Brings on much introspection.

I’m so much happier. I feel like a more complete person than I have in years. I have peace within myself, I have financial stability, I volunteer much of my time, I have a great bunch of kids that I’m really close with, and I bought myself a brand-spankin’ new HDTV and a pretty cabinet to set it on.

But I have this constant nagging thought that my kids should have some sort of relationship with their father. I periodically suggest to one or the other that they should make contact. He should have some relationship with his granddaughter but Casey’s not interested. Max’s wife would like to meet Buck but Max has no desire to have that happen. Ginnie, well she has her own reasons not to. I really had no idea back when I was married that the kids were already so estranged from their father. How could I not notice? None of them want anything to do with him. Maybe I’ve painted him badly here but he really wasn’t a bad person. Just set in his ways and distant. Sort of anti-social. It was only in the last few years that the drinking (and the personal shit that went with it) got too bad for me to tolerate.

So… is it just because of some old-fashioned blood-is-thicker-than-water reasoning that I keep pushing this? I mean, I still maintain a relationship with my mother and I don’t even like her. Or maybe deep down I’m just proving to myself that it’s not my fault they’ve chosen to cut him off. My issues with him shouldn’t be their issues but apparently they have issues of their own.

Whatever, I wish I could let it go. I’ve always thought that blood didn’t mean anything to me but that’s not how I act. I wish I did. Maybe it’s too ingrained by society.

Other than that I’m doing great.

I’ve never had anyone physically close to me have cancer, so I really don’t know the hands-on effect on the stricken or those around them. Oh sure, cousin A or far-away friend Z has had it and I get snippets, but to be right there witnessing, helping, supporting? Not so far. A person can only empathize so much from a distance.

My beautiful niece Brittany (Miss B) had skin cancer when she was 16. Of course, with her living in Florida and me being here I had no real connection to that process. And except for the wicked scar in the center of her back she seemed to sail right through that experience.

But just as all thoughts of it fade away, cancer strikes again, as it is wont to do.

Last Thursday I noticed on Facebook that she was in the hospital and within hours she called me to tell me what she knew at the time. She had 3 spots on her lungs – one the size of a tangerine – and they’d scheduled a biopsy for later that afternoon. After a shitload of text messages between me and my kids, calls to my Mom (grrr arg) and a call from my Dad, my (surprise!) sister actually called me. The biopsy was done and another surgery to help her breathe better. Although they have to wait for the biopsy results to be sure, the doctors think this time our Miss B has lung cancer. Inoperable. Plans (apparently) to try chemo and stuff are in the works but who knows how it will all turn out. Don’t tell “our mother” or post anything online right away. Hey, I waited a few days. The last thing she said was Brittany is a strong girl and she’ll come though this just fine.

Well… now… she’s certainly strong willed. When she lived with me we butt heads all the time. But she’s also very sensitive. That girl has had so much shit in her life already. I guess that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Or as the tattoo across her chest says:

Victory is sweetest when you’ve known defeat

We’re all pulling for her to get through this. There’s not much more we can do at this point. I’m not certain of her health insurance status so maybe at some point we’ll be raising money. I can surely help with that.

Hang in there Miss B. I love you and miss you and wish I could be there to… do something! I can’t do shit across the country, but you’re in my thoughts hourly and I know you’ll fight this as hard as you can.

Me? I just want to punch somebody. The fact that my family has lousy communication skills means I keep up with the news via Facebook status updates. Today she’s in pain and the meds aren’t cutting it anymore.

Shit. Fuck cancer.

Well, apparently my grandson was baptized over the weekend. My daughter asked me weeks ago if I was okay with it. Sure, it doesn’t mean anything to me. She’s mentioned it a couple of times since but I thought it was later in the month.

Her boyfriend’s family is very Catholic and she’s been living with them, so it was a given. If it makes them all happy it’s fine by me. I’m sure Jack won’t be any different when I go see him tomorrow.

I had my kids baptized Episcopalian back in the day, even though I never actually joined the church and never went back. Maybe I thought it was a fail-safe at the time.

