GMT

For so long, I walked through a crumbling castle. It was dank and cold, with nothing to cover the bare chill coming from the walls. Everything, inside and out, was shrouded in darkness. I tried to take the stairs to the top of the tower, desperate to see some bit of brightness, but the stairs were covered with slick filth so that each time I'd try to make my way up I would instead fall back to the bottom. For awhile, I sat at the bottom of those stairs, tears streaming from my eyes. I wasn't sure I could get up again. I was tired of trying to find that brightness at the top, tired of constantly falling down.

The briefest whisper of sound touched my ears, a gentle voice on the wind. "Take a different path. Find a different castle," the voice urged.

At first, I hesitated. My dismal surroundings may have been uncomfortable, but it was what I knew. I'd spent days, weeks, walking through its halls, finding broken chairs and empty tables. I knew the dungeons, with their rusted doors hanging open. I knew each blade of grass poking through the cobblestones outside the main castle door. I knew the coldness of the hearth fires, empty of all but ash. I knew everything but what stood in the towers. Could I give up a place that at least gave me shelter without warmth, for only the possibility of a better place? What if I ended up still cold with no shelter? What if there wasn't another castle to find?

"But what if there is?" the voice whispered. "What will you lose by not trying?" A brush of air touched my cheek like the softest of kisses. "You can do this," said the voice. "Follow me."

My first steps were tentative, the fear still within me, clutching my belly into a tight knot. The voice said no more, but led me through the castle with the softest of whispered sighs. Soon I stood in the doorway of the long-time home, the darkness of it's shadow laid out before me. "Look outward," the voice once again spoke. For several moments, as my eyes traveled through the shadows, I was convinced that I'd been a fool to listen to the whisper. But then my eyes caught something... something bright. The shadow lightened the further out I looked. And there, not as far as I'd feared, was light. And beyond it, on a hill in the distance, stood another castle. The stone shone white in the sunlight, the spires stood high. From where I stood, I saw no crumbling, no disrepair. Colorful flags hung from the ramparts. It looked warm and inviting, but so far away.

Once more, I hesitated. What would I find along the way? Between that castle and this were woods, hills, so many things unknown. Would I even make it? I could always come back, I reminded myself. If things got too hard, I could return. This castle had been home for so long that I'd always find my way back to the security of what is known.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside the castle. Slowly at first, I walked to the edge of the castle's shadow. I stood on the edge between darkness and light, closed my eyes, and stepped forward. I could feel the warmth of the sun over my skin, smell the freshness of spring in the air. The new castle still looked far away, but it didn't feel impossible any longer. I looked back at the crumbling debris behind me. Another brush of a kiss touched my cheek. "Go," the voice urged softly. With a smile, I quickened my step, anxious to reach my goal.

So much happening - note form

adpaz — Sat, 29 Mar 2014 00:18:35 GMT

Back on my meds. I'll be writing more about that this weekend, as part of an LJ Idol post. The difference, however, is night and day. So glad I have them back.

Been VERY productive over the last few days. Less computer time, more around the house time. In the last few days, I've managed to clean and rearrange my bedroom, do 6 loads of laundry and three loads of dishes. Brought out 4 bags of trash. Got my youngest to PDO. Helped my best friend by watching her kids for awhile while she ran some errands. Read several books and graphic novels (note to self: Need to update Goodreads and the 50 Book Pledge site with what I've read lately.) Productivity rocks!

Doing a weight loss challenge with my in-laws. Teddy is part of it, since his weight is the most out of control. Instead of losing, I've gained a little. Not much, but more than I would have liked to. Now that I'm mentally better (and the kids are off spring break next week), I'm getting back on my Wii Fit exercise regime and getting serious about it. Though, with all the cleaning I've been doing, that certainly has been exercise as well. At least, I've worked up a good sweat.

Lots of writing ideas have been percolating in my mind. Non-fiction rather than fiction. I think I need to keep a notebook with me to write them down. Who knows when something will work for an LJ Idol post?

Trying to reply to the wonderful comments I've gotten from my LJ Idol posts. Life has just been busy. Started some tonight. Might finish the rest later, but going to spend some family time now.

