Ducks in the Water.

It's been a month now of unemployment.

We've emailed/called/facebooked/tweeted everyone we know.

He's on all the job sites.

He signed up with AppleOne.

He's been to 2 job fairs.

We tuned and refined his resume within an inch of its life.

He applies every day.

Still?

NOTHING.

No real leads, and not a damn peep from unemployment.

We keep calling, but we can't even get on the line to leave a message-
it's clear that talking to someone is outta the question.

Our money is gone and bills are due.

We're gonna have to ask my ILs for money.
Which I loathe doing.

How long will we have to keep asking?
How long will they help?

Fuckety fuckness, this blows...

Don't misunderstand, I am so grateful for the help we DO have, but...


I just want to be able to help OURSELVES.


The only real upside to this mess is that the boy and I were approved for Medi-Cal, so I've been able to go back on meds.

They're definitely helping.

I think I may a higher dose still, but we'll see.

As for the rest of my health issues, not much has been resolved.

I did about $300 of preliminary blood work to be told that nothing was wrong.

This doesn't mean that there ISN'T anything wrong, but nothing immediately seen.
It would require more testing.

Uhhh, screw that noise. I'm broke.

Fortunately, the med that I'm on is also prescribed for chronic pain, so YAY for multitasking, I guess....

That's kinda it on our end of the world.

Nothing more that we can really do.
Just gotta sit it out and wait.
Hope.


Sitting Ducks. 
That's what I feel like we are.....





If any of my readers out there are millionaires who'd like to bequeath large sums of money to me, please do!

I cannot promise that I will pay it back, nor can I promise Demi Moore-like sexual exploits, but I CAN promise utter gratefulness and freshly baked cookies! 

Summer, 1987

24 was a big year for me.
It was the year I graduated from college.
It was the year I met my husband.
It was the year I started to realize I deserved to have a life.
A big year.
Scary and wonderful and pivotal.
A year I will always remember.

But I am reminded of a different year today...


I remember breaking into hives because they told me it was a boy.

I wanted a girl.

I remember the day you were born.

How loudly you screamed at the world.

I remember waking up early just to stare at your beautiful face.

I’d never seen something so gorgeous.

I remember being the only one who could get you to eat.

The loud giggles over Itsy Bitsy Spider

I remember you crying every time I left.

My heart breaking a little each time.

I remember your first day of school.

So scared of your giantess of a teacher.

I remember taking you to buy a dress for your first dance

The one you wanted was NOT appropriate.

I remember doing your make up for prom.

You looked like magic.

I remember the moment I realized that there wasn’t any more I could do.

It killed me, but you were going to do whatever you wanted. You always have.

I remember our last real conversation and how ugly it was.

You refused to hear me.

I remember knowing that I had to step back for my own sake and that of my family’s.

I know you hate me for it.

I remember almost every moment of your (and our brother’s) young life.

I remember from the moment you entered this world, realizing that I would love you forever with an intensity I wouldn’t know I again until I birthed my son.

I know that we don’t have a relationship, but I think about you every day.

You think that I judge you, that I feel superior to you.

What you don’t understand is that all I have ever wanted is to protect you.

From family history.

From habitual mistakes.

From the underbelly of dangerous choices.

I just wanted to see you safe and happy.

Not tethered by the learned mistakes of your parents.

I hope as you cultivate your life, you will cultivate an understanding of me, of my love.
I am not perfect, and I have made mistakes, but never doubt my love for you.

You were my first baby.

You’re an adult now, but you will always be that little girl who crawled into bed with me every night.

I love you with all my heart.

So much more than a sister’s love-I love you and our brother as I love my own son.

 I always have and I always will.

But I cannot be the parent I tried so hard to be for you.

I was never going to be able to fill that role, as it was not mine to fill.

I can send you love, and wish you well.

Even if you can't hear me.

I love you, beautiful girl.....

Happy Birthday, Baby.

I hope that 24 is a year that you will never forget, for all the right reasons.

Mixed Feelings

I sorta HATE Fathers' Day.
It was just another day for me to feel different.
Sure, I made the crafts in class like everyone else, but I knew deep down that my step-dad wouldn't give a shit.

