Consumption

I am going back to therapy today for the first time in months. I know when I get in there, I will babble on about nothing in particular, and not receive any satisfaction for the 45 minutes I spend there, at almost $1.00 per minute. I wish I could just write to the therapist instead of having to talk to her. I never remember all of the pertinent, insightful facts I want to share with her when I'm in that stuffy little room.

For instance, right now my depression is consuming me. It's like a living entity, following me around like a giant shadow. I feel like throwing up. Or crying. But there's laundry to be done, meals to made, shopping lists to compile...I just don't have time for wallowing in self pity. It's true that I haven't had to argue with Clara at all for the past two weeks since she's in Europe. But it sickens me that she hasn't attempted to contact us at ALL. She has sent messages to her friends via facebook (which I found out from my mother, of all places), but we've heard nothing since the first day when she told us that she arrived in France safely. C'est la vie, I guess.

My neck/arm continues to give me a great deal of pain and discomfort. There is nothing I can do about it, of course, so I just keep my mouth shut and deal with it. But it's aggravating. I still feel fat, my complexion is a disaster, I can't do anything with my hair because of the humidity...yes, I just have the all-around-hate-myself-blues.

The worst thing I am dealing with right now is that I went back to work, not because I wanted to, but because I HAD to. I think it was a mistake to think that I could fall back from "manager" to "water-ice scooper" and find anything rewarding. I am tired of people talking to me like I'm stupid. Although, the fact that I walked back in there probably proves that I AM stupid. I don't even know what my rate is (I have to look that up, really!), but any money we have coming in right now counts. Michael found part-time work with an electrician locally, so the hot dog cart is in a limbo status right now except for weekends. We're counting every penny, and praying that our health benefits are still in effect. I don't know how much longer we can count on that, though, and we can't afford the healthcare through COBRA.

I think I'm finished venting now. Dinner is in the crock pot, and I need to start attacking the laundry and making a grocery list. My therapy appointment is at 2:45. I should be good and Ativaned-out by then, and unable to verbalize anything important. Because that's how I roll.

Giving Up

How is it that I am supposed to feel when I see my parents, who are 75 and 77, surrounding themselves with so much negativity that they begin the wait for dying instead of living the rest of their lives?

As long as I can remember, my parents, particularly my mother, have told us to not bother getting additional insurance when we travel. My mother is a huge believer in self-fulfilling prophecy: If you believe you are going to get sick, you ARE going to get sick.

One of her friends just went on her "cruise of a lifetime" trip, and while she was on the cruise, she never left her stateroom because of fierce pains she was experiencing in her lower abdomen. By the time she arrived in Venice, they took her off the ship and delivered her to a hospital, where she is now awaiting surgery for a lower bowel obstruction. The truth is, she was having symptoms, and a ton of pain, before she got on the ship. But this experience, combined with some friends' ridiculous stories about how they got really sick on their trip to Egypt years ago and their prediction that my parents will suffer the same fate, have convinced my parents that they now need to get additional insurance. Which tells me that they believe they ARE going to get sick.

I am furious at their mindset, and I told them so. If I was going on a trip and was convinced that I needed to get additional insurance, I would expect the worst. If I behaved this way around my mother while I was growing up, she would have lectured me for days. Apparently, though, I am not allowed to mention to them that they are behaving that way. They "know best."

So I'll just sit here and wait for the phone call from Egypt to tell me that somebody is sick, or hurt, and then get to say I told you so? Really? What happened to all the "positive thinking" I was always told to have? When did 75 and 77 become "old"? My grandfather lived to 98. So what's the problem? If you're that afraid to travel, then cancel the goddamn trip and stay at home where you're all safe and snug.

I just can't believe that my vital, adventurous parents have now decided to label themselves as "old". No, maybe they can't run around like carefree teenagers, but to decide that they need to get the travel insurance (and it's for healthcare only, fyi) is a mistake.

