Sticks and Stones and My Scattered Thoughts

I have been called many things over the years. Do I care? No. I really don't care what people think of me. Ok, that's not entirely true. I want people to like me. I admit it. We all want to be liked, don't we? We all want people to accept us for who we are and appreciate what we have to say. So, yeah. I want people to like me. But here's the catch: If they DON'T like me, I am not going to change to make them happy. If they don't like me, their problem. I don't care. They probably aren't worth the grief they will bring into my life anyway.

I have been accused many times of being immature. Really? Is it because I laugh at myself daily? Is it because I'm unafraid to look like a dork in front of my kids or grand kids? Or is it just the ability to laugh....a lot.....at all the things that happen in life? I try to find humor in everyday things. It just makes life easier.

I think being mature is taking responsibility for your own actions and short-comings. I am a very responsible person. I am not a risk taker. I will not ever jeopardize someone else's safety. I try to be a good friend, sister, mother, daughter, grandmother, aunt. I try to help others when I can. I will give advice sometimes, sometimes unsolicited advice, but I'm usually trying to help find a solution to a problem. I will admit when I'm wrong but if I believe I'm right, I will stand my ground until someone proves me wrong. If these things make me immature, then so be it.

Some say I'm judgmental.  Judgmental: Making judgements as to the value etc., often specifically judgments considered to be lacking in tolerance or objectivity. Aren't we all judgmental to a certain degree? I mean, how do you choose your friends? You make a simple judgment based on what you know about the person. You ask yourself, "Is this someone I want to be friends with?" I don't know about you, but I have no tolerance for drug addicts and criminals. They ruin other people's lives and think nothing of it. We all judge others. We all judged Casey Anthony for the murdering monster she is. I have no tolerance for baby killers. When a religious leader preaches against homosexuality and then he, himself, is caught in a homosexual situation, I want to climb the highest mountain and scream! I have no tolerance for hypocrites! What about the habitual liar, who lies so swiftly and competently that he actually believes his own lies? No tolerance. We all have an opinion of certain people, we all have first impressions, we ALL pass judgments. I don't think I am morally superior to anyone else. It's just that I, personally, prefer to keep only people in my life that won't cause me any more drama than need be!

Not too long ago, I was told that a certain person considered me to be 'stupid.' Well, let me just say to this certain person, I'm not stupid. I may not have a fancy degree and I really don't know much about politics or religion. I don't know anything about cars except how to drive it, fill it with gas, work all the gadgets inside and wash it. I don't have a legal mind, I'm not a math wiz, a carpenter or a doctor.... but I'm not stupid and I sure as heck know when you're lying to me! I don't say anything to your face but I still know you're lying! I choose not to say anything because I like that you think you've pulled the wool over my eyes! 


Last year, I was told that I know nothing about relationships and that's why I'm alone. Uh. No. First, I'm single by choice. After a failed relationship with the father of my children, I chose to make my children my priority. After all, I was a single parent and I wanted my kids to grow up with a good, strong foundation. Second, I know enough about relationships to know what I want and what I don't want...and I sure wouldn't want the likes of some narcissistic jerk in my life...been there, done that.

My daughter use to tell me when she was a teenager that I was overprotective of her and her brother. Protective, yes. Overprotective, NO. I always knew where my kids were, what they were doing and who they were with. If they wanted to go to a friend's house I talked to the parents first. If they wanted to invite a friend over, I also talked to the parents. I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. I wanted to make sure they had adult supervision at all times. I was involved in the kids' school activities and volunteered in their classrooms when I didn't have to work. I helped my kids with their homework. We went on picnics, to the zoo, museums and went on nature hikes. We spent a lot of time together. I taught them, fed them, nursed them when they were ill, read to them, played with them. I protected them. Isn't that what parents are suppose to do??

The one thing I have heard about me that I have to agree with, is that I complain a lot. Yeah. I do. I complain when it's too cold because it makes my arthritis pain worse. I complain when someone makes a mess in the kitchen and doesn't clean it up. (What am I? The maid?) I complain about the pipes breaking when it freezes and I can't take my morning shower. I complain when the phone rings before I even get up in the morning. I complain when something in the house needs to be repaired, which happens quite a lot these days. (Old house.) I complain when one of the cats nearly trips me. I guess I do complain a lot. It's something I must work on, I admit it. I will try and catch myself from complaining so much in the future. Instead I'll just laugh and make jokes so someone can accuse me of being immature!!

