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I’ve got some videos and photos to post but a longer blog to come at a point when I am not in a food coma and exhausted from days of festivities and children not sleeping.  Enjoy!  Especially enjoy Mike’s commentary in the video.  He’s a class act, that one.

Photos first, videos after.

For those who can’t view the badge, the slideshow is here.

Even though my sweet little brown bear has been sick since Wednesday, apparently she felt better today because man, was she ON tonight.  Some excerpts from her non-stop chatter:

- She renamed my entire family.  Grammy is now “Lightbulb Sour”, Poppa is “Mary Ketchup”, Arden is “Tree Stonk Stinky”, Mike is “Police Car Stop Sign” and me?  Well, I’m “Princess Pizza”.  Good lord.

- On the drive back to our house, I hit one of the rumble strips on the side of the highway for a moment as I was merging.  Lily burst out laughing and screamed, “Mommy, the CAR TOOTED!!!!”  I have to admit, it kind of sounded like that.

- Thanks, Gramma.  She bought the girls a new bathtub toy - water flutes.  You fill them up with different amounts of water, and then you can play annoying sounds with them.  The girls figured out that you could turn them upside down and water would spray out - at ME.  By the end of bathtime, Lily was screaming, “SOAK MOMMY, ARDEN!”  Fun times were had by all.  I think my shirt has finally dried.  It’s now 9 PM.

Hopefully she won’t have another fever tonight and she will be all better in time for Santa to get here.  The girls are nutso with excitement and can’t wait to sprinkle Reindeer Food outside and leave cookies for Santa.  It’s going to be a fun year with them. 

So I’m home on a Wednesday afternoon.  Why? Because Lily is sick. I was at lunch with Jennifer when her preschool called to tell me she was running a fever.  We were right in the middle of discussing how we both felt like we couldn’t handle one more thing imploding or going wrong - of course, my phone rang, and we were off to pick up Lily.

It’s comical, really - and I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t get too upset anymore.  I was upset yesterday - mad about my job interview that never happened because of their bad communication with me (they neglected to mention they were already way far along with a candidate, and had extended an offer, even though I specifically asked this question).  Another job I thought might work out for me also got blown out of the water for a variety of reasons.  My daughters have taken turns being sick.  I am estranged from an entire segment of my family.  My husband has had it up to here (insert gesture of hand at forehead) with my work issues, and our debt load.  Merry Christmas!

I keep waiting to blog until I have something nice to say.  Someone sent me a note and told me to keep writing.  Write through it.  Get it out there.  Let it go.  Writing has always helped me in the past, but right now, I just feel like all I do is whine, even when I’m trying to explore how I feel, why I feel this way - and how to get out of this situation.

For the moment, I’m letting go. I’m not going to worry about January and all the things that will or won’t happen in January until the week after Christmas. I am going to try to forget about the portion of my family that I won’t see for Christmas this year.  I am going to focus on my kids (hopefully they will both be healthy by Christmas), and how much fun this is. I don’t want them sensing my distress, and I’d like to spend some quality time with Mike.  I’m sure that things will be okay - they always are - but I am also secretly hoping that I won’t get anything else added to my steaming plate of crap right now. Thank you sir, I’ve had enough.

I need one.  I am tired of not being able to blog about the fun and happy things in my life because they are so grossly overshadowed by the not-fun, the not-happy.  I want to be able to blog about the crazy things Lily and Arden say, the way the dog hangs out by my feet and farts, or the silly dances Lily and Arden have come up with to entertain himself while being driven around in the car.  Because I haven’t wanted to be so negative all the time, I’ve just stopped writing.

I did have one thing that got me really excited today - Anja and Mike and Baby Mia are coming up on Christmas Eve and staying with us, so we’ll have a big group on Christmas morning.  It will be nice to relax with family and at least take a break from the constant thinking and doing that has been part of my life for the last few months. 