I can already hear my mother: "We're not young anymore. We're senior citizens. It just makes sense for us to have the extra insurance." Really? Why? Why not just cancel the trip? Stay home for the next 25 years and watch the walls get smaller.

Pissed? You bet I am. I am trying all that I can to keep negative thoughts out of my life right now, and to hear my parents with all this worry-wart bullshit just invites more negative crap right back in the picture. I'm not saying that you should take careless risks, I'm just saying that everyday should be fully lived.

I repeat: You have the choice to sit around and wait to die, or live the rest of your life. Worrying falls into the first choice. Ditch it. It's a waste of your time. Start living like you mean it.

d.

The Big Picture - Part 1

I have come to realize that, as a child, I had certain assumptions about what my life would be like when I became a "grown up." As the youngest child in an average, lower-middle class family, my future meant that I would get married, buy a house, and be stuck in a job somewhere behind a desk until I retired at the ripe old age of 65. I'm not sure how old I was when I ditched the notion of ever having children. That seemed like a ridiculous idea to me, since I was the youngest, and I demanded most of the attention.

To fully understand my view of the future, please understand that I was born in 1962. I was too young during the conflict in Vietnam to have an opinion. I certainly have an opinion now, but it won't change the past. The United States was the dominant force in world, but there was always that Russian threat looming over us during the Cold War of my youth. We didn't have bomb drills in school when I was growing up, but the threat of a nuclear bomb dropping on our house was always looming there in the background. It did not, however, dominate our conversation, or influence my nightmares. My biggest fear growing up was being stung by a bee.

I even managed to skirt past the racial tensions of the 60's & 70's, because one of my best friends in grade school was black. She wasn't African-American; that term didn't even exist. Her name was Terry, and she was one of the nicest friends I ever had. She moved away before we finished middle school; I don't know what happened to her or where she is now. One of the most horrible memories I have growing up is when the Ku Klux Klan applied for, and was granted, a permit to parade through the neighboring town. I hated what they stood for then, and I truly despise it now. I wanted to go throw eggs; my mom wouldn't let me. It would have been a waste of our food. She told me the best thing to do was to ignore them, because if nobody went to see the parade, it would be a failure. I was too curious, though. I went to watch. So did a lot of other people. It was the quietest parade I have ever attended. It was just plain uncomfortable. There was some yelling, and a lot of police escorts, but mostly, it was awkward. I doubt many people even remember it happened.

My point is that we didn't live with the threat of terrorists on American soil when I was growing up. The American Dream, that started in the 1950s, was still a viable option. It wasn't until my junior year of high school that any of us had ever even heard of Iran, let alone being able to find it on a map. When I graduated from high school, "e-mail" was just being developed. I remember as a freshman in Temple, my friends trying to explain to me how they could talk to each other from opposite sides of the library over a computer. I didn't get it. I thought they were printing things out on paper to each other! It was right about that time that I started to believe that maybe I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. My SAT scores were abysmal, after all. I squeaked into college by the skin of my teeth and my parents' checkbook. Of course, that didn't turn out so well, and is not part of this story.

I remember some time during 8th grade, I think, that we first had to take a generalized test to help us decide what we wanted to do after graduation. It helped to determine our high school course selection. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in 8th grade. My recollection of the results were that I was supposed to be a florist. It wasn't even until my Junior year, during a job fair, that I even became excited about a career. A very tiny, local radio station had a table, and they were talking about careers in broadcasting. The guy from the station let me have two Billboard magazines that he had on the table. I was smitten. I was going into radio.

So after graduation, I went off to Temple University to study Radio, Television and Film (RTF, for short). I was a communications major, on my way toward a Bachelor of Arts in Communications.

