Here's Wishing You the Bluest Sky

Phillip Seymour Hoffman  7/23/67-2/2/14

Phillip Seymour Hoffman had it all.  He died at the height of his career.  He had a very promising future.  He was certainly not the face you'd associate with drug abuse, but he was an addict.

This man relapsed and died from an accidental drug overdose following 23 YEARS OF SOBRIETY.  Surely, this is evidence that addiction is an incurable disease.  Perhaps, it is manageable with appropriate support, skilled decision making, and lots of will power, BUT, an addict is always an addict, forevermore.

This is really on my mind today.

My sister is leaving rehab very soon.  I know it's been hard for her, but her admission there was a great relief for me.  For 6 months, I have gone to bed without wondering if she'd still be alive when I woke up.  I prayed and prayed and PRAYED for her to live long enough to get to rehab. And she did.  And I felt elation. Bliss. A release of fear. You don't know that kind of fear unless you've lived it.  I laid on my face, on the floor, begging God to keep her safe.  Every night.

We're not close, and being around her is difficult for me, but she's my sister.  I hope rehab has helped her find strength and make goals for herself.  Perhaps she's leaving with new dreams for her future and a support network to keep her motivated.

I'm really making an effort to approach her more positively in the coming years.  I want to be supportive, I really do.  It's hard for me to let go of the anger I feel for her.  I've never learned to accept the apology that's never been offered.  But I need to.

I must learn to stop seeing her as an addict and start seeing her as a person.  She's someone, and that person deserves a good life, even if she's not the who I want her to be.

So, sister, if you're reading this,

Here's wishing you the bluest sky,
And hoping something better comes tomorrow.
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses to
Follow all the drudge and sadness.
I know that better things are on the way.  ***



***Song originally recorded by the Kinks.  I give you a remake by Pearl Jam, because, well, Pearl Jam. 

I've Got Headaches and Bad Luck

I've been having a lot of headaches lately.  Sometimes, the pain is so intense I can't even open my eyes.  It's caused me a lot of concern because I'm not one to get headaches.  I've blamed it on the weather and my constantly clogged sinuses, but really, I was beginning to worry about other causes.

Then I read this.  Basically the article states there is a link between sleeping with your phone under your pillow and headaches.

"Do not Keep the phone under your pillow: It is a dangerous practice to keep your cellphone tucked under your pillow while sleeping. The waves emanating from mobile phones can cause severe headache and can lead to other disorders in the long run."

I am an idiot. I have been sleeping with my cell phone under my pillow since September.  As a substitute teacher, my income depends on being available to answer the phone when a desperate principal calls.  Sometimes those calls are at 5am.  I can sleep through anything, so I've been keeping the phone close in hopes that I will hear it.  

I can't believe I've done this without thinking how dangerous it could be!  I never carry my cell phone in my bra.  Never.  It's incredibly dangerous and could cause breast cancer.  As much as I complain about their overly-ample size, I'm not sacrificing my girls for phone storage.  (And it's "People of Walmart" trashy.) 

I stopped sleeping with my cell under my pillow 5 nights ago.  I haven't had a headache since.  Coincidence?  I'd like to think not.  Check out this neat-o evolution of the cell phone pic.  

We should go back to that giant, white Motorola "Zach Morris" cellphone.  No one could sleep with that under their pillow or store it inside the bra.  

***Post title lyrics:  All of the Gin Joints in the World by Fall Out Boy.  I couldn't find a clever way of working that into the post.  I'll try harder next time.  Or maybe not. 

You Long to Say a Thousand Words

There's a meme floating around the internet asking, "If you could write one word to your younger self, what would it be?"  I've often replied, "Run!" which would have been great advice.  It's a silly little meme, probably not intended to be thought about, but it sparked inspiration in me.  How can one really answer that question in just one word?  There's a lot more I want to tell to my younger self, you know, if I ever got a Marty McFly-like chance to travel through time.  Allow me to present: a letter to my younger self.

Dear April (or Apryl...remember when you tried that out?!)

Life is hard right now.  I know you're thinking it will always be that way.  It won't.  You will arrive at a place where rules will be consistent.  You will know what you can and can't do from day to day.  You won't live in fear any longer.  You'll laugh every day.

There will be many hardships between now and then.  You'll face many embarrassments before you even graduate from high school.  You'll color your hair.  Often.  When you color it fire engine red, your mother will call the police.  Be prepared for that so that you don't laugh at the officer who is just as irritated to deal with the call as you are.

