Letter

I've been asked to write a letter. This letter will hopefully reach out to a man who has deserted his son and wants nothing to do with him. This letter will ask that he do the right thing and sit down one time with this young man who is coming of age and is struggling to find himself.

But how do you write this? How do you tell this man you understand his fear, his detachment, his hesitation, when you can barely contemplate it? How do you put into words that he at least owes this to his own flesh and blood without pushing him away and watching him refuse simply because he can? What words can convey just how important it is that he be a real man for once in his life and do the right thing?

Screw my college thesis and research papers. This is going to be one of the most difficult and most important letters I will ever put to paper. My mind opens and the words flow only to stall out and stutter. My best isn't enough, I need perfection.

I want to write something that will melt his heart and move him in such a way that he will see just how life changing this can be for his son. He doesn't have to be a part of his life. He doesn't have to see him again. All he has to do is give this young boy closure and let him know it's not his fault, he didn't do anything wrong, just sometimes people make choices that hurt others.

Please let me convince him, please let me find the right words.

I'm not really a Bitch

I just wanted to let everyone know...I'm not a bitch...not really. If you meet me in real life I let all those little things fall to the side. I live in the moment, enjoy my family, friends and most of all I live for my children.

But this blog is my outlet, my way of saying all those things that annoy me, frustrate me or sometimes liberate me. This is the way for me to expel any negativity I have living inward and force them outward. This is my way to relieve stress and remain sane at home. It's very therapeutic.

So this isn't the real me...the real me is more complex.

We now return to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Full Circle

You know those moments when something suddenly hits you?

Vincent and Logan are at Mimi's for the night so it was just Daddy and the girls. We'd decided to watch Alvin and the chipmunks together so I made the popcorn and we piled onto the couch. At some point Arwen was laughing and cuddled close to me and I flashed back to my own childhood. Some of my fondest memories are of taking in a movie with my Mom and Dad. I loved listening to them laugh, it made my heart flutter and at times I felt it brim over. I didn't enjoy the movie as much as I enjoyed being with them and just listening to them laugh. I didn't watch the movie, I watched them.

As Arwen watched me laugh and laughed all the harder because of it I knew my life had come full circle. I'm not just her Mother, I am to her what my own Mother was to me ... the world. I hugged her tightly to me and made sure to laugh a little harder, a little longer, at the screen.

I have a feeling my parents weren't just watching the movie when I was a kid either.

Vanity

The wrinkles have officially begun. I noticed this last year on my forehead in the space between my eyebrows. I'm a terrible "frowner" and years of the habit have made long creases that run from my forehead down. I'm also showing lines around my eyes from years of smiling big and laughing hard.

A part of me is sad and selfishly upset. Seeing the physical proof that I am no longer some hot young 20 something is oftentimes difficult to accept. I don't often feel my age and it was hard for me to remember when asked "how old are you" to answer "30" when I hit the big one. And it wasn't necessarily because I'm ashamed of my age rather than the transition wasn't instantaneous. Come to think of it, I'm fairly sure I'm not alone. I just didn't think of myself in terms of a 30-something instead of a 20-something. Just as I'm sure I won't think of myself as a 40-something if, and god willing when, the time comes.

Until then, these little marks that signify the changing of my life and the passing by of years will remain firmly a part of me. I suppose I could look at them as a road map of all the twists and turns my life has taken so far.

Poor Jimbo and I. He's losing his hair, I'm turning into a prune. What a pair we are.

Moments

She sits staring at the red cola can on the desk. Her little eyes focus in as she reaches out her left hand while balancing her body with her right. Her legs shift with her weight to keep her straight as she leans forward. Her soft brown eyes shine brightly as she focuses in on the can.

When she tips too far forward, I lean her back. She smiles at me and tries again. We repeat our little reach and hold several times before she's had enough. She beams at me and begins to babble. I babble back and reach down several times to rain little kisses on her soft cheeks and forehead.

As I kiss her, I breathe in her sweet smell. She's a mixture of the softest cream and lavender, combined with her faint baby breath. I breathe her in as deep as possible, as if I could somehow keep some part of her that is a baby inside of me for safe keeping forever.

I will miss these moments and I need to remember to cherish each and every one of them before they pass me by.

Can't Win

I'm walking a fine line today. I'm a wreck.