Fast Forward to May, 1981: Dropped out of school, moved home, got a job at Continental Bank during the day, and a t-shirt salesperson at Emerald City three nights a week. Then I was a hostess in The Ground Round in King of Prussia. Hated every minute of it, and I was really, really bad at it. Went from there to Kelly Girls, where I was a substitute secretary. From there to Advance Personnel in Center City, where I got a receptionist job at a place called Hay Associates. Had to leave there because there was no where to go. Went back to Advance, and was placed as a secretary in an interior decorating firm; I got fired about 2 months later. Hated it with a passion, but was afraid to tell the lady at the personnel agency. My last assignment through them was at Comcast, in Bala Cynwyd. I worked there for awhile, though, and met some of the best friends I still have in my life. I packed up and left there one day, and went to work at their newest baby, QVC. Night shift customer service. Hated it. Again.

After that, I went to a different employment agency and ended up in Wilmington, DE at Stoltz Realty. I worked there for what seemed like a long time, as a receptionist/secretary. But eventually, I got bored, and started looking around again. I had a job for a little while at Mutual of New York, working for a family friend who was one of the most successful underwriters in the group. Turns out he was crooked, and I couldn't deal with it anymore. Especially the part where he was cheating on his wife. Bastard. I made a couple of phone calls and ended up at DuPont, back in Wilmington. I made it there for five years. I got laid off from DuPont in November, 1993, when I was eight months pregnant with my son, Jake.

I was literally trapped indoors for the entire months of January and February, 1994, because of ice storms. It was right around then that I started wondering what had happened to my "grown up" plan. I had the husband, and the house. But there was no job, I was suddenly trapped as a feedbag for a baby, and it looked like my life was over. (It still confounds me that the doctor never recognized the depth of my post-partum depression. I was never treated for it, or for any depression, until I was diagnosed during my second pregnancy, in 1996.)

I needed to DO something. A big part of who I am, apparently, relies on what I do. So I started job hunting again. In September of 1994, I answered an ad in the Town Talk for a cashier at a local farm called Linvilla Orchards. It was one of my favorite places to go to as a child, so I applied. I was hired on the spot. Within a few months, I went from a part-time employee to head cashier. I loved my job, but I hated having Jake in daycare.

END OF PART 1

On the Brink

I am sitting here on this June day, perched on the brink of what promises to be a long, long summer. Recital is on June 26 & 27, and then I have nothing on the calendar until summer dance camp. No job, no classes, no anything. For me, that is never, ever a good thing. I am only content when I am busy. I need to make a plan.

Michael seems very happy with his Union work right now. Of course, neighbors and friends continue to keep him busy with installing outlets and light fixtures, but he still has left plenty of free time to work in the yard and ride the Harley. His back is still ailing him, but at least he now has medication to help with the pain. He wants to start back at karate in July; I don't know if it will help or hurt, but if it makes him happy, then more power to him!

Clara has been as busy as a one-armed paper hanger. She has been studying like she is taking finals for her master's degree...her finals for eighth grade have been intense. She has moved on to the next book in her keyboarding lessons, and we hope that she will be able to continue taking voice and piano through the summer time. Her teacher, Miss Eynon, gets married on the 26th of June, and we have been invited to the church. The only glitch with the lessons at the moment is that yesterday, Miss E mentioned that when Clara sings, she sounds a little bit "nasally." Just like her mama. It upset Clara a lot. It is "curable", and I hope she doesn't become discouraged. She has such a pretty voice. She has not been as dedicated to dance as I would like, but she knows the dances. I can't worry about it. I'm not the one on stage.