You're going to run away from home when you're 15.  I wish I could tell you that's a mistake, but it's not.  Run away.  Go where you think you should.  There will be people there who love you.  You will be caught; you will be scared.  You're life will change for the better. You'll finish high school in a much better place than where you started.

When you're 14 years old, you will meet a boy at a football game who will be nicer to you than you've ever thought was possible.  The two of you will spend the next 3.5 years breaking each other's hearts before you both realize you can't force destiny.  Years will pass with very little contact with him.  But, in your 30s (yes, I know that's old to you now) the two of you will depend on each other for friendship, prayer, and emotional support. And, thanks to something called the "internet" (you're going to love it!) you will have the ability to chat as often as you'd like, for free. (Because you're kind of a miser.)

Before you graduate high school, you will meet your husband.  You'll know right away that he's the one.  He's AMAZING.  Be kind to him.  Always.  Even when you don't feel like it.  Even when he's on your last nerve.  Shower him with words of praise.  He will need it.  Don't take 15 years to realize his love language.  Let me tell you, it's Words of Affirmation.  You will need to work on this.  Affirmation does not come naturally to you.  I know you are not given praise from your parents and it embarrasses you when others compliment you, but he'll need these words to feel appreciated and loved.  Practice being more affirming in other relationships while you're waiting to meet him.

You're going to go to college!   Yes, you are!  Don't listen to anything negative coming from people (your mother) around you.  You're going and you will love it!  You'll live in a dorm and have a food plan. (Load up on nonperishable foods, and save some $$$ for dinners out, because the dorm food is lousy!) You'll meet your best friends and some of them will remain important to you decades later.

Don't be in such a rush to get married.  It can wait. You'll likely want to jump right into marriage.  That's you.  Leap and look later. Maybe you should consider living together before marriage.  Trust me.  You'll want this.  He balls up his socks when he takes them off and it will make you crazy! You should know this, and many other things, before you marry him. Or maybe not.  No, definitely not.

College will be fun and you won't feel done when it's over.  DO NOT GO TO LAW SCHOOL.  You will have an adviser convince you that this is the next step for you.  Be confident.  Listen to your heart.  It's not.  You'll commit to 3 years of HELL and a lifetime of debt.  Avoid it.  Go to grad school.  Get an education degree.  Teach.  You won't regret it.

Be prepared to lose relationships that are important to you.  Things change.  People change. Feelings change. Seasons change.  You'll get passed it.  You'll be better for having lived through it.  And people are going to disappoint you.  You'll watch loved ones suffer from their own vices.  You'll see friends go to prison.  You'll bury titans.  Do not be discouraged, for while their stories end, your's is still being written.

You will have children.  Take a minute.  Digest that.  CHILDREN.  I know you think you'll never be a mother, but you will.  At 12 years old, you'll decide it's better to let abuse die with you than to pass it to the next generation.  You'll carry those feelings with you for at least another decade. However, at some point, you'll want to be a mother more than anything in the world, and you'll try your best to be everything for them that you never had.  Sometimes you'll fail, but you'll keep trying.  I could fill volumes with stories about your children, but some things you need to discover for yourself.  Just know, you are going to experience so much joy.  There will be rough patches, especially when you're 31 years old, but every second of difficulty will be repaid tenfold in pure bliss.

Keep going, kid.  You're going to make it.  By the time you reach my age, you'll have it all.

Love yourself,

The Woman You're Going to Be

Some Days it Don't Come Easy

I'm not crafty.  I don't enjoy cutting or gluing or anything like that.  If I'm making something with my hands, it's likely a sandwich.  However, my friend, Leslie, over at My Mommy's Place, is so creative.  She makes amazing things for her children.  I  love checking her blog to see what new, unbelievably-uber-awesome thing she's been up to.

My daughter is aware of Leslie's mad skills.  For a fall party, Leslie and her daughter assembled treat bags to pass out to her daughter's classmates.  I showed the blog post to Mason.  She looked at me and said, "When it's our turn to take something, we're taking gift bags too."  I thought, "sure, sure...I hope you forget."  She didn't.  So, now that it's Valentine's Day and her turn to provide something for the party, she signed us up for treat bags!

