When I was a kid, I was shy. I was scared of everything and usually everyone. I was always afraid people wouldn’t like me, or would hurt me in one way or another. I’m sure there is some deep, psychological issue there, but I think it is just me. I had good parents that loved me and only wanted my happiness. If we struggled, I never knew it. I had friends, pets, toys and all that stuff. I was just scared.

As I grew older and experienced life more, I realized I didn’t like being afraid. I didn’t like being pushed around. It stirred in me a new, very unfamiliar feeling: strength. I have worked very hard at being strong. I wanted to be the kind of person you didn’t mess with. Don’t get me wrong, I can be the most compassionate person in the world and I have a heart so big it is a burden at times. I just didn’t want anyone to ever take advantage of me or the ones I love.

Now I realize, no matter how strong you are or try to be, sometimes it’s just not enough. They say you always hurt the ones you love, and sadly, I think this is very true. It’s messed up, but true. Why do we do this? Why do we take out our hurt, frustrations, pain, anger, and any other toxic emotion we want to unload on those we care about?

I think the answer is very simple: it is easy. They are there, they will listen to us, they will stand by us at our lowest moments, they will take it. I think deep down inside we realize that no matter how nasty or mean we are that for the most part our loved ones will forgive and forget. Here’s my problem: should you just forgive and forget if you think this person will never change or doesn’t really feel sorry for what they did?

I think this person is sorry for the fact that it happened, but what if they don’t really care that you are hurting or feel justified in doing this because it was for a good cause? I know I’m being terribly vague but I really don’t want to air my dirty laundry to the world. I could use some  advice.  I’m tired of  being an emotional wreck over this person but I don’t know that there is much I can do about it.

Sorry for being so down today, I’m just tired and confused. Any advice or even something humorous would be appreciated!

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Well my wonderful, intelligent, beautiful readers, I made it through. I survived having my 4 wisdom teeth removed. I know, I know, it’s amazing. All the pain and struggles I have overcome are truly inspiring. You know, the sad thing about reading these posts is, it is hard to smell the sarcasm. (All except the glowing praise of the readers, which I honestly mean) Anyways, I thought I’d fill you in on my recovery. My husband offered to take pictures and document the entire thing but I turned him down.

I guess I’ll start with Thursday- the day before the surgery. I went to the store and stocked up on every food, drink and consumable known to man. I spent Thursday afternoon cooking up a storm. By the time I had finished there was pot-roast, mashed potatoes, beans, spaghetti pie, chicken noodle soup, tuna salad, and various other creations stocking the fridge. The house was spotless and the laundry all folded and put away. I sat out diapers and wipes so there would be no difficulty finding them. I had everything in its place and ready to go. The plan was to make Friday as stress-free as possible. Not a chance.

My Mom was coming over to stay with the kids. I told her to be here no later than 9:30 a.m. I had everyone dressed, fed, clean and waiting. 9:25 rolls around, no Mom. I call her cell and she informs me she’s a good 20 minutes away. I start to panic: how are we going to make it on time? My husband says if she is not at our house in 15 minutes, we take the kids with us. I’m having a mental picture of my kids running wild in a dentist’s office for an hour while my husband snores peacefully in a chair. I seriously consider canceling the appointment, but she shows up at the last possible minute and we hightail it to the office.

I’m stressed and nervous while I wait to be called back. My husband is looking over the pamphlet on extractions and explaining what they will be doing. I want to barf. Finally, they call me back. They gave me “the gas” to calm me down and I’m lying there wondering, “Why don’t I have this stuff at home?” I’m all relaxed and happy when the doctor comes in to start my IV. He tries one hand, unsuccessfully. I don’t seem to mind. He puts it in the other hand and all is right with the world. He talks to me several times, just asking if I’m ok. I respond with a smile and a thumbs up. That laughing gas is great stuff.

The next thing I remember is the nurse helping me out of the chair and leading me to the recovery room. I’m so tired/drugged that all I want to do is sleep. They bring my husband back, go over the important stuff and walk me to the car. He brings me home, puts me in the bed and I’m out for the count. He comes in every so often to change the gauze, (which is going above and beyond if you ask me) and make sure I’m ok. I slept most of the day and wake up late Friday night to try and drink some water.

I’m sure this was a sight to be seen. Realize, they also gave me Novocaine injections while was out, so my tongue and jaw are still completely numb. I’m trying to swallow water, but all it does is run right back out of my mouth. When I see that it is red-tinted, I start to whine. My husband has to put chap-stick on me because my lips are completely dried out. I am a mess and he keeps telling me I have “corpse teeth” because I was so dried out, my teeth looked grey. I finally down some water and a yogurt and pass back out for the night.

Saturday I felt pretty good. I took the medication they gave me, then we went to the grocery store. I grabbed a few “soft” things that looked appetizing and went home to relax. The swelling started on Sunday and today I feel ok, but bare a striking resemblance to a pumpkin.