I woke up with the intention of having a great day. I had a new stew recipe to try and was excited. I started out preparing my ingredients and after maybe 5 minutes I came downstairs. This is what greeted me.

It's ok I told myself, I will clean it later. I brought them upstairs with me and turned on the cartoons. When I didn't hear a peep from them them I went to see what was going on. I found them throwing all of the freshly washed and folded laundry around. See for yourself.

I stood there in a mixture of rage, frustration, and felt like screaming at the top of my voice and crying at the same time. Instead I told them to sit on the couch and I counted to 10. Afterward I had to throw away my stew because during the time I was with them, the garlic, onions and meat burned.

So much for a great day.

Lately I feel like I'm all alone (with the exception of Annabel and Arwen who have been insanely good for me recently, I think they know something is off ). And what's worse is what once was this intense need to cry, vent and rage has turned instead to a sad compliance. It's as if part of me has just given up. I find myself trudging along each day, pushing through.

So each day I just keep saying I'll start new and fresh. Maybe tomorrow will be 'the day'.

Don't tell me what I Want

I've been having a difficult time as of late with my decision to have a tubal ligation. I knew when I signed the paper that it was the 'smart' thing to do at the time. My body was ravaged, I was sick, we already had 4 children and I was 30 years old. I counted my blessings and made the logical choice.

But I regret it. On days like today when I look at Annabel and it strikes me, "this is my last baby" and "no more pregnancy" for me and it's hard. I start to feel resentment. I get angry at my body for being too weak, angry at my husband for being a coward and forcing my body to be the one that can no longer produce children.

And the worst part is when I try to tell family and friends of this strange grief I always get the same response.

"You don't need anymore children! You already got 4!"

or

"Honey, you need time for YOU. You need to get out of that house, away from them kids."

And instead of taking it in a positive way I start to fester. Because that isn't what I want.

Maybe this is normal. I keep waiting to come to terms with my sterility. Just chalk it up to another issue that compounds my daily life. It's not easy being a woman, or a Mother, or a person stuck in the middle of the two.

Emotional Funk

First, the pictures above. My lovely youngest two fell asleep while I was cleaning the playroom. I snapped those just a few minutes ago. The one below is of a rose I made yesterday while playing with the kids and their play-doh. I'm getting rather good at it now, I made a kick-arse cat the other day. I'll take a picture next time.


Now for the juicy stuff. I'm in an emotional 'funk'. I'm trying to shake it off but it's hard. I don't know if it's because of my Grandma (who is going home today!!), the lost friend, or looking in the mirror and realizing that perhaps I'm not the best person I could be.

I've always considered myself a good person but a flawed one . Who isn't? I know I rub people the wrong way sometimes, I know I curse too much, I know I don't eat healthy most of the time, I know I have a fast temper, and I know I'm not always right. But I also love my children, husband, family and friends. I try to do the right thing when placed into a situation.

Today when out at the store this woman approached me who has spoken to me before. Annabel was with me and she asked the same exact question she did last time.

"What wrong with her face??" she asked. "She got rash?"

"No, she has eczema." I say back and try to put my items on the register.

"Don't you have medicine for that?" She staring at Annabel like she's got the plague and suddenly this anger rises up in me.

"Yeah, they have medicine," I spat. "But I figure why not let her suffer?"

The woman looked at me for a moment in a kind of strange shock before walking away to her own spot in the store. I immediately felt shame for snapping at her. I don't know why I was so angry over something so little. Maybe it's because recently I've had a hard time with Annabel's little body and face. She is so beautiful but she suffers when her break outs occur and there is nothing I can do about it. And it's very noticeable. It's only natural people would and do ask. Maybe I'm just tired of answering the same question over and over. Or maybe I'm tired of the stupidness of asking why I don't use something to get rid of it. Don't they think I would if I could??

I hate being in this funk. Maybe it's hormonal or maybe it's just stress. I've been getting these welt like little bumps in my hairline and I recently got an abscess in my mouth (want to talk about pain). I think I need something to give here but I'm not exactly sure "what". Hopefully I'll be back to my old fun loving blogging self soon. One thing is for sure, this is NOT me.

HPV Vaccine

I was over at Doctor David's Blog and I came across THIS entry. No one likes to talk about STD's and I understand. It's embarrassing and taboo to do so. Who wants to talk about a disease that was transmitted during the acts of sex? But HPV is something people need to talk about because it's easy to transmit and it causes cervical cancer.