The family time we're doing is playing Mad Libs. At some point in the future, I need to sit down and type some of the things we've all come up with. Because they are FUNNY. I love Mad Libs, and I love the fact that I'm passing that love to my kids!

Sometimes it's just one stair, Other times it's the whole flight - LJ Idol, Season 9, Week 2

adpaz — Mon, 24 Mar 2014 16:30:09 GMT

It's been three weeks. Three weeks since I realized that the bottles were empty and I'd need to get more. Three weeks of putting off the phone calls or e-mails, then finding out that I needed to go somewhere else. Three weeks of descending, slowly at first, then picking up speed like a cart at the top of a roller coaster. Three weeks without the two things that keep me sane - Wellbutrin and Zoloft. Three weeks without my anti-depressants.

I've suffered from various forms of mental illness most of my life. It started with general depression when I was younger. As I got older, social anxiety added itself into the mix, then just general anxiety. I had a tough time keeping my emotions under control, and often the smallest thing would set me off, either with tears or anger. There have been more times than I've wanted to count that I've wanted to walk away from my home and start over, and just as many times that I've wanted to walk away from Life. I have found myself missing opportunities that I've wanted to take advantage of because I'm afraid of failing socially, of becoming a laughing stock. I've avoiding making phone calls when I've had something that needed to be taken care of because I've worried what a stranger that I'll never speak to again will think of me. And the only thing that's kept the negativity at bay are my meds.

Intellectually, I know that I need them. That they are all that stands between me and a long hospital stay. But I hate the fact that I need them. I hate that I can't live a "normal" life without them. I hate that taking them means that I'm "sick". And that the sickness is "all in my head", but I can't use my head to get through it. The worst is that, for all that I know better, when I'm not on my meds I can't help but be afraid that the societal stigma that mental illness isn't real illness, and that my sickness isn't as bad as someone with diabetes or cancer, is true.

Over the past two decades, I've realized how important my meds are to me. But I've also gotten really good at being able to talk myself into what I think things should be. Every once in awhile, I tell myself that I don't need my meds. Yeah, I had a hard time getting up and around the other day. I was feeling down, but everyone goes through that. I just missed one step, but I was still going up the stairs, heading in the right direction. And on that day when things were dragging at me, I was still able to talk myself into doing what needed to be done. So if I don't take my meds, it doesn't matter. I can talk myself through it. I can survive without them. So I'd go a few days, maybe a week, without them. And then I'd have a really bad day. I'd find myself unable to control my anger, or in tears over a my key not turning smoothly in the door, or unable to get out of bed to even feed myself, let along my kids. And I'd remember how much better things were when I was taking my meds, so once again, I'd make sure I was taking them and I'd continue on my way for several more months without missing any days of taking those necessary pills.

Three weeks ago, my stumble turned into a fall, which turned into a tumble back to the bottom of the stairs of being "ok". It actually started about six months ago, when I had to cancel an appointment with my psychiatrist and never called to reschedule. "My PCP is a great doctor," I told myself. "She'll refill my meds for me when I need them." I'd found the right dosage so really, my appointments with my psychiatrist was just a formality. My Wellbutrin was keeping my depression under control and my emotions even, and my Zoloft was making sure I could face the world without fear of being made a fool of. My fantastic PCP could write scripts for that. And so I went along, taking my meds, refilling my scripts from the many refills my psychiatrist had last given me, and thinking nothing of it. When I was down to one pill and no refills, I knew it was time to send a message to my doctor, asking her to send in a script for me. And that's when my plan went sideways.

First, there was the lag for me to actually get in touch with her. I'm very good at letting things pile up and letting things fall behind, forgetting what needs to be done when. So day after day would go by, me being online doing all sorts of things that were not contacting my doctor, only remembering that I needed to do so when I was upstairs, getting ready for bed and not taking my meds. I think it took about a week to finally realize that had to call her because I was losing control of my emotions more than I should be.