I originally thought we'd do bags like these.  Minions are crazy popular, right.  We could also make a coordinating Valentine's box and Valentines to pass out!  Oh, the possibilities!  Then, the teacher sent home a letter stating that students were not bringing in their own boxes.  I was pissed. How can you have Valentine's Day without a box????  I understand that schools have started to do away with things like this because some kids have asshole parents whom don't help them put together boxes and a child should never feel left out.  I get that.  However, I had asshole parents whom never helped me do my boxes.  I have never had an artsy bone in my body.  While other students brought in beautiful boxes, mine were the standard covered-in-foil-tissue-and-stickers boxes.  They were always ugly, but they were mine.  I made them and was incredibly proud.

After struggling to find the yellow bags, I pitched the whole idea and settled on something easier.  Let's face it, Mason wasn't going to help much.  I'd be lucky if she applied glue and stuffed the bags with the goodies I purchased.  Since I knew I'd do most of the work, I chose these.  Simple, easy to do, and super cute.

This is an actual picture of the bags I made.  Aren't they adorable?  Oh, they were so easy! The bags are lunch sacks.  I cut the tops off with pinking shears, then punched holes for the handles.  Next, I traced a heart-shaped cookie cutter onto a piece of red-glitter card stock and cut out the hearts.  Mason glued the hearts onto the bags using a giant glue stick.  Finally, I used ribbon to make the handles.  You'll notice there are two different kinds of handles.  I bought a 12 foot roll of ribbon.  I needed to make 18 bags.  I measured and cut the ribbon in 9 inch sections.  I only got 12 segments and ran out.  12 feet, my arse!

Inside the bags are stickers, 2 suckers, a pencil and eraser, a heart-shaped candy, a candy necklace, and a ring made from a pipe cleaner and a Hershey's kiss.  Mason received one at the Chocolate Extravaganza this past weekend.  They looked simple enough, so I made some too.  Here's a pic...not mine.   I stole it from Pinterest.  Apparently, others are doing these cute, little favors too.

I am not good at this stuff.  I'm really not.  I don't enjoy it.  But I'd do anything for my children...even go out of my comfort zone and make something crafty for them.  I bet Meatloaf doesn't craft, either.

"Lego" is popular for Valentine's Day this year.  If you haven't seen the movie and don't want to venture out into the cold, you can watch it, FREE, by clicking here.  HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Go On and Scream

I'm not a perfect mother.  Sometimes, I'm not even a good mother.  I can be incredibly unfair.  I admit, I hold my daughter to a higher standard than the boys. She's older and I expect much more from her.  BUT, I think I expected more from her at 3 years old than I do from the boys now at 3 years old.  I've always had high expectations for her.  And she routinely exceeds them.

My girl was two-and-a-half years old when the twin boys arrived.  She was fairly independent.  She usually dressed herself and put on her own shoes.  She helped pick up the house and took her own plate/cup/utensils to the sink after meals.  She knew the entire alphabet and could count to 20.  She could also visually identify the numbers 0-20.  Her independence was a blessing when the boys arrived.

Since June 4, 2010, the boys' birth date, I've been fighting drowning.  In the first year, I nearly went under, but somehow managed to keep my head above the water.  I made it through, to shallower water, badly beaten against the rocks along the way.

When the boys turned two-and-a-half, the waters ahead looked better and better.  I started to hope I would finally find a way to wade myself to shore.  Routine, limiting public exposure, and NOT TRAVELING ANYWHERE were key to surviving the baby/toddler years.

But, just as I stretched my entire upper body out of the water, got a good look at the land ahead, and took a deep breath, I felt the current pulling at me;  dragging me away from that promising shore.  Back to the depths, where the waves are rough and the fight is so hard.

At three-and-a-half, I feel like we've come back to the beginning.  The fits are so hard to handle.  Fighting.  Whining.  Someone is ALWAYS crying.  The screaming.  Oh God-save-me, the screaming.  JoJo, twin B, is so difficult I've had to take a time outs and get away from him.  I can never please him and his frequent fits sometimes make life less enjoyable for everyone in our home.  The other kids give in to him to avoid the fit that follows when he doesn't get his way.  Despite our efforts to stop that, it continues.  Kids are better at picking their battles, I guess.  I'm a nervous wreck around him.  One of us needs medicated to survive the other.

