Busy Making Other Plans

There are days the bed beckons me.
I want to sleep and dream and drift for days.
I must fight the Darkness and stay awake...

There are days I will weep if that James Taylor song comes on.
The song about Carolina... I can feel the moonshine, even in December.
On those days I can hear the voice of ocean, it's been so long...

Not enough days of just us two,
Somedays I miss just us two, I want to be alone with him so I can accidently brush by...
Oops, sorry, did I touch? Please forgive...or don't. Oh no- did it again...

Days I just want to read a good book,
wearing clean pajammas and cozy socks,
while a movie is on cable that I am not watching.

There are days I want my Pap paw like no one else.
Days I ache for his conversation...his laugh...his bias love for me.

There are days I get lost on the way.
I hear that older boys voice in my head and can't shake it out.
Sometimes I sing really loud so not to hear him, angry songs.

There are days I witness our children get older.
Those days I give away the "now too small" clothes.
Days I pray to just hold on.

There are days I need a cigarette- and I don't smoke.
A drink- and I don't drink.
A joint- and I haven't smelled it in years now.

There are writing days, when I can't focus on conversation
for the words in my head.
Singing days, when I can't not at least hum.
And quiet days, when I hope to go unnoticed.

Planning days, phone calls, home work, paper work, checkbooks, bills,
School days, Work days, exhausted at the end of the day- actually before-
but can't do anything about that.

Life is what happens...

Sweet Little Girl

When i look at her baby pictures i see all the wonder in those gorgeous little eyes. She still is full of wonder and full of delight and a magic imagination that seems to come from no where.

She was sick for the first three years of her life. in and out of the ER, constant fevers above 104 degrees. Throat, nose, eyes were always sick. her immune system so weak that three separate times I was told to keep her inside and that a common cold may kill her. I cloroxed everything. it was a common occurrence for her to throw up three or more times per week for absolutely no reason.

Many nights ilay awake and held her burning hot body praying that she'd survive the night. Once she blacked out and wet herself. The hospital gowns were so tiny they broke my heart. The first time I saw one I thought, "No, this cannot be something we need here in this world. That is for a toy doll, not my sweet, funny, loving child." Her perfect cheeks would turn red, her beautiful lips would blister up in these horrible bubbles from her fevers.

She weighed twenty pounds for about four years, never more and sometimes less. she wore impossibly small clothing and at times I thought to myself I should buy better quality clothes because they would have to last her more than 2 warm or hot seasons.

The doctors threw out words like -underweight, failure to thrive, and undernourished. I would never speak of home life, I left him while she was a baby, but he saw her still and I am positive in her lifetime she has witnessed some sort of abuse by her biological father on some part of my body. I never dreamed he could have that effect on her or I would've left sooner.

When school started and she began kindergarten there were issues. She can't remember things properly, she can't hold them as well as she should. Her writing is terrible and she does not care that she can't do these things.

I was made aware that all of her issues were related to the biological fathers drug use before i got pregnant. I was aware that he used but had no idea it happened so soon before conception. As with all addicts you never know when or what they use, or how much. I was in shock when the news settled in. I pretended to be ok, and took it like a trooper. I accepted the challenge of helping her after school everyday and told her teachers we would work on what we could. I was broken inside though, worried that he had given her this gift- this lovely package- great shiny box and huge perfect bow, helped make her beautiful. The only gift he has given her aside from the occasional visit and check. How nice of him to give her this- father of the year.

She doesn't care if the other kids are her friends or not. She doesn't care what they say about her, or if they don't say anything. She wears crazy clothes and wants her hair to be crazy and tells me they say she looks like an alien or a weirdo and she doesn't care. She is like me in those areas. If I make friends it's great and if I don't then I enjoy the personal quietness when they all talk to each other.

Then there is her Daddy- technically step father- whom earned "Daddy" and does a fantastic job at it. He knows my heart is broken about her little delay and has not said anything other than, "She'll come around, she is smarter than what everyone gives her credit for. She's amazing and we'll do our best to help her. She needs some extra, that's all." I could burst with love for this man who bathes, feeds, loves her. Who can just look at me and knows that I'm exhausted, I have a algebra test in the morning and I've been told that our daughter may be developmentally delayed.

This gift of her future from her genetic donor, this lovely package is all I can think of. I watch her sleep now, the undulating breath a miracle. Please, I beg God, do not let this package be empty, give us a shot. Please, let her be more than a pretty box.

House

I have this image of the previous owners of our "new" house- not yet a home because it is under construction. They were distant relatives and they sold to another family in between our time with the house- this signature of the family though sort of make me think of 75 years from now other people- possibly our kids tearing out things we did to the house and putting in new, if the house is still worth the saving that is. I am talkin to it when I work, "Hello house," as I enter, "Oh wow house you are looking good," and "we will fix it old house..." I have done some work to know if anyone gave birth or died in the house and no one had, seems they already had all the children they had when it was built and that everyone moved out just fine and all, I am a bit creeped out about that death thing. Yet I talk to the house and I know I can't keep that up once we move- Dave already worries about my very vocal relationship with our cats, but still I touch the house and give thanks frequently to God aloud so she can hear me, so she knows she is special.