Jake is obsessed with his girlfriend, Caitlyn. He eats, breathes, sleeps Caitlyn. He is texting her, talking on the phone with her, or Skype-ing her almost every waking moment of the day. When he isn't talking to her, he sits in his room, or sleeps. He has zero ambition, which I suppose is normal for a 16-year-old boy. What worries me is that his down time is oppressive. What I mean is, if you walk into his room when he isn't talking to Caitlyn, he is withdrawn, depressed, and you can detect an atmosphere that I can only describe as hopeless. He has no friends to speak of, and no hobbies, no job, and getting him to take care of chores around the house is difficult, at best. He doesn't even join us in the family room to watch tv anymore. It is like he has made a full time career out of isolating himself from everyone, except Caitlyn. I worry because it appears that he has become even more "needy" for her attention. Although he has been getting some help for the depression, I would like to see more improvement. I would like him to be truly happy again. I don't really see that anymore. Trouble is, he doesn't like to take the meds because he doesn't think they will help, and he doesn't want to depend on them. I wish I could make him understand that we're trying to help him, not hurt him.

I am still seeing a counselor and taking meds myself, and some days are great; some days it's all I can do to get out of bed and face humanity. I have been trying to focus on the things I am good at, and that I enjoy...writing, teaching dance, cooking...but it is clear that I will need to get a job soon. Found out yesterday that they broke ground on the Sun Center movie studio in Chester. I would love, love, love to get a job there, even if only secretarial. Close to home, too. I threw out my back over a month ago, and I am still limping around like an old lady, so that isn't helping my outlook, either. But that, too, is curable. I have been spending my inside days cleaning up clutter and being with the dog, but even she is feeling a bit ill these days. Not sure what is wrong with her, but something is definitely wrong. I hope she gets well soon. Poor thing.

Recital weekend will be here soon, and I will be running at full tilt for a few days. Those are the days when I don't have time to think, and I fall into bed exhausted. The good stuff. I am surrounded by a bunch of great people and it's fun, and exciting, and busy. I only hope I can get through it without any major catastrophes (meaning, feeling guilty about something I said or did).

So this is where I am, trying to think of plan for this impending Summer of 2010. My options are limitless. I only hope I don't disappoint myself. Baby steps. Time to start walking.

d.

What it means to be a Mom

My dearest darling children,

Today I have decided to write a short essay on what it means to be a mom. This will be my personal opinion, of course, so it won't make much impact on anyone in my household.

I think I shall approach this in two parts. Part 1 will discuss what I thought it would be like to be a mom before I became a parent of teenagers, and Part 2 will be, well, reality.

Part 1: The Naive Years

Being a mom means doing whatever it takes to make my children happy. If that means going back into the kitchen and making macaroni and cheese, even though everything from dinner is already cleaned up and put away, then so be it. Being a mom means that I will always remember to pack school lunches, or ensure that there is plenty of money available in the school account at all times. Being a mom means that I will drive my kids where ever, whenever they need to be at sports, dance, or school functions, even if it means I have to juggle my own schedule. Being a mom means that I will teach my children manners, and that they will learn respect and not ever talk back to an adult. Being a mom means that I will stay awake all night when my children are sick in case they need me to bring a glass of water or some Tylenol. Being a mom means that I will get up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for my children and see them off to school, and drive them to the bus stop if it is snowing and/or pouring rain. Being a mom means that I am constantly at my children's beck and call, because they are my job. Being a mom means that I will not judge my children's friends, or question what they are doing on the computer or on their cell phones, because I know I can trust them at all times. Being a mom means that when I have to say No, I will explain my reasons and make my children understand without losing my temper.