It took two days for her to get back to me and instead of telling me, "Sure, I'll take care of that for you," she said, "I'm not the one who prescribed those for you. Aren't you still seeing your psychiatrist?" Busted. And time to start acting like the adult that I should be. So I told her the truth, that I hadn't seen him in some time, but promised that I would call and set it up. And, as hard as it was for me to do so, I made the call immediately. I may have broken into tears as soon as I got off the phone, thanks to the receptionist's comment (which sounded judgmental thanks to my own mental state but probably wasn't) about how long it had been since I'd seen my doctor. But I got an appointment. The problem was, the appointment wasn't for another week.

My PCP had told me to let her know if I couldn't get in to see him to let her know and she'd send a script in to the pharmacy to tide me over. But I had a quandary. If I had her call in my script, I'd run into trouble with the insurance company when my psychiatrist called in his copy of my script. After all, they'll only pay every 30 days for a supply of medicine. Doesn't matter if I have a ten day supply or a thirty day supply, if I try to get a refill before the 30 days are up, I'm SOL. And if I have my psychiatrist give me a paper copy of the script, it's likely to get lost in the craziness of my apartment. If he calls it in, then I won't have the right script number to actually have them fill it when the time is right. So I made the decision that I could handle one more week without my meds. I'd survived this long without them, what was one more week?

Well, I am surviving, but I'm also realizing that I can't ever let this happen again. Combined with me being off my medication is both of my boys being on spring break. I'm not having the quiet time that I get while they are in school to decompress and to find a way to handle things. I'm hearing more fighting between them, more arguments from them when I ask them to do something, more chaos around me in general. And it means that rather than missing a step here or there, I'm tumbling down the stairs, looking up from the bottom and being convinced that I'm never going to make it to the top again so why should I bother trying. This morning, I felt broken and battered at the bottom of these stairs. I'd found myself screaming obscenities at my children, threatening them with the loss of everything they hold dear and then some, having no control over my temper, and a mere 15 minutes later, sobbing my apologies to my boys for being such a horrible mother. Because sometimes, especially times like this morning, I am.

Tomorrow, I see my psychiatrist. Tomorrow, I get a new script for my meds and I'll start that long, slow journey back up to normalcy. I know that popping those two little pills won't make me able to handle everything right away. I need the time for them to build back up in my system. But I'll be taking the steps. I'll be on my way back to having the ability to deal with things going wrong, with life not being perfect. I'll be on my way back to being the mom that my boys deserve, and the wife that my husband loves. And any time I think that I don't need my meds, that I can handle my life without them, I'll have this post that I can pull out and read, reminding myself just how important taking care of myself - body and mind - is.

Getting Back to Writing - LJ Idol Prep

adpaz — Mon, 03 Mar 2014 16:05:42 GMT

I stopped blogging almost a year ago. I stopped visiting here some time ago (can't even remember when). My days on the computer became filled with incessantly checking my e-mail and flitting between one mind-numbing Facebook game to another. I just couldn't write. So it's going to take me a little while to get back into it. And with signing up for LJ Idol, I want to be back at my top form. So I'm going to try a little experiment to see if I can get my writing back. Every day, I'm going to choose a different past LJ Idol topic to write on. They aren't officially part of the competition, so don't look for a link to the poll right now. I promise that I'll make it very clear when my actual topics come up.

Today, the first topic I've chosen to write on was one from season 2. (I tried to find one from season 1 to start with, but none of them were speaking to me.) The topic is Discuss something you are currently or were in the past addicted to You can interpret addiction however you wish and you can find the original topic thread here.

My addiction started at a young age. 3 or 4, I think. I know it was before kindergarten, because my kindergarten teacher refused to believe it until she saw the proof. And seeing the proof of it shocked her into sending me off to another teacher for part of the day. After all, she was a kindergarten teacher in a small town. She wasn't equipped to deal with kids my age having this addiction. So every day, from the moment she found out, instead of pulling out a cot and napping with my classmates, I walked to the classroom of one of the second grade teachers to learn more about my addiction. There, she would put a book in front of me and I would read. There were many times I didn't want to go back to my classroom because what I was reading was too engaging. Stories about dogs that said, "Woof" and cats that said, "Meow." Stories about little girls like me on adventures. Stories that opened my world far beyond the reaches of a rural New York state town.

