Insomnia...and the chaos it creates

I have no idea why I'm up so early. I just woke up about twoish, and couldn't go back to sleep. Preparation for the baby? I have no idea, however, I find it annoying. I don't know if I've told you this or not; but I find pregnancy annoying, in general. Okay, I've told you, but only like, a thousand times, or so. I was talking to Jeff the night before last, and he made the comment that "You never write about me...." I was actually surprised at this, because he's a private person. For my long time readers, a couple months ago I posted a long entry just about him, and when he first saw that picture of himself, he got all huffy and was like, "why is my picture up?" and "What are you writing about me and why?" I guess in his defense, he knows that when I get around his sisters and mom that's when I feel like I can gripe about all his annoyances. Also, he knows that my blog is a place where I gripe in general, so putting the two together, I guess, could be scary. But no.
I was nice. It was a miracle, and highly unusual, but I was nice. The sad part? I have to complain about stuff...it's a way for me to de-stress, turn the little things into jokes, and realize that yeah, I'm overreacting. Also, it's nice to do it around his sisters and his mom, because they can laugh with me, and tell me stuff about when he lived at home, and then I can either feel justified in my complaints, or I can be thankful that we all eventually grow up. This was hard for Jeff when we first got married. (And I SO wonder why?) But now he lets me get away with it with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, and the knowledge that if I complain to someone else and get the proper sympathy, then I won't complain as much to him, so it all works out for everyone. Except maybe for my sisters-in-law and mother-in-law...but they are all awesome enough to realize that I need to whine a lot, and they pretend that what I say, matters. To be fair, I feel that I need admit this somewhat important fact: Jeff has never complained about me to others,(to the extent that I do, anyway), that I know of, and that's because he's a saint. However, this is another reason why he is better than me...because I'm a fat whiny baby that couldn't handle it, and when people know about my faults, it embarrasses me, and he knows that. (How am I still married? Your guess is as good as mine.)
But enough about that. This is supposed to be a little insight into Jeff's day to day, and I'm veering off into the "me" category, yet again. It's so hard to stay on task this early.
For those of you that aren't "in the know", Jeff is a graphic designer. He's got real talent. Artistic talent. I wouldn't say this if it weren't true...as I can't even draw stick people, and I'm well aware and accepting of this. Also, he's got this ability to see things on paper and put them down. I look at paper and go back to my old standby: Bubble letters that suck, and hearts and stars. I'm really grateful that my children inherited Jeff's talent and imagination...because I'd feel like a total failure if I had to explain to them that the reason they have no talent is because of me. That's no fun to tell kids. So basically, I just helped bring the fabulous looks to the gene pool, and the ability to be overly dramatic.
If you haven't seen it yet, you need to check out Jeff's website. It's www.jeffective.com Yeah, this a bit of shameless advertising, but I'm his wife, so I can do this. Right now he's working on variant CD covers for his friend's band. Anyway, that's what he's enjoying working on right now. He's also doing a lot of rendering of buildings, working on logos for various companies, and re-doing the sound and graphics on some medical instructional stuff that I couldn't figure out if my life depended on it.
But he loves the CD cover project, and this is where you get to see what Jeff brings to the table. He will perfect every detail. He's done some really amazing sketches, and finalized them, and I hope that his friend and the band realize that they are taking all my husband's time. This is what he really loves to do, and I have to admit, it's something when I fantasized about what my husband would do for a living, he'd have a job like this. I just didn't want it to be such a time consuming occupation. (So you see? If I'm not complaining, I'm just not saying anything...something I think Jeff figured out a long time ago). I have a very cool husband. And I know that is such a high school thing to say, but it was one of my prerequisites, you know? He had to be funny and kind, and cool. And I got all those plus a bunch more that even though I whine about, I love. He has done so much in these past three years, career wise. Each day there's some new project that would scare the crap out of me, and he steps up, and makes it great--beyond great. Maybe this is why I don't post a lot of stuff about Jeff. Because I'm a bit jealous, or because I go on and on about it, and it's probably a lot of both. But in reality, he's my best friend, and I'm so proud of his accomplishments. It's amazing to me to see the stuff that he creates...and I don't give him the credit he's due. So here you go, My Love. Here's my, "somewhat casual" post about you. Hopefully, between the rambling of a sleep deprived woman, you can see some of the things I've been trying to say. And if not, definitely check out his website. Then you'll know for sure.