I know the answer, but I’ll ask the question anyway. Why do things always come to a head right before Christmas with families?  Yes, I know. Expectations.  Feelings of loneliness and isolation.  People who want other people to react a certain way, and are disappointed when they don’t.  The holidays can bring out the best - but they more often than not bring out the worst, especially in family situations that are already fraught with drama, sadness, and anger. 

This year for Christmas, I am getting what I didn’t want.  I am losing a family member.  3, if you are counting - but one doesn’t matter to me, and the other is a child and got dragged along in all the mess.  My dad is always very stoic about things and I know he will just move beyond his sadness. My mom and I are more apt to be cranky and upset about things.  It’s the woman in us, I guess. 

I’ve always been exposed to alcoholism - although growing up, it wasn’t in my immediate family.  Various friends of mine had alcoholic mothers or fathers; some had siblings.  Some committed suicide and left their family devastated with that empty hole that can never be filled. Some grew up and got help for the scars their families had left on them.  I was fortunate to be spared for so long, since alcoholism seems to be so rampant these days.  I’ve had to deal with it in my husband’s family, and I’ve definitely had to deal with the ugly nature of the disease up close and personal over the last few years.  I also learned first-hand that for an alcoholic to just stop drinking, without getting any help for the reasons WHY they drink, makes them a dry drunk.  A sober, angry, bitter, messed up person.

Things came to a head.  The alcoholic in my family has started drinking again, though denial is big and bad in that part of the family.  It’s also very effective.  A number of what I call “drunk dialings” were made to my cell phone, and my parents.  Ugly things were said on voice mails.  I reacted by shooting off an email full of all the anger and pent up rage I’ve held back for years against the alcoholic.  I called it as I saw it.  I basically said, “I will not take your shit anymore.”  The alcoholic was blaming me for hurting her child (by not seeing them or inviting them to holiday gatherings).  It was so ridiculous - so alcoholic-as-victim - that at first I nearly laughed. Then I got so angry I felt my head spin around on my neck.  I can’t go into specifics about all the ways that the alco has hurt her child, but suffice it to say the scars she has left on her child are much deeper and much, much worse than anything I have ever “done” to them.

As I write this, I feel the rage again - overcoming the sadness.  Then I think about what the future holds, and I realize that I have probably lost an entire section of my family for good.  Because we told the alcoholic that until she got serious mental help and rehab for her illness (and believe me, she’s needed that kind of help for years), and that until she got that help she wasn’t welcome to be around us, the three of them are now effectively cut off because the other two members of the family won’t go to family functions without her.  That was their choice, but it still sucks. Especially since a child is involved.  I know some of the lies they have told the child - how we didn’t invite them, or excluded them to be mean, or won’t forgive her mother for some “mistakes” she has made.  All I can hope for is that years in the future I will have a chance to explain why we did what we felt was necessary - that someone like her mother is incredibly toxic and poisonous, and I was not going to subject my own children to her theatrics and drama and sheer madness.  I will not have it in my house. 

That being said, and expressed, I am now faced with the reality of what has happened.  No more Christmases, birthdays, or acknowledgements.  And maybe that’s better, because it all seemed so fake before - like we were ignoring the giant white elephant in the room.  I prefer to be real, and in a way, this is easier.  She hates us, we just wanted her to get better.  I don’t hate her, but I am done with her.  I truly don’t care anymore.  At least we don’t have to sit at the table together and pretend anymore.  But I would be remiss in not admitting that I will miss the other two members of my family. It breaks my heart that they are a few minutes away from me, but we will not and cannot see them.  I know they are so angry at me, at my parents.  I have to just be okay with that anger.  I know they feel victimized by life, and they are burning up with the “unfairness” of it all.  For whatever reason, that sector of my family has never been able to accept their responsibilities in what has made them the way they are. They want to blame everyone else.  They won’t stand up and take control of their lives and live happily, or healthfully.  They made that choice. Thankfully, I don’t have to. I can protect myself, and my family, from that way of living. 