Most people that have HPV don't even know it. I've already decided that when Arwen and Annabel are older I'd like them to get the shot. It's not because I'm encouraging them to have sex or because I'm fine with them being sexually active. Rather it's due to knowing my children may or may not listen to me and are going to make their own choices. I don't know if they will choose to have sex but I can at least know if they do make that decision they will be protected somewhat from HPV. How could I not allow them to have the vaccine knowing it could potentially save their lives in the future?

The debate on this conjures up images of the birds and bees talk with my Dad. Back then it wasn't the vaccine parents had to decide to encourage or dismiss, it was condoms. I remember my Dad telling me to be responsible and that if I was going to be sexually active to use protection. What's funny is this talk helped me make the decision not to engage in sexual activity. There was no way I was going to talk to my Dad about sex again, much less ask about condoms, and could you imagine if I'd gotten pregnant?!?

HPV is a nasty creature. It's transmitted even if a couple uses condoms because it's passed through genital contact. How scary is that? Scary enough that I'm going to educate my children and give them the information so they can make an informed decision.

Better than the alternative

I'm going to sound like a selfish bitch for a moment. Please disregard this entry if a person complaining about an upcoming birthday being depressing upsets you. I realize the alternative is something much worse.

I had a difficult time last year when I hit the BIG 3-0. I obsessed about it for days beforehand. I kept looking into the mirror, contemplated cutting off all my hair into a pixie cut (because I swore I would before my 20's were gone) and wondered where all the time has gone. I didn't feel any different and didn't think I really looked any different but the years had still crept on past me and here I was, facing a huge milestone in a persons life. I made the transition from being a 20 something to a 30 something and it scared the piss out of me.

I'm not sure why some people put such thought into a number, myself included. Maybe it's because that number reminds you of the time that has passed and the time still yet to come. I just know for me I am reminded I'm not a young fresh girl starting out her life. Instead I'm in my life, right now, living it. This is what I am. This is what I've become. I always assumed I'd be doing other things. I'm not sure exactly what those things are but just something more than I am. I'm not unhappy in my life, I suppose having a birthday draw near reminds me of all the "what might have/could have/should have" been things.

And as I grow older I'm reminded that people are not infallible, we can and do die and that is another scary thing I often ponder late at night. I won't be around forever and those little ails I experience I can no longer shrug off because, "I'm too young to have that".

It's hard to believe my birthday is almost here again.

Get a Job

As I changed Vincent a common thought crossed my mind. The one thing I will not miss when my children are grown is staring at tiny little bums while doing a diaper change (I'm trying not to make anyone sick...so I'll keep it PG). As gross as it is, it's just a part of being a Mom, just like everything else in my too full days.

No matter how much I get done in a day, there is still more to finish tomorrow. I'm constantly struggling to keep laundry done, food cooked and children clean. I have beds to make, dishes to wash and floors to sweep/mop or vacume. It's tiring, endless and at times can be downright depressing.

The reason I'm blogging about this I suppose is I'm still peeved we didn't get to claim Arwen's school on our taxes. Why you ask?

Because I don't work and to claim the money we spent each parent has to have "gainful employment" that is least "part-time".

You see, for all I do each and everyday, I don't have a "job". Nope. At least not one the government recognizes. This is what is wrong with our country. While I realize there are people that abuse the system, I am not one of them. I get up each morning and see 2 of my children off to school (on Tuesday and Thursday I see 3, one off 1/2 the day for speech). I then spend the morning doing chores, taking care of bills or making appointments. I rush to shower to pick up my youngest or if he doesn't have speech that day, we spend the time rotating from various things around the house. When Logan gets home I begin the evening task or preparing dinner, setting the table and then Jimbo and Arwen arrive and we all eat.

After this begins the baths, the grooming, then homework. Then we do family time before putting the children to bed. Afterward I pick up what I might have missed or am trying to catch up only to start all over the next day. Just throw in grocery shopping every other week, trips to the Doctor for the children or myself and it's a non-stop life. And I don't get paid vacations or sick days. If I get sick, bully for me.

