Tag Archives: family

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It’s a Roller Coaster

And it’s just as fun, at least just to me as someone who hates roller coasters. I don’t think I was fully ready for this process. When I normally shop for something, I make a quick work of everything. I know what I want when I walk into a store, I know how much I want to pay for it and move on very quickly to the next place to find it. I’m very decisive and come to answers pretty quickly. I was warned that home shopping was going to be the most stressful thing in your adult life. I’m a mother of 2 boys and if that doesn’t break me, nothing can. I thought so anyways. It’s only stressful if your spouse and you are on different pages. Right?

Wrong. So so very wrong. And I’m fairly certain that this process is going to break me, and that break might just come very soon. It’s not my house shopping partner that has made this process as emotionally strenuous as it has been. It has been the houses and the process that has failed me. The house that needed the renovation needed a special rehab loan that would take forever to get. Plus, the elementary school was one of the worst in the city. We quickly moved on and raised our price point.

This lead us to this house that had pictures that made it look gorgeous. When we went to it, the area was easily ignored when I walked around the inside. I was ready to put an offer on it right away. Then we saw the basement and this feeling vanished. Suddenly, with this spot of broken open foundation where dirt was pulled open this curtain. What happens if it rains, and mud oozes through this hole. And why is the washer/dryer hook ups in the one spot there is no lighting in the far end of the basement? Then we saw money that needed to fix these stairs to make it safe for our family and guests. I wasn’t sad because my husband was worried about these things and I disagreed, I was sad because I’m slowly realizing that my deadline of having at least a new address by September might not happen. Hell, I’m starting to think living in the city we want to isn’t going to happen.

I keep trying to be hopeful, but I think I’m just going to try to convince myself that everything will work out and every day is a new day. Maybe we’ll see this new house today that might be it. I won’t keep looking at the pictures and dreaming anymore. I’ll look once and see if it has potential and forget about it until we get a showing. I’ve been turned from a doe-eyed house hunter to a hardened soul that just wants a place to lay down the roots of my growing family, where they can have a place of our own to run and scream and play. One year ago, I didn’t even consider that this would ever even be a possibility and yet here we are. Maybe I can look at that for hope of success. Until then, I’m  just going to have to go with the flow of things.

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Finding “The One”

My husband and I luckily agree on most things. Our criteria for our dream house was this: a nice yard for the kids to play in; a large kitchen; and decent sized rooms. We were realistic though; we knew at our price range that this would be close to impossible to get everything in our first home and agreed that the concession was giving up a large kitchen for a nice yard. The yard would be for the kids and that was the most important thing.

Saturday was a disaster of a day. It should be illegal how awful our first day of house hunting went. The first one was incredibly tiny, so tiny that my 6 ft tall husband had to crouch while walking around. The second house was even worse, causing me to doubt how well this process would even go. Defeated, we went back to the realtor’s office to plan our next day. We chose 3 houses. One house was a 2 story house that was very dark on a main street.  The second house was huge on an even  busier street. The last house was a house that needed unfinished projects finished, only had a picture of the front of the house, and well under our budget.  We later received a call informing us we would see the fixer upper first and the dingy 2 story second. Our other choice had just received an offer, so that one was gone.

I was scared going into this unknown house. I didn’t know what we were going to walk into. We didn’t know if it was a spray painted drug den. What does “having many projects” even mean? We braced ourselves and entered, I soon saw my jaw drop: I loved it. I didn’t see that part in the kitchen that needed new sheet rock. I saw the newly done cabinets and dining room. I saw the amazing antiquated wood work and stairs. I saw how every room was large. I saw a room with French doors that would be an amazing office. I saw all the work that needed to be done and realized this place would be gorgeous when it was. I realized that even with the work, this house would still be under budget. Then I saw the yard and I said “this is it”. The second house never even stood a chance.

This sets us up for a dilemma, however.   Now we need to get a rehab loan rather than a mortgage. Luckily today we have an appointment with a loan specialist, who hopefully can help us out. If that works out, we have to hope the other people who saw the house didn’t want it and draw up a “good faith” contact. Then we’ll get it inspected and hope that nothing is structurally wrong. Then we have to meet with contractors to get a quote one what needs to be done to move in. This will be a nerve wrecking week. I really hope this works out. I really do. I hope so, I think we’re due some good luck. If this does become a reality, I am toying around the idea of vlogging this process of turning this house into our home.