Part 2: The Teenage Years
Being a mom means that I cannot make my children happy, no matter how hard I try. They will continue to make stupid decisions and I will allow them to suffer the consequences, because I have come to believe that this is the only way they will learn from their mistakes. Being a mom means that I serve meals once. If the kids want dinner, they will eat what I make when I put it on the table, or they will make something themselves, and clean up after themselves. If they do not clean up the kitchen when they are finished making a mess, I reserve the right to pile the dirty dishes upon their beds. Being a mom means that I will no longer pack school lunches, because I have come to realize that whatever I pack ends up in the trash at school, or gets left in the bottom of a backpack all summer long, and is discovered months later when the smell is getting obnoxious. Being a mom should mean, however, that I deposit money into their school account. I really do need to take care of that. Being a mom means that I will routinely drive my children to activities that I pay for, or are related directly to school. It does not mean that I will drive my children to or from a friend's house at any one's convenience but mine. Being a mom does not mean that I will pick my child up from school because she "doesn't LIKE the late bus." And I will hang up on any child who tries to do that again. Just like I did the first time. Being a mom means that, even though I tried desperately to teach my children how to behave properly, I cannot take responsibility for their bad manners. Nor do I have to endure it. Being a mom means that I will discipline my child if he or she speaks to me, or any other adult, in a way that is disrespectful or rude. Being a mom means that when my children are sick, I will offer every cure, medication, and relief known to mankind, but then I am going back to bed. If my children feel well enough to complain, they aren't really sick, and I see no reason to make myself grouchy by depriving myself of sleep. Being a mom means that I will provide my children with alarm clocks so that they can wake themselves up in the morning and get their own breakfast before school. I will, however, continue to drive them to the bus stop during inclement weather. Being a mom means that I will do my best to stay out of the way of my teenagers, because avoidance is the best defense. They need to understand at some point that they are my job, not my life. Being a mom means that I want to meet all of my children's' friends, because I would like to know who they are and if I decide to judge them, that's my prerogative. Being a mom also means that I will stalk my kids' facebook pages on a regular basis, to make sure that they are not up to something they will regret. Being a mom means I will also walk into their rooms unannounced while the computers are on and look at what is on the screen. No, it is NOT an invasion of privacy. When you turn 18 you can pull that crap on me; right now, you're a minor, and in some minute way, you are still my responsibility. And finally, being a mom means that when I say NO, that is the end of the conversation. I am a mom. I am trying to protect you. Do not talk back to me. I WILL lose my temper. I WILL punish you. It's my JOB. When you hear me mumbling incoherently to myself, be assured that I am uttering the Mother's prayer that you will end up with three children who are JUST LIKE YOU, so that you will suffer the way I suffer now.

BUT: Being a mom means that you love your children unconditionally, and I do love you unconditionally, even though sometimes you can destroy a beautiful day just by walking through the door. Being a mom means that I have faith in my heart that all of this will pass, and someday, you will become a decent human being. And that's what it means to be a mom.

~~ dayna l. greskoff
April 19, 2010

Confirmation

March 18, 2010

I hate it when my kids ask me why they had to go through Confirmation classes when we don’t go to church on a regular basis. I never have a good answer. Here’s what I think:

Even before we got married, Michael and I regularly went to church. We didn’t really like the way our pastor preached at the time we were married. He was a loud, fire & brimstone kind of preacher, who insisted we all call him DR. Carter, not Pastor Carter. He was full of self-importance and ego, and we stopped going after awhile. Our Assistant Pastor at the time was Tim, and I used to debate things with him sometimes. I enjoyed sparring over religious topics with Tim; he wasn’t judgmental, just knowledgeable and understanding of worldly vs. Godly. We often agreed to disagree, and I’m sure he prayed over me when I wasn’t looking.

When Carter was finally reassigned, Pastor Mel came to our church. He was a compassionate, faithful man, with a wonderful wife and family. He smiled a lot. He believed in God, the Bible, Jesus Christ, and that a joyful faith was the best way to honor the Lord. He was a very “half-glass full” kind of optimist, who led us to believe that none of us are worthy to stand before God, but that we all receive the same opportunity for forgiveness and redemption to enter into heaven after we die. Mel was our pastor during the 90’s, just as political correctness -- before homosexuality became an “issue” instead of an unspoken lifestyle. Everyone was welcome in God’s house. Don’t ask, don’t tell. During this time, I not only helped with crafts at summer VBS for several years, but I also taught a Sunday school class to preschoolers. I was very involved with our church, and so was Michael.

