Its almost Thanksgiving I am living the Dream..... So why am I having a Nightmare? Again & Again & Again

So I am married. 
Again. 
And then Again! . Finally Happy 
But let me explain........About that Nightmare

So lets back up a decade...or two.

Key the fancy swooshy,spacey sound effects here to indicate time travel taking place.


The first one was the guy I met right after high school and married at twenty one. 
We tired for kids until I found out he had been leaving his swimmers in someone else's pool. Yeech!

So we split up. It was pretty damn drama laden for a while. We all worked for the same company. 

If there had been reality TV back then, we could have had our own show on TLC or even Bravo. The company was that good.

Because I upped the ante by starting to date someone else on the same payroll. I thought I would find a good looking guy and have some fun. I had never been someone who "slept around", now was my chance. 

I was unencumbered and over twenty one. 

I picked my target. 

• He was cute. 
• He had sexy legs. 
• He showed up for work everyday. (Not sure why that was on my list, but it was)
• He had good hair.
• He was a single father.(That was the biological clock talking to me I later learned)

I found out he and my soon to be ex were quasi friends. But they were more quasi than friends since he had no problem asking me out when he realized I was interested nor did he have a problem making a pass. 

I fell in love with his five year old daughter. 
I became pregnant.
I never did get to "sleep around"

But not everyone was thrilled.

Even my own father said and I quote, "You don't have to get married just because your pregnant, you know that, right?"

In my pregnant brain bliss I answered,"Yeah, I know, but he wants to."

I cried through the wedding ceremony. Tears and sobs and snot and all so hard I could barely say my vows. 

I was six months pregnant and realized at just that moment what a mistake I was making. (Looking back I probably kept putting it off for a reason. Duh, hindsight!) 

Fast forward four years after the ceremony. The family includes his daughter and our two sons, 3.5 and 2.5 y/o

Key the fancy swooshy,spacey sound effects here to indicate time travel taking place.

I am in a bad marriage. He is working. So am I because I know that the time is coming that I will have to get out but there is still some hope that I can change him.

 (HAHAHA)

After all he is my children's father. We created life together. 

LIFE !!! DAMN IT!!!

Can you tell I was mad? 

Well, I was terrifically pissed off. 

But the holidays were approaching and I was determined to give our kids the best damn holidays ever, as long as it didn't kill me. 

So Thanksgiving dinner was great. I stuffed and baked and basted and then served and cleaned and we smiled for family mine and his alike. Everyone went home and we were finally able to relax.

Or so I thought. 
But as usual, I thought wrong. 

See apparently my mistake during the marriage was...thinking.

I believed I was allowed to, he disagreed.

After Thanksgiving dinner was the first time he ever put his hands on me in anger. 

Yes, there had been signs that his temper was getting worse. 
Yes, I had seen him hit walls.
Yes, there was a lot of yelling in our household. 
All from him. 

After I managed to remove myself and my kids from the situation and he calmed down, the apologies began. 

• He was sorry
• He would never do it again
• He loved me
• He loved our kids
• He would do what ever I wanted
• He was sorry
• He didn't know what made him act that way
• He loved me

A repeating mantra of words and sound that meant little to me.

I had not suffered any great damage. No black eyes, no broken bones. In the great scheme of abuse victims, I barely qualified. I had a couple of bruises. Some scrapes. The police were not called. I went home after a serious conversation. 

I reminded him of something that I'd said to him when we first started dating. I promised him two things.

1. I would never cheat on him.
2. I would never forgive him if he hurt me physically

He remembered. He did the whole apology thing again. I took the kids home. 

But I had only one plan in my mind. 

Give my children one final Christmas as a family and then get the hell out. 

It was the longest five weeks of my life.

I moved out on New Year's Eve Day. 
While he was at work.

My kids had a great Christmas, but they don't remember it at all. I stayed for the wrong reasons. 

I left for the right reasons.
I do not regret leaving. 
Trusting my instincts usually works for me. 
This time I was simply lucky that ignoring them did not cause more damage.

As this holiday season approaches, if you find yourself living in a nightmare and your instinct is telling you to get out but you don't want to ruin your kids Christmas, please think about how it might ruin all of their future holidays if you are killed or badly hurt. Do you want them to spend every year remembering the time Mom spent Thanksgiving in the ER getting stitches? Or the Christmas you accidentally fell down the stairs? That haunted look in their eyes, only you can fix it. Talk to your kids. They may know more than you think they do. And they may be willing to give up a lot for safety. The young ones won't remember or know what they are missing and the older ones may understand why. Give them a chance.  

But most important listen to what your own instinct is telling you. If you KNOW you need to get out, then do it. Take your kids and leave. 
Run now. 
Because no one can be as lucky as I was. My own luck changed very quickly once he realized I was serious about not reconciling.
Do not leave your kids with regrets saying "If only.." 

