(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

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This handsome fellah is 12 today: time flies. I wish I could time travel and snorgle baby Henry (and baby Brandon & baby Ethan). Instead, I’m going to do my best to enjoy every second of every day with him & his brothers.
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Wednesday


This isn’t my usual Wordless Wednesday; I need to mark the occasion with more than just a picture. This is my oldest son, Brandon. He graduated from high school last night. He’s always climbed as high as he could; he received a plastic Tyco tricylcle for his first birthday, one with 2 wheels in front & one in the back. One night when I was making dinner, I left B alone with his bike in the living room for a few minutes and when I returned, found him standing balanced on the handlebars, a feat he would repeat until he grew out of the bike much to the shock  and dismay of his grandparents; I had tried to stop him, but he was persistant and insistant and never fell off.

When he was 3, Brandon went out to the car ahead of us by a few minutes and was climbing  unsupervised on the back of our Jeep Grand Cherokee with the hatch closed. He slipped, fell on his elbow, and broke his ulna almost in the elbow joint. Side note: the ortho we saw had the biggest hands I’ve ever seen, and not just because of the contrast between small boy and man hands: this doc needed extra large latex gloves. We explained to him how risky that was and chided him for not waiting for the rest of us. The cast on his arm slowed him down temporarily, but ultimately didn’t make him any more cautious or less confident in his abilities.

When he was 7 or 8, much to the horror of my neighbor, he climbed on top of the playsets in our backyard, not just on top of the swings, but up onto the roof of the treehouse that the slide is attached to and would jump off, down to the ground, after declaring himself king of the mountain. None of the other kids could follow him and believe me, they tried. 

Because of his climbing abilities, my husband started taking him and my 2nd son Ethan rock climbing at an indoor climbing gym near his work, really the only one in our area. B was a raging success, climbing up their 50 foot wall in record time, ringing the bell at the top, and belaying back down. Ethan, on the other hand, could only go up about 20 feet before he froze in fear. They joined the kids climbing team and my husband began climbing also, joining the adult teeam. They all ended up focusing on bouldering and we’d occasionally all go climbing, except for my youngest, Henry, who was too small at the time; he ended up just playing on the climbing mats & running around. Brandon got so good, he became the captain of the kids climbing team. I have video of him climbing one of the bouldering walls 3 years ago with just his arms.

So really, this picture of him on the field goal last night has been a long time coming. He had to do it twice, even – we had camera problems the first time around. As he was jumping down a second time, another set of parents walked by and the wife said sort of quietly to the husband, “That’s a good way to get suspended!” I guess she didn’t register the cap, gown, and diploma. We wouldn’t have been able to stop him anyway and I stopped trying way back when he’d climb up on the handlebars of that bike. Some things are just a fundamental part of your kid and you’ve got to just go with it because fighting against it would be futile & soul crushing. I look forward to seeing him figure this out too, not necessarily with climbing, but with other parts of his personality/being; I look forward to seeing what he metaphorically climbs next.

TBT: Vietnam 1966

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My Dad enlisted in the US Marines right out of high school in 1962 and was in Vietnam July 1965-July 1966. These are probably the most scenic pictures he took that I scanned; he probably took more or better scenic pics but I need to have his slides scanned to find out (and remember) for sure. He wrote “Danang Harbor” on the back of the last picture; I’m not sure if the first two are of Danang Harbor or of some other coastal feature.

The Blahs

Today is a blah kind of day. I woke up before my alarm but then after the kids left for school, I climbed back in bed and fell sort of asleep for an hour – a bad habit I started this winter on days when I just couldn’t face the day. I’ve had major depression at various points in my life, but last year was diagnosed with bipolar II, which looking back on everything, fits me better than major depression. But until last month I was in denial, thinking/hoping the doctors had gotten it wrong, not wanting to be bipolar anything because of the stigma around bipolar I, which is so much different from II. One of my best friends in high school had a really rough time when her mother tried to kill herself (again) – she was finally diagnosed with manic depression/bipolar I. And the things I do are a lot less extreme than similar things she had done, but still similar. I just didn’t want to be that. Accepting the diagnosis has helped me recognize the patterns of my moods and handle them better – it’s been easier for me to deal with depression and hypomania (which I definitely cycled into this spring) when you recognize the symptoms and can batten down the hatches. I also know to carefully evaluate my thoughts to see whether or not what my inner voice is saying is true; in depression, I think I’m a terrible worthless person undeserving of anything. And in hypomania, I start projects I’m not capable of finishing or get really irritated with everyone and everything for no discernible reason.

