C’mon Baby Light My Grass On Fire

This gallery contains 1 photo.

Father’s Day Project: Build-A-Dad

This gallery contains 1 photo.

NaPoWriMo Day:8 The Colored Egg

spring pastels

pinks, blues, yellows

warm sunny colors

oranges, reds

glow-in-the-dark

slime greens

a blank egg shaped canvas

children’s voices echo

laughter and joy fill the air

a mother awaits

 the first bite

of her child’s masterpiece

crack, peel, yum

there’s nothing better

than a colored Easter egg

Don’t forget to visit, share, and comment on these following poets pages as well:

Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World
Lyric Fire
AscendingTheHills
142 Books
Sulekha Rawat: Memoirs
To create…
memoirs of a homemaker
One Time Pad
Thoughts Of Beauty In The Stillness Of Dawn…
EllieBloo
Chris Galvin 

I Want To Be Like You

I Wanna Be Like You The Jungle Book Movie Disney

Have you ever read other people’s blogs and thought to yourself, “Wow, their lives are so great. If only mine was so blessed.”? Have you ever wondered why some people’s lives seem relatively easy-going, stress-free, everything you wish you could have in yours? Have you ever imagined what you could have done differently, if only you had been given a chance? Have you ever wanted to be just like someone else?

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not a jealous person and in no way would I ever compare my struggle or lack thereof with another’s. I wouldn’t change one thing in my life if it meant not learning the lessons I have learnt. I am me because of what I went through and what I got out of it. Nobody else could ever be who I am. If a group of people lived the same life, no two people would ever come out of it the same way.

It’s been a very difficult month and umm… yea, I’m not counting. It’s been awhile since I have sat down in the quiet of my home and written anything pertaining to anything. (You know you like that statement.) My life has been many things but, never has it been easy. Even as I sat at home and raised my kids with absolutely nothing pressing to do; my children made it their life’s mission early on to make me work for the roof my husband provided over our heads.

My daughter was the first child and she started out her little journey by damn near killing me in the first month of pregnancy. I was in so much pain I couldn’t move and when I got to the ER and was finally seen, the doctor nonchalantly stated, “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re pregnant.” I was 19 years old, unmarried, it was only about a year since I had moved out of my father’s house, my husband and I had been together a earth-shattering 4 months, I had moved 2000 miles away 5 months before, I had no job, my husband had no insurance, etc, etc, etc… There’s nothing wrong with me? Oh, I beg to differ! My daughter showed up late, 6 days late to be precise. She was just short of 9 pounds and forced the doctor into inducing me and breaking my water. She also allowed me to gain a whopping 100 pounds because mommy didn’t know how to cook and since nobody was home all day to cook for her, she had to order such delicacies as Taco Bell, pizza, Chinese, KFC, etc… Her father wouldn’t allow mommy to go anywhere, pick up anything, or even take a simple Tylenol. The first child is ALWAYS the hardest. When Her Highness decided to make her entrance, she took her dear sweet time. As if the 6 days wasn’t long enough she had to add another 20 hours of labor to it. She refused to take her place and right before a C-section was getting ready to be performed, she about-faced right out of breech position and let me dilate enough to start delivery. The only reason I was finally able to deliver her was because I was coughing constantly. (Because I had bronchitis… got to love doctors.) The nurse putting all her weight on the top of my stomach and pushing on me didn’t help at all. The 5 other medical staff watching didn’t help. The doctor who was delivering my daughter and yelling at me because I was too weak, sure as hell wasn’t helping. But, then she came… like the Queen she was meant to be, with a crown over her head and veil over her face. (The placenta broke as she was born) Her right pupil was a lovely triangle. My mom held her first and tried to heal her eye. (She has a congenital cataract and is nearly blind in it. It is also been diagnosed lazy and astigmatism) Then the nurse handed her to me and we tried to get her to breast feed. Her mommy was exhausted and still coughing, she refused to latch on and so formula it was. Her highness stayed in the hospital in ICU 24 hours after I was released. She was the biggest baby in there and the other mother’s gave us the stink-eye. Luckily for us though, her heart murmur closed and she got to go home. A month later her mommy almost died in an ER waiting room with a fever of 109 because the doctors who noticed she had bronchitis after delivery sent her home with no meds and mommy got pneumonia. Now baby girl made sure that mommy got no free ride and as she grew more illnesses came too.