Both boys are highly attached to me.  I cannot do anything in our home without them right beside me or even on top of me.  Both boys want to be carried around like babies.  (SERIOUSLY!) I never give in to that.  But it's wearing me thin.  If I leave the room, both boys come running after me, screaming for me, begging me not to leave.  I don't know where this separation anxiety comes from.  I rarely leave them anywhere.  I feel like I'm terrorized, held prisoner by an army of little kids.

Every day, I feel the water rising higher and higher.  I've lost sight of the shore. I'm going under.

I Hope It's Gonna Be a Long, Hot Summer

If you live most anywhere in the US, chances are you're feeling the cold. And you're tired of it.  If you have small children, like I do, you are running out of ideas for keeping them busy (and the fighting to a minimum.)

Recently, a friend of mine posted art activity ideas on Facebook. One of these ideas was to make homemade paint.  I am not crafty.  I don't even like art.  (Not true...I like looking at art.) I'll happily color a picture in a coloring book, but you can forget about free hand sketching, painting, or really anything else artsy.  However, my children LOVE art and painting is probably their favorite creative outlet.

You guys, my kids sat at our table and painted for over 1.5 hours.  No fighting.  No whining.  No crying.  Nothing but sweet peace for me and a good time for them.  We have so much leftover that we're painting again tomorrow.  Once again, school has been cancelled.  It's been a cold, cold winter.

Would you like to try homemade paint too?  Here's how you make it.  (It's so easy!)

All you need is sweetened condensed milk and food coloring.  That's it!  You may also want to put some newspaper down on your table.  This stuff is a bit sticky and food coloring may leave a stain.  If you have elementary school aged children, you'll likely have some Scholastic fliers hanging around.  I save ours just for projects like these.

Divide the sweetened condensed milk into whatever cups or bowls you wish to use. I used two cans to fill 11 Dixie cups 1/2 full.  Add food coloring according to the color guide on your package, or make your own combinations.  I halved the amount of drops suggested.  Ex: if it called for 6 blue and 2 yellow, I used 3 blue and 1 yellow.  Mix well with a spoon.  Look at all the wonderful colors I was able to make from 5 small bottles of food coloring!

G3, getting their art on.

 

Today's work.  As you will see, the paint dries super shiny.  This was an incredibly easy way to make my kids happy today.  I hope it goes as well tomorrow.  

That Perfect Girl Is Gone

Thanks to an incredible internet link, the kids and I have been watching (and re-watching) Frozen.  If you haven't seen it, I'll try not to spoil it for you.  I love this movie.  It speaks to me.  The music is wonderful and I cannot get it out of my head.  It's a flipping cartoon, but I think about it all the time.  I wonder what I'm missing.  Every time we watch it, I notice something new.  And AMAZING.

My children love it too.  The boys are mad for Anna and Elsa and spend much of the day pretending to be them.  At any given time, you can hear Jo singing, "do you wanna build a snowman?" or see Jake, blanket thrown over his shoulders, waltzing through the living room, shouting, "I am free!"

Elsa and Anna - Aren't they lovely?

You guys, I'm developing an emotional attachment to this movie.  Anna and Elsa are sisters.  If you've been following my blog, you know I have sister issues.  Elsa is the older sister and heir to the throne.  (Did I mention they're princesses?  Of course they're princesses....it's Disney!)  Anna is the younger sister and is a bit naive about the world and how dangerous her sister is.  Elsa has been cursed with the ability to make snow/ice/wintry weather.  Anna is normal and just wants to play with her sister, but Elsa is too dangerous to play and stays locked in her room. Although they did not spend much time with each other, there is a deep love between them.  The movie highlights the importance of the sister relationship.

Remember when the princess always needed a prince to save her?  I've always thought that was stupid.  Disney has caught on too and corrected it.  Both Brave and Frozen have female heroes.  They save themselves. I love the message this sends to my daughter.  I've yet to watch Frozen without crying.  Buckets.  Damn you, Disney, for making me feel things.

My sibling relationship much different.  For most of it, my sister and I shared a bedroom.  There was a clear division between sides of the room.  My side was neat and orderly.  Her side was a sty. I insisted on being furthest from the door.  I have no idea why.  I always had to wade through her crap to get out of the room.  Perhaps, I thought her mess would flow through to my side of the room if I was closer to the door.  Who knows?