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Just Dive In

I’ve always said that “some times you have to just dive right in and hope you don’t drown”. That’s my way of saying that you just have to try and see what happens. This is the perfect way to assess my current life situation. It’s hard to assess things when life happens so quickly. But that’s how it goes. You can either be a spectator to your own life, or make the changes to grow and live it for yourself. I choose to run my own show.

This blog will take a bit of a different turn in the upcoming weeks. Sometimes I might discuss current events or politics, but the focus will shift as I embark on a new stage of my adult life: homeownership. We recently received preapproval, and this weekend will start the hunt for our new home. I’ll focus on the trials and tribulations of the process. I’m going in expecting heartache and stress. I already fell victim to 2 anxiety attacks and it’s only been a week.
I’d like to share this journey with my readers to help them through their experience, as well as the stress of moving and converting the “house” into a “home”. It’s an exciting and nerve testing time for my family and I can’t wait until it begins.

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An Unspoken National Issue

I considered originally writing about my thoughts on the State of the Union address last night, but I opted against it for two reasons: 1) nothing extraordinary was said but the same promises (empty) and rhetoric I mistrusted; and 2) I was inspired by reading recaps of television shows last and realized there was a far more important issue to be discussed. There is an epidemic we need to stop and put and end to it. We need to raise awareness and create a support system for the tragic victims of this epidemic, not just one of non-judgement but one of making the victim aware of the epidemic they are a part of. What is this epidemic? It’s domestic violence.

This post will have a lot of statistics and a lot of my (probably controversial and offensive) opinions. If that isn’t okay with you, you can stop reading any time. But I did warn you. These statistics come from safehaven.org.

I’ll start with what, to me anyways, is the most disturbing of the statistics. This is about the children in these situations. 3 million children every year witness abuse in their homes. Children who live in these homes are 30-50% more likely to suffer neglect and abuse. Studies have proven that boys who grow up in abusive households are more likely to abuse their own partners. We knew this. There was a viral video that demonstrated that children mimic what their parents do. I cringed at the part of the video when the child hit his mother alongside his father. What’s more alarming than that? Girls who are brought up in this same environment are much more likely to allow themselves to be abused. My thoughts? If you want to be smacked around by your partner, you’re an adult. The minute you let yourself stay in a situation like that with children makes you, in my opinion, just as guilty as the abuser. It’s selfish. You need to think about your children, because it’s not just about your safety or even their safety at the current time. You, and you alone, are responsible for allowing this cycle to continue. You are raising future abusers and victims.

One in 4 women experience abuse in their lifetimes. Most abuse isn’t even reported. I’m interested to find a statistic of how many that are reported that are not tried because a woman thinks that after the 15th time, he loves her and still won’t do it again. Then I would love to see that statistic against this one: 1 in 3 women are killed every year by their current or past abuser. That is a scary thought. These women are victims of these men and their own low self-esteem and lack of self-respect. They are easy prey for the hunters, and get fed lines of manipulation and false promises and derogatory speech to keep them at bay. They mistake punches for kisses.

Don’t allow yourself to be conflicted. Families who watch a family member go through this can only do so much when it falls on deaf ears. I’m conflicted how I feel about this. Part of me understands there is a lot of fear and anxiety in uprooting your family and seeking help for this. You feel ashamed you allowed this to happen and worried about people judging you. To be bluntly honest, they’ll judge you more for staying and allowing harm to come to your children. This is what makes me the angriest. If a woman wants to stay in that type of situation, then only you can make that (very stupid) decision. I’m not going to lie, I think it is disgusting to raise the children in that environment. The boys might think that all women are weak. Even worse, the girls will think that this is acceptable and when the moms will try to talk their daughters out of it, they will say “but it was okay for you mom. Isn’t it normal?” I hope their consciences are at peace with this because they did that. I know it seems harsh and insensitive, but adult decisions affect the decisions children make as they grow up. Get help. There are dozens of services that can help or find help. If you don’t have the strength or self-respect to do it for yourself, do it for your children. Even if you don’t think you deserve better, they do.

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To The Most Important People in America

Normally, I don’t note holidays. Christmas is bleh. Thanksgiving was really a day we just gave small pox to Native Americans and plotted that we’d force some to live on reservations and feed the others a ton of cash by giving them casinos. Though, considering my oldest son’s birth, Thanksgiving is actually a dear holiday to me. (Also a note: this Thanksgiving is the first one where my son’s birthday actually falls on Thanksgiving since his birth.) However, every year there are two holidays I will always mention: Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day.