"Norbal"

First off, thanks Kory, Lora, and Moriah for your input on my last entry. When Jeff came home today he told me that with all my rambling, it was hard to decipher what I was trying to say. After a debate between us, he said that it was difficult to find that simplicity in my post. Basically, I want my kids to know that if they aren't the best at something, if they don't feel like they need to be part of something that I want them to be, I want them to feel free to tell me. I don't want them to always do what they think I expect them to do. I want them to be able to open up--I need to constantly remember how hard it was to be a kid, and try to have empathy and sympathy as they express themselves. I want to have an honest, loving relationship with each of them, and let them know that I understand that though they are siblings, they are so different, and I encourage and accept that.

As for respect, no, I didn't mean for it to be a political debate. My Bush comment was just that..mine. I want Riley and Cole and this new one to know that they are their own person. And if someone threatens that, they have the right to defend themselves, no matter who it is. (Like that old man at McDonald's in the kid area that yells at them because they are being too loud...sometimes you just gotta say, "Hey, notice that this is an area for Children. If you have sensitive ears, I suggest you go out and eat with the big kids"). I want them to be kind, but to always know they set their boundaries. They never have to prove themselves to me, because I love them and accept them wholly. With other people, that's a different story, and they'll learn that as they grow. They'll learn all this stuff as they grow. Like Kory said, I stress daily about it, too, but I really feel that my children are kind and thoughtful, and that really tells me that things are at least going in the right direction.

Anyway, I just wanted to clear that stuff up. As usual, I was more wordy than I intended to be, but I just wanted to emphasize that my last post wasn't an angry rant. I'm sure I'll have some down the road, but that one wasn't. The end on all that, I promise.

Secondly, Leah, I was so glad to hear from you! I'd love to hear how you're doing and such...but I couldn't get into your blog. It kept kicking me back to the google homepage, so maybe if you read this, you can let me know what I'm doing wrong. And if part of your blog title is Babylars...does that mean you've had one? I'm SO intrigued.

Okay, so about my title of this post. Norbal is the word that Cole uses for Normal. I find it quite amusing, and it's hard for me to correct him on this. He really insists that if he picks out a shirt or some pants that they look "Norbal". If I try some new food dish, and offer him some, it never fails: "Mom, I just want Norbal mac and cheese", or "I don't think that smells Norbal. I need to frow it away, Mom." And off he'll go...wasting something that's perfectly fine, because he questions it's normal-ness. Even though I laugh, I have been trying to tell him that not everything is normal. And normal is different for each of us. I told him yesterday that some people eat bugs dipped in Chocolate, because he was having a fit about the only thing that can be dipped in chocolate is peanut butter. Otherwise, it's just not normal. He first was upset that I wasn't being honest, so he had to use our family's equivalent of the safety sentence--we have to be honest, no joking at all, when someone asks, "Is that the truth"? After telling him yes, he was devastated and nauseous and told me he had to "go frow up", as he ran to the bathroom. I really think that school is going to be a much-needed experience for him. But I stress, as well. He'll be that kid that comes home and asks me questions about all the things he hears during the day...and every question will be punctuated with, "Is that the truth?" In some ways, this scares me more than anything. Not that I have to tell the truth, just trying to find the right words to explain things. It sounds like a relatively easy task; to answer children's questions in a way that's truthful and able to be understood, but it's not. They look at you, and the answers provided always lead to more questions...and they just keep getting harder. So if someone has all the go-to answers, please help those of us that don't, out. So, because it's super late, and I have to GO WALKING tomorrow, (Gotta motivate myself, you know), I decided I would end this post with a hand drawn portrait of our very "Norbal" family. Cole drew it, and told me that because this is something that he's good at, he wanted to make a picture of our family, "like dad does". We decided to put it on our fridge, instead of on the wall, like Jeff's pictures, but that doesn't mean it's any less special, it just means that he likes to continually "touch-up" his artwork. He likes to examine it every now and then, take it down, and make additions or scenery or whatnot. So Jeff and I had to take a picture to ensure that we had his simple masterpiece, in addition to what the final version will look like. Cole named each and every one of us, and word for word, this is what he said. And THAT, my friends, is the truth.