This, combined with what has gone at at work lately, has ruined me for a while.  I am really tired, and really sad.  I keep thinking that something magical might happen and life will reverse itself, but I can’t play the victim either. I have to pick myself up and move on, and try to compartmentalize my sadness so it doesn’t creep into and ruin the other wonderful things that I do still have.  It’s hard right now, but I’m hopeful that as the days pass it will become much easier. 

I took some pictures before the girls went to school to see Santa - thankfully I did because later in the day Arden got a fever and ended up coming home. Who knows what the pictures the school took will look like, so I used these to make a Christmas card.  I’m late, but at least I’m doing it. 

If you can’t see the Flickr badge, you can click here to go directly to the photos:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/34511368@N00/sets/72157603442060049/

I’m also posting some photos of the Bizarre Bazaar show in Richmond.  Click here if you can’t see the badge:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/34511368@N00/sets/72157603437910408/

Thanks go out to Mike and Anja who many moons ago gave me a gift certificate to my favorite spa and pampering place in Richmond, Metamorphosis.  For some reason they felt it necessary to give me a gift certificate after throwing Anja a very small baby shower. It wasn’t, but it was much appreciated. I’ve been hoarding my gift certificate until I felt I REALLY, REALLY NEEDED it.  Well, I finally hit that point, and I went tonight.  It was heavenly!  I am now all relaxed, very greasy, and wearing no makeup.  Nice visual, huh?

However, on the way to my massage, I was nearly killed.  Talk about getting stressed out before relaxation.  I was driving down 64 and it was very, very dark out. I noticed a pickup truck about 2 car lengths in front of me.  A few minutes later, I saw what I thought was cardboard flying out of the back of it. I hit my brakes and tried to get out of the middle lane where he was, but there were cars on both sides of me.  The next thing I noticed were sparks coming from the back of the truck.  Then in the next instant, a very large, very ugly, very floral couch was sitting perpendicular to me in the middle of I-64.  The couch had flown out of the back of the pickup truck (the “cardboard” pieces were actually pillows flying off of it before it fell out of the truck), and the legs hitting the ground caused sparks to fly everywhere.  I slammed on my brakes and narrowly avoided colliding head-first into the couch.  I got out of my lane and was nearly hit by the person behind me slamming on their brakes, then almost hitting the couch themselves.  From my rearview mirror I could see traffic going every which way to avoid hitting the sofa.  It was so dark, I’m sure someone ran into the thing.  The truck that had dropped it didn’t stop for almost another half mile - I was gesticulating wildly at him and honking my horn. It was quite scary and I was still breathing heavily and fighting off an adrenaline headache by the time I got to Metamorphosis. 

Anyway, I lived.  I didn’t hit the couch, and hopefully no one else did, either.  But I was definitely more than ready for some stranger to lube up my body and rub me til I nearly passed out, I can tell you that. 

I used to say that I didn’t have much of an ego.  I’ve never had much of a problem admitting when I screw something up.  I like to laugh at myself and self-denegrate.  It’s fun to poke fun at all of my foibles and quirks - there are so many!  So it’s weird, at 36, to realize that I really do have an ego, and it’s wrapped in a tight little package around my pride. 

Ego and pride are fine things to have.  They help make us secure or confident.  I don’t think anyone would argue that being those two things is bad.  However, right now, they are really getting in my way.  See, the problem is, I am grieving the loss of something very important to me. Actually, I am grieving the loss of a NUMBER of things that are very important to me.  Once I figured out (today, as a matter of fact) that I was grieving, it helped me get a handle on the process and the phases.  And maybe, just maybe, writing about it will help me get through the phases more quickly. 

Quoting from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and from Wikipiedia:
The Five Stages of Grief
Denial: The initial stage: “It can’t be happening.”
Anger: “Why ME? It’s not fair!” (either referring to God, oneself, or anybody perceived, rightly or wrongly, as “responsible”)
Bargaining: “Just let me live to see my child(ren) graduate.”
Depression: “I’m so sad, why bother with anything?”
Acceptance: “It’s going to be OK.”