I come from a family of Veterans. Generations of my own family has served in various branches of the military, including my dear big brother, and my grandfather that is the namesake for my youngest son. My “married” family, brings me a father-in-law who has served, and a cousin who has made his family proud by graduating into the Marines. The people in the military hold a soft spot in my otherwise cold and sarcastic heart, as I know personally how it feels missing a family member who is abroad or somewhere else in the country. I’ve watched people who have known family members who gave their lives to protect us, and their sadness is beyond words.

These men and women are selfless and brave. They go into bad situations, knowing that they might not come home. And they go into it anyways, because it’s for the greater good. We should aspire to be as good as they are, because they are amazing. They are the heart of America. They are the reason we have what we have today. They fight evils so we don’t have to witness them for ourselves. They face things we couldn’t imagine seeing, so we don’t have to. They come home to families that wait for them with broken hearts hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Sometimes, they leave a piece of them in war. Sometimes they lose something of theirs, whether it’s their sanity or a body part. They go full force anyways, because that’s what they signed up for so we don’t have to. They deserve more than one day for what they do. Their families deserve more than a day for the sacrifices they also make. Our soldiers are the most important people in America because they make it safe for Americans.

They deserve more than that. They deserve everything we can give them, because they give us everything they have. They give up their families, they miss their children. Some miss the births of their babies, some miss graduations and school plays and big championship games their children play in. They give it all up because they feel there’s a bigger plan for them, and that is being America’s protectors. So I, for one, am eternally grateful to all those who has served in the past and currently serve now. You risk your lives for us and don’t expect anything in return. So thank you all.

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At A Loss

I’ve dedicated this post to current events, but I’m at a loss here. I have 2 different commentaries on this topic, but neither felt right to write about today. One is a topic about racial profiling, and I felt strongly about it but this isn’t the right platform or time to discuss that. Maybe Friday, maybe next week. Maybe a year from now. The other is just a blanketed commentary about terrorism on our home ground, which to me felt wrong because it is so soon and I never ever wanted to exploit a tragedy for my own purposes. Exploit might be a bad word, I have no ill will in posting about the tragedy but it feels wrong to write about something like this for your own personal profit. I struggled with this idea all day, but when it comes down to it I felt I needed to say something and will say it.

I remember watching 9/11, which obviously is no comparison to the true horror that event caused in our nation as nearly 3,000 people died. But I remember watching it, terrified about what happened. That was a war happening in our country, a place where we’ve always felt safe from outside horrors. It was a wake up call that the war can happen in our land, and that was unacceptable to us. We were shocked, our disbelief ruled us for several days even weeks after the event. I felt terror, I felt empathy for the victims, you’d be un-American if you didn’t. We were spectators to this.

Monday, we had news alerts on our phones telling us that there were bombs exploding in Boston after the marathon. My heart sank so low, I wondered where it went. I saw the hotel, a hotel I’ve stayed at and loved on the news. I remembered walking down that street to my first ever geek convention. I remember that Dunkin’ Donuts we got our morning breakfast at, and the chocolate store I drooled at as we passed by it. I remember hanging out in Copley Square. This was different from 9/11 to me, because I had an emotional connection and memory at the places I was watching on the television. This wasn’t just “our” backyard, this was “my” backyard.

Then my mind went to an even more horrifying place. My husband was working out East someplace, I couldn’t think of where. Was he in Boston? No, he said he wasn’t. I remembered a few weeks prior calling him, asking him if he wanted tickets to the Patriots Day game for the Red Sox, because we might have gotten our hands on them for him and our oldest son. No, he had to work and the people gave the tickets to someone else anyways. I sat biting my nails, my family on my father’s side lived there, my cousin on my mother’s side attends school there. I saw on Facebook that I knew people at the marathon there. A child died, a child not much younger than my own. It was horrific and disgusting and a dozen other words that I probably can’t write here.

We like to think of ourselves as safe; we’re really not. The catch is what we do with that knowledge: do we cower and hide or do we continue living our lives? The answer is we live. They say it all the time, and it’s true: the terrorists win if they cause us to fear every day. We learn from this, that we’re resilient and unafraid. We saw people more concerned about helping others than hiding in case something happened to them. We learned that American’s can’t be knocked down, and if we get knocked down, we stand right up and do what needs to be done. The terrorists won’t win because we’re not quitters, we’re not afraid, and we won’t let them control our lives.

