Step Into My Thimble

Oh 2008, on what a thrilling note you begin!

I am knitting Maeve another sweater, and I’m going to set up a sewing station to work on a patchwork quilt for her. I am trying to sort out day care and increased work hours, and to buy a car. I have giant new projects at work. My mind is barely managing all 9 million details. I have answered a meme, and provided a Maeve update, below.

A new picture of something better than my visage will be here, eventually.

In the back of my mind is Dixie‘s recent post with seven odd personal facts. I have thought of a few of them, ones that might make you cringe. They make me cringe. I have a lot of unresolved parent issues. These days I think of them as good friends, really important people in my life, but…unresolved issues. Maybe you can relate.

1. In my life, I’ve gotten stitches two or three times. One of the times has a story with it that I have not really ever shared in total. I think I was probably 8 or 9 years old, and we were on a family trip via the back roads to my grandparents’ house in Flint, about a 2.5 hour drive. Like most kids, my two-year-younger sister and I were getting bored and we began to goof off. My brilliant idea was to pretend we were choking on saltine crackers, the only snack my mom had brought along for us. I did it several times, until my dad had steam coming out of his ears and stopped the car on some farm road somewhere. He spanked my sister and I (our little brother was probably sitting on my mom’s lap in the front getting coddled as usual), and then pushed me roughly back in to the car. On doing so, I hit my head on the door frame and suddenly blood was everywhere. I know it was an accident, my dad never otherwise abused me physically, but we did have to go find a country ER to get my head stitched up. It took two layers of stitches. My mom made my dad go into the ER with me, and he had to get smelling salts because he felt faint. It sucked, but to this day the real kicker in the whole thing is that I can not ever remember my dad saying he was sorry. I don’t even think he admitted to my grandparents when we finally arrived that the giant row of stitches on my forehead was his doing. Maybe my mom told them (they were her parents), but it was never openly discussed.

2. My parents are religious people. They raised us Missouri Synod Lutheran. This brand of religion is sort of okay in the sense that there aren’t a lot of evangelical activities going on, but it is very not okay in its treatment of women, minorities, etc. My dad worked for the church as youth/education director until I was 14. In his first job, at a church in California, he had a lively bunch of teens in the youth group who made him a really nice scrapbook when he left there after five years. Later in my life, I read some of it and was in awe at what some of those kids wrote: “you changed my life,” “thank you for all the love and support,” etc. I have thought about it a lot over the years. It seems like it is a typical thing for some people to direct all of their energy and passion toward their work, rather than to the people immediately around them. I think it is a little sad that during my teen years when I probably needed his involvement most, I can’t say those kinds of things about him. Now, it’s a lot better, but the terms are so, so different.

3. Perhaps as a result of my parents’ religious convictions, or because of the fact that they are pre-baby-boomers who went to small Christian schools most of their lives, the women’s movement never really had much impact on them. I have a distinct memory, from age 10, when an encyclopedia salesman came to our door one night. He gave my mom his little pitch while I sat there listening, and at the end, he asked if this was something our family would be interested in. Before my mom could talk, I said “My dad makes all the decisions around here.” My mom was embarrassed, but at that age, I couldn’t do much but speak the truth.

4. As a child, I used to have a lot of issues with going to the bathroom. (See, cringe!!) One time, maybe in 3rd or 4th grade, I was at a piano lesson in the home of a new teacher. She had never shown me where the bathroom was, and I was too I-don’t-know to ask her if I could use it. Halfway through the lesson I could hardly sit on the piano bench because I had to pee so bad. The teacher kept asking me if my legs hurt, or whatever, until she finally hit on the fact that I had to pee. I really liked that piano teacher, but after a few more months, she gave up teaching to go back to her career as a music librarian. She probably got tired of freaky kids like me.

5. People always like to claim that they didn’t eat their snot as a kid. I truly, truly did not eat my snot as a kid. This is a truth that I know in my heart, that no one can take away from me. However, my friend Lauren once told me I should try eating my ear wax. I remember sitting on the floor in the elementary gym, and when the teacher had her back turned, Lauren came over and whispered in my ear that I should try it. I was mortified to learn that that was something she did. I did not ever eat my ear wax.

6. As a teenager, I got fired from TJ Maxx for shoplifting. I acknowledge that I was not innocent, but when I started working there, I walked into a pretty organized shoplifting operation. I happened to get hired to work at the layaway counter, which was the primary portal for all the hot goods. There were some older girls with whom I wanted to be friends, and…the rest is history. As a 16-year-old, I did not get a criminal record, but I had to make restitution to the court for about $450, and I was permanently banned from the store. My friend Suzanne who was also caught had to run away from her Jehovah’s Witness home and couch surf for a few months until disappearing forever. In a follow up story, a year or two later that store was upgraded to have a jewelry counter, and not long after that, the store manager (my former boss) got arrested for stealing over $10,000 in diamond jewelry. I am responsible for my actions, but I was definitely a part of a very fucked up culture there.

7. I was on the golf team in 9th grade. My only reason was so that I could get out of school for full days at a time for practice and playoffs. I hate golf.

*****

In the Maeve dept., she is now sleeping in a twin bed in her own room. However, most nights I can also be found sleeping in the twin bed with her. This is a transitional activity until she no longer wakes up 8 times a night howling “mama.” I have resigned myself to the knowledge that my child does not sleep well, and probably won’t for another year or so. To make this easier, a sort of quasi new year’s resolution of mine was to give up the few evening TV shows I liked to watch after she had gone to bed, and just get in the (big, adult) bed myself to either read, knit, or sleep. I’m finding this really enjoyable, especially when Rodney brings me tea and a piece of toast with homemade peach jam. It’s my time, or our time, if he wants to read in bed too, or just sit and talk.

At the end of last year, I found myself totally burned out on the child-swapping daycare arrangement that I had going. I decided it would be best for both families if we looked elsewhere for care, in a way that didn’t have me with extra kids on the days I wasn’t at my “real” job. I needed more time either just with Maeve, or by myself during Maeve’s naps. It has been a total hell ride finding a better arrangement, something reliable and close to the house, with decent food and a clean environment. I hope by the end of next week to have that straightened out. Maeve herself loves to play with the kids, and I think she’s definitely ready for an environment with a bit of structure and more educational/stimulating activities than I am capable of providing. You see, there’s a reason I am not a children’s librarian…