My son was no different. He was a screamer from Acid Reflux Disease and would vomit constantly between screams. His screaming matches would last for hours (several times a day for the entire first year of his life) until he was physically exhausted and would finally pass out. He was tested in the Hospital for 24 hours, and then placed on medications for the Reflux. (Which is a fancy way of saying he vomited a lot due to acid backing up in his throat. Some people call this Heartburn, only this is much worse.) The test involved a tube being put up his nose and down his throat to his stomach to monitor his acid levels. He would drink juice completely lying down and then 4 hours later completely sitting up, and back and forth for the 24 hours. Sleeping for me was not an option, as I held him in my arms in a chair the entire time. One of his medications turned out to have a little side effect that could cause this wonderful thing known as a heart attack. My son was not even a year old and was taking two medications, a special (extremely expensive) formula, and now had to have a test to make sure his heart was ok. After the test and putting him on a heart monitor for several days we found out his heart was fine. That special formula came into play because he wasn’t gaining weight with the first one and then the next one he vomited more and lost weight, finally after trying every formula on the market we ended up with one. It wasn’t enough that my son didn’t make himself known through pregnancy tests until right before my 7 month. It wasn’t even enough that in the first 2 months of my pregnancy I was told I wasn’t pregnant and was given the Depo shot. Which resulted in me taking medications and drinking because… “I WASN’T FRICKIN’ PREGNANT REMEMBER!” And it surely wasn’t enough that he forced me into bed rest less than a month after I found out I was pregnant, because he decided that I was far too comfortable and well contractions were a must. Then he decided that he wasn’t coming out on time (also 6 days late), so he forced the doctor into inducing me and breaking my water. And then when His Highness did finally decide to show up for the audience awaiting him, he had the audacity to come out saying “Dad” and weigh damn near 10 pounds. He went on for many years like this doing little things here and there to make sure that mommy never got a free ride. He continued to grow and brought more illnesses too wouldn’t you know.

I could go on all day and night about the things I’ve been through raising my two children. Or about my 17 years with my husband. Or about how I did any number of things since I grew up and left my father and step-mother’s house. Or I could even be so bold as to share how I didn’t die or go crazy living in Hell for 14 years (age 4-18).

Maybe one day I will but, not today. Today I want to share with you that life is not easy for anyone. Nobody gets to a peaceful place without enduring the harshness of the elements. It is very easy to assume things. It is very easy to look at where someone is today and think they have never known hardship, struggle, or pain… and we would be wrong. We can’t see where someone has been by looking only at the soles of their shoes. It only tells a part of the story, just the most recent part of it. Remember this…The grass you see in the treads of one’s shoes today, have covered the grains of sand from yesterday, and with tomorrow’s rain will be entirely washed away.

My Twin Nephews Turn 1 Today

One year ago today, I became an aunt for the 4th time when my sister Jessica gave birth to twin boys, Harley and Marley.

Of course I am an aunt to all my husband’s nieces and nephews as well but, this special post goes out for the birthday boys.

I haven’t gotten a chance to hold my nephews let alone spoil them rotten or even throw them a huge party. As sad as I am about that, I am much sadder that their mom isn’t there to do those things neither.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been 6 months already since Jess passed. It still feels so surreal to me. She would go M.I.A. for months at a time and if I don’t think about it too much it’s as if she is still here. But, when I see a movie or hear a song, I get slapped back into reality. She’s gone and isn’t coming back ever! That fucking sucks!!!

Jess left behind 4 beautiful children and it hurts my soul so much that I haven’t had a chance to spend the time that an aunt should get with her nieces and nephews. On top of that I don’t even have pictures. Well, luckily my mom has a chance to spend time with the boys and I can get pictures from her but, it’s just not the same as being there or taking the pictures yourself. I will take what I can get though because that’s what a loving aunt does… happily accepts what is offered her with a saddened heart but, keeps her tears hidden from the world and still says thank you.

But, today I won’t complain and I won’t cry because I can’t see my nephews on their first birthday. Instead, I will sob silently for my sister while the Happy Birthday song will loudly flow from my still grieving soul. I will sing so loud that the heavens will have no choice but, to open up and send angels down to sing along with me! 

Happy Birthday Harley and Marley… Your aunt Jenni loves you very much! And because your mom loved how crazy I could be and was so ecstatic every time I listened to New Kids On The Block… I must post a birthday video for you both so that you can know a small portion of your mom and my childhood memories.

No Pictures Please

Google Image

I hate having my picture taken…hate hate HATE it!!! I am always behind the camera, snapping away at everyone I know. But, here I am looking at all these pictures; some in boxes, some in computer files, some in albums and some on Facebook.