Also related: My discussion about this topic and parenting. http://t.co/rSu4nUHYq4

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Suite 220

I get the phone call for the appointment for tomorrow, reminding me the baby has an appointment with the surgeon. This pain in the muscles around my neck seems to have tightened more. I didn’t think it was possible, but still 2 weeks later it’s now worse. Teething and lack of sleep started it, the looming surgery hanging over my head probably helped keep this pain. I know logically, this isn’t anything serious. I know that I can choose not to, but I’m not willing to say no because the downside is much worse than the surgery itself. I keep telling myself that anyways.

I’m not normally a” worry-er”, I usually leave that to my husband since he’s much better at it than I am. I over-think situations but I rarely actually worry. I go in with the worst case scenario in mind, always. Because I know that if I’m prepared for the worst, I’ll have accepted it as a possibility. Ignoring the worst blindsides you, and I hate being blindsided. I like to know exactly every scenario that would possibly happen so I can have a proper and calm reaction no matter what. It works, but usually the middle of the road or best scenario happens and that makes it a little easier.

Still, I keep researching every chance I get. I know my options. (Really, the only options are do the surgery or be responsible for my son feeling awkward or embarrassed the rest of his life.) I still don’t know if I can see him off into the OR, with all those wires and tubing attached to him while he cries because he’s terrified. I’m a strong person, but I’m not entirely sure I’m that strong. We’ll see; I tend to excel when tossed into a situation and end up being a fierce version of myself. That’s what I’m counting on anyways, because I need to be for my family and mostly for my baby.

No sense overreacting about it now. Tomorrow we’ll probably get a surgery date that I’ll circle on my calendar and look at every day obsessively. I’ll try to forget, but I won’t be able to not look and remind myself. I know I need to mentally prepare and I know I’m good at that. I’m good at shutting down to prevent any sort of negative emotion and it keeps me unhealthily strong and sane. I’ll pretend the pain in my neck and head are just a result of working out too much, though I’ve been too tired for exercise. Most importantly, I’ll remember to hug my boys a little bit tighter every day because you never really know what can happen because anything can.

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The Easter Bunny Never Forgets

In all my parenting emails and reading parenting magazines, I saw several articles about making the holiday fun and exciting for your kids. I saw a few stress-free party ideas. I never once saw an article about “Survival Guide to In-Laws and Other Awkward Situations”. Luckily, all my In-Laws are nice people. It’s really not their fault I’m an anti-social shut in that doesn’t know how to associate with other people. It’s actually a miracle my husband puts up with me, because sometimes I lack any sense of what’s appropriate and not. So far, I don’t think I’ve offended them so let’s hope I keep up the streak.

For instance, I was more excited that I dared to try on a “pre-pregnancy” shirt to see if it fit so I didn’t have to wear my husband’s shirts like I do around the house. A miracle, it fit! I tried on another, with similar luck. I tried on the jeans, and that wasn’t even close. I say it all the time, but “little victories”. Sad to say, I was actually more excited about this than the holiday. I should be ashamed that I said that, but I’m honestly not. I feel very awesome at this time.

The truth is, your mother and mother in law will never let you forget that you gained weight. They don’t do it purposely, and I doubt it’s really malicious. I think it’s just nature to note things of that nature, and they decide that you deserve to know whether you want the reminder or not. So when one mentions that you’ve lost a lot of weight, you get giddy like a schoolgirl and get excited. In my head, I squealed with delight. I’m not entirely sure whether it was just in my head. I really don’t care though, I just want to fit in my clothes again and feel like a human. Or I’ll settle for “just like a me”.

No matter how long you’ve known your in-laws or have been married into the family, I still feel like there’s a need to make sure they don’t hate you. They don’t need to like you just because you’re part of the family. They can sense insincerity and will definitely prey an any weakness that might make them consider you as unworthy of their child’s affections. So the big tip is to be yourself, but a more tamed and better version of yourself. Bite your tongue more often than you normally would and smile and nod when you need to. If you keep those in mind, you’ll be fine and you’ll have a happy life with your spouse. Mostly because every holiday won’t be a fight because you’ll actually enjoy spending time with them.

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Nurture, Nature, and… Harvard?

Today I start with bragging rights of “I had Harvard on my brackets”. This probably isn’t noteworthy, but I’ll brag anyways because this is my first time engaging in the March Madness Hoopla. I’m only doing it for the prizes and money, I haven’t watched a game yet and I don’t intend to start. Basketball bores the heck out of me, but winning stuff doesn’t.

Also I would like to take a minute to note the passing of Chinua Achebe. I read Things Fall Apart in college in a class about Colonialism and Literature. The class was as interesting as I’d hope, and this was one of the many fantastic novels we had to read as a part of it. I also acknowledge that if it weren’t for that class, I never would have bothered to read this and I hope if you haven’t read it, you will.