But even now I still don’t get it. What’s the point again? The child won’t remember, the child may or may not ever decide to follow that or any other religion. Baptized babies aren’t any healthier or happier.

There is that godparent thing. So Tyler’s brother and his wife? girlfriend? I can’t remember are now Jack’s godparents. That means they’re in charge of his spiritual upbringing (whatever that is) and supposedly take custody if anything happens to Tyler and Ginnie right?

Let me tell you now, if anything happens to my daughter and that child needs care that family is in for a big awakening. None of us may have been invited to attend his baptismal or even invited to visit him (only me) but when push comes to shove we’ll be fighting to keep him. It’s her choice now to go along with their religiosity in order to keep the peace where she lives, but so far deep down inside she’s still an atheist just like the rest of my family. We’ll share, but we won’t give up.

And when he gets big enough to question I’ll make damned sure he does. Just like Kira, when she asks me questions I tell her what I think and that other people think differently and she needs to make up her own mind.

My cousin’s wife sent me this email:

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  May Christ’s birth bless you with love and forgiveness in 2012.

(What’s with the love of exclamation points?)

First of all, I prefer Happy Holidays as it’s more inclusive of everyone who celebrates this season. I’m not sure I know any Jewish people or anyone who does Kwanzaa but everyone celebrates something, right? Even our Atheist family we have Christmas trees and gifts, traditional Eve pizza and then drive around looking at lights.

Last night we gathered at Max’s and had our family Christmas. Everyone was happy with my well-thought-out gifts and I was happy with the earrings and fireplace tools I received. And especially the Zynga game card! We even had my Dad on Skype while we opened presents so it was like he was actually there.

Secondly, why do I need forgiveness? One thing I dislike about religion is the assumption that everyone is bad unless they ask forgiveness from some god constantly. What a way to go through life. I’ve read the book and nobody can live up to the standards set there, even if one religion or another could actually finalize them. I feel people are basically good, but some make more bad decisions than others. If I’ve done something I need forgiveness for be sure to let me know.

So… I hope you’ve had a happy holiday whatever it is, and here’s hoping 2012 actually finishes even better than this year.

Short and sweet, I promise.

Casey and Kira are doing great. He’s got a really good job and Kira is in kindergarten. She turned 5 in September and never stops talking. The hair? Well, he thought by showing up with his hair like that he’d get out of family picture day. No such luck. I get to have Kira overnight a couple times a week and she’s just now starting to get interesting as a person. We do have some good times.

Max and Krystal are doing well also. They have 2 cats and no plans for children. Max is going to school and working part-time for now. In another year he’ll be done with school, working full time and planning on buying a house. Krystal works too and is hoping to go to cooking school when Max graduates.

Ginnie and her boyfriend Tyler had a baby this year. His name is Jack and he’s wonderful. They are for the time being living with Tyler’s mom so there’s always someone around to take care of Jack but have plans for their future.

I’m still the same. I volunteer for various events and go out every week with friends but I still am alone or spending way too much time with my kids. With the economy the way it is, they can’t do well without help. We’ve ended up very close so I guess I’m not as alone as I thought.

Let’s see how much my old brain can remember about that fateful night exactly 21 years ago.

I woke up exactly at 2:00am and I knew. I woke Buck up and sent him across the street to wake up the neighbors. We didn’t have a phone and we needed to call Mom to come stay with the boys. While he was doing that I packed up a few things and as soon as she got there off we went.

We hit the hospital, were rushed upstairs to the birthing unit and they practically threw me up on the bed. The nurse did a quick check and with wide eyes called my doctor to hurry up. I was already 9mm dilated. The nurses got busy doing all the prep stuff and like, 10 minutes later my doctor strolled in and checked me. Then his eyes got wide and he made some comment about barely making his pay with me. Down goes the bottom of the bed, up goes the stirrups and the pushing commenced. I do remember noticing the line of ants crawling up the wall, a bit distracting. And then 2 hours and 11 minutes after I woke up*, there she was. She was perfect!