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I usually have a knitting project going so I’ve got a creative outlet & something tangible to work on other than my domestic engineering/housework/stay-at-home-Mom duties. Starting this blog and breathing life back into The Yarn Office were are also supposed to be projects that give me a creative outlet, accomplishing something, and moving forward. My therapist would say that I’m not giving myself credit for my accomplishments and that I need to remember that I’m raising/have raised 3 really good boys, keeping them fed & the house clean, and that my marriage is good, et cetera. I’m working on changing that mindset that I fall into when things aren’t going as well as I want them too.

Today I’m in between projects and although I treated myself to Barbara G. Walker’s first 3 treasuries of knitting patterns, I’ve been more likely to check Facebook, blog stats, etsy shop stats, Twitter, Instagram, etc. and cycle through them just in case I missed something. I need to come up with a new project though – my knitting group meets tomorrow. Maybe design an ouroboros scarf? Ravelry only has one in crochet. That’s what I’ve come up with so far in rifling through my Pinterest boards. Or I may just continue my search for a better WP theme and (maybe) pay the $ so I can customize one. Or maybe I’ll get lost in tumblr.

Blah. Time for more chai.

Taking Stock

What follows isn’t entirely proofed. If I wait to proof & edit it, it’s going to be 2012 and I’ll be writing about a hangover, which will be much worse than this, I think.

Last January when I started this blog, I was fighting through another bout with depression. I honestly don’t know that I’ve beaten it. I have good days (like today, where I have a plan & a purpose that I believe in) and bad days (when I get up but end up going back to bed or when I get up & stay up & can’t sleep the following night so that one day includes two sunrises & sunsets) and in between days (of course). Everyone has their ups & downs – I know that – I just don’t want my downs to affect my daily life, such as it is, quite so much.

Really, more than anything, I’ve been looking for a way forward, wondering what I’m going to be when I grow up, and looking for a way to be proud of my past & myself without having to agonize over things all the time. It’s helped to blog, email, and talk about it; I’m really thankful for everyone who’s reached out to me. I’m particularly amazed at how many people have told me their own story and how much talking about it can help us both.

The confrontation in November really threw me off balance. I’m still trying not to feel guilty about how strong my reaction was. I could have been more graceful about it, I wish I had slept on a few posts before making them public, and I sometimes wish I had confronted him with a warning of public exposure instead of just putting it all out there). But what’s done is done and I finally feel a taste of redemption, a way to be good again. (Khaled Hosseini pulled me into The Kite Runner with that idea and I haven’t stopped thinking about things in those terms since reading that first, very short chapter.)

I did a lot of new things in 2011. I’ll be 40 in 2012 and am trying to be nonchalant about it while hurrying to get myself to where I wanted to be in my 30s.

Aside from the blog, I went out of my usual comfort zone and took a class in the spring over 3 weekends at the Art League of Alexandria with Steph & Alana. I drove on the beltway and didn’t die. I met new people and, while I probably made a complete fool out of myself, people liked me, I had fun, I learned a lot, and I strengthened friendships with two strong, funny, intelligent women. I also discovered that beer is quite good if you know what to look for (hops=blech and Guiness is a good go-to in my case).