-1-800-799-7233 is the number to the National Domestic Violence Hotline. 
This is the website...
path-to-safety/

Or call someone local. Just call someone. Or contact me and I will reach out and find a local someone in your area if you cannot do a search on your computer. Just comment on the blog with the city you are in and I will comment back in the same way with info for a local hotline. 

 Oh..I never really did explain my nightmare did I? The reason for our huge fight that Thanksgiving night?

I thought he could have helped more so I wasn't stuck in the kitchen alone. He thought it was my job. I thought he was an idiot. 

Ding Ding...Ring the bell, because the fight was on. 

It was a stupid reason. They always are, but it happened. Get out while you can. 

Some things that should be Cold Are Warm and things that should be Warm are Cold!

TopsyTurvyTuesday

Hmmm...First we discover the 4 y/o turned OFF the extra refrigerator. Lost several pounds of chicken, a couple gallons of milk and lots of frozen veggies. Plus all the yogurt and extra dairy we just bought for the month. 

Then we finally decided it was chilly enough to turn on our heater. 

 Hot air is suppose to be coming out of the vents, right? 

I know back in April when we bought the place there was hot air shooting out at me when it was tested. But today, when it is actually just chilly enough for us to want it.... 

Nope. 

Not even a hint of that "Click" sound that heralds heat. I tried dialing up the numbers.

 No joy.

 No heat, either.

And Mr.Snarky is getting worried that Abe Vigoda is going to die because its too cold. So Abe Vigoda gets a light on his tank until we can get a tank heater. 

We make a call to the home repair people and had a fun little guy come out and try to figure out a way to get up on our roof. He was soon Spider-Man-ing his way up only to discover that the problem was internal. 

As in ...inside the house.

(The call is coming from inside the house! Get out now!) 

What we learned was that there is a small connector between the two wires that hook up the thermostat. One is for the air conditioner and one is for the heater. You have to have the connector to jump the wires. 

Or some other technical term Spidey used to describe what was wrong with our box. 

The thermostat box that Mr.Snarky had replaced a few months ago. 

He swears there was no little connector thingy. Or maybe he dropped it. He isn't sure. 

I am sure it cost us 75 bucks for the little connector thingy. Oh and a new thermostat box to replace the messed up one we had. 

Abe Vigoda is fine. 

Just in case you are wondering, Abe is Mr.Snarky's Beta fish. He is very attached to Abe. 

 

Do As I Say Not As I Do! Not In My Household!

Imitation is the greatest Form of Flattery 

Right?

That is what I was taught?

Then my mom told me 

Do as I say not as I do.

Then I had kids and figured out what she meant.

But I disagree.

It should be do as I do, because I do right but I am also a GROWN UP! So I do grown up things that you cannot indulge in yet. So get over it!

Momo +BlogHer gave me the inspiration for this blog over at twitter. She asked the question "Has any one ever given you a few cents in a check-out line, or let you go ahead of them?" 

I answered that I did those things and while my monsters were younger I made sure to do them because

 Lessons Are Learned Everywhere! 

This was something I tried to remember when I was with my kids. That they watched me and learned from everything I did. 

Did I sit a particular way on the couch while watching TV? 

"R2" copied the way I curled my legs under me.

 "Skode" turned his head a certain way when asked a question he wanted to avoid. 

But the one that really got me was when my two year old started repeating my then favorite expression of exasperation...Along with the perfect pitch and attitude she managed to duplicate my facial expression.

What did I say? It has been co-opted by the Internet and text messaging short hand so it has lost meaning but way back then, it was my go to shout whenever the monsters were driving me to distraction.

OH MY GOD!!!

The first time I heard her say it I was standing with a group of neighborhood parents while our children ran around playing in the street in front of our house. 

There she stood, wearing only a t-shirt and a pull-up,(we were potty training) and her older brother wouldn't let her ride on the bike with him. "R2" was eight and usually good with her but he wanted to go fast. She wanted him to play now. She walked up to me, said I want to ride. I said no, go play with your own stuff.

She bounced her head said OH MY GOD! and stalked off huffing and puffing.

The rest of the parents looked at me and pointed their fingers and covered their mouths to muffle the sound of laughter. Everyone recognized exactly where she had picked that up from. Not my best moment.

But I also taught that same kid and her brothers to feed those with less. To give to people in need. We donated every year. We worked with the disabled. They grew up with compassion, empathy and sympathy being part of their lives. I made sure they knew there was a difference. 

Making these things part of your kids lives doesn't require you to do anything spectacular.

• Be kind to strangers
• Stand up for the underdog
• Teach the Golden Rule

Do unto to others as you would have them Do to you! 

• Follow the Golden Rule 
• Be honest, even if its hard.
• Accept that sometimes your kid won't like the lesson
• Accept that sometimes YOU won't like having to teach it

My monsters learned early that they couldn't really BE monsters even if they were allowed to act that way at home. They were taught manners. 

