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Why do you hate Christmas so much?

Wow, good question right out of the gate. I think it all boils down to my own feelings of inadequacy in all things that I do. I never feel like what I do is good enough and spend an inordinate amount of time berating myself for not measuring up to some standard that I hold. This is especially true in being a mother. I think a lot about how my children will see me in the future and thanks to my own crappy relationship with my Mom I am terrified that they will feel about me the way I feel about her. The thought of disappointing them somehow makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. And this is the most difficult part of parenting...you have no control about how your kids will feel about you, even if you are doing the best job you possibly can.
That being said, the build up of Christmas and the anticipation of it is just too much for me. I feel like I will never do enough to make it as magical as everyone thinks it should be for children. So I feel guilty about it.
I also don't like having obligations to do anything (like giving gifts to people that I don't really like) or feel indebted to someone and all that comes with gift giving and receiving. I like giving gifts but don't like receiving.
I am working really hard on being more positive about Christmas for my kids. I would say that they probably have no idea I hate the season. I hope it stays that way.

Ask me anything

New Blog

I am trying to make a go out of blogging professionally. I will be posting more on my new blog now unless it doesn't work out, then I may come back here. I prefer this format, anyway.
Here is my new address
crazymama.today.com
I hope you stop by.

National Delurking Week

So, according to my friend Aurelia last week was national delurking week. I know people read this blog because google analytics tells me so. I also know that most people come here by way of strange google searches. But I would really love for all of those who read and give a shit to make a comment and let me know you are out there. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Or is that the 4 year old Vicodin I found at the bottom of the medicine cabinet last week?

Putting myself out there

I decided to apply for a part time job in the evenings. As a bartender. Anyone who knows me would know that really it is the perfect job for me. Liquor is probably my first true love right next to ice cream and babysitters. I put in my application on Friday and worried about it all weekend. I have no experience. I do, however, have a completely useless Bachelor's degree that cost me an arm and a leg to get at a private university and which I will probably never ever use. I think I am going to find out that my degree doesn't amount for squat nowadays.
As I was applying at this newly built chain restaurant, the stuffy temporary trailer was filled to the brim with people only speaking Spanish. In fact, one of the interviewers was dedicated solely to them. I learned back when I used to manage a chain fast food joint after I got out of the Navy that there are many jobs that those who are new to this country and do not speak English can do in the food services industry. I would say probably 85% of my staff were non-native English speakers and of the 85%, probably 25% spoke English passably enough to work the cash register. Everyone else made burgers and cleaned.
These people were extremely dedicated and most of them worked 2 and 3 jobs at fast food places to send money back to their home country for their families. They all lived together, sometimes 7 or 8 to an apartment. They would work their asses off for 6 months saving what money they didn't send home, and then return to their home country to live like Kings and Queens for the other 6 months. Then come back across the border and do it all over again.
I had no problem with these people, except for the language barrier I suppose. Honestly I don't really care who you are or what you do as long as you work hard and keep your nose clean.
When I walked into that trailer on Friday I have to admit I was a little smug. I have a degree, for goodness' sake! I am a smart woman who was very successful in my career...um, 4 years ago. Yeah. 4 years ago.
As I looked around I realized that most of the people applying for the jobs that I looked down my nose at (dishwasher, etc.) would probably be hired. They had job experience. They worked for much less pay. Me? Not so much.
Suddenly I am very humble.
The man who interviewed me when I turned my application in told me that they would call for interviews starting on Monday (today) after 5pm. What does it mean if I don't get a second interview?

Let's get one thing straight

There was an anonymous comment a few posts back concerning my husband. I would like to set the record straight with regards to S and our relationship. I feel bad that all I seem to do is post the things he does that aggravate me and never touch on the loving and wonderful things he frequently does. I guess since this blog is my vent that it does take the shape of a place for me to scream and rant without repercussion. I feel obligated, however, to do some loving on my husband now.
Friday started out as a very tough day for me. After S called me from work and I was short with him about changing my therapy appointment this week on short notice he came home at 1pm (he is normally home at 5). In his arms was a huge bouquet of flowers and a $15 i-tunes card. He told me to get the hell out of dodge and not come back until dinner. A lovely 4 hour reprieve from the cares of the world, which was just what I needed to recharge. He does this type of thing as much as he can.
While he may not volunteer to do things with the kids all the time he has never said no when I have requested time out or away. I truly believe that he just doesn't think to offer because in his mind if HE needed me time he would just ask for it and since I don't ask I don't need it.
He does spend a lot of time in his office by himself. I don't begrudge him that. I envy it. I admit I am bitter that I don't really have a space of my own in this house. But his work is such that he really needs a room dedicated just to his junk, I mean, equipment. Otherwise it would be spilling everywhere in our house or getting trampled on by the kids.
S always helps with the housework. In fact, he does all of the dishes on the weekends and while I was in the throes of my anxiety he tackled the laundry and most of the housecleaning as well.
While he may not be as emotionally available as I would like he definitely does what he can to help out. As far as the emotional stuff all I can say is that we are working on it. I have to remember that he is not a mind reader and it is unrealistic for me to expect him to be able to anticipate my needs.
He is truly the only person alive on this earth that I can spend 24/7 with and not get sick of his company.
He appreciates my intelligence and still finds me hot even after 10 years and two kids.
He never fails to whisper in my ear "You are the most beautiful woman in this room," whenever we are at a party.
He is not perfect but that is what makes our relationship interesting. Because, regardless of what the Match.com and e-harmony commercials tell you, true love does not mean that you agree all the time.
True love is
what happens in the time after you disagree
the coming together after difficult periods stronger than before
recognizing that your relationship will change as you change yourself

