Crying

Went and saw my GP again because I keep having really bad swelling in my hand, and it turns this delighful red/purple colour, and is icy cold. It was so bad last night that Wolf sat rubbing it, trying to get it warm, and I ended up wearing a mitten, trying to ease the cold. The pain is pretty intense when it does this...like having your hand in a snowbank, that achy/burning cold intensity.

Dr told me that its Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy, told me to look it up at home...and then told me he was really, really sorry. Yeah. Words you wanna hear, right? He told me that he wished it wasn't, and he hopes like hell he's wrong, and he's referring me to a pain specialist...but that he's seen other cases and certain its what's going on with me. He also told me that the specialist and WCB will likely ping pong me for 6 mths to a year saying it isn't before they cave and admit it is...and there's a 50% chance that it will improve...but it will never heal or go away completely.

Freaking wonderful.

Walking The Edge

Ok, yet another blog that isn't a ha ha funny, so don't say you weren't warned.

I'm struggling with my faith. Or perhaps, a more accurate statement would be that I'm struggling with my LACK of faith.

I've been feeling this prodding to get 'serious' about my beliefs...which would be fine, if I really knew in my heart what the heck they are. I believe in God. I believe that Christ was the Son of God. Then...then I get stuck. Did Christ die for our sins? Yours, sure. Mine? Uh...

What it boils down to is forgiveness, as a good friend pointed out. I don't forgive. Myself mostly...but a 2nd runner up would be my mother. I hold a lot of anger and hurt and bitterness towards her. When I say a LOT, I mean...I'm not sure who I would be without that seething and boiling inside me. When my friend J told me that I needed to forgive her, I just about hung up the phone. See, I call J as a sort of guide. She's my...expert (although she would balk and cringe at that term) on Christianity. In J I see a person I'd like to be like. While she could enumerate her shortfalls and failings and weaknesses, I see in her a loving heart, a loving mother, and loving wife. I know she struggles, but that makes her all the more loving, because she never hesitates to say, "I fell today...but I got up again." She never attempts to pretend that she's better or perfect, or anything but very human...which is why she's as strong as she is, and why I trust her implicitly...and why I turn to her with questions of faith. J never says, "Believe it, or go to HELL!" She lets me fumble my way along, sometimes patting on the back, sometimes kicking in the butt, but she's there, and its all done in love.

Writing this, I realize how hungry my heart has been for that. As much as I vow that I loathe and despise people, that I distrust them, apparently there's a part of me that so desperately longs for closeness and trust and love. Ack. How the hell did that happen, and how do I rid myself of it? Its screwing with my vision of myself as a cold hearted sneering wench. Damn it.

And I've gotten off track. It happens.

Anyways, J was talking about forgiveness. I told her, repeatedly, that I don't WANT to forgive. Not interested. I would rather die than to forgive. What happened wasn't ok, would never be ok, and I would never let go of the hurt and rage.

Part of it is, if I were to be brutally honest, is that my mother doesn't acknowlege that anything was ever wrong. She's always right, ya know. Never her fault, never her mistake, always mine. Everything she did was cause of me in one form or another. I don't want to let go, because SOMEONE needs to remember that what she did was WRONG. She's never acknowleged it. And it was wrong. Period. Forgiving is like it didn't happen, like I didn't go through what I did, that it was inconsequential, to be swept aside, to be brushed off. "Alls forgiven" lets all be loving and sharing.

No.

I can't. Forgiving means that I can't hide behind anger anymore. It means that I'm going to hurt. And hurt, and hurt and hurt. And I don't know that I can deal with that. Anger is all that holds misery at bay some days. It gives me strength.

J would argue, if she were on the phone, that God will give me strength. That God will hold the misery at bay. That the love God has for me is more than enough to make up for what my mother never did.

How do I trust Him, when I don't trust me? How do I find the faith to let go of what pitiful control I have and free fall, believing to be caught when nobody ever has?

I'm scared. I'm on the edge of something I can't see, and I know I need to take that step. I'm scared of what's in store for me. I'm scared of falling...But part of me is even MORE scared of being caught. Because then I can't hide in the shadows of ignorance anymore, and I'll have a responsibility that I don't now. I'm scared of this feeling that there's something in store for me...and I don't know what it is, but I already don't like it.

J asked me to pray tonight. She asked me to pray to want to forgive, if even only to spite her. I didn't say I would...but I don't think she noticed. I'm afraid that if I do ask, I'll be answered...and I don't know that I want that answer. I don't know if I'm ready to find out who I am without anger fuelling me. The pain, the anger, the anguish and bitterness...they're friends now. They've been with me all my life. I know them. I wrap them around me as a way to keep people at bay, to announce that I dislike people, don't trust them...so that way, I risk nothing.

I hate it when J's right. She makes me look at things I'd rather not.

*sigh*

I'll pray, J. And it will be, "She's making me. I don't want this, but I think I need it...but I really REALLY would rather not, k? So feel free to ignore it, or say no...kinda like the can I get the winning lotto ticket gig..."