She was 6lbs, 6oz and perfectly healthy and we named Virginia Lynn Walker, Virginia after Buck’s dying Mom and Lynn after my best friend from high school. I always wanted to name my daughter Shelby. Oh well. Because of the ants, we were moved to another room. I was already up walking around and had my shower before Mom got there. She had to take the boys to school and literally ran to get there before the end and oops, too late. I got a kick out of that.

I can’t find any newborn pictures. I think I already gave them all to Ginnie.

So now she’s an adult with a baby of her own and working hard to make a good life.

I love her so much. Happy Birthday baby girl.

*Isn’t it nifty how I can set this to post EXACTLY 21 years to the minute after she was born, even calculating for DST?

Always? Even bad mothers?

I’ve been searching my memories over the last few days. I’ve even sat through old 8mm home movies (recorded on VHS now) so that I could distinguish real memories from what I’ve been fed.

Here’s what I remember from say, birth to 5-6 years old when we moved the first time. I remember having a dutch door on my bedroom, to keep me in. I remember rows of medicine bottles on the kitchen windowsill. I have lots of memories of playing alone in our basement. Babies and barbies under the bar, singing and dancing to three records on the console record player down there, making tents under the pool table. I also remember having a bed of blankets in my closet where I watched filmstrips on the wall. I have no single memory of spending any time doing anything with my mother. In fact, the only actual memories I have of early childhood with my Mom were public occasions. She shined in public.

One thing I was told of that time frame: My Father tells me he came home from work one day and I was unconscious on the living room floor. She had apparently tranquilized me with her own meds.

Here’s what I remember from our 2nd home, age 6ish to 12ish: I remember spending lots of time with my grandmother, who for a short time lived just down the street. My older sister and I shared a room until eventually my parents gave up their room so Beth could have her own space. I remember my dad spending time with me, reading, fixing my bunk bed so I had a comfy cubby underneath. (Another hiding place?) My dad at that time was a truck driver and was gone for days at a time. The most I remember about that time with my mother was her yelling at me when we were out in public, but I can’t honestly remember any moment in that house with her that wasn’t documented in photos. Except I have a vivid memory of my father walking through the door with his little blue suitcase and my mother’s voice listing our infractions for the x-amount of time he was gone and that he needed to “beat the children, Vernon.”

Why can’t I remember? Is it because life was so ordinary, uneventful that there is nothing to remember? I’ve heard people say they remember cooking/sewing/art/conversation/bland moments with their parents. I certainly remember such moments with my own children. Is that normal?

We moved again. I got in trouble in 6th grade for the first time and the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t asking for my side of the story, it wasn’t parental at all. She said “how could you do this to me, embarrassing me like this?”

My memories as a teen are clearer. My mother often lied to me. I remember slaps across the face. Once she knocked me across the room. When my parents were getting divorced I found out about it from the neighbor. I was sent away to strangers for the summer and when that was over (long story) she and I lived in a new apartment and she wouldn’t let me know how to contact my father. I was told constantly that I was stupid, useless and a whore. Which, let’s be real, I kind of was. We fought all the time.

As an adult everything out of her mouth was belittling and sarcastic. People laugh when mothers are portrayed this way in sitcoms, but living with that shit is hell. I wasn’t caring for my husband the right way, my kids were out of control. She even called CPS on me once, but the investigators didn’t find a damn thing wrong.

There are two reasons I still have any relationship with this woman. The first being the last thing my grandmother asked of me before I left Florida was that I never cut Mom off. Therefore the weekly phone calls. Another is that she’s not the same person anymore. Right now she’s a fairly decent human being. I can stand her now. On my last visit there was only one sarcastic comment!

Do I forgive her a lifetime of lousy parenting? No. Do I forget? Some of it apparently.

So no, I don’t honor my mother. I honor my word to my grandmother. My life wasn’t what I’d say horrible, just not good. What I can remember of it.

Something just popped up on my Google+ thingamajiggy that I don’t really use. Some feller posted something about online “friendships” and how most people (those who presumably don’t spend a lot of time online) don’t give much credit to those friendships.

Now I’ve met bunches of people I first knew online, either through twitter or other local social events. Honestly I barely know most of them. Yes we greet each other warmly (and sometimes hug) but really it’s a more surface relationship. But I can count many people I’ve met online over the years that have really become lasting relationships.

