Archive for July 2008

Summer is coming to a close

July 31, 2008

Dang, just when I was getting used to lazing about my house in my pjs until afternoon and doing nothing in particular and still managing to feel busy summer is coming to a close and it is back to work.  That means actually being alive and ready to teach by 7a.m.

Don’t get me wrong I love my job, but in the beginning I was actually still waking up at 5a.m. thinking I was late and then having trouble falling back to sleep.  Now, when my husband allows for it by watching our lovely children I can sleep straight till noon again.  It’s like college all over again, that is college with two kids and husband…

So the countdown has begun, with 21 days left I am going to live it up.  Maybe a little dash of extra sleeping in or maybe, just maybe, a vacation.


A little late, but better than never

July 27, 2008

When he died he took away my only chance to ever know and he took away most of my anger. What was left at that immediate moment was relief. What is left now is a wondering combination of the need to know and the want to move on. The man did more to fuck me up in four short years and a lifetime than anyone ever has or will again.

This was a man who could make you feel like you were the most perfect human being ever when he was there, and when he left he caused so much hurt and pain enough to make you wonder what it was you did to make him leave you. What was it about you that was not good enough anymore?

This man, my father (in genetics only), made me who I am and he didn’t even know it. He died with a picture of my son and I next to his bedside with a letter I had written shortly after my son’s birth. The letter written in a time of complete “clarity” of what I needed to do for my new family. I am sure that many can imagine what the letter said, I just didn’t know that I would never get the chance again to address him. It seemed when I wrote it just like it always had, a letter to something that had existed forever, or at least in my forever. Something I would always have the chance to do better at, question more, be rightfully angry at, fix, change, and love.

These options don’t exist now and all the does exist is an Aunt that I believe helped that man to finally end his life so she could have whatever meaningless shit he had left. She claims that he was poor, drug addicted, alcohol rattled, and womanizing to the point of being out of believers. In the papers she wrote that he had no family except her and when I wrote in to correct this I was ignored and told that this was inappropriate. I don’t know what she gained from it hopefully it was worth his life in the end.

My husband says that I should go after whatever was left, it should be mine. I don’t want it. Even money. I don’t care if it’s millions what good would it do? Sure, I could buy a house and be stable and make college funds for my kids, but it would be dirty. It would all be tainted and worthless. I don’t want his things or his money all I want and have ever wanted, was his time. Since that is gone, there is nothing left for me. Maybe someday, now that I am not 8½ months pregnant, I will go to his grave and leave him one last letter forgiving myself for leaving everything until the last minute.

Happy Birthday Peter.

Punishment Log – 1

July 13, 2008

I am a young parent and one who grew up in an environment where her mother used many a creative punishment.  Not wanting to completely screw with my kid I have stuck to the very regular kinds of punishments.

The reliable timeouts, no desserts, toys being taken away – both for a limited period of time or forever, and not going to the park/whatever fun place we were supposed to be going.

Even though I don’t have many readers, today I ask those of you out there to hear my cry for help and please tell me your useful punishments for your kids.  Mine are getting old and my son is starting to seem as if he doesn’t care.*

* Though the other day he did lose desserts, just before he was invited by his grandma to make cookies for a family party,and boy did he feel the effects of that.  After all, my friends, is the best part of making cookies, but eating them.

Small-town Girl in the Big Bad City

July 6, 2008

I am a small-town girl. From the day my mother uprooted my life and moved us to rinky-dink Frozen-French-Fry land, I became a small-town girl. I railed against, telling my mother that I hated her and that when I was big I would move as far away to the largest city I could find. What can I say, it all sounded good at the time.

So from second grade on, I was in school with the same kids. The same 32 kids for 11 years. It sounds like it would be great: we would all grow up being friends and love one another, right? Fuck no. All the cliques you find in a bigger school still happen in a small school, it just singles you out more in a minute place like that. We had the popular sports players and nerds. We had our goths and weirdos. Then there was me. That’s right, for many years I got my own category. I didn’t even fit in with the weirdos.

It’s all because of my third grade teacher. I still blame her for everything. The year before that was great, it was only once I started in her classroom and wanted to do everything in my power to crush her that things went downhill. We started out okay. But what you have to know is that I am inherently lazy and I love to procrastinate (this began at a very young age), and this teacher listed these two qualities as her arch nemeses on the first day of school.

She told us (so pleasantly and Pollyanna-like) what hardworking, busy people we would become in her classroom. So busy, in fact, we would never have time to watch TV again, because all we would ever want to do was learn. Now, if my mom had taught me anything, it was to immediately add people like this to the list of people to be slowly tortured and killed. So I did. Let me just say third grade was a very rough year, though it was filled with lots and lots of television at all hours. That’s right: take that, Mrs. Castoneguay!*

Time warp here to much later and my early spiteful sayings to my mother have come true. I live quite near a very large city 1300 miles away from Frozen-French-Fry land with a million things to do, except now that I am here, I have found that I am frightened. I want my small town back again. I want to know someone when I walk down the street or go to the grocery store. Most of all, I want to take my kids to the park and not get odd looks from other parents who slowly move away from us as they see us coming. We can’t really be that weird, can we?

* Pronounced Cas-TONE-ee, for no apparent reason.

Spelt Personality

July 2, 2008

Society seems to have some official rules of spelling that dictate that Jennie should be spelled with a y, but as you can see, this blog will not conform to these spelling laws that are so commonly followed. That’s right: I’m an outlaw.

What’s the big deal about spelling it with an ie, you say? Well, first of all, my name is Jennie. Just Jennie.. not Jennifer, not Jenifer, and certainly not Jennipher. Until I got my driver’s license, I believed with all my being that -ie was the proper way for any dignified person to spell my name. I mean, that’s how I was told I should spell it by my mother, and she named me, after all. Then at the ripe old age of 17, I found out my true identity (pause for huge effect)… I am legally named Jenny. Not a huge deal, right?


I spent 17 fucking years correcting people, looking for crappy memorabilia with my name on it, signing my name to pretty important crap like bank accounts, school records, blah, blah, blah.

“No, Ma’am I am not wrong, I do know my own name, and it isn’t ‘really Jennifer’ and no, surely I do have a full first name… I already told you: it’s Jennie.” This was a treasured conversation at the beginning of each school year, followed up with, “Yup, it’s J-e-n-n-I-E, not with a -y” as the teacher was making me a new name card for my desk. At 6 this seemed important, at 9 it just was what it was, and at 15 it was annoying as shit.

So, today I stand before you as Jennie in all things other than the important ones such as licenses, leases, loans, education, employment, marriage, and the like.

As a side note to all parents out there, no matter how hopped up on drugs you are when having/naming your child don’t pick one spelling of a name and then years later forget what you chose.*

* Equally important: Don’t name your child Chlamydia. I know this seems like a pretty obvious tip, but that’s a story for another time.