Where the Hell are my family portraits? Where are the goofy pictures of me and my siblings as adults? Why do I not have one single picture of my grandmother and me? In fact where is the mother/daughter pictures of my mom and me or my daughter and me? Where is the picture of me standing on a chair so my son and I can be the same height? Where are the happy couple pictures of my husband and I???

 

Google Image

 

I’m scared to be photographed! I’m Native American Indian…pictures will steal my soul, I will never be able to reincarnate, the light bulb demon that lives in the flash will break free and take over the planet… I cannot be responsible for that.

 

 

Ok, that’s not the real reason but, it might as well be because my reasoning is as silly as that is. My ridiculous ass never thought to take pictures of my sister when I was in Vegas in 2007 and now all I have of her is childhood photos, her second wedding pictures that she gave me years ago and pictures of her with other people who are not me!! *Sigh*

Me 1993

Every time I see a camera, I scream like I’m 2 and hide…When the Hell did I start doing that? I was never frightened to put on a stupid face and be right smack dab in the middle of the picture. I was always doing something retarded looking with a huge smile on my face. When did I become the scary old hunchbacked recluse in the haunted house on the corner???

Oh, yes I remember… I got married, got fat and lost my smile. Yep, all excellent reasons to stay far away from a camera that will only amplify the horror of not being a happy person. It takes me 20 pictures before I find one that is worthy of Facebook let alone to be cherished forever by my family.

My husband has always been a busy man, so he is in very few pictures; yet he always has a huge smile and goofy face when there is a camera thrust upon him. Which just confirms that men are big kids and don’t stress half as much as we women do. But, I digress because this isn’t a slam men post it’s a Jenni, you dumbass post!!! *Facepalm*

The last family picture we had taken was when our daughter was born, she’s 15 now. My son and daughter have a picture together he was sleeping; a few years ago I took them to a place and got a free picture of the two of them. A few years ago, HA more like over 5 years ago. When they were in public school I always paid for picture packages. I take loads of pictures of my kids, those memories are priceless.

But, what if I died… what if I was in a coma… what if… My kids won’t have photos of their mom; just because I was too terrified to have any permanent reminder that showed my internal sadness or anger. There are no goofy smiles or a sparkle in my eye pictures for my kids to cherish.

 

 

Jess & I circa 92-93

Just like I have no pictures of my sister and me since we were teens in High School. How depressing is that?

 

 

I don’t even own a camera; with cellphones coming equipped with them, I figured why spend money on something I don’t need… just shoot me now!!!

I am going to buy my first digital camera in the next week or two and I will give it to my daughter. She wants to try photography anyway. Looks like I am going to have to suffer and just let unflattering pictures of me be flaunted. I am already shaking at the thought but, I can’t allow my family to feel the guilt I do, when an unexpected death happens and you look at photo albums then realize all the memories in your aging brain never got saved.

Google Image

Spaghetti Mafia

Maxine Google Image

When I was about 13 years old we spent our usual court appointed three weeks during the summer at my mom’s house. Mom was working during the day so she decided to drop Jess, Rion and me off at her aunt’s house; good ol Aunt Janet, my grandmother’s younger sister.

 

I grew up around my aunt on and off during my life but, mostly it was when I was younger because we lived a couple of blocks away from her in Flint. When I got older my aunt became disabled and was in a wheelchair for many years from diabetes and her plethora of other medical conditions. Although she was fairly sick most of the time that I was ever around her, she never failed to crack us up when we visited. We would spend hours listening to her talk about her youth and all her comical adventures. Some of them seemed too funny to be true but, we never called her a liar because the stories were definitely side-splitting hilarious and we were just children so who were we to say they didn’t happen.

 

On one particular day we; Jess, Rion, Aunt Janet and I were all sitting in the kitchen at the table talking and eating ice cream. After awhile Aunt Janet tells us this one story that I will always remember for the rest of my life; here is what she said…

Google Image

 

“When I was a girl I went out on a date with this nice Italian gangster, he picked me up and we went to his family’s restaurant for dinner; I had spaghetti. Time seemed to fly by while talking with him and his family. At one point the conversation became so intriguing that I forgot about my spaghetti, I was just winding and winding and winding it around my fork and when I lifted my fork to take a bite… there was no pasta on my plate, it was all on the fork!!! It was the size of a baseball.”

 

My siblings and I busted out laughing…my aunt knew how to tell a story and her facial expressions along with her hand gestures were downright entertaining. She had been twisting her hand like she was actually winding the spaghetti on the fork and her mouth dropped open as she lifted her hand to her face.