Dancing Nekkid

Ok, so its time to move on to more personal matters...as in my lil heathens. I'm going to start with 'Taz'. You'll hear about him a lot. Taz is 3 years old, and, dare I say, gorgeous. Dirty blonde hair, stunning blue eyes, and eyelashes that not only are stupidly long and thick, but freaking curl. And before anyone asks, no, neither of my daughters are that blessed. God has a cruel sense of ha ha.

ANYWAYS...about Tazzie boy.

The child is a never ending whirling activity centre. And, because I must have done something really bad in my past life, like club baskets of newborn puppies, he's as smart as he is busy.

Trust me, from a mother's perspective, that's a bad baaaaaad combo. From a homeschooling mother's perspective, that's enough to cause me to daydream of kindergarten, and/or strong meds. For me, not him. Essentially, if I don't keep this child busy when concious, he'll find something to do. And, being bright, its nothing within the boringly normal antics of the average 3 year old. Nope, course not.

For starters, the lil heathen uses the puter better than Wolf. Seriously. And has taught himself to READ well enough to know which is his list of favourites, and which site is which. (I did mention that he's 3, right? Turned 3 in Feb?)

Ok, so that's part of the background.

The other part is...Taz likes being nekkid. I mean...he LIKES being nekkid. Child has no modesty, no shame, no thermostat, cause he's just as happy being nekkid in Dec as in June. Outside. Although, he does come in faster in Dec.

So, the other week, he was in the wading pool, and came in. I stripped off his wet togs, and went to get him some dry clothes from the basement. (Yes, our laundry room is down there. The 1 armed thing means there's a perfectly good excuse to live out of laundry baskets now.) As I was coming back up the stairs, I heard, "I am NEKKID! I'm NEKKID NEKKID NEKKID, singing the NEKKID SOOOOOOONG!" over and over.

I discover Taz, out on the back steps, nekkid, shaking his hips and butt all over the top step, bellowing the 'Nekkid Song' at top volume.

And of course my neighbour was in her yard.

Then there was the other night. Taz was once again in his natural state, standing in front of the fan, yelling the 'Nekkid Song' into it. (He had just discovered how weird your voice sounds when you yell into the fan). I watched him dance like he was channelling Elvis, and then looked at Wolf. See, I don't know about all the other SAHM out there, but my husband doesn't always seem to quite believe the things that happen in my day. While he laughed about Taz dancing for the neighbours, there was a sense that I must have dramatized things a bit. Watching his son do some pretzel hips, he commented, "Well...at least we know how he'll pay for college."

But He LOVES You

Seems like everywhere I turn lately, divorce and splitting up is running rampant. I guess spring isn't just a wedding season, but a divorce season too.

Cheating is still probably one of the biggest reasons for splitting up that I hear of. And it never ceases to just flat out astound me the double standard that is still alive and well when it comes to sex, marriage and infidelity.

If a woman cheats, she's a whore, a slut. She's scum, a vile betrayer of the sanctity of her marriage.

If a man cheats..."It was just sex, I LOVE you!" Seriously, I heard that one personally, I've had friends hear it, and recently, one woman I know had her MOTHER tell her, "it was just sex, he loves you!" How in the name of hell does that one work? There seems to be the mindset that a man is a slave to his dick, compeltely incapable of controlling those manly urges, and its up to the women to forgive the poor helpless male his failings. Its just lust, dear.

Bullshit, says I. Bullshit. Can you imagine if a wife were to say the same thing? "He was just really well hung dear. But I LOVE you!" Yeah. Why don't I see that one going over at all? So why would a guy think that it should be a path to forgiveness? Why do so many men vow that they would kill (or beat the living snot out of) any man they found with their wife...yet figure that sorry and some flowers or maybe a diamond should result in automatic forgiveness? Why is it that still, in 2008, a man screwing around isn't viewed as negatively as a woman doing the same?

And while I'm at it..."It didn't mean anything, I was drunk, it wasn't my fault" is another bullshit line. Being drunk doesn't get you off the hook if you run someone over, beat someone up...so why would it be a reasonable excuse in screwing around? I mean, seriously...has that EVER worked? Has any spouse ever looked at the cheater and said, "Oh, Dear...since you were drunk, its totally ok. Alls forgiven!" Hell no. If anything, it makes it worse, because of the lame attempt to escape any and all responsibility for their actions.

Responsibility is another thing. I've always personally wanted to turn a flame thrower on those that actually attempt to blame their spouse for their wandering gonads. "Well...if you hadn't gained weight...had kept the house clean...wore something other than sweat pants...wore makeup...I wouldn't have HAD to cheat." Again, utter bullshit. Unless you feed your husband Viagra, tie him to the bed, and impale another woman on his willy, the responsibility for cheating lies completely, utterly and totally on the cheater. If you're unhappy with your marriage, you have choices. Either work to fix it, or get out. Cheating is never the answer or the solution. Its a complete betrayal of trust, valuing your naughty bits over your family and marriage.