All in all, it wasn’t too bad. My husband did a great job keeping the house clean and making sure the kids didn’t go too crazy. I’ll be fine once the puffiness goes away and I never have to worry about my wisdom teeth hurting me again! I guess the old saying is true: What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. I’d like to add to that: it also makes you puffy, whiny, sore and irritable, but hey, I survived.

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The kids and I went to a local nursing home today. We sat down with a few of the residents and colored pictures, chatted and introduced ourselves. My son, Matthew, who tends to be extremely shy, read a book aloud to the group. Sarah hugged, talked and entertained, Olivia danced and told everyone about her worm, “Henry” she found in the garden and Deacon, well, he was just Deacon. All the ladies wanted to hold him and pinch his fat cheeks but he’d have none of that. He was friendly and made them pictures, he laughed, smiled, and flirted with the women. All in all, I think it was a good experience and I plan to go back as soon as possible. My only problem was how depressed I felt on the way home.

The kids and I were talking about how very sad it was to see all these people who lived such long, full lives just sitting in a dingy, joyless building with no one that loves them. One lady was with us in the dining room while we were coloring. She had to be in her 80’s or older. She was wearing old, worn clothes and covered with a handmade afghan. Every once in a while she would yell out, but we couldn’t understand what she was saying and I don’t know that it was for anyone in particular. Deacon would smile at her and watch her. I just wanted to hug her. No one was paying her any attention and she just sat, with her head down, in the corner. I was just thinking, “What was this woman like before this? Did she have a family? What did she love doing?” No one bothers to ask.

One of the ladies kept asking the nurses to take off her ankle band (that sounds an alarm should she open a door) because she needed to go home. Her only reply from the nurses was: “You are home.” I know it is their job to be blunt and at times, aggressive, about things. I know that caring for the elderly is difficult and frustrating, but these are human beings! These people fought for our country, educated our parents and their kids, made this place what it is today. I realize not everyone has the luxury of staying home or being able to help care for their relatives but how can you, in good conscience, leave them to die in a place like that?

I hope my kids learn many things from our trip today. First, respect for our seniors. Second, how good it is to give of yourself. Third, that only a few minutes of your time can brighten someone’s day. Finally, God gave us family for a reason. You don’t choose them, but He puts people in our lives for a reason. Maybe you learn from them, good or bad, maybe you love them or teach them to love, maybe they help you when you need it most. Whatever the reason, I think God wants us to pick people up in their time of need. He doesn’t want His people just forgotten and lonely. I want my kids to have a servant’s heart: one that yearns to help and to love. I loved every minute of my time at the nursing home today, and even if I cry my eyes out every time I go there, it won’t stop me. I want to go as often as possible and to make these folks lives a little brighter.

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I went for my dental consultation today. Now the big decision is whether to have my teeth pulled this Friday or next. I want to get it over with but 2 days seems awfully quick! Anyways, while I was waiting for the dentist, I overheard a conversation between a mother and daughter.

First off, these two where somewhat trashy lower-class. I’m not being stuck up, I don’t claim to have lots of money or class, but there is a big difference between being purely and blissfully ignorant and having the brains to aspire for more. These two ladies (and I use that term loosely) were the first. They were poorly dressed and unkempt. It wasn’t their appearance that bothered me so much, I mean, how you choose to present yourself is your business, it was the conversation.

At first I thought the Mother was the one picking a wedding date. Later I realized it was the daughter. The 17 year old, still in high school daughter. She was pondering when she should have her wedding. She couldn’t do it on her friends birthday, because that was disrespectful. Winter was too cold and summer too hot. (superior intellect at work) May would surely interfere with prom, but if she waited until August (her birthday) she could marry without her Mother’s signature of permission. So many choices to make: her friend could make a white wrap for her dress if it was a winter affair, but how could they have it outside in January? If they wait till August, they would sweat. Oh, the horrors.

I was somewhat unsettled by this: here is a young, uneducated, foolish girl worrying about her wedding. I’m all for marriage and family but not until both parties are mature enough to handle the responsibility. The next twist in the story had me floored.

A little girl was playing in the waiting room. The young lady (from our previous conversation) says, “She has cute cheeks. How old is she?” The mother of this toddler says around 20 months old. Young lady says, “My little girl is 18 months but she ain’t nearly as big”. That’s right, she has a baby. I can only assume she is marrying the baby’s father but you and I both know what happens when we assume? (Answer: you make an “ass” out of U and me) This girl that should be worrying about her education and future has a baby and upcoming nuptials on the brain.