I started playing roller derby thanks to Misty/electricsoup/Loudoun Dirty. I’d never even considered derby and started mainly because I loved skating in elementary school and wanted to start again. Skating is even more fun when you skate in a circle, work as part of a team, and get to hit people who’re expecting/prepared to be hit. I haven’t felt this good physically for a long time. I’ve also met a lot of people, made new friends, found new heroes. I also learned, again, that not everyone is going to like me and that I’m not going to like everyone – that I don’t have to like everyone and vice versa. It doesn’t mean that something’s wrong with me or the other person and it also doesn’t mean that we are arch enemies, although sometimes I think maybe I should have those too (yup, still working that one through).

I briefly had a real job and was a real adult, until I realized that after 7 years of setting my own schedule, a 9-5 job in a windowless office is more than I can handle. After quitting, I vowed that this time, I would start something on my own, something that might eventually make money, not just involve me being parked at a keyboard, and that would allow me to see outside (not that I’m claustrophobic, the windowless office was more demoralizing & dehumanizing). So I started The Yarn Office, which has been hanging over me like a chore instead of my future – I need to put more time & thought into it and really get it going in 2012.

I also volunteered to be the webmistress/admin for NOVA Roller Derby and took it from a cookie-cutter site to more customized HTML (Dreamweaver) to slightly-customized-yet-cookie-cutter WordPress. I took entirely too long to figure out WordPress (& the template files) and was reassured when I finally understood at least the basics. I finally grokked more of PhotoShop & Illustrator this year too and installed OpenOffice on my MacBook so I can stop complaining about how much MS Word sucks.

Then there’s my gig as mother & mate to that guy on the other side of the bed. I could blab endlessly about marriage, motherhood, and the boys, but I don’t want to join the legions of mommy-bloggers. My kids are happy, doing well in school, laugh often, help each other, and are good, responsible people.

While Mr. Q and I have our ups and downs, we’re doing just fine and I don’t feel the need to write about it or get/give advice here,  though he is still exploring permanent employment while consulting: anyone looking for a hard working, highly intelligent, pretty technical VP, look no further.

So 2012: bring it. Whether I’m ready or not, things keep happening to me and I keep waking up every day, breathing and all that – I might as well live, really live, procrastinate and dwell less, laugh and sweat and jump for joy more. And take more pictures! And throw more balls for the dogs! And kiss the boys while they still let me, even if it’s just on the cheek these days! And eat more Smarties because I can never have enough Smarties.

Next?