Pappaw

He was rough on the face almost the entire time. He was nearly always sweaty and damp in the hollow of his back. Yet I could not resist a hug, not ever. His laughter was magic, His sneeze was dramatic and his mouth was brutaly honest.
He smelled of Old Spice and sawdust and tomatoe vines and rich earth. He always wore suspenders- fire engine red ones, and american flag ones. Later he coughed alot, also over dramatic.
He would give me ice cream money if I'd ask Mammaw for extra gingerbread and a cold Dr. Pepper. Then I'd sneak it to him in the greenhouse. Later he'd say the machine that took his blood for sugar readings was crazy and he knew better and then he'd wink a private wink in my direction and I'd wink back.
He held my hand alot and squeezed too much. He told corny jokes, and even cornier stories. I laughed anyway. We watched the discovery channel and jeopardy. He'd always say that I was special and I was gonna be somebody someday. He called me precious for a nickname and not as an adjective. I didn't believe him then.
He told all the others I was his favorite. I was so embarrassed and would hush him, then later kiss his sandpaper cheek and whisper that he was my favorite too. He left all the other grandkids nothing and he willed me the house that my Mammaw still lives in. Sometimes I wonder what he saw in me. Why me?
I followed him around, if it bothered him I never knew. He showed me things. Interesting bugs, big ripe blackberries, newborn kittens and puppies, how stubborn one man could be. How sweet and patient my Mammaw is.
He would've adored my baby girl. He would've said she had spunk. He would've loved my son, would've said he was too smart.
I miss him like a breeze. It comes from nowhere and envelopes me for a while, I cannot stop the flow. I visit his stone and sit on the ground in front of him for a while. I talk to him, I understand that he isn't there, it is for me and not him. I lean my body against that strong stone and often weep. I tell no one that I went, it is just for me and him. I stay until I stop rocking myself and heaving. Everyone else goes in groups and talks and laughs and sings songs about Jesus. That stone will last longer than my baby girl... I know that someday I will visit them both there and that breaks my heart even more.
There are times I can still hear him whistle...

What I've Overheard

"I told him to come on there are lots of cute girls and no one comes for any other reason... that and the extra cash from financial aid"

"Look at those tits..."

"I told him you can kiss my..."

"I don't care. I'm gonna park here, big deal"

"F*** my life"

"I was so wasted.... I was like Oh, sh*t, there was the cop..."

"My mom is such an idiot"

"I mean, come on, she knew there was no condom."

"What my husband doesn't know won't hurt him."


Going back to class for me is exciting and new. I enjoy knowing that this phase of my life is such an advantage that not every one gets. I have found a corner to "hide" in to eat and pass the 1 and one half hour lapses of time in my schedule, I can read and write and study. It also places me in a spot with a great echo, and my anthorpologist side is entertained, and somewhat disgusted.

Missing

I have been given two of the most wonderful children available. I know that sounds hilarious and wierd- given and available- not terms to describe children or motherhood. I was not in the best situation for life when I became pregnant with my son. I was not the best person to have a child at all. Then God changed me. I got up out of the mess that was strewn about my life and took my son and myself to a new life, new lifestyle, and a whole new perspective. After he was here for about three weeks I discovered that I loved him more than myself. Most moms will not admit that it takes time to fall for your baby, but I will.
Then I married and although I was taking birth control and my son was 6 months old I became pregnant again. Once pregnant my husband became distant and soon enough I discovered his drug addiction. Gradually our marriage disolved and I was single for about 2 and a half years. I mourned him, I mourned me, I mourned what I thought we were and mourned the fact that I was so blindsided.
I brought up two children less than fifteen months apart in age with the help of my wonderful parents. They allowed me to stay home with then until they were able to go school. They took the downstairs of the house and me and the kids invaded the upstairs of the house. We were happy that way. I was content with the three of us- the kids and myself. My parents worked all the time and disappeared to thier quarters as soon as the kids were in bed. It was quiet and I read alot. I was fine.
I met David, I fell hard, still am.
Now I want a baby. Alhtough I am blessed with two I did not want at first- and now adore, I want one for the first time in my life. This is a hard situation for me. We just bought a house- about 80 years old and will need to add another bedroom and a bath for the parents before we can have another- not to mention we need to triple our income. He is the Daddy now and they know no other way of life, won't remember before him, without him, or anyone else, no one ever took the role of Daddy for them until David.
I see babies in grocery carts and smile at them. I see my pregnant family members and I radiate the desire for a child. I hate pregnancy- not being gifted in the weight loss area- but I loved the feel of a baby in my arms. People laugh when I tell them and I think I have never actually WANTED a child before and I cannot say that aloud.
I know I have to finish school and I know I need my mom to retire first and me be working full time and have all this done to the house. But then I think of how sweet they are and how David missed out sort of on the two of ours and I get a little bit lonely....

Joy

Sometimes I just want to be Joy,
not momma,
not the negotiator between brother/sister,
the deciding choice between Wendy's or Mcdonalds,
not bathroom scrubber,
nor laundry doer
nor taxi driver
nor bed maker

I want to be where someone can enjoy my presence
my voice
my thoughts
my laughter
I want to lay down with someone who just wants to be next to me
not for sex
not for safety from nightmares

Somedays Joy is never there
all day long
Somedays I get time with her
just minutes
Somedays I need to see her
and I don't
Somedays I get her
and don't need her
Somedays it flows
perfectly
This summer I have craved Joy