Again, I don’t know this girl. It is her life, and obviously her Mother approves. If these are the choices she makes, then they are hers and hers alone. I just can’t believe a Mother would encourage this. I want my girls to be well-behaved, intelligent, sophisticated young ladies. I want them to learn, mature and fall in love. One day I want them to get married and have a family, but not before they are ready. I wanted to say to this girl, “Honey, stop worrying about boys, because at 18 that is exactly what they are, and worry about a future for you and your daughter! Get and education, a job, and be sure of yourself first!”

Am I way off base? I didn’t say anything to this girl, and had no intention of being rude, but shouldn’t someone shake some sense into her? She’s just a kid!

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Last night my husband and I were watching an episode of “Friends.” It was the one where Rachel gives birth to Emma. She was in labor for 21 hours and when she finally delivers her, Emma was breach. Obviously, not one of these writers is a woman that has been through childbirth. Here are a few of their errors:

1. Making jokes and laughing during hard labor: Having suffered through painful contractions for hours on end, Rachel is joking, calm, and silly. Now, unless she had massive amount of drugs, the last thing you would be doing at this point is giggling. Most likely you would be trying to claw your husbands eyes out for saying something like “Hang in there honey, you’re doing a great job!” or trying to wrap the fetal monitor cord around the nurse with the enormous “man hands” that has to check and see if you’re dilated enough. Trust me, I had a baby the “natural” way, it isn’t fun.

2. Sharing a room with another expectant Mom: I’ve been in a few hospitals. Ours here in SC is a beautiful, well staffed, friendly atmosphere. You have a private room, decorated to feel like home, where you stay for the duration of your labor and delivery. The hospital in KY where Deacon was born was not as nice. They had a delivery room and a hospital room: neither of which were very comforting. Not to mention, they decided they didn’t like his temperature and kept him away from me for hours in a nursery. I could have told them he was cold! It was freezing in our room and he had not eaten yet! Anyways, I don’t know what archaic medical center Rachael went to but if I had been asked to share a room with another woman, someone would have died. Let’s just say, you are not at your prettiest or most composed during labor and the last thing you want is someone who feels equally terrible watching. Not a chance.

3. Babies are clean, pretty and completely “filled out” as soon as they are born: This is common in movies and TV shows alike. Every baby they show is beautiful, fat and smiling. Now, I thought my children were the most gorgeous little angels I had ever laid eyes upon when they were born. I doubt other people thought so. Be honest, they are covered in goo, screaming, scrawny, reddish-purple and kinda pitiful at first. I know they can’t get a real newborn, but come on! No wonder women cry when they first see their child: they thought they’d be picture perfect!

I’m sure there were a slew of other inaccuracies in the episode, but those are just a few off the top of my head. I know it is supposed to be funny on the show but at least try to keep it real! Does anyone else out there have a childbirth “horror story?”

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I have an appointment with an oral surgeon tomorrow. I apparently had a cavity in one of my wisdom teeth and it finally caused it to break. Now I have to have all the wisdom teeth removed. Keep in mind, in all my 27 years, I have never had a cavity, chip, filling, braces, or any other sort of dental work. I had been blessed by the “Tooth Fairy Goddess” up until now. I guess that run of good luck is over.

I’m not really scared about the procedure. I mean, they give you drugs, right? My husband is planning to take me while the kids are being watched by my Mom. It all sounds good in theory. I worry most about my house during my recovery time! From what I was told, I will be given some sort of medication to knock me out for the rest of the day. I’ll be oblivious to my surroundings while my abused gums bleed onto my pillow. (Note: get spare pillow and old pillow case ready.) My problem is this: my husband will have to watch the kids, feed them. put them to bed, and clean the house, try not to destroy the house.

Let me give you an example: Sunday I went over to my Dad’s house to see my Step-Mom. We sit, chat, cook things, etc. My oldest 2 were in the yard playing with their neighbor friends. The younger 2, ages 4 and 2, were at home with Daddy. Realize, I was gone for all of an hour and I was directly across the street. I came home to uncomfortable quiet. “Honey, where are Olivia and Deacon?”, I ask. “Oh, they are upstairs playing” was his reply. Shortly after, Olivia comes down soaking wet and says she “falled in the bathroom”. That’s when I heard water running.

I went upstairs to find a disaster. They had found dark chocolate bars in the refrigerator and taken them upstairs. Not only did they eat them, they ground them into the carpet, then decided to “clean themselves up”. The bathroom floor was soaked, the counters and walls wet as well. My husband swears up and down that he had checked on them only minutes prior to my entering the house. Either my children are as stealthy as international spies or my husband is not only deaf, but mistaken about the time frame here. My kids work fast, but not that fast. That mess had to take at least 10- 15 minutes and plenty of noise from both parties involved, and yet, he heard nothing.

Now you see my concern: by the time I am conscious and sore, I will have my work cut out for me. So much for a day or 2 of rest and recovery. Everyone say a prayer or light a candle for me. I’m going to need it.

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Posted in Family woes, Katie has lost her mind, Simply Katie | No Comments » | 22 views