This post might throw you for a loop; read my posts from winter 2011 if it does. 
One of my uncles, the one who will never change, the one born with fetal alcohol syndrome (which wasn’t exactly recognized in 1965 – look at me, making excuses!), the one the same age as my oldest cousin on that side, the pedophile, the incestuous piece of shit, called me a month or two ago. I recognized the area code – New Hampshire’s 603 – and picked up the phone. My mother lives in that area code and while it wasn’t her phone number, I thought it might be my stepfather’s cell phone.
Imagine my surprise when it was Joel, calling from work for my address, he’d found my Dad’s baby book, and to catch up after Hurricane Irene had blasted through Vermont. I am a reasonably good actress in such situations; I can make it seem like everything is okay or (more likely, based on what Mr. Q tells me) that I am pissed, but I will keep talking about normal things, things that don’t matter. It’s the old familial urge to maintain that everything is fine, normal – nothing is wrong – gained from two parents who experts in covering up the sometimes-bad people their parents were.
In such situations, I will also go along with pretty much whatever you’d like to say and I will tell you that I will do what you’d like me to (in this case, email my address even though you probably still have it from when I was still talking to you or you could probably get it from, say, someone else in the family).
I will be cordial.
We will have a pleasant conversation. We will talk about how Hurricane Irene blew through and tore up the town we grew up in, but the trailer that your Dad, my grandfather, fought to place in the middle of a field on the banks of the normally calm Ottauquechee (no joke- it’s basically maybe 200 yards from the river) made it through with minor flooding while the trailer park, down in a narrower part of the valley maybe a mile a way as the river flows, had several homes swept away and many more flooded. Oh, family – I remember you, and miss you, when I was young and we were all together and everything was okay. Except it wasn’t, but I didn’t know that outright until I was older.
You see how the history comes flooding back? My longing to belong, to trust and have family again?
I never emailed him my address. I mulled the phone call over for a few days and then decided that a baby book wasn’t worth renewing contact, just like getting a table that my Dad left me isn’t worth being back in contact with my Stepmother.
Even if this package hadn’t shown up with more evidence that for my Dad’s family (Ben and Betty and Johnnie and Suzy, and later Scottie and Joel) there was a definite before and after (before Betty became an alcoholic, before one Ben or Betty was a pedophile – no evidence, but I strongly suspect one of them must have been up to something to have half of their children do the same – [edited 11/17/11 to cross this out after reassurances that this was not the case, rather more that they were people of their time, with Ben providing for the family financially while Betty took care of the house & kids as well as an alcoholic can] before they moved off the farm, before they moved to VT, so many before & afters to chose from), I have already been thinking about the whys of what happened to me and the price I was ready to pay to keep family in my life.
I’ve been deliberately avoiding news – lately it all seems the same or at least predictable, cyclical. I heard rumblings about the sexual abuse scandal at Penn State, but not the specifics. Then I made the mistake of watching CNN for a little while the other night and my faith in humanity crumbled even more. My heart is broken for the victims – my heart is broken for every one of my friends who read this blog and told me that they had also been molested as children.
I am angry that more wasn’t done to punish Sandusky earlier or help his victims, that more wasn’t done to help my friends or me. I am angry that as a young adult and now, an adult, that I haven’t do more to defend myself or to prevent more children from dealing with things that I’ve dealt with, things that will stay with me my entire life. Lamely, this – writing and posting in a semi-public place – is my vengeance.
So first I get this phone call. I talk to him like everything is fine. I tell him I’ll email my address to him, but I never do it. Then yesterday a package showed up, from him of course. And in it is my Dad’s baby book, dutifully filled out by Betty from 1944-1957 for her firstborn (of course I looked through the whole thing immediately). All of my issues – everything that fucks me up – come rushing back. Everything I’ve tied up, resolved, and set aside – how many times now? – have come undone and are fresh again. I’m struggling to tie the knots back up and set them aside again.
And now today, I have an email from Joel asking me to at least acknowledge that I got the package and that I’m okay. I am not okay, I am undone again. Last fall my therapist recommended that I cut him out of my life again, what I did in high school, what I did by going to college as far away as possible. When my Dad got sick, him back in, thinking that 20 years might have changed things.
Why couldn’t he send the baby book to my brother? Why couldn’t he drop it by my mother’s house? This is deliberate and I don’t know why. I don’t know what his goal is here. Renewed contact? More of what happened in 08? Access to my children?
I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to drive 10 hours and have it out – a final confrontation. Part of me wants to avoid the situation completely and drink, like my grandmother did, lose myself. I could use my default strategy for everything – carry on like nothing is going on, ignore the situation until it goes away. I should respond to the email and explain how this is fucking with me. I should respond to the email and tell him to leave me alone, that I don’t want any more baby books, any more family stuff, that I’m done because nothing in the world is worth this. Nothing physical in the world is worth my sense of well-being, which has now gone to shit anyway.
Yes, I’m a little crazy and for some understandable reasons.
Yes, you’re probably right – I do have a little too much time on my hands, but remember: I may not have an office job, but I should be moving The Yarn Office forward or at least vacuuming up the dog hair dust bunnies, which are getting as big as the dogs.
Yes, yes – you, too – you’re right that I probably shouldn’t be airing my dirty laundry.
And you too – I am a derby girl these days and we’re supposed to be tough as nails. I can take a physical hit, bruises – whatever. But this?

There are so many reasons for me not to post this, probably the most disjointed of all my posts, (a big huge part of me is embarrassed & ashamed to have this hanging out there) but what I need is a lifeline, plan. I’ve lost the path again and I need some help finding it again.

Edited to Add:

The email I got earlier today, along with yesterday’s package, set me off. Here’s the email and my response, sent a few minutes ago:

Hi there…. Did you get John’s  Baby Book? Sorry it took me so long to get it off to you…it rode around in my truck for a good 2-3 weeks.
I hope this finds you well I also hope you drop me a line at least to let me know you got the book and that you are OK….
Talk later….
JTK

And my response, fat lot of good it will do:

Oh, I got it and it ripped me apart, like your phone call did.