There would be no Father-Daughter Teas for me,
No lectured boyfriends on Prom Night.
No tears on my Wedding Day.
I was no one's Princess.

I used to pretend like it didn't matter to me, but it did.
I wanted be someone's little girl.


When I met my husband, I knew he would be a good dad.
He loved kids, and treated them with a kind of reverence that was unusual for dudes of his age.

In the years since we met, he has met and exceeded my expectations as far as his ability to be a father.

As soon as I got pregnant with O, Huz became a DAD.
He loves our son with his whole heart.
I know that he would go to any length to protect and care for him.

This fills me with so much peace.
So much comfort.
And makes me kinda LIKE Fathers' Day.

I know that one day, if we ever have a daughter, she will be someone's Princess.

HIS.


Thank you, Querido.  I am a lucky wife and ours is a fortunate son.  We love you.

Comments, Questions, Complaints and Concerns.

I love getting comments. 

Lurrrrve it.

They help me to feel heard and dare I say it, validated.

When I see comments, I know I’m not just ranting on to myself…I have an audience!

You know, which is kinda nice.

Because your commentlovin’ is so important to me, I want to make sure I keep on top of it!

In an effort to more accurately track and answer comments, I installed Intense Debate.

Hooray! All my comment issues are gonna be solved! It’s like switching to Wordpress without ACTUALLY switching!

Yippppeeeeeeeee!

Yeah, like that.

Except not.

ID is fucking my shit all up.

One minute it works, one minute it doesn’t.

Comments are there, then gone. Poof!

On days it IS working, I will craft heartfelt responses, only to have them eaten by the abyss.

I have tried to troubleshoot, and I have tried to uninstall/reinstall, etc.

Over IT, kids. That’s what I am.

So I’m thinking of  uninstalling it, and calling it a damn day.

My apologies for anyone whom I haven’t answered back lately, it’s entirely likely I never got to see it, OR tried to answer, only to have it gobbled away.

Hmmmmmph.

I’m not  particularly happy with Blogger half the time either, but will get into that another day…

Now that I’ve bitched my little fit, I have some questions:

Do any of you ever wonder who actually reads your blog?

Do you ever wonder how many lurkers you have?

Do you ever wonder if there are people out there faithfully reading along, but never commenting?

Do you ever wonder if there are readers out there who hate your guts but read anyway?

Do you ever wonder why some blogs have 300 readers/comments and some blogs only have 3?

Do you ever wonder how in the hell Dooce does it?

Do you ever secretly hope that Ellen will read your blog, then decide that you just HAVE to be on her show, skyrocketing you to fame and fortune, AND a book deal?

Ummmmm….Yeah, me neither.

Pshhhhht.

When I was a House, I Felt at Home.

So I was over at the awesome Leighann's blogcasa, The Endless Rant of a Multitasking Mumma and saw her post about baby bumps...

She is in the midst of a fever and SO AM I.

I have been for a while.

As O turned one, my uterus started yearning for another gig....

But that's so NOT GONNA HAPPEN.


Which kills me, because I haven't got a clue when it might, particularly now that we have no income whatsoever.


Heavy Sigh.

Babies should really be the last frikken thing on my mind, but I can't help envying the bazillion baby bumps I see around me lately.


Seriously though, is there something in the water???

Anyway.

All this crazy babylust got me thinking about my pregnancy with O.
Pregnancy was not my friend.
As a matter of fact, it was kinda awful.
Sometimes, embarrassing...
But as strange as it may sound, I loved it.
In misery, I was happier than I'd ever been.

31 weeks

My friend kindly Photoshopped away the stretchmarks!

My Wedding Shawl

For more for more of my giiiiigundo belly, feast your eyes on this post!

It was nice to be proud of my gut for a while!


Over at Things I Can't Say...


Join in, and link up!

Fruck it!

O hasn't been the best talker, but I wasn't overly worried (most of the time)...

He was definitely a babbly baby.
Said Mama and  Dada pretty early.
Yay!