1. Please
2. Thank you
3. Your welcome
4. Yes and No ma'am
5. May I..

They've helped the elderly with their groceries, people in wheelchairs reach things on the high shelves and they have even offered up their own pennies for someone short of cash while shopping. I am proud of the monsters I raised. They are generous and giving of themselves. 

They are also still trying to find themselves in today's world and they are making mistakes along the way. But they don't try to hurt people. They are growing into people that I hope will make me proud of them as parents. We shall soon see. 

Who Is This Snarky Person ?

In my head I am still fully capable of doing everything I was able to do three years ago, but then the reminders strike.

I forget the names of random items.
While talking I sometimes pause for my next thoughts to form.
It makes people think I have finished speaking and then I don't get to actually make my point.

Or even worse, I look less intelligent than I actually am.

But the worse part is that I am actually less intelligent than I was three years ago. 

I know that I am actually one of the very lucky few.

I survived with no lasting physical damage.

What is the loss of a few I.Q. points if I can still walk without assistance?

Yeah, right! Totally a fair trade.

So what happened to me you wonder? 

I am a stroke survivor.

I am a heart attack survivor.

One night.
Two possible life altering events.
Total fun time party for me. 

My emergency room doctor was extremely proud of himself for figuring out that at the age of forty seven I had just experienced a "Silent Heart Attack".

He actually said he was proud of himself.
Then he told us why.
My symptoms were unusual for a heart attack.
Even I knew what to look for in a normal heart attack.

My father had several before cancer stepped in and said this one is mine.
I even knew that women had different symptoms and made sure I was familiar with them.

Because, hey, if your dad is going to have a heart attack at age 48, being prepared is smart and I was smart.

But I had to have something special. 
It was sneaky. 
It was quiet. 
It was fucking Silent.

I was forty seven years old. 





A whole year younger than my dad.





But there were differences. I had no blockages, so no surgery. He had five blockages and had to have emergency surgery.

My heart attack was mild. His, not so much. 

The heart attack was easy peasy stuff for me. 
They ran a wire from my thigh up into my heart and then I had to lay flat on my back forever. 
Or for eight hours. 
Whichever came first. 
Lucky for me the eight hours sped by at the pace of a bad summer day waiting for dark so you can finally put your kids to bed again.  
Have you ever laid in one place without moving for eight hours? 
If you have, I feel ya! 
If you haven't, do not have a heart attack...they will make you do this. 
It is not pleasant. Especially in a hospital bed.

The real kicker of this adventure was that the one part of my body that I had always counted on to stand by me. 
To support me in everything I tried to do. 







To always have my metaphorical back, kicked my metaphorical ass. 
Big time. I never expected it and was so shocked that I refused to accept anything had changed.  
I was so wrong.

My brain basically sent me out a big old "fuck you" message and it was my own fault.

I had spent years struggling with high blood pressure. But I had managed to find a combination of medications that was working.
The best news was that I had finally quit smoking five months previously. 

But it was too little, too late.

My brain stroked in the area related to language, words and speech.
That was the best part of my brain. WTF?
My speech was slurred for months after. I didn't notice it right away. Everyone else did.
But no one said anything.  I notice it now when I am tired.
I continue to "reach" for words that I knew before that are lost to me now. I was fairly articulate before that stroke. I fake it pretty good now. 

Before the stroke I was an avid reader. I read ferociously. I do not know if I can describe how much I actually loved to read. Or how fast I could read and understand and comprehend.

Hmmm....I began and finished each of the Harry Potter novels on the day the were released. That is a lot of words. I actually purchased two of the last three novels so my son could have his own copy because I didn't want to share mine and he thought it was unfair he had to wait until the next day to start reading.

After the stroke, I was still able to read and understand. But nothing I read stayed with me. To read a new book in a series, I would have to read all the books that were released since the stroke to "catch up". I was current up to the stroke date, but after that..Poof!

I finally re-wired the reading about a year ago, but I am nowhere near as fast as before

But strangely I forgot information that I had been told in the months prior to the stroke. When I was "reminded" of things, apparently my reactions were identical to the way I reacted when first told.

I struggle everyday with the people who should understand me the best and they still don't get it. Because I am really good at faking it. Because I can make jokes about Stroke Brain and having brain damage. Because I let it slide when someone talks over me or assumes that the extra second it takes for me to gather my thoughts is their clue to walk away.

 Because no one really knows what its like inside my head, even the people I have tried to explain this shit to. Because how do you really explain how it feels to know that you use to be smarter than you are now, and while you know you are still smart, you also know just what you lost when your brain revolted against you.
How is it possible for another person to get that you aren't crying because you are sad, or your feelings are hurt, but because you are angry at a fate you can't change.
That you don't want people to feel sorry for you, that you aren't looking for sympathy or any sorry shit like that. 