Now to business.

I sometimes wonder if children become experiments after you have your first one. You do some tweak of something you may have done the first time to see what happens with the next one. I formula fed one, fed pumped milk to the other. I did everything right during one pregnancy and pretty much everything wrong the other. One I worked several hours and the other I stayed at home. I learned something valuable from this experiment: there’s no difference in either child. Except for size, but my husband is a foot taller than my ex, so that’s more genetics than anything.

This makes me wonder if it isn’t the differences that matter, but the key elements that were the same. I raised them in as calm and loving as an environment as I was capable. I made sure that no matter what, I tucked them even if they were sleeping already. I set boundaries, I punished when those boundaries were crossed. I’m not afraid to say no, and I don’t feel guilty for it. I expect them to do their best at everything they do, and give them the opportunities and time to try to excel. How do you do this with a baby? I let him roam the floor while I stay close enough to make sure he stays safe, but allow the freedom to go where he wants safely. (Obviously, stairs are gated off and cabinets locked.) I do let him fall if it’s safe enough, catching him with pillows or my arms. I never yell, and make sure no one else does as well. I always praise my children, and tell them how to improve to do better.

This is comforting. It shows to me that it doesn’t matter if you nurse, pump, or give formula. Aside from the baby who had breastmilk was sick less often and less severe than the other, there is really no difference between the two. They are both well-mannered, happy and healthy. That’s all that matters. This means no one should feel pressures to do anything but their best, because nothing else matters.

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How We Celebrated St. Patrick’s Day

My Monday’s post didn’t get lost in a hangover fueled by the excuse everyone uses to be Irish and get drunk at a parade. We didn’t attend a parade, nor can I even drink to try. Instead, half of our family spend it eating that disgusting slop known as “boiled dinner”, while my husband feasted on NyQuil, my oldest son sneezing all over the baby, and the baby being funneled full of Tylenol and juice. I had pizza and Chinese food, that’s how I celebrated. Hooray for colds, not that we would’ve taken the baby to a parade in a part of a city I don’t want to be in anyways in the middle of a freezing day. Everyone’s illness by Monday was no better, so the post really got lost in a baby who was too busy coughing, sneezing, running a fever, and not wanting to leave Mommy.

I did get to celebrate Monday with the second true Irish art: our tempers. Easily flared, easily passed. At least, I thought they normally pass quick. This apparently doesn’t apply when your child is nearly harmed. In picking up my older son at his CCD classes, he was nearly hit by a car parked inside the area where the CCD kids are dismissed. He didn’t pay attention, and sped off in his fancy car picking up his children from the school’s after school program, nearly running down my son. If it weren’t for me screaming “Dyl, stop!!”, this post would be an entirely different and much angrier post. The guy didn’t stop when he saw me running and screaming, he floored it and left. The gate on that side is normally shut to prevent these measures, but not today.

This wouldn’t have been a big issue if the guy would’ve driven a little slower, if he had paid a little attention, or even if he cared enough to be a decent human being after the incident to stop and apologize for being (pardon my french) a giant asshole. After the fact I realized I should have taken a picture of the car and license plate, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I was so shaky with rage and terror the picture probably wouldn’t have come out well. Then I comfort myself by saying, “what would I do with a picture? Being a douche isn’t a crime”. Two bad words, my apologies. See, apologizing isn’t hard fancy rich man who thinks he’s better than me.

I did the responsible and mature thing and emailed the head of the CCD program the next day, when I was calm enough to be an adult and not revert to my “give ’em hell” temper. As of yet, nothing. I don’t know if I really care if she apologizes or not, though one would be fantastic. I am sure that I want to make sure that this incident doesn’t happen to another child at this school. I’m also sure if she pins any blame on me or my son, I’ll make noise. Because my child’s safety is her concern until I get him into the car to go home with me.

When it comes to our children, we turn into completely different people. We because vicious and protective, daring anyone to “try me”. They say “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. I don’t believe that’s the case. There is no rage like one a parent can easily fly into when their child is in danger. We’re tirelessly protective and eager to keep them safe at any cost. When I heard someone tried to bully my older son (tried, my son smart talked his way out of it and it never happened again), I won’t lie and say I didn’t want to hunt the kid down myself and show him what a real bully is. If someone tried to kidnap him or harm him seriously in any way, I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t try to severely injure that person. There’s something primal that eats away at our civility when it comes to protecting our children. That’s the way we should feel though, it’s normal to want to protect your child from everything you can and give them the best you can.