Yes, my addiction was, and still is, reading. From the time I first realized that these letter things came together to make words, and that you could string the words together to make sentences, and that if you strung together a bunch of sentences, you could make a story, I was hooked. I read and reread books to my sister, my favorite being The Real Mother Goose. As I entered 1st grade and we had library time every week, I looked eagerly over the shelves for something to take out. It wasn't long, maybe second or third grade, that I'd advanced beyond the elementary school books and started reading the middle school books. And by the time I left sixth grade, I was regularly making trips to the high school side of the library to check out books there. I would read books on whatever caught my fancy at the time. For awhile, I was reading anything and everything I could find on Laura Ingalls Wilder. Another time, it was Agatha Christie mysteries. It didn't matter, because I was being whisked away into another world, learning all the while.

My addiction has never waned. When I moved from New York to Florida, most of came with me were books. When I moved out of my parents house, again I had more books than clothes. Each move had more boxes of books than the one before. I found myself haunting libraries and used bookstores, looking for anything that would catch my fancy. For awhile, I was reading exclusively Sci-Fi, because that was my dad's favorite genre. But as I read, I found that my tastes ran more toward fantasy, so I stuck to that. Later, I gobbled up Harlequin Intrigues. My local used book store helped fuel this one, because she'd sell grab bags of ten books for $1. Sometimes I came out with duplicates, but I figured I could always find someone to pass those off to while I kept my first copies with me.

I even fell in love with and married someone that has the same addiction to reading as I do. We found that we had a lot of the same book tastes, and owned a lot of the same books. When we moved from Philadelphia to Nashville, there were sometimes arguments about who should give up their copy of a book that we had duplicates of. (The truck could only hold so much.) Now, we have several bookcases dedicated to books for ourselves, as well as boxes of books under our bed. And that doesn't count what our boys have in their room. (Another two bookcases filled with their books.) Because, and this should come as no surprise, we're raising reading addicts ourselves. My eldest was just like me - reading early and loving to have a book in his hands. Now he's several years above his grade level, reading The 39 Clues or The Name of This Book is Secret by Pseudonymeus Bach. And my youngest, while not as early of a reader, still likes to have his stories read to him, and likes to take out books from the library, sometimes making up his own stories to the pictures he sees there. I suspect that once he really gets reading, he'll be just like the rest of us.

In just over a week, I'll be 40. This means that I've had this addiction for well over 35 years. It's gone through changes - away from hard sci-fi to fantasy, away from general romance to paranormal romance. I've discovered the joy of graphic novels, and often immerse myself in the newest YA books coming out. I don't just read books now, but also listen to them as audio books. And I've gone from being a paper purist to one who always carries around her kindle. But so much has stayed the same. I still read constantly. I regularly have 4 to 5 books going at one time. I still haunt libraries and used book stores, looking for something to catch my attention. And I'm glad that I have this addiction. Because, as addictions go, reading isn't a bad one.

"I'm in," Said the Mynah Bird"

adpaz — Mon, 03 Mar 2014 08:54:23 GMT

(Kudos to anyone who gets the reference).

What am I in for? Probably a whole lot of trouble.

Why? Because I'm signing up for the final season of LJ Idol.

Yes, that's right. This is going to be the last season of LJ Idol and I'm going to give it one last try. I've been around since the beginning - first just supporting Gary's fun little endeavor, then deciding to jump right in. How can I not be here for the end. (Plus, I've made it one of my habit goals to write more often). So (hopefully) you'll be seeing a lot more of me in the upcoming days.

If you've always wanted to give LJ Idol a chance but kept thinking "Maybe next time," this is it. The last chance you'll have to be a part of something that has been going on for 8 years and has grown from a small competition that only a few people joined to something that's been featured here on LJ. Ever year I've participated, I've had a blast. It's forced me to write, even when I didn't want to. It's forced me to push my brain in different directions. And it's even given me the title of "published author", thanks to my inclusion in a book of LJ Idol entries called, "Idol Meanderings".

So yes, Gary. I'm in for one final go. How could I not? Congratulations, old friend, on a successful final season.