And this is a good day I'm describing. I'm not telling you about the days when 1 or more of the children are ill, so am I. The bills are behind, the house is destroyed, the car isn't running, the children are fighting, my daughter is in trouble for this or that reason, the baby is cranky, Logan's asthma is in full swing, Vincent is whiny and I've had exactly 4 hours of sleep the night before. I can't even begin to tell you about the days that just make me crawl into a dark corner a hide until my husband arrives home to shelter my mental health.

So yeah, technically, I don't have a job. At least not one that pays in cash. But I'm building the future of our country, shouldn't that count for something? Hell, I'd just settle for claiming my daughter's school on my taxes.

Gone Baby Gone Aftermath

Talk about a movie you just can't shake. There was so much I wanted to say about this movie but don't want to ruin it for those who haven't experienced it just yet. So I won't speak of the movie, only of the aspect that forms the basis of the story.

A girl goes missing. Who has her? Is she safe? Is she even alive? Is she being molested? You just don't know and probably never will. This is the reason I fear each and everyday for my own children. I worry about them so very much and my heart skips a beat each morning as I kiss them and tell them I will see them after school.

The truth is, none of our children are safe. There are people in this world that feel no remorse, only a perverse need they must release and a child is their vessel. The things that some children experience in their final moments of life at the hands of a pedophile...there just are no words to describe how upset this makes me, how wrong this is. I remember being 6 years old and hearing about Adam Walsh. That was my introduction to the vile people that inhabit this world and I've never forgotten, never. I vividly recall hearing about his headless body being found. I listened to my Mother fight back tears as she clutched me tightly to her chest and I can still feel her arms around me, even now.

And because of this, I live each day in fear. I hawk eye my children. I don't allow them to sleepover at friends houses nor do I allow them to stay at home without a family member babysitter (aka my Mom, Sister or Mother in Law). I refuse to take that risk, I couldn't enjoy my time out anyway if I worried about my children.

We need more stern laws in place for child abuse, all forms of it. Children are the most precious commodity we have, we should make every effort to protect it.

I'm sorry for the weird and emotional post. This movie just really touched me and even hours later I cannot shake from my mind. For some reason I keep thinking that losing a child is bad enough but losing a child to a violent crime...the guilt, the anger, the desperation...I can't even imagine.

Best Friends

Yesterday was my bi-weekly shopping excursion. On the list? A trip to the mall to get Arwen new shoes. I also decided to take her to Claire's for the first time, to allow her to find her own "style" and pick out some hair accessories and the like.

She got a basket and began making selections. She chose pink glasses, pink hair bands, pink crystal butterfly clip-on earrings (which are BEAUTIFUL!) before making her way to the keychains. She grabbed the pair that had Unicorns with worded hearts. One said the word "Best" while the other said "Friend".

"I want this Mommy! Can we get this please?"

I explained that the key chains were best friend ones and how that kind of stuff worked. As I explained this to her my mind drifted back, I remembered a time not so long ago I was with my best friend Kelly, in the same store, buying Best Friend necklaces that interlock together. We each wore the charms proudly around our necks for the world to see. My heart felt a pang of loss, as we don't speak often anymore.

"You can have this side Mom!" she pointed to the purple heart and unicorn. She smiled at me and reached her arms around my waist, giving a quick hug.

After we paid for our things and walked out of the store I reached for her hand. As we walked along together something profound hit me. For all the friends I no longer have, I do have one friend, a best friend. And she will never leave me. I squeezed my best friends hand gently and she gazed up at me and smiled.

I smiled back at my daughter as we rushed to the bungee ride and told myself, "it's so true, just as one door closes, another one opens..."

Another sick news story

I've been loosely following THIS story. It is just too much for me at times to even think about. I hope the baby didn't suffer but I'm sure she did. Being cooked in a microwave and dying hours later cannot be pleasant.

This is the reason I stay at home. This is why I've never had anyone babysit that wasn't my own Mother, Sister, or Mother in law (or Aunt on a few occassions). I fear too much for my children. The world isn't the place it used to be. You cannot even trust Mothers with their own children anymore.

I hope this woman burns. I think we are too lax on people that commit crimes such as these. Things like this occur too often, to too many children. Now don't misunderstand me. I realize that in some circumstances women are mentally ill. For them I feel sorrow but I can't impart total blame. If you've ever read Are you Home Alone about Andrea Yates you'll see what I mean. Sometimes people don't heed the warning signs and in those situations I blame the support system *cough*her husband*cough.

