Yup, no accents this time. Try not to fall asleep. It really IS that boring, but I’m learning to edit. I probably should have edited out more, like the middle 6 minutes.
Sorry it’s so dark. When I talk about the house - I mean that someone else put an offer on the house we liked and we backed out because this place hasn’t sold. The new situation takes the pressure off A LOT. So it’s good.
One of my very best friends has a son who has special needs. His special needs cannot be seen, much like a heart condition. He is a lovable child with a huge heart. He enjoys a lot of the same things that most kids enjoy. He adores Scooby Doo, singing, dancing and is learning to ride a bike.
Ryan is 11. He has gorgeous red hair and an infectious smile. Honestly, Ryan’s smile, even from a picture, can make me brighten even when I’m in the depths of despair. He is Amazing. You would be lucky to know him, trust me.
Ryan’s parents are also Amazing. I won’t get into details as to what they deal with on any given day, but parenting Ryan is not easy. There are a million decisions that need to be made every day, piled on top of a million provisions that need to be made. Parenting Ryan is above and beyond the call of average parenting duties.
Ryan has no idea what I’m about to tell you. This is really important. I need your complete attention.
When Ryan and his family go out in public, the differences in Ryan by looking at him are not immediately apparent. He is a strikingly handsome kid, and when he is walking alongside his mother or quietly looking at items in a store, his differences simply aren’t obvious.
Ryan loves to sing and dance, as I mentioned. Quite often, it makes no difference as to where he is, he will sing, and skip and play, as young children do, and enjoy himself wherever he is. Sometimes that is in a store, or a parking lot, or in line at the checkout. He’s a happy kid, period.
So when your child, who sees Ryan enjoying himself, nudges you to point him out, and you turn to your friend and do the same, his mother is watching you. You can either choose to make this an educational time for your kid and say something about not judging others, or you could point, stare and call Ryan weird. But know this: his mother sees you.
While her heart is breaking at your actions, know that while you’re getting a kick out of making fun of a child with special needs, you are hurting a mother who cannot say anything for fear of calling attention to your abhorrent behaviour to her young and innocent son. She wants to protect him from this world of cruelty and people who judge based on looks.
Know that 2, 4, 10 years later, she still will remember your face, your glances, your words. They sting. Believe me, if I had been standing beside my friend that day, I would have discreetly said something to you that would ensure that you would remember my face, my glare and my words. So would your kid. He would hopefully learn that what the 3 of you were doing is very wrong.
You wouldn’t poke fun at a child with Down’s Syndrome, would you? You wouldn’t dare tell a man in a wheelchair that he can’t park in a handicapped spot, would you? Not all conditions are visible. Heart conditions, Tourette’s, mental illness, anxiety disorders, alcoholism, blood disorders, allergies…to name a few.
So next time you’re out and about and you see anyone, of any age, who is different than you, remember Ryan. Remember Ryan’s mother. Remember not to break her heart. She sees you.
The stress level in my chest right now is so high I feel like I might explode. I’m being pulled in every goddamn direction. Honest to God, how the fuck do people do this?
Things on the massive shitlist include selling our house, which by the way, was put on the market a month too late to be sold in a week like every other house in this neighbourhood. I’m literally cleaning, straightening, sucking up dust bunnies and crumbs and wiping floors 24 hours a day. Thomas is right behind me like a dirty Pigpen of a shadow, wreaking havoc on anything he can and I’m running like a dog chasing it’s tail trying to keep this place looking gorgeous. Not that it matters because we haven’t had one offer - not one, in three weeks. This is a great house, but everyone is either on vacation or gearing up for school and ignoring the housing market.
Take that stress, and add buying a house to it. We put a sizable deposit on a new house and now have a few weeks to offload this house in order to keep the new one. Pictures are here, but I can’t even look at them because I feel as though the mere glances at those oak floors and big backyard will jinx us further. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to lick those floors though. Mmmmm woody goodness. That sounded kinda rude.
On top of going insane with real estate, there’s Dylan’s attitude and Thomas’ defiance. I feel like I’m losing control of my ability to parent and I’m yelling more often than I need to be, often giving up mid-day and shutting them out. I know it’s terrible to say, but I need a break from my kids. Hi I’m YellyMom, pleased to meet you. CAN I GET YOU A DRINK FROM MOMMY’S JUICE BOX?
Swank needs me back early, and the very little time I don’t spend cleaning and running my two kids and dog outta the house for showings and open houses, is spent designing. I love it, and wish I had more time for it.
There’s also a wonderful opportunity for bloggers to make money with Photrade that I’ve been consulting for, and in a few days, they will be launching their newest CMS to offer to us. I’m ready to make the leap from Flickr to Photrade and make some money there. They are looking for feedback once you sign up, so if you’re interested in providing it, giving things a test run, email me and I’ll forward it on to the pretty boy at the helm. He’s going to kill me for writing that. Sorry, puppy.
If all that stress hasn’t got your heart in your throat or your chest weighed down on my behalf, add a sick dog. Ruffy got kennel cough from the groomers and the poor thing is coughing and making me nervous. I know it has to run it’s course, but seeing as she sounds like when Dylan had croup, it’s unsettling. She is my only daughter, you know.
Is that not enough? Okay then, add to the fact that I’m doing most of this alone. Daren is working a million hours a week, and being a single mom during this chaotic time? Well I’m surprised I haven’t shaved my head and hit the bars, leaving my two boys with a manny.