Mel retired, and the United Methodist board assigned Pastor Tom to our church. Return of the fire & brimstone. Laying on of hands. Speaking in tongues. Evangelical raising of hands and swaying of bodies. Not my style. Thankfully, that was about the time a bunch of musicians decided to introduce the 9:30 worship service, which was singing, singing, and more singing, all to contemporary Christian songs. So our children went to Sunday school (and I joined a Sunday school class) while Michael enjoyed a relatively accusatory-free service.

As the children grew older, they no longer wanted to go to Sunday school. We were camping more, and away on summer weekends. Little by little, we gradually just sort of got out of the habit of regularly going to church.

We have never stopped going altogether, and when Clara decided she wanted to be an acolyte, and join the youth choir, we again made it to church more than once a month. The Methodist Church has become more and more judgmental over the past few years, and we have begun to feel a disconnect with what we hear coming from the pulpit and what we feel in our hearts. The last straw for Michael was the sermon declaring that those who alter their bodies with tattoos and piercings are sinners and unworthy to stand before God. Yep. Guess I’m going to hell.

Between that sermon, and the fact that most of our Harley Davidson bike rides are on Sunday mornings, going to church has become less and less of a priority for us. The one thing that remains constant is the church; pastors come and go. Eventually, we will be assigned a new pastor, the political climate will change, and the cycle will turn again.

So here is the answer to my teenagers’ question: Why did they have to take Confirmation classes? Michael and I tried to give our children a good foundation in the church. It was important to me to have Jake & Clara to go through the Confirmation class, and that they join the church. Once they hit 13, it just seemed to me that they were able to decide for themselves whether or not they wanted to continue their journey in faith. Even if they decided not to pursue a religious education right now, they have a foundation, and they belong to a church family. They can take communion. They can walk into any Methodist church and know why we do the rituals and how to partake in them. They can ask pertinent questions, and they can begin to discern good interpretation from bad. That is my answer.

Jake has no desire to go to church; Clara, on the other hand, enjoys the fellowship she has with her Bible Study group, Fuzzie Slippers. Michael and I still go occasionally, and so do the kids sometimes. but it is still not a priority. Frankly, it is a confusing time for all of us. I was in the choir for a little while last year, Clara sang on Christmas Eve, and we would both like to sing at future services. But we honestly do not enjoy the sermons, especially since we get to hear about how we’re going to hell every week. There has definitely been a shift in our faith….but that’s a blog for another day.

d.

Waiting

I am three weeks into serving the six week sentence I have been given to wear this horrible leg cast. I spent the first two weeks backsliding into depression, and some days, still, I have a hard time pulling myself up onto to my one good foot to greet the day with enthusiasm. I can't wait until September 21st, when, hopefully, the stupid thing comes off. God forbid the heel isn't better by then. I can't stand being sedentary. Pun intended.

I have six more days of being a "manager" before I step back down to "normal" status at Linvilla. I am looking forward to this demotion even more than ever before, because this season has been especially stressful for me. The number of phone calls, texts, and e-mails on which I have spent energy this summer is sickening. Add to that the fact that I haven't been able to walk, or drive, or go into work since the beginning of August, and it's no wonder that I have been so frustrated. It's very difficult to manage two pool snackbars from the sofa in my basement!

The dog also continues to be a source of bitterness in the house. She is constantly barking and growling whenever someone enters or exits the house, except for me, of course. The two female cats in the house have been fighting non-stop since we brought Rory home in July. And Clara can't stand having the kitten in her room, because he isn't yet litter trained, and he is into everything. So even though I am stuck here at home, it isn't like I'm getting any peaceful rest. It is unnerving, and I am anxious most of the time.

School starts next week. That means PTL meetings, singing lessons, conferences, back to school nights, and a plethora of other engagements that I may or may not be able to attend because I have to rely on someone else to drive me everywhere.

So the bottom line for me today is that I'm tired, and unmotivated, because I feel rather useless. I am waiting.