The more I see things like this the more I really am considering adoption in the future. I know my children drive me batty from time to time but they also fill me with more gratification than any well paying job ever could. Just knowing I could take a child from a potentially dangerous environment, show him or her endless love and devotion. That I could become a Mother to a child that desperately needs it. How can I not consider taking that step?

In the meantime, there are more children than my loving arms could ever take in and that breaks my heart. Children are so innocent, how can a person harm one. I just don't understand and I'm glad I don't.

(note, the picture above was taken from HERE. The image really touched me. It is Children adopted with mental illness caused by the time they spent in the orphanageYedioth Achronot 2006)

Burn Out

I've known for a few months now this was coming. I'd felt the beginning signs during the last months of my pregnancy with Annabel. I don't know any other stay at home Mothers (or at least any that live nearby that I visit with) but I'm sure that I'm not alone.

I'm talking about the SAHM (stay at home Mom) burn out. Basically this means I'm in a funk. I tired of cleaning, I'm tired of laundry, I'm tired of zero sleep. I'm tired of garbage, I'm tired of toys, I'm tired of eating last every night. I'm tired of Dora, I'm tired of Hot Wheels, I'm tired of barbie. I'm sick of dirty diapers, I'm sick of being overwhelmed, I'm sick of being home alone each and every day.

I realize this is a phase and I will get over it. I also realize there are options (such as playgroups) but I think those would stress me more than benefit. I'm not your average girly girl and the last time I attempted to immerse myself into a Mommy group I didn't like the high school mentality. I gave up gossip and hurting other people to boost my own ego long ago.

So what's a Mom to do? I don't know for sure. There are some days when I feel I might be losing 'me'. You know, that person I was before I became a Mother. I know she is under the surface somewhere but lying dormant, waiting for her moment to come to the top to breathe again.

I'm also attempting to cut myself a bit of slack. After all, I've been in this same house, caring for multiple children, for over 6 years now. That's right. 6 long years of caring for children day in and day out with nary an adult in sight.

I just hope at this point when I'm integrated back into society I retain some of my social skills. I've already noticed I have my own kiddy language. NiNi=Night Night, Poopy da Potty=Go to the toilet, Nummies=Food, Give me a Moo=Kisses. You get my drift.

Acceptance

Right now I'm waging a terrible inner war. The logical side of me is losing out, the pride in me has the slight edge.

So what's the cause of this inner turmoil? Money of course. Money is tight in our house, especially right now. The logical part of me says, "Jaime. You live well. There are people out there struggling far worse than you, living with little to no food, in squalor. There are People who cannot clothe their children or pay the rent."

But then that pride in me says, "why can't you find the extra money to attend the bash? Do you want everyone at your daughter's school to think you don't care? You know people will notice you aren't there. Can you just go and bid on one thing? You really want that class quilt they made. You might not win it but you could try!"

And on the battle continues. I keep telling myself over and over most people who have children in this establishment are in a higher economical class than we. They have very lucrative employment. Most don't struggle with the little things...like money.

I hate feeling like this. Because I do love the simple things. I love my life, my children, my husband and my home. My children live a good life and don't go without. But still I am surrounded by those that remind me that as far as we've come, it still doesn't compare to others. For example. Arwens class has a quilt that is being auctioned. It has each childs' hand on it with a sea motif. I wish I could at least try to win it. But I know to have any shot at winning it, we'd end up having to get a small loan. We're bidding against people that have oodles of money. I won't be shocked to see it go in the thousands of dollars.

This bash thing they are holding, in my opinion, is insulting to some parents who are on a tight budget. They need to send out one flier or invitation and leave it alone. Let people RSVP and then send out all the letters each day with new items for auction, new people to honor and advertising what a "romantic night out" it can be for a couple to share.

Maybe I'm being bitter. I need a dose of real world, to help me see just how stupid this is, how petty. But I am human and it's human to want. Right? I don't know what's worse. Feeling like this or blogging for the world to see how shallow I am right now.

Me...

Me...

I'm not just a Mom, I'm a person too.

My feelings are very easily hurt, even if I act as if I'm made of solid rock.

When I love, I love all the way, no holding back.

My children are the most important things in my life.

I have regrets but would never change anything I've done in my life.

I should take better care of myself.

I enjoy a cheesy romantic book from time to time.

When it comes to my children, I worry too much.