Then, it was if he got it out of his system and was done with it.
Crap.

Buuuut, since he's always babbled, always been curious, very aware, definitely understood us (not that he listens), and his Daddy talked super late, we did our best not to panic.

We just kept on talking to him constantly and waited.
And Waited....

Eventually, he says book (he LOOOOVES books), while reading him a story...
Maybe it's a fluke...
We ask for a book.
He goes and gets one. Says book!
SCORE!

Than no more--nada.

Back to waiting.....

More of US talking. This kid's life has been narrated since the womb.
He loves the ABC song, so we started saying the alphabet all the time, got a bunch of alphabet books...
His fave is Star Wars ABC... 

He was  (and still is) making all KINDS Of letter sounds, and starting to recognize them...

But still not a lot of talking.
Shit.

Have I talked about my lack of patience?
Or my Husband's overwhelming paranoia?
Yeeeaaah.

That's been fun.

 We just kept on talking, talking, talking, talking!
Singing too. He's kinda obsessed with music.

He's now a little over 19 months.

He says:
NO-his favorite

Up-When he wants you to pick him up...

Cow-pretty much any animal is a cow. Moo!

Hat-He puts anything on his head and calls it a hat.

Bye bye-he started saying bye bye, but now it's turned into "gye gye?"

Cheese-This kid loves him some cheese!

Hi-I love the way he says hi!

ChooChoo-Train...Thank you Thomas.

Car-He's a little Boston about it, "Caah!"

Fruck-Truck. This one's gonna get us in trouble I can see it now. It's so adorable.

Huh-Hug. He hasn't got the G down yet...
and

Gigi-My MIL.

Notice anything missing from the list?

Oh, right:


Mama and Dada.

WTF, Kid?

I mean, fine, screw Dada (kidding honey! Ahem...), but I was GUTTED for you!
Where's my "hi, Mama?!!!


Sigh.

And he won't say all of them consistently.
He knows what they are, but it's like he just has chattier days than others...
He still babbles up a storm and he recognizes a bunch of the alphabet, yet he's not all that wordy.
Seems to talk only when he damn well pleases... Hmmmmph!

Has anyone else had that experience?
Should I be concerned?
His pediatrician doesn't seem to be...


But let's ask the really important question here:

Why won't he say Mama, damn it?

Fruckin' annoying, if you ask me.









Mama is kidding, O. She loves you always. But would it KILL you to say Mama? I'm just sayin'.

I'm feeling all Sprat-like...

I grew up in a house where thinness was next to g-dliness.
You could never be too thin.
Jutting hipbones or razor-sharp clavicles were a source of pride.
A badge of fucking honor.

Unfortunately for me,
my mother was convinced that I was fat...
So I went on my first diet at 6.

I remember it vividly because we went out to dinner with my grandparents and she dictated what I could eat.
She also wouldn't let me have dessert.
I remember crying, not because of the lack of dessert, but from the abundance of shame.

Fueling her fervor--
I developed early.
Booooobs by 10.
Period by 11.
I was petite and curvy. (I'm 5'3ish)
Curvy in my house?

Just translated to:

You're too fat to wear that....suck in that tummy...you need to go back on a diet....wear black, it'll hide your pudge...

and so on.
In much uglier words than I care to repeat.

By the time I was 13, I had been on every diet known to man, and had serious body image/food issues.
I was basically a functioning anorexic.
It never got to a hospitalization level, but it was still there all the same.

I counted every calorie and starved myself whenever possible.
If I did eat, I berated myself and did crunches til I thought I would pass out.

But nothing worked...
I was still "fat."

As I entered adulthood, my body started changing (like it DOES), and I did everything to fight the tide.

Getting to 100 on the scale was tough...
Especially with my mother constantly pointing out my every flaw.

From 18-22, while completely on my own, away from the environment I grew up in--
I still struggled with food and weight.
This time being my own tormentor...

I was trying to eat normally and abandon my anorexic-type habits (with the support from my then-boyfriend), but I discovered:

I didn't know how.

Add the stress of working full-time, supporting myself, the shitty eating habits of college kids, and weight started creeping on.