A question for other Motherless posters here: what kind of relationship do you have with your siblings? Because I have next to none with my two sisters; we all live several hundred miles distant and aside from commonplaces I have no idea what to say to either of them. It would be like old Gulag survivors getting together to talk about their days in prison, and who wants to relive that?
It’s different for everyone, I’m sure. My brother and I are close, always have been. We huddled together when my mother and step-father fought, hoping not to be caught in the crossfire, but he was always one step away from trying to intervene. He was only 7 when they married, and I think he wished he was bigger and stronger so he could save our mother from the fighting.
Sometimes life stops in it’s tracks and you just have to drop everything in the name of friendship. My friend Nicole, shown here, needs me. Right. Freaking. Now.
So tomorrow (Monday) morning, I’m dropping everything, including Ruffy at the kennel, and driving to her place in the middle of Tourist Town Ontario and bringing the kids, some wine, and my shoulder.
I know she would do the same for me. See you all later!
~ Karen
xoxo
(this pic was taken Summer 2006 in Calgary. Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hawt like me?)
Hi everyone! I was all set to come back with a post but I received a lovely email from a woman named Colleen who wrote her own Parentless story and I offered to let her use this space to share it with you. She accepted and I’m so glad she did. I know she isn’t alone in her feelings and I hope she finds the power and peace that often comes from sharing such a painful and raw story.Colleen’s honesty isn’t unlike my own and I’m pleased to share this space with her and all the others who are Parentless, Motherless, or Fatherless in any capacity, whether it be the result of death, abuse, estrangement or other situations.
Without further ado, here is Colleen’s story.
~ Karen
I’ve been reading all of the stories on your Parentless page. My heart breaks and breaks and breaks for you and all of those who have suffered abuse from the people who were meant to protect you. I’m sorry.
I feel like my own story is pretty tame after all of that. It’s just a different sort of loss and I wonder what others would make of it.
My mother is still alive. I see her sometimes. I see her because she’s my mom and I’m supposed to do that. She never really physically abused me (although I will remember THE STRAP for as long as I live) and I had everything I needed while I grew up. I was in therapy awhile ago and my therapist tried to find out about my childhood and my adolescence - I could hardly remember anything. She said that meant I was suppressing really bad memories or there was just nothing to remember.
Mostly there was nothing. Until I was diagnosed with clinical depression and my doctor told me that was usually hereditary, did anyone else in my family suffer from it? Knowing what I know now…yeah. My Mom. Big time. Can we say OCD? Our house was so clean you’d think no one lived in it. When I came from school there was a note on the fridge door listing what we could have for snack. There was to be no deviation from the list because my mom knew every single cheese slice that was in the fridge and had meals and snacks planned out until the end of time. There was no messing with the supplies. The only interactions with her that I can recall at all are very cold and clinical - discussions about how much rent I would pay once I got a job, fights about curfews…no early memories at all. No hugs, no sharing, no…contact.
When I was in my early 20’s my dad left her. It was as if all the emotion she’d never shown (except for anger) came out all at once. She compelled my participation by threatening suicide, she demanded that I choose her and reject my dad and rode the pity train to the end of the line.
This all stopped when she found God and her salvation through Jesus Christ. We never went to church or even talked about going when I was growing up. My dad’s parents had shoved that down his throat so hard he gagged it all up and and refused to have anything to do with it. My mom didn’t feel one way or the other about it.
These days, she tells me that I’m going to hell no matter what I do or don’t do because I wasn’t baptized. If I don’t accept Christ into my life I’m a goner. Same for my daughter, even if she’s only 11. My daughter just spent a hellish 5 days with her and her husband and has since told me that she will never go to stay with them again. I support this and I won’t make her do it. My girl is a budding pre-teen and a good kid but my mom made her feel like an alien and a loser and a bad girl.
I wanted to find a path to my mom when I found out about the depression and figured out what was wrong for all those years. I too found a path to god that is very personal and has nothing to do with organized religion. I’m still a heretic to my mom and I’d just better not mention clinical depression anywhere around her. You could use her lips for a ruler if I do. That’s the devil’s work and pills are not the answer - those are just more of satan’s tools.
After my daughter came home from her awful visit and told me ad nauseum about her experience she asked me “Do you love your Mom?”
I must have told her that of course I did but I’m honestly not sure what I said. I know the real answer though: No. I don’t. I can’t even remember missing it. I can’t remember feeling it. I can’t remember wanting or needing my mom, needing or getting comfort from her. I only remember things from the time I was able to get away from that cold house.
I’m not even very sorry about this. Because my mom is still alive and still in my life and she is the person I have to think of when I think of a mom…no, I don’t ‘miss’ her. There was a time when I had a lot of empathy for her and would have understood everything. In that time we could have built something and I would never have judged her or condemned her for being the way she was. I understood. I still understand. She chose something else and she tells me that it means more to her than her children do…it’s the greatest love you can have, that love of god. The day I finally see the light is the day we can come together. I do see a light but she doesn’t think it’s the right light and so we go along with this farce of family feeling.
I certainly don’t think god took my mom. My mom bailed out on me and my brother when we were young and then she took refuge in a book. She never sought strength from her family or her world or her own self. I think she’s actually pretty weak and that I - pitiful sinner that I am - am stronger than she is.
I don’t love my mom. I wish I felt sorrier about this.