My oldest online and BFF is Cara. I met her and another friend Charlotte on a fandom site years ago and have met them both IRL. I make time in my life to see Cara at least once a year. We laugh that we’re twins born 10 years apart. Peas in a pod. Closer than sisters. Charlotte is awesome too. She’s an amazing writer and one of the most interesting young people I know. I feel honored that she likes me. There are other “friends” I met on that site that I still stay in contact with, some I wish I could meet and some I’m fine with keeping it an online relationship.

I met Evo online (podcasting) before I actually met him, and through him his wonderful wife Sheila. My lifesavers. These people changed my life. And through podcasting I’ve met other wonderful real life friends. CJ (my local BFF), Dani the Diva, Donna, A, Bruce, Crystal and many others.

I’ve met people through twitter meetups and other online-people social get-togethers that I love! Jana, Jeff, Wendy and Chris, Katie and Tyler, Patrick and Vinessa, Ruthie, Oden… I can’t wait to see these people all the time. Great times, great people.

Had I never plugged into the internet I would never have met any of them. I shudder to imagine where I’d be without them. Most of the people listed here mean more to me than my own family – except my kids/grandkids!

Here’s the thing. Of all my friendships with people I didn’t meet online only one has survived. But guess what, Wendy and I maintain most of our contact on the internet and use twitter to occasionally meet up in real life. I can’t think of another real friend I didn’t meet online or through online groups, unless you count my kids and our mutual friends.

Thank you Internets.

On Thursday when Casey came to pick up Kira from me, he told her they were going to the zoo on Saturday. They talked about getting up early, googled the hours and rates, etc.

When I saw them Friday night he still planned on it. Wasn’t going to drink much because they had that zoo trip in the morning. Right.

When he dropped her here last night so he could go to a couple of birthday parties I sternly reminded him NOT to get too wasted, because he’d already put off the zoo until today.

So here she sits, all dressed and ready to go. She picked out special comfortable clothes and shoes. Had breakfast so she wouldn’t be hungry. Brushed her teeth without me asking. She’s decided she wants to see the lions first and then asked if the zoo had horses. I’m pretty sure the lions and horses are at opposite ends of the zoo here.

So the zoo opens at 9. I’m calling him now (8:25). Of course he doesn’t answer, but then again he seldom answers but usually calls me right back…

———-

Now it’s 9:20 and he still hasn’t answered (6 tries) or called back. I’m really pissed for her but there’s nothing I can do until I can get him on the phone. He shouldn’t have fucking told her he would take her and then let her down! You don’t TELL kids unless you really, REALLY plan on following through.

———-

Finally! He called me back at 9:30. The plan NOW is to go at noon. Smart plan in this heat but at least he isn’t completely reneging on the deal. Then I WOULD have had to kick his ass. Now he’ll just have to suffer through the heat and her being whiny and tired at the zoo. Serves him right.

Max has, a couple of times now, bragged about how he has a zombie apocalypse plan. He says he’ll be the “leader” because the rest of the family either is or has dead weight. In case of zombie outbreak we should all make our way to his apartment and he’ll keep up safe…

Sure, I’m dead weight, but I’m the thinker in the family. Who had (at one time) a 72-hour kit? Mom, until the kids plundered bits and pieces out of it. Who has the car big and heavy enough to run over zombies? Mom. Who has done the research? *ahem* Mom.

He doesn’t even own a shotgun or a baseball bat or a chainsaw! He doesn’t live in a gated community so the gates could be chained shut to keep the zombies out. He doesn’t have a stash of water or food to keep us alive for any length of time. Sure, he’s a big boy and so is Casey but like me, neither of them can run for shit. His idea of a plan is to break into the WalMart down the street and steal what he needs. Right, as if all the other non-zombies aren’t thinking the same thing. And beating the zombie levels of Call of Duty: Black Ops really doesn’t qualify as preparation.

Do you have an actual zombie plan in your head? Have you made any actual preparations? Stocked up supplies? Own a suitable weapon?

My plan? Find the nearest shotgun wielding nutcase and have them blow my brains out.