I "ballooned" from 100 lbs to 140lbs.
I looked at the scale and wanted to die.
Literally.
I was disgusting, right?


In the Summer of 2003, as most of you know, I was raped.

In what I saw as a protective measure, I started gaining weight.
A lot of weight.
I had been told my whole life that know one would want me if I was fat.

In my head?
I was already fat.
So in order to be safe, I needed to be really really fat.

Then no one would touch me ever again.

Fast-forward a year, and I had put on over 100lbs.
I woke up one day and didn't recognize myself.

It was as if every insult my mother had ever hurled at me, everything she said I was, her perception of my obesity- had come true.



I felt invisible.
Ugly.
Safe.

Eventually, I got some therapy, meds, support, and I started to heal.
I wanted my life back.
I wanted to move past the nightmare.

But I was trapped in my own body/my own head.
Years worth of tapes played in my head, and I hated myself even more.
The perception of fat was gone, and the reality of fat was here to stay.

The first time a doctor used the word obese in reference to me--
I felt like he was finally seeing the truth I had known my whole life.

I wanted to get the weight off but I didn't know what the hell to do.

Because of the CP, I am not a great exerciser.
Most workouts and machines are hard for me to do.
I can't go running/biking/rollerblading...

I was eating right, walking, doing the best I could to be healthy.
I quit smoking
I didn't drink.
I was TRYING.
It wasn't working.
At all.

Back to old habits!
Starvation.
Crunches galore.
Diet pills.

The weight was clinging to me like white on rice.
My metabolism was all kinds of fucked up due to the years of dieting, starvation and poor nutrition.
Go figure!

So here I am today, still battling the bulge, as it were....

It's been 7 years that I have carried the bulk of this weight...
and a lifetime that I have struggled to accept my body.

I've lost and gained and lost again...always just increments.
Never big losses.
I was my heaviest at 255
I'm now at 200.

A number that I am deeply ashamed of.

But there are days that I feel like I have accepted myself, and gotten closer to being mentally healthy about body/food/eating disorder issues.

Then there are days where I know the fight is not over.
It may never be.

Days like today.

My FIL got my Husband a Summer pass to the local gym.
He thought it would be a good stress reliever in the midst of our financial clusterfuck.

My husband came home sweaty and exhausted, but excited.
He needs to lose 30 lbs.
The trainer at the gym said that they can have him down to that in 20 weeks.
Six-pack and all...

My husband loves me. Tells me so every day.
He also tells me how beautiful I am, how attracted he is to me.
EVERY DAY.

He could give two shits about what I weigh or the size sewn into my pants.

But as he was talking?
I started to worry:

What if after he gets back in shape he notices how big I am?
What if he's no longer attracted to me?
I should go do some crunches....

Seriously. That ran frenzied through my brain....

Can I lose enough weight by the time he loses his weight that I won't look so bad next to him?

Fucking insane.

And I KNOW that, but it hasn't stopped me from feeling like Mrs. Jack Sprat all damn day.

Sigh.

The saddest part to me is that it wouldn't occur to me to look at someone else the way I often look at myself.

Never.

I don't look at my husband and see 30 extra lbs.
I just see my man.

I don't look at friends and see flaws.
I see people.

Despite my education, my years of therapy, a loving support system, etc.
I still have my days.

Days where I see myself through someone else's eyes and hear someone else's voice in my head.

I do need to lose weight.
We all know that it's good to maintain a healthy weight.
I am not at one.

What I fear is that If I ever make it back to that healthy weight, I won't accept it.

Because my body was never allowed to just BE.

Food was not simple nourishment and occasional pleasure, it was the enemy and my weakness.

I was not taught about healthy, I was tortured for perfection.

Healthy was never really the point.

I want it to be.
So I keep on trucking.

I force myself to eat. Because sometimes? I don't want to.

I try to exercise but if I eat a brownie, well then I ate a fucking brownie.

I make myself hear my husband's compliments.
Make myself accept them.

Someday, I hope to completely and wholly believe them.


In related news?