I'm deeper in love with my husband than the day we exchanged vows.

I believe in "til death do us part".

I drink too many cola's in the day.

I need to spend more time with my own Mother and Father.

I think about my youth but don't miss it.

I'm not the person I pictured myself to be when I was in high school.

I still get queasy at the sight of blood.

On days like today I wish I could see my Uncle Larry one last time.

I worry each day my children are in school without me.

I have irrational fear that something will take my children from me or they will come to harm.

I used to love dreaming but now I hate it, because of the nightmares.

I love my Sister and we are growing closer, I am happy about that.

The simple things in life make me happy.

I live each day asking god for just one more day...

No More

It's official. I am pulling my daughter out of the school from hell. No more of this petty bullshit.

I get a call today from the school and my daughter is on black...again. So I talk to her, find out what she did and ask why she did it. I tell her that her father and I will talk to her when she gets home, that I love her and to put her teacher on.

Sub teacher gets on the phone and tells me cheerfully but in a condescending tone, "Mrs. S I'll be sending home a paper you will need to sign and return to me."

"Let's worry about that in a minute," I say. "First, what exactly did my daughter do to have these fish removed?"

"Excuse me?" she seems amazed I'm not just accepting what she tells me to do.

"I said, what did my daughter do exactly?"

"Well, the first thing she did was not follow directions and/or pay attention."

"Ok, how exactly did this happen though? What was she doing? How did she not follow directions?"

"Well...," she falters for a moment. "There is so much going on in class I can't recall exactly."

"Please forgive me for saying this," I'm ready to give her an ass chew. "But if you want me to punish my child I need to know exactly what she did."

"I'm sorry, I don't recall exactly."

"Ok, what was the second thing she did?"

"She spoke in the hallway."

At this point I'm starting to fester. I've been punishing my child for months for the most petty of things, like forgetting to put away crayons to talking in the hallway.

"Ok, and as for the last thing?"

"She threw a rock at a child."

"She did? Did she say why? What happened?"

"Well, I don't know exactly, a boy came to us and said Arwen threw a rock at him."

"So you didn't see her do this, so you don't know if this was done in play or anger or what, but she pulled a fish?"

"Mrs. S throwing rocks is very dangerous and shouldn't be done."

"Oh I agree, totally. But when I punish my children I need to know what has happened so I can find out exactly why she did something wrong. I don't tell her simply, 'you don't throw rocks'. I get deeper into it. I ask why she threw the rock. Was she angry? Was she playing? What was the problem? Arwen has 3 younger siblings, believe me when I say hitting, throwing or pushing isn't tolerated here."

"Yes Mrs. Saare. Unfortunately Arwen has troubles often with talking and sitting still. This has been a constant struggle with her."

I take a breath and start counting to ten.

"Please listen. I've been in talks with Mrs. B for weeks regarding this very thing. She has told me my daughter is strong willed and this won't change. She and I have been working together to find a way to work with Arwen for a positive outcome. I don't expect you to understand this because you weren't here when this happened. I'll talk to Arwen tonight and her father as well."

After we hung up I called the public school in our zone. I'm taking Arwen there tomorrow and letting her take a look. If she wants to go there, she is.

It's time I do what's best for my child. She is so very unhappy. Her voice today was something I've never ever heard before. Her voice was broken.

School Thoughts

I've been thinking about this all day and when I read the question by Erin decided to make another entry, to deeper explain what is happening.

First, they are asking for parents to donate a meal each week for a prize for this "Bash" they are holding. Basically the winner of this silent auction item will get a free meal once a week (or something) for so long by parents. So they are asking for donations for the meals for this prize. I hope that makes sense.

OK, now for what I've been thinking.

Maybe all of this is just me. Maybe the problem isn't so much with the school. Sure they ask for money constantly (all schools do) but so do other schools (even if they don't use the parents calling one another methods). Maybe this all stems from how my mind works. Let me explain.

I was raised pretty poor. My parents always kept me fed and clothed (and clean!). They worked very hard to make a life for themselves but those first years were rough. I still remember the trailer park I lived in. I remember wanting for material things but never asking my Mother or Father because I didn't want to hurt their feelings. I took pride in how hard they worked just to care for me and my sister.

My parents finally came into their own financial stability when I was in my teens. We lived comfortably in a trailer until Mom and Dad had the money and moved to a house. So all through out high school I was constantly struggling with that image. The one of living in the "park". All of popular kids knew who we were. In fact, this is where I met Jimbo (he lived in similar circumstances).