Hindsight is 20/20

My first husband was like an addiction. I could never do or say enough to impress him. We were young and on our own for the first time. I had never lived with anyone but my family before. He had to patiently instruct me on the finer points of housekeeping since I had never cleaned a day in my life thanks to an extremely anal retentive mother. I was hopelessly and desperately in love with him.
We married impulsively because we were about to be separated by the military. Our marriage was simple and quiet with only our friends and his parents in attendance. My family refused to attend. There was some strong objection to the groom and to the fact that we were both barely 20 years old. My brother in law warned me that the first dumb things people do within six months of boot camp are to get a tattoo and get married. I did both.
Without going into the long, sordid story he was kicked out of the military for being arrested dealing drugs at a rave while we were between duty stations. I was in NY starting a new training program and he was in FL waiting to follow me up to NY for good. In the process of being booked at the police station he consumed a large quantity of a certain drug to keep it from being found during a body search. It changed him forever.
I am sure he had always had an undiagnosed chemical imbalance. But this drug altered him completely and caused him to have flashbacks from time to time with no warning. There was no rhyme or reason to it. We could be going along normally and then BAM, instant insanity.
I watched him attempt suicide twice. The first time was during a flashback in our apartment in Navy housing. We were on the second floor. We had been fighting and all of a sudden he snapped. I was due to report for work in a little while and all of a sudden he lost it. He ran across the living room, opened the window, pushed out the screen and tried to throw himself head first out. I grabbed on to his pants by the belt loop and hauled him back in. It never occurred to me what a Herculean effort that must've been at the time until I woke up the next day completely sore from my shoulders to my feet. Somehow I had conjured enough super human strength to haul this 165 pound man against the force of gravity back through the window.
I had to call a friend of his to come watch him while I went to work. The military waits for no man. I showed up for work late. When I was questioned about why I was late I promptly burst into tears. The military does not like tears, especially from a woman. Eventually, I explained what had happened. My supervisor took me in his car to take the long drive back to our apartment. On the way home we passed my husband and his friends heading up to the base. We flagged them down and my husband informed me that I had forgotten my dinner and they were heading up to drop it off. He was normal again and worried about me being hungry during my 12 hour shift. My supervisor insisted that he get checked out at a hospital. My now normal husband was angry at me and at him.
We were at the hospital for 4 hours and they finally released him only if I promised to have someone with him at all times for the next few days to make sure he didn't relapse. After my supervisor dropped us off at home my husband tore into me for telling people our business. The next day my boss' boss tore into me for crying at work and lying about why I was late(I had originally told them I wasn't feeling well).
Sometimes when I am just falling asleep and my mind is drifting I have flashbacks from this period in my life. I assume that anyone who has had traumatic events occur does the same thing. It is just a byproduct of the PTSD experience. Occasionally, I remember details that I had forgotten or chosen to forget. Usually, I am flooded with the emotions I felt back then and feel them come rushing back in remembrance.
I am ashamed to say that there are times when I welcome the feelings. Feeling something, albeit sad and scary, feels better than being numb.

Flummoxed

A great word, that. Here is a post that is nothing but complaining.
I am flummoxed at all of humanity.
This morning my husband scolded me like a three year old. This isn't the first time he has done this and I am sick of it. I am an adult and if I want to break the baby's fucking jammies drawer because it wouldn't open and she was screaming her head off because she was cold and wet from her bath then so be it! That dresser is a piece of shit anyway.
A has even started scolding me. "Don't leave your water on the floor, Mama, or the baby will knock it over." Listen here, you little stinker. If I want to leave my water on the floor and the baby knocks it over then so be it! I will clean it up. I always do.
My daughter cries all day long. Whining, whimpering cries that become screams when she doesn't get her way. She is 9 months old and already throwing tantrums. If she isn't being held by me she is crying and pulling at my legs. I can't catch a fucking break with this kid. She still wakes up every two hours at night. I have tried to let her cry it out, however, she is so stubborn and determined that she will cry until I go in there. Or until her brother wakes up.
I have been contemplating just packing a bag and getting the hell out of here. When I was waiting for the Zoloft to kick in I contemplated the same thing, however, I thought that leaving would be better for the kids. Now I think that leaving would be better for me. How much would they hate me if I left? Is the chance at freedom worth the guilt I would feel every day of my life for abandoning them?
My husband gets to go to work every day. He has a whole room (office) dedicated to himself. He retreats there when he gets home because he needs time to decompress. I get that. I feel like even when I do get time to myself I am always on call anyway.
I fantasize about getting a hotel room and sleeping through the night uninterrupted.
I fantasize about going back in time to when I was young and unattached and reliving those times. I feel like I squandered that freedom and now I am mired here with no hope for ever being free again.
I fantasize about starting my life over in another city with another house, another job, another me.
As I am feeling these things I am also bogged down by guilt and remorse. I have so much to be thankful for. There are many other people in the world with much less. I should be grateful for what I have. I feel like if I don't appreciate these things that they will be taken away from me like some sort of punishment. Then I will really be sorry.
I am getting older. I have a bunch of friends who are assholes and say one thing and do another. My husband is self centered. My house is a mess. I'm hungry and tired. My dog just farted and it smells really bad.
Today is a day for screaming, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"