Am I okay? I’m still breathing – that counts for something. I’ve been writing a lot too, since last winter, actually. Your secret is out, at least to people who are friends with me on Facebook, follow me on twitter, or follow my blog, some of whom are family & classmates that live in VT or NH.

I never sent you my address because my sanity is worth more than my Dad’s baby book, it’s worth more than having extended family again. You might as well be dead. You and Julie are in the same category here – she has the table that Dad left me, but I’d rather slit my wrists than talk to her to get it back.

I’m sorry your life has been what it’s been and believe me, I sympathize. We all have choices – for example, I was molested by you and Scott, but I’m not a pedophile. Your choice to be a pedophile and engage in incest is not my fault or my responsibility, but because I have been a coward in confronting you about what you did to me, because my parents were cowards before me, I have no legal recourse against you. The only way I can make this right, warn other people about you, is via semi-public opinion, thanks to the almighty Internet.

You should feel as shitty as I do – that you don’t is amazing to me and tells me that you are basically a sociopath, along with all the other pedophiles. I hope you’re not doing anything to Susan’s granddaughter, but since I know that you did something to Kelly also, I don’t have high hopes. I hope your next victim and her family have more courage than I and my family had.

Don’t write, don’t call, but know that there are people in your area that know about you,

M

#TheGoldenStallion

It’s surprising how little there is to watch on TV on a Friday night. We stopped subscribing to the premium movie channels in favor of Netflix streaming through the Wii, which lately has not been working well (or really, at all). So last night, I was back to my old entertaining favorites: channels without commercials (PBS, TCM, etc) and what I think of as junk food TV (E!, MTV, VH1, etc.). I couldn’t find anything I could switch between to avoid commercials (the Geico guy really pisses me off), so I ended up watching The Golden Stallion on TCM.

The Golden Stallion was released in November 1949, Roy Rogers’ 3rd and final movie of the year. Three movies in a year seems like a lot, but in 1948 he was in 8 movies, 5 in 1950. So what happened in ’48? He was either concentrating on his radio show (1944-1955) or his marriage to Dale Evans (12/31/47), his co-star. In November 1949, my Dad was 5 years old, the first grandson of my great-grandfather. My grandparents lived in a house very close to the family dairy farm in Rehoboth, MA, with my great-grandparents living in the Big House on the farm. Dad told me his grandfather welcomed his company any time – at home, in his office, in the barn. He gave Dad a pony at some point and spoiled him as any grandparent would. My great grandmother subjected Dad to the finer things in life, like getting cleaned up for church and piano lessons, which he hated and was terrible at.

I don’t recall Dad ever talking about Roy Rogers – he did say that when he enlisted in the Marines after high school in 1962, eventually ending up in Vietnam (July 1965-July 1966), that he had John Wayne in mind – I am positive, though, that Roy Rogers was among his heroes as well:

Exhibit A:

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Exhibit B:

Donnie, Johnnie, Duke Aug 1951

(Look closer; you’ll see the horse. Also, Dad is sitting in front. Also #2: click the pictures to see them on flickr.)

I imagine also that Great Grandpa Kinne – or my grandparents – probably took Dad to the movies and that he probably saw The Golden Stallion. So last night, I watched the whole thing with a glass of wine and live-tweeted it, included below. Ethan has been my late-night buddy; he was on the computer behind the couch watching something online or so I thought. When I skipped back to catch a line to tweet a quote, he said “Hey! Didn’t we already watch that twice?” letting me know that he was watching it with me. My kids surprise me by being the people I need them to be when I least expect it and need it the most.

(Note that I really just want them to be the people they need to be, as long as they don’t hurt anyone physically/emotionally and love life, I’m good. Because of my relationship with my parents, I walk a delicate line between being interested and friendly, but not a friend – I neither want to ignore them or use them intentionally for emotional support.)