I'm Glad to Have Cards on the Table - LJ Idol, Exhibit B, Week 6

adpaz — Mon, 24 Jun 2013 13:07:45 GMT

It started simply enough with watching Daddy play. It wasn't a big surprise that soon he would want to play on his own. But it wasn't until he discovered that there were cards as well, and a whole other game around it, that I knew we were in it for the long haul.

Teddy was going to be a Pokemon player.

I don't even remember when he found out about the Pokemon card game - sometime around his 5th birthday, I think. We didn't end up going to our local league until just before his sixth birthday. And our first visit was a Pre-Release event, where Teddy would get a chance to get packs from the new set of Pokemon cards coming out, make a small deck of his own, and play other kids his age. With Daddy's help, he created a deck that landed him in third place. And completely on his own, he made his first friend among our local Pokemon community.

From that point forward, our Sundays had a standing appointment at one of the three area Pokemon Leagues. There, tables were covered with cards, matches happening constantly. Teddy would wait, at first shyly, for people to free up before playing his own matches. Our local League Leader, Rick, was great at getting Teddy to come out of his shell, asking others to match up with him when he was to shy to do so himself. But before long, Teddy had his own sets of friends among the Juniors (age 12 and under) and was playing them regularly.

_{Teddy, being silly while playing with a friend at Pokemon}

It wasn't long before my husband decided that he wanted to get back into playing Pokemon. He used to play 15 or so years ago with his younger cousin, and it was a different itch to scratch than his Magic the Gathering playing had satisfied. Soon, he was helping Teddy create two or three different decks to play at League or in tournaments. We were buying packs when we were in the store, eager to see what we would find when we pulled open the foil wrapper, hoping for those rare cards that would make the decks that Rich and Teddy were creating all the better. Rich would trade with other Pokemon players at League for cards we needed, or buy cards online at eBay or Troll and Toad. We weren't paying the insane prices for some of the cards that we needed (it was, after all, still a fun game rather than something that we wanted to sink thousands into), but we were coming up with decent decks anyway.

At first, I went to League to watch Pete. He hero-worships his older brother, so the fact that Teddy's into Pokemon means that Pete is into Pokemon - even if he's not really old enough to play yet. He would watch Daddy and Teddy play, wander around being cute, and, for awhile, was the League unofficial mascot. I, on the other hand, would spend the time reading. Though it wasn't long before I started talking with some of the other PokeParents. Most people have Sunday Friends that they would only see at Church. I had Sunday Friends that I only saw at Pokemon League. But even with only seeing them one day a week, I knew that, if life were a little different and we all had more time, they were people we could get together with other days of the week. During regular tournaments, I would go to support Rich and Teddy in their quest for top spots. (Teddy would regularly do so in the smaller Juniors division. Rich, in the overly full Masters division (17 and older), only did so once.) But as I was watching them play, between League and Tournament, I realized that I wanted to get involved as well. I asked Rich and Teddy to teach me how to play and for all that there are several rules to get down, it wasn't long before I was playing against them at League. I was still nervous about playing anyone else, being (technically) in the Masters division, but still so unclear on some of the rules. For all that I knew most of the Masters players and intellectually knew they wouldn't hold my ignorance against me, years of social anxiety kept me from saying, "Hey, want to play a match?"

_{Where it all started - The Professor and the Doctor, playing each other at Pokemon}

That changed last Halloween. One of my favorite parts of the Pokemon Card game has always been opening new packs. I love the mystery of not knowing what 10 cards will appear. I love the excitement that comes when you find that your pack contains one of the rare cards that everyone is searching for. Or that you find something just as precious - the one card that you need to make your deck PERFECT. So when our League's annual Halloween Pre-Release/Costume Contest came around, I decided that I wanted to play. Rich agreed to watch Pete so Teddy and I could play. He helped me create my deck and I was forced to play against people I didn't know. I admitted my ignorance up front, yet no one held it against me. They had no problems when I asked someone else (a judge, or one of the nearby Masters that I knew) if something was legal, or how to interpret something on the card. (Each card has the Pokemon, their abilities, and their moves written directly on the card, but sometimes situations will come up that makes them unclear.) And I found that I LOVED it. I had no problem with regularly losing. I was there to have fun, and that's what I was doing. The bug had well and truly bitten.