I started back on anti-depressants today.
We were approved for Medi-Cal.

Halle-fucking-lujah!

Meds for everybody!
Okay, just me, but still...

Square One Again: Familiar, but Not Comforting.

I should be sleeping, but I can't.
My mind is a whirlygig of worries and "what-ifs"
(Say THAT 5 times fast!)

I have my moments where I'm going through the day as though things are fine.
It's almost as if the Husband is just home on a long weekend...

but then I'll remember:
He was laid off. We have no income.

And my chest seizes up-- my eyes start to burn from tears...

What are we gonna do?

Keeps on ringing through my head.

I am paralyzed by fear of what could come, what IS coming if he doesn't find a job within the month.

I am angry and defeated at/by the circumstances.
Ones that we are no strangers to...

Weren't we JUST here?

In the summer of  2007, we were riding high.
New apartment, new engagement, our lives beginning.
Money was tight, yet we were making it...

But just as we got settled, Huz got laid off.
After 4 months of struggling on 1 income, he got a new job.
We could get back on track!

Then my job went out the window.
4 more months of struggling, and I finally found a new job.
It was at a pay cut, but it had potential.

We began to climb out of the hole that was rapidly starting to form...

A week before our wedding, I was laid off.
The economy was tanking--they couldn't afford to keep me...
And let me go two days shy of 90 days, so I didn't even qualify for unemployment.

That was March of 2008.
By July, I still didn't have work.
We were barely limping along.
All we could afford was our rent and utilities.

Everything else went to shit.

We owed all of our billers
Our credit cards were maxed
Our accounts were delinquent
There was no savings to speak of, or money in general.

Our lease was up on the 1st of August and they were jacking our rent up.
We  frantically tried to find another place to live, but didn't meet any of the income/credit requirements.

(in CA most buildings mandate that you pass a credit check and make at least 3xs your rent amount to qualify for tenancy)

None of our friends were in a position to help us, so we did the one thing, the LAST thing we wanted to do:

Called my husband's parents and begged.
 It was as demoralizing as you might expect...

They, rightfully, felt like we (as married adults) should figure it out ourselves and said no.
But when it became clear that it was their house or our 2003 Jetta, they consented.

So we packed up our apartment into a storage unit, gave away our dog (who we ADORED) and drove over to their house.

(On the way, we rear-ended someone. I should have known then that we were in for a difficult road)

We thought it was going to be a couple months...


As I talked about several times here in these "pages," it's been almost 3 years.

A much harder and less fruitful 3 years than I think anyone expected, but there was positivity and SOME  progress.

We were finally at a point were there were no more collectors calling, no more delinquencies.
There still wasn't any savings (thanks to medical bills and needing a new car, OH, and having a child), but there were a few bucks in the bank and our bills were getting paid in full and on time.

Still had a shitload of debt and I had no idea when we'd be able to have our own place; worrying about money constantly, but I could always say:

At LEAST the bills are getting paid. 
We are providing for our son.


Now We can't say that.
I paid what I could for this month--still trying to figure out the rest...
There will be nothing left for next month.

As I said in my previous post, because of my in-laws, O will not go hungry, and we will have a roof, but what about everything else?

I know this is going to drive us deeper into debt--how much deeper?
What about our credit? (Which was finally cleaned up)
What about our CAR?
Am I going to have to default on my student loans?

How long will it take us to rebound from this, when we haven't even fully recovered from the last time?

We want to move forward.
We want to be optimistic.
We're wishing for that miracle...

But looking at our peers and the economy around us, we know we have to be frank with ourselves.

We're trying to be proactive.
We've got resumes flying and we're following up on every lead that crosses our path...
We're doing everything we can, but we know that's not enough.


It's taking a toll on us. On every level.

We will weather it, I hope, but how beat up will we be coming out on the other side?
I'm not sure I want to know... 









Thank you to everyone who has commented/emailed/tweeted/texted/called us.
Thank you for your support, encouragement, prayers and hope for us.
Thank you for keeping your eyes peeled and ears open.
Thank you for listening.
We really appreciate it.
We need it.