So as we've climbed that social ladder, a part of me has moved forward as another part of me has firmly stayed behind. And you know what? I'm glad of that. Knowing how it is to live on the other side of the fence works wonders for keeping a strict budget and living within your means.

This plays into the school situation in that a part of me still wishes to be "those" people. The ones I knew in high school who never cared much about money because they had so much of it. The people who send their children to this school have alot of wealth. One of the silent auction items at this bash we won't be attending is a CONDO. I freaking condo. If that tells you anything.

I believe my daughter is very intelligent and I want to give her the best possible start. She is worth that investment. But I've also given money outside of the huge tuition monthly to her class already. $5 dollars here, $10 there. It adds up. And then to be asked for more money on top of it, it just gets to a point where I hate to say no but I honestly can't say yes.

It's sort of like this. I'm sure you've all had the calls from different organizations asking for donations. Yet when you offer $5 dollars they say to you, "I'm sorry, the minimum donation we are requesting is $25 dollars". Why can't they just accept what you have to offer? I've always assumed if someone truly needs money they will jump on anything given. But I've had the phone calls to prove otherwise.

One of the major reasons this is stressing me I suppose is recently we cut our budget back for excess spending (and I mean cut it). We're doing this in an effort to save for something that must be cared for and soon...our home. It sucks but it's how we'll finally get this done. For normal joes like ourselves, that means saving and cutting out extras. But for others (like some parents at this school) $10,000 dollars isn't something they'd have to save for.

Thanks for all your comments. I really appreciate them. I'll continue to think this over and try to come up with the best possible solution.

Spoiled

So, I was over at Littlesunshine's blog and she had THIS entry. It reminded me of something that happened when I was getting my hair done Friday.

As I sat waiting for the color in my hair to develop a girl walked in. Nothing was particularly different about her, but I could sense in the way she carried herself she was bitchy. She interrupted my stylist (who was talking to me) and said she needed her eyebrows done. So off Niki went with the girl.

When they came out the girls eyes were RED. It was scary. But in an effort to be nice and strike up a conversation with Niki I said:

"I've never had my eyebrows done, I really should some day."

The girl looked at me and if looks could kill, I'd be 6 feet under right now. She dug through her pockets and paid and out the door she went. No thank you to Niki or see you again, nada. Niki watched as she walked to her car, a brand new Mercedes.

"She's driving a Mercedes now??" Niki seemed shocked.

"It's probably not hers," the other stylist (I don't' know her name) said.

Niki shook her head so I asked, what's the deal?

Apparently this girl is very spoiled. So much so that all of the salons in our area know her and dislike her. This of course doesn't bode well for her, since she is going to school be a stylist (good luck finding a job sister). Once she went to a salon and forked over hundred for extensions. Too bad for her they used synthetic hair and GLUED them into her scalp. She rushed to Niki and demanded she take them out but Niki declined. Telling her to return to the salon who put them in instead.

You know what the girl did when Niki said no? She went outside into the Salon parking lot, called her Mother and proceeded to yell, scream and throw a tantrum. Niki said her Mother then called Niki in an effort to sway her and Niki held her ground. She explained she refused to be liable for any damage caused (I don't blame her for smelling lawsuit with this girl).

All of this got me to thinking about "those" girls. The ones I never spoke to in high school because they were so much better than everyone else. You know who I mean. The ones who always had the nice clothes and purses, the ones who drove the nice cars and the ones who always seemed a mite bitchy all the time.

I've bumped into a few of them since then. Some have changed for the better. I'm guessing gaining weight and having children have brought them down to earth, in a good way. However, I've bumped into a few that are still the exact same. Acting as if they are so much better than myself and I should thank my lucky stars they are even speaking to me.

It's truly funny how I've changed as a person. Because in high school I wanted to be those girls. I wanted the nice clothes, beautiful face and body. I wanted to drive a nice car, have all the cute boys like me and to wear someones class ring. But now I see those girls and I feel sorry for them. Because all they know is material wealth and the happiness they experience from it.

Which reminds me. I've got a great experience I'll write about later. I decided to try shopping at Target this week instead of Hell-Mart. It was very...shocking...to say the least. I'll tell you all about it next time.