My sister and I had daily access to each other.  While we are not twins, we were in the same grade, often had the same classes and made the same friends.  It wasn't until our junior year, when she went to the vocational school and I stayed at the high school, that we had any real time away from one another.  I wish I could say her absence bothered me, but it didn't.  I was glad she was at another school.  We weren't friends and basically survived by tolerating each other. She was the perfect child.  I was difficult, running wild, longing to be free. I no longer run and that perfect girl is long gone.  Perhaps she was never real to begin with.

We haven't lived together since 1995.  I moved in with my dad that year, after a failed runaway attempt.  It saved me.  I'm close to my dad.  He's been a support source for me throughout my life and a really good man.  He's not my sister's biological father, but he raised her, and continued to do so long after my parents divorced.  He's a grandfather to her child.  He loves my sister just as he loves me, even though she has used and abused him.  He could be free of her, but he chooses to allow her in his life because he loves her.

My mother often says that my problems with my sister are my fault.  She thinks that I'm jealous of her relationship with my dad.  That couldn't be more wrong.  Dad and I have a great relationship.  We've spent a lot of time and energy fostering a friendship.  I harbor no resentment or jealousy of my father's love for my sister, nor do I feel threatened by their relationship.  In fact, I think it's wonderful.  He's a man that was willing to raise another man's child.  He loves her with his whole heart, despite that she's stolen from him, lied to him, and greatly disappointed him. If anything, it makes me treasure him even more.

Unlike Brave, Frozen doesn't reveal much about the princesses relationship with their parents.  The story remains focused on the sisters, their separation, and their journey back to one another.  And that sits heavy on my soul.

I feel guilty for not having a healthy relationship with my sister.  I think we liked each other when we were really little.  I remember always having someone to play games and ride bikes with.  We were once protective of each other.  If one of us was about to get in trouble, we'd hide the paddles...she'd hide the belt (Mom's choice for disciplining me) and I'd hide the wooden spoon (Mom's choice for disciplining her.)  I have a clear memory of tackling a girl who called my sister "fat" and bullied her, daily, on the walk home from school.  She took care of the neighborhood brat that always tried to wreck me when I rode my bike.

I'm not sure when that changed.  Somewhere between elementary school and high school, we stopped protecting each other.  By junior high, even I called her "fat."  She became self absorbed, obsessed with her hair and makeup, and put me down for have simpler tastes.  She called me, "butch" and often made lesbian references/jokes.  We were cruel to one another.

In high school, she was deeply unhappy.  She did not socialize like other kids.  She stayed home, watched TV, read books and ate. She was well over 300 pounds by our graduation.  Then we went away to college.  I went to Muskingum and rarely came home.  She went to Hocking, but didn't go to class or do her assignments, and failed out.  Having no where else to go, she moved into my old room at Dad's house.

While at Dad's, she brought him into the 1990's by convincing him to get cable and internet service.  We used to play online chess with each other through Yahoo Games and chat with Messenger. I loved that!  We became more friendly.  When I got married, she was my maid of honor.  Once, she even sent me $12, all in one dollar bills, with a note that said "Here's a little mad money. I'm sure you can use it."   I used it to fill my gas tank (yes, $12 bought a lot of gas in 1999!) and drove to New Lex to visit her.  We were able to support each other while our mother battled leukemia from 1999 until 2001.

After she had bariatric surgery, I thought we would become friends.  She was more outgoing and willing to do things.  I wasn't prepared for how shallow she became.  Vanity sank deep in her bones and it's still there.  Even now, after heroin and pills have stolen her teeth and caused her to look a decade older, she's incredibly vain.  She's a storm: wrecks everything in her path and moves on to the next victim, careless about the mess she's left behind.

And despite this, despite the pain she's caused, I love her.  There are still days that I just can't believe that my sister, my sister, is a heroin addict.  She's in a rehab facility in Columbus.  It's been relatively easy to block her from my mind.  Until I watched Frozen.  Seeing the love those sisters have for each other makes me so sad.  We should have that.  We should be friends.  But you can't be friends with a heroin addict.  And you can't be friends when you have an anger buried deep inside that you just can't seem to get out.

I'm angry that she's wrecked her life.  I'm angry that she joined her husband in using drugs instead of getting him the help he needed.  I'm angry that she's been giving her daughter away since the day she was born.  I'm angry that she stole my identity and wrecked my credit.  I'm angry that she did the same to my dad, probably my mom, and so many others.  I'm angry that she's in rehab.  I'm angry that people continue to enable her.  I'm angry with her.  I resolved to find a way to forgive her, but I'm struggling with that.

I just can't seem to let it go.