I’ve definitely finished with flying colors the “Denial” stage.  I hung out happily in Denial for quite awhile.  I also think I did Stage 3 before 2 - I kept trying to bargain with myself, my husband, and my internal understanding of what was really going on.  Now, however, after getting some sleep and being able to actually think coherently, I have definitely moved into the Anger stage.  And man, am I pissed.  What am I pissed about?  Well, I can’t get into specifics.  But I can say that I feel I have been a good, hard-working, ethical person, who has given 110% for a long, long time, and what is coming to me is Just. Not. Fair.  I think about some of the people in my professional life who have lied and cheated and used people to get where they are.  At the moment, they are sitting at the pinnacle of their careers.  Or it seems that way to me, down here.  The things that I have treasured about myself, many of which I have inherited from my father, seem to have failed me.  Persistence. Perserverance.  The ability to “just get it done”.  Hard work. Honesty.  Doing the right thing. 

Apparently, I also inherited my dad’s stubborn nature - and his pride, too.  Pride is a double-edged sword. It has made me strive to be the best I could possibly be.  Right now, though, it is preventing me from accepting what I must do - what has to be done - to survive.  And I am irritated and pissy with my pride.  I want to tell my pride to sod off and let me get on with Stages 4 and 5 of my grief.  I want to be okay again.  For the last year I have devoted just about every extra ounce of who I am to something.  And although I can say a million platitudes about how it didn’t really “fail” or “when a door closes, a window opens”, I am not there yet.

So please, let me have this opportunity to express, in as much detail as I can right now, that I am very, very sad.  I am also very angry at the moment.  I don’t understand everything yet - I’m not sure I will - but I do know, without anyone telling me, that “this too shall pass”.  I am, above all else, a survivor.  I look back at some of things I have survived in my life, not the least of all a very long, very disastrous unrequited love affair, starting a business with a newborn, getting Mike to fall in love with this disastrous girl who has dragged him through so much, and having - yes, having, a successful consulting pratice in the middle of the conservative male-dominated southeastern region of the US.  I have a lot of experience under my belt, in many ways.  I’ve worked for others, I’ve worked for myself.  And man, I am wicked-harsh to work for. 

Writing helps me.  Most don’t understand why I do it.  Or they fear that it is going to bite me in the butt later.  It might. I don’t really care.  I need to do whatever I can to move myself through the place I am, to get where I need to go. Yeah, yeah, life is all about the journey.  But I am dead-ass tired of the journey, and I need a break. I need some sleep, I need some rest, and my family needs a break.  My girls need a mommy and my husband needs a wife who isn’t a disaster. They deserve better.  They deserve the best of me . . . not the “end pieces” I’ve been doling out lately. 

Jennifer affectionately (I think) refers to me as the Energizer Bunny.  She thinks I have an endless supply of spazoid energy and determination. I think I finally hit bottom!  I found my limit.

Bizarre Bazaar was good.  Period.  I’m not going to add any “althoughs” or “buts” to that sentence. We moved a lot of inventory, we met a lot of cool people, we worked our asses off.  We made a bit of money, we worked hard. 

However, in the past when I’ve pushed myself to the limit I’ve either been mentally energized OR physically energized.  This past month I have had my will to survive sapped in bits and pieces - by survive, I don’t mean my will to live, but my will to continue on with my current path.  I am still unable to write about it here but will eventually.  The preparations, the actual show, and the tear down finished me off physically.  I feel like I have the flu now. Whenever I exert myself, I feel all achey and hot and all I want to do is crawl into bed.  I am so tired I don’t even care if things aren’t being done or followed up on, and that in and of itself is bizarre for me.  I feel almost like I am standing outself of myself and wondering how is hanging out in my body.  Hello, Cristina?  Are you in there?  *taps forehead in vain*

I’m sure I will be cured with a few good nights of sleepytime and some mental downtime.  I may not get the mental break, but I should be able to sleep.  And then perhaps my will to write, blog, or perservere will return.  In the meantime, I’ll be around.