I know that I am okay most days. I do just fine. But damn, there are some days that I want to scream and yell and ask just what the FUCK did I do to deserve having my brain semi-scrambled. 

But what I did was not pay enough attention to my high blood pressure when I was younger. My brain formed scar tissue. The scar tissue led to a stroke. End of the story. 

Oh...well not really. That scar tissue? The area I have it in? 

I also now have seizures. All the time. Absence seizures. From that area of the brain. FML! 

But that is another blog. This one has done wore me out.   

The Prodigal Returns and Leaves and Returns and Leaves and....What day is it again?

So this one will be ALL over the place. 

Because that is where I am lately. 

Where to start. Where to start.

Well, the pregnant daughter came home. 

Then she left again. Then she came home. Then she left. Then she was on her way home. 

And the cops stopped her and she had a ticket warrant.

 OOPS! 

Two nights and three days later, I picked her up and brought her home.

(Oh, did you think I might bail out my pregnant eighteen year old daughter from jail? Ahh, no! I want her to never want to go there again.)

Charges were dismissed, as we expected. 

The fly in my ointment of contentment here is the so-called "Baby Daddy"

Damn, I hate that term. Calling him her boyfriend just pisses me off, so for this he will simply be BD. It can have several meanings depending on his behavior. Big douche, bad dad, big dickhead. You get my drift. I am also taking suggestions on this, so...

But he is causing no end of troubles for me right now. I am not his biggest fan. Can you tell? 

He is a scrawny, nineteen year old homeless drug addict that refuses to go into rehab. 

He was not all of those things when he started dating my daughter two and a half years ago and I didn't really like him much then, but I tolerated him. I cannot say if he used drugs when they started dating but whether he did or didn't its too late now.

He helped introduce her to a life that I would never want for my child and while I hold her responsible for all the rotten choices she has made, I think I am allowed to be angry at him for the choices he enticed her into. I get the sex. I even can understand trying the drugs. 

But he talked her into leaving home to be with him before she was of legal age. To live on the street. Not because she was thrown out like some parents do to their troubled kids. No, he convinced her to go play house with him. We had the police bring her home several times. But she was eventually weeks away from her birthday and there was not a lot they could do. 

She pretended to come home right before her birthday. I know it was for whatever presents they thought we would give her. She was certainly in for a surprise. 

Every gift we gave her was something that would help support her if she choose to leave our home and live on the street. 

• A solar cell phone charger
• A strong water bottle that also filtered the water.
• A sturdy backpack with lots of pockets
• A thin yet light blanket (It was summer)
• Sunscreen,deodorant and personal items in small bottles

If my kid was going to be homeless, I wanted her to have some things that assisted her. I kept the tracker going on her cell phone. I knew what park she was sleeping in based on the tower she pinged off of nightly. If she didn't have a solar charger, she wouldn't be able to charge her phone on a regular basis. The water bottle was a necessity living where we do. Staying hydrated and making sure the water was clean was a priority. The backpack allowed her to carry her belongings tightly packed, yet easy to get to and the other items are easily explained. 

She was slightly disappointed since she wanted new clothes and gift cards. 

I called B.S. on that idea. I was no longer required to clothe her if she choose not to live in my home or follow my rules. When she thought about the gifts and used them, she saw the foresight we put into them. She realized that while we HATED the choice she was making, we were trying to respect her right as a newly legal adult to make it. 

(Yeah, that sounds like a load of crap and I agree, but at the time I was doing everything in my power to maintain any relationship with her and I did want her to stay in touch. I also did not want to give her anything that would support the BD anymore than necessary.)

So she would come home periodically. The BD said that whenever it was too "hard" for her "out there" she would run home to mommy and daddy. I told her he was just jealous that she was still allowed to come home and that if he would do what his parents asked he could go home also. They wanted him in rehab. He refused. They wanted some proof that he was willing to change his ways. He wouldn't. His loss.

He slowly tried to break her down, belittle her and made her feel like less than she was. But I raised a fighter. She may had made some screwed up crazy choices that I hated with a passion, but she was not going to go down without a fight. She pushed back at him every time he tried to take away what I had spent her childhood building up. Eventually she stood up and told him what she thought of him.

Most small men, both in mind and stature, do not like it when women stand up to them. 

(Hence the reason we do not get along at all. I do not suffer fools and he is clearly one. )

So as it stands now. She is home. He is still living the homeless life on purpose. Still refusing to go into rehab despite being told that until he does, she does not want to see him. I don't know if she will hold to that dictate. But she said it. Its a start. 

She is starting to act like a future mother. Realizing that her choices affect others and that she has to be responsible now for someone else. 

My baby may be growing up after all. 

SnarkyMomma out!