 

I am very fortunate to have spent quite a bit of time with my Aunt Janet before she passed away in 2001. Every time I eat spaghetti I recant the story she told us and laugh half way through dinner!! And don’t even get me started singing that parody song of On Top of Old Smokey. LOL

Freedom For Father’s Day

Google Image

Father’s Day brings mixed emotions for me. One, for my kids who rarely see their dad because he is a workaholic; I guess if he is going to be an aholic I prefer it be work over alcohol. It would be nice if their dad realized that there is more to being a dad then providing a roof over one’s head. I’m certain one day he will grasp that idea but, the kids will be grown by then.

The other is for my father who is still alive but, I don’t call him or send him a card anymore for various reasons.

One reason being, he has disowned  me too many times to remember. Secondly, I don’t receive cards or calls on my “special” days including my birthday and neither do my kids; his grandkids. And lastly, I am just tired of trying to keep a relationship alive when it’s apparent he doesn’t care. Therefore, I have taken up the position of “You don’t know me then I don’t know you.” After all these years of trying what more can I do…

Am I wrong for this? I don’t believe I am wrong, I did my best most of my life to be a part of his life and in my opinion the road goes both ways. Yet, here I am, the one putting in the effort all the time. It just isn’t worth it to me to keep trying when it’s obvious I am not wanted in his life. I did the “Christian” thing; I forgave, accepted apologies and gave apologies but, did I get unconditional love back? No, I did not get back a fraction of what I put into the supposed father/daughter relationship. What we have here people, is a failure to reciprocate.

I’ve moved on now, there is nothing left to do but, move on and as my husband says; “Just say I love you and leave it at that.” (He can be a wise man sometimes.) I have bent over backwards to be included in the lives of people who swear they love me and my kids but, don’t actually know us. My kids have grandparents and they are a mystery to them. There are no phone calls, cards, or letters… absolutely nothing except, the occasional; “You know we love your kids” statement that I have heard during a phone call. Yet, still no effort is made on their part to be a part of their grandchildren’s lives. I have a hard time with this because I was taught that family is everything; how strange… because only certain family was ever included in our lives when I was growing up the rest were “disowned.” Well, looks like I too am a part of the “do as I want or be gone” side of the family. Thank God I believe that the most important family is my husband and kids or I might just be torn up about being exiled…

I can no longer accept such half-assed attempts from anyone, no matter who they are. It is one thing to be upset at me for whatever you believe I have done wrong but, to alienate children just because they are my blood is not only ridiculous it’s asinine and childish. One day my kids will be grown and in my opinion better off for not knowing people who didn’t take time out of their busy little fantasy isle lives to acknowledge them and love them.

Google Image

So my gift this Father’s Day is the gift of… freedom. I am freeing myself of annoyances, games and intolerable trivial nonsense and I am giving my father the freedom to never have to deal with me or mine ever again; which is clearly the greatest gift for any father who constantly disowns people like they were material possessions.

What I will not give though is my silence; I have spent too many years not saying what needed to be said and watched while those around me were verbally assaulted. I know for a fact that neither of my grandparents raised any of their children to be bullies or to deny their grandchildren just because they were mad at their children for something their child did as a child. In fact my grandmother not only accepted all her grandchildren she also accepted step-grandchildren and would take all of us during the summer to stay with her at her house. So I know very well her children were raised better than to “disown” anyone.

It’s time to grow up; the child is almost 36 years old now and if I am being judged as an adult for something I did as a child, well I guess you just aren’t as smart as you think you are. Everyone makes mistakes and when you say “I’m sorry” or “I forgive you” than that is where it ends. You don’t hold on to something that transpired 17 years ago. I am not the same person I was 17 years ago and it’s a shame that some people haven’t changed at all in that time. So I end this with; I love you and I wish you well but, I cannot keep being a part of such constant hatred and childishness anymore. God loves all of his children no matter what; I know those are big shoes to fill but, you might want to give it a try.

To all the dads out there… Happy Father’s Day, love your children unconditionally and treat them well so that one day they will remember the good things about you and pass them down to their children.

Google Image

The Days on Gary Ct.

Gary Ct. Google Maps

Some days I sit and see the connection friends have amongst themselves and I long for the days when I was surrounded by good friends. It’s inevitable; people, move on and friendships fall apart, not because of choice but, because we all become so busy with other things that we no longer find time to visit or call. Some of us will try and find time to at least comment on a friend’s Facebook status before getting swept back up in the tediousness of our lives.