Since then, I've played in three other tournaments - one of our three local Cities tournaments, and two of the latest Battle Roads. I lost far more than I won in every game, but I still want to go back and play more. I can't wait for the next tournament or next Pre-Release so I can jump back in and play.

And I really can't wait until Pete learns how to play so, as a family, we can all have our cards on the table in a game we love to play.

_{I'm where I belong - playing a friend in the midst of a bunch of Pokemon players
(I'm the one with my hand covering my eyes)}

_{If you'd like to learn more about the Pokemon Card game and maybe find local Leagues of your own, check out Play!Pokemon's FAQ page. This really is a great game for all ages and I can't recommend it enough.}

It's voting time again

adpaz — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 14:10:39 GMT

I'm in tribe 3. If you liked my post about Teddy still trying to find his humor, I could use your votes. If you want to see me continue in the competition, I could definitely use your votes. You have until Thursday night to get your votes in.

Still Finding His Humor - LJ Idol, Exhibit B, Week 5

adpaz — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 15:42:31 GMT

Knock Knock
Who's there?
Orange
Orange Who?
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Orange
Orange Who?
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Banana
Banana Who?
Aren't you glad I didn't say Orange?

This was Teddy's first attempt at telling a joke. He was about three at the time, and Rich and I had been telling him knock knock jokes on a trip somewhere. He tried to remember this one but, as shown above, didn't quite get it. It took him a lot of repetition to remember that the banana had to come before the orange or it wouldn't make sense. He still didn't understand WHY, just that it made Mommy and Daddy smile when he said it in the right order. I think it took him about two, maybe three more years for him to get the connection between Orange You and Aren't You. But it didn't stop him.

Teddy loves funny. He always has. And he loves to make others laugh too. He loves to share his joy of laughter with others and does whatever he can to try to do so. I think he sees it in his dad and wants to be the same way. But he doesn't always hit the mark.

The physical comedy, he's usually got down. He'll wear a funny hat, make a funny face, throw his body this way and that just to get a laugh. It doesn't always work - particularly when he does the same thing over and over again and it starts to get old. But when it comes to the physical, he knows what's funny. (And for that I will always thank Colin Mochrie and some of the Party skits he did on Whose Line is It Anyway? Teddy laughed hysterically at Colin pretending to run into a tree while skiing.)

In fact, he had every adult at his Parents' Day Out graduation in tears with laughter because of his antics. The director told us they'd never had as much fun during a graduation as that year. Mostly because of his silly dancing. (You'll be able to pick him out because of the silly dancing.)

See what I mean?

The word-play, though.... that one hasn't quite come along yet. Some of it is the fact that he's only seven. Seven year olds rarely have the subtly that a good pun or joke needs. They're often more sledgehammer than stiletto when it comes to a punchline. Even with his advanced vocabulary, he's not as good at making the connections that need to be made to create a good joke. He doesn't always understand what makes a pun a pun ("Hey, Mom! Get it I walked up the stairs. It's a pun! I was actually walking down them!" Not a pun, kiddo.) But like everything else, it will take time for him to learn it. And I'm convinced he'll get there eventually.

Because, unlike so many other aspects of his life, he doesn't get upset when he fails at this. Having problems with a video game will end up with anger and tears. Problems climbing a play area will get him saying that he can't do it and refusal to try again. Losing a board game or, sometimes, a Pokemon match, will end with him sobbing. He hates to fail at anything. But when he tells a bad joke, or one that doesn't quite make sense, and doesn't get the laugh, he doesn't take it to heart. He keeps trying, telling another joke or making another funny face. Because the one thing he seems to know inherently is that funny is different for everyone. Someday, he'll have the jokes and the puns down. He'll make people laugh with his words. But until then, even if he's the only one that finds his jokes funny, or his puns dead on, he'll still be laughing. And while I may not laugh at his jokes, and I may try to explain to him why the pun didn't work, I'm still going to be smiling. Because it's something that makes my boy happy.

This post is for the topic ha-ha [not to be confused with laughter] for week 5 of LJ Idol, Exhibit B. I hope you've enjoyed this brief glimpse into my life and will consider voting for me when the poll comes up later tonight.