Lost In Sadness

I've got a lot to say but these days, but it's difficult to put it in writing. My mind is on overdrive and I can't seem to concentrate.

My relationship with my daughter is strained, and I'm feeling....lost. How do you resolve an issue when the other person won't speak to you? Sad thoughts fill my head daily. In hindsight, I think things could have been handled differently. At the time though, it was the only thing to do. I was put in an awkward position and I had to make a decision. Now, it seems like I have lost my daughter and the relationship I was growing with my grand son, one of the most important little people in my life.....

An invitation to Thanksgiving dinner and the desire to put the past in the past was not enough. I sat and waited for a phone call, a text or any indication that peace could be made. Nothing. Disappointment. Sadness. The everlasting urge to cry lingers. Do I stop hoping? Do I give up? How can I?

I've not seen or heard from them in over 2 months. I tell myself to be patient, that there is light at the end of the tunnel. But is there? I guess I wait......

I'm Still Here....

I had worried about having gallbladder surgery for the past month. I worried that something would go wrong. This inspired me to clean out closets, drawers, cabinets etc. I threw away a lot of crap that I had accumulated over the years. Such clutter. I didn’t want to leave such a mess for my family to have to deal with if something went wrong during surgery.

I had voiced my concerns with close friends and family. They all told me “Don’t worry,” “Everything’s going to be ok,” “You’re going to get through this,” “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” etc. Deep down I knew they were right but you just never know when something might go wrong. I wanted to have things in order just in case.

I wrote letters to my children, my Dad, my sisters and a few close friends. Letters to be opened only in case of my death or in the event that I couldn’t speak for myself. These letters were hard for me to write but I did it. I wanted them to know how important they are to me. I couldn’t assume they knew. Sometimes we get so busy with life, we tend to not say things we should and sometimes we say things we shouldn’t. I wanted the last words from me to them to be what was in the letters.

I also made lists of things like internet accounts, bank accounts, etc., so that my family would know what needed to be done and how. I made a list of certain belongings that I wanted my family members to have. I made a list of special requests if I end up in a nursing home. Yes. I did that.

I know, it sounds ridiculous now but I really was worried about leaving my family behind.

My Dad and my son accompanied me to the hospital and I kept it together quite well. I didn’t want them to see how scared I was. They were with me up until I was moved into surgical waiting.

The surgeon was about an hour behind. This led to even more stress and I could hardly wait for them to give me that sedative they had promised! When they did, I felt some relief, but it wasn’t as great as they said it would be. I was rather disappointed! When Paula, the surgical nurse came to see me, I had to go to the bathroom so she helped me wrap a blanket around me because my giant butt was peering out the back of that very fashionable hospital gown. Then she walked me to the bathroom with my IV bag in one hand and the other across the small of my back. She was very nice, as were all the other nurses, but she was my favorite of them all.

After I finished my business in the bathroom, Paula walked me back to my bed and then rolled me out of surgical waiting, through a set of closed doors and down a long corridor. I thought of the song Hotel California by the Eagles. Maybe I would never leave this place.

The operation room was freezing and everything was huge and sparkling clean. Paula helped me onto the thin, metal operating table. She put warm blankets over me. I farted. I thought to myself, “OMG, the surgeon is going to be so distracted by my bodily functions he’s not going to do it right!” Paula got my blood pressure cuff settled on one arm and a finger probe on the opposite hand. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Flock, came in and put probes on my chest. His name struck me as funny and I tried not to laugh but all I could think of was my Dad being silly. I know Dad would have jokingly said, “Get the flock out of here.” Paula strapped my arms down and also placed a strap across my upper legs. I was really scared at this point. Dr. Flock said he was giving me something in my IV bag (I don’t remember if he told me what it was) and that I would feel warm and sleepy soon. He put a mask over my face and told me to breathe deeply. I started to cry. Paula comforted me and I said something that I can’t remember now. My voice was very low and slow….

As my lights went out, Paula wiped a tear from my cheek and said, “It’s going to be ok.” THAT was the last thing I remember and all I can say is that Paula is a very, very special person.