lemme break it down fer ya

Andy indicated to me that my Dreamer blog was difficult to make sense of. So, here it is. Basically, to be wrong about everything from the inside out (from as early as I can recall), led me to question existence in my own life. Maybe I was only a part of somebody's dream...and often wished he'd wake up and set me free. You see.... Growing up without family who could honor feelings or requests of mine made me feel as if I didn't exist. If I said I was cold, instead of a sweater or a blanket, I was offered the weather report: "Its 74*,how can you be cold?". What is the correct answer to this? Besides F-U, which seemed a suitable conclusion for most of our exchanges. I failed to properly welcome the time table for my last feeding as a substitute for a tasty offering. I was equally rejecting of the secondary offer for a multitude of non-kid friendly foods. Granted I was a picky eater but seriously; lamb, babaganu'(sp?),stuffed grape leaves, tongue, salami, rye,pumpernickel, and goat's cheese...Come on. Where was the mac and cheese or PB&J on wonder bread or chicken potpie? Where was comfort? The same was true when I needed to use to the bathroom. How could I, if I just went X number of minutes ago? This would make anyone nuts. If it was inconvenient or uncomfortable, then it must be untrue and therefore disputable.I see now why I can be so argumentative. Birthdays and Christmases followed suit. If I requested a blue shirt from a particular store, I might get a turquoise shirt from somewhere else, meant to look(almost) like the one I detailed or something entirely different. I asked for a Swatch watch for my Sweet 16th and got an AWATCH--yes Awatch brand, made of yucky plastic that wouldn't lay flat on my wrist and was just ugly and cheap and upsetting. This gifting style frequently concluded with my hurt feelings and a discussion(either with me or about me within earshot) of how ungrateful I am. And what could I be so angry and sullen about anyway? Hmmm? Apparently that is the wrong feeling for this scenario. How could a person misunderstand absolutely everything? While I recall no system of rewarding in a way that motivated me, the punishment, aside from the frequently public and loud tongue lashings, was a monetary fine. Each time I expressed an unsavory thought or used angry tones or express my nagging deathwish for for any of us, my mother would race to her calendar and write M -.25. Considering I did not earn enough to buy a cheeseburger or a movie ticket, it mattered little that by the end of the week I owed 500% of my allowance for screaming "Shut up" and "I hate you" so many times that there was no space left in each of the squares for anything else.. Anyway, being mistaken about my appetite,feelings, perception of body temperature, and level of energy made me wonder if I really existed. I realize now that the more I was denied my feelings the more I would cling to them and exercise my need to demonstrate. I am trying to understand my past and its effects on life in this day at a time in parenthood that is often isolating. It really is a miracle that I am still here and have beautiful friends and family and jobs in which I have excelled and found pleasure. There is no blame but much can be learned about lack of trust and historical connection that might have bound us in later years and different roles. I will continue to dedicate equal time and thought to exploring future potential for these relations. But with no offer for something different, I find myself unable to show up for what is likely to be more of the same. If you have read this far, I thank you for maintaining hope or confidence that this may develop into something other than a rant. Peace

Happy Birthday

Our Ernie has completed his first year and his rate of change is breathtaking. I regularly feel put upon because the little guys need so much and I admit there are moments when I want to fast forward to a day when they can do more for themselves. But then I recognize a sadness for all that I would miss. Although I tire from always carrying someone, it often feels like a dream: When Ernie sits on my hip like a baby Koala clinging to its tree and......... When he and Bert light up and crack up for one another, Smiling at the great number of sounds and faces and gestures Ernie uses to communicate with us, As I wrestle him to his back for EVERY diaper change and then gobble his belly and hamhock thighs, As I indulge his commitment to not holding the bottle for himself, As I ogle Ernie's chunky little fingers moving in mechanical fashion to grasp peas and cheerios, the way elephants use those little fingery things on their trunks to clutch peanuts before shoving them in to their open mouths. ( I love elephants too.but in a different lesser way) I dedicate this post to my little guy at the end of his first year. Keep up the great work superstar. My love for my boys is overwhelming and caring for them in all ways is the greatest privilege and achievement I will ever know. I wonder at what age they could do something that might unleash a need to judge or criticize. I honestly cannot imagine such a day. PS Ernie(Boy,am I desperate to use your real name)~Some additional noteworthy and lovable attributes:

• the intoxicating smell and feel of your skin,especially the back of your neck. YUM
• the face you make when you clap your chunky little meat paws
• your tough to resist attempts to initiate play when we lay you down to sleep
• your almost expert precision when poking your wiener tip every chance you get (Now, aren't you glad I protected your real identity.)