Earlier last week, Riley asked me what the word, "respect" meant. I told her the definition, and she asked if I respected anyone. I told her "yes, there are a few people", and then she asked me why I respected them. I told her there a bunch of reasons, but mostly because they had done something to show that showed they respected me. I have more on this, but I need to touch on some other stuff, first.
I'm gonna wax poetic about the song, "Handlebars" By Flobots. First off, let me say, I KNOW. I'm sick of it too...it's on every radio station, and because my son loves it, I must endure it each and every time it plays, usually about 5 times, when I'm in my car. But, despite being sick of this song, and it's widespread commercial interest, I must concede that it makes me think. The first few times I listened to it, I enjoyed it's catchy tune, it's fun refrain, and the way Cole bobs his head to the bass line, and tries to sing along. After the first few times of listening to it, however, I found myself comparing it to the personality of boys. This is because I look at Cole, and everything about him, even if he's not saying it exactly, screams, "Look at me, Look at me!" I thought that was humorous. As my little Bubbers is that kid that believes he can do anything, as all kids should. Everything falls into two categories. The first one: I Would Be Completely Awesome At That, and the second: Uh, Totally Not Interested. He goes between these two options daily, and it's one or the other, there is no in-between. Whatever he's not interested in, shouldn't exist, basically, and whatever he does, he doesn't think that anyone else in history has done it even close to as perfectly as he.
Then there's the second part of the song. Where the positive of that complete faith in self can be less than glam. The part where if he chooses, he can send someone to jail, just because he doesn't like them, he can start a holocaust, or should he choose, just push a button and bomb whomever is pissing him off at that particular time. This is what's sad to me. Because all kids start out with this complete love of self...and it's the best thing for parents to watch. We think this way, too...that there's nothing our babies can't handle or do fabulously. But to grow up without having anyone tell you that maybe your ideas aren't that evolved, or maybe your opinion isn't that educated...you can easily turn into this self-centered person that believes that anything they do is justified. Not only justified, but law, because of the sheer awesomeness that is them. They get to a certain age after all those years of being catered to, and then won't even think about the slightest possibility that they are capable of making a mistake, or just being a jack-ass. (I'm just going to throw this out there, because it's totally who I imagine as this song is playing--George W.). I know, some people will find massive offense in this, but this is my blog, and therefore, my opinion, so deal.
Anyway, back to not only my son, but my daughter, too. I love them, and I believe--I know that they can do anything. I also know that they learn each day, through trial and error, and I have to acknowledge their mistakes as much as their accomplishments. This can be in a positive manner, mind you, not something that has them terrified to voice an opinion or thought. (Like shaming, for instance. My father swore by it...not me, so much. I want my kids to feel like they can keep an open mind...not so brow-beaten that whatever someone older says has to be gospel-truth, and therefore, they must respect it). That's another beef I have today, and I'm trying to kind of go back to the respect issue...there are just too many extremes with kids. On one side, they must be respectful and polite and all those adult-pleasing qualities. On the other, they need to have self-esteem and stick up for themselves. I feel that these usually cancel each other out, if the older generation have their way. Like my parents...their first concern was that we kids were polite and demure. It didn't really matter that we had no clue who WE were, or how to set boundaries so we could protect ourselves. So though I have issues with this, I'm grateful I went through it. I know quite a few things NOT to do...and I think in this day and age, it's important. I'm not saying I want my children to be brats, no one does. But I do want them to know that I believe in them, and that there is always room for improvement. Also, that beings one's best is most important, rather than someone else's idea of what's best, and, that just because someone is older, richer, more educated, or more respected; doesn't ever mean that they DESERVE respect. They deserve kindness, as I think that everyone does. But respect has to be earned, no matter who the person is. I feel like I need to earn my children's respect, and if this is the case, why would I expect them just to blindly follow someone else? Okay, now I'm rambling. I could go on forever about this, but for you, I won't. I'll try to get back to my previous point...however long ago that was.
Respect and whatnot. Basically, to answer Riley's question, and this is what I told her, it's all about what you're comfortable with. Respecting someone is honoring what they say, and acting accordingly; just being attentive to their opinions and suggestions. The key word, attentive. Not being obligated to do what that person says, or having to believe or think the same way they do. I feel that this is the hardest part of parenthood; for me, anyway. I want my children to believe in themselves and be able to believe in others. Yet, I don't want them to be utterly disappointed when or if someone they believe in, lets them down. Because it happens all the time. As long as their foundation is strong in Jeff and I, and they know that they are loved and appreciated, and respected, I really think that they'll be able to find that in others. I want Cole and Riley to both go on believing that they can do anything. But I also want them to realize that they have strengths and weaknesses, and it's perfectly normal, perfectly okay to have both. We all need to have something to work toward, not having everything handed to us. Anyway, that's my deep thought for tonight. Let me know whether you agree or disagree.

The past couple days...

On Tuesday Riley had her "class day". What this consisted of, mainly, was her class going outside and screaming and running around in no sort of order whatsoever. I was lucky enough to be wrangled into "volunteering" for being a helper to their teacher. I have a great respect for elementary school teachers. I know that most days Riley overwhelms me; her energy, her questions, her constant talking, etc. And she's not even one of those annoying kids. Cole is...and he's enough to do me in each and every day. I don't know what kind of Hell I would find myself in, if I had to deal with an entire class full of them. They are cute, though, and I don't think many people realize how many lives that saves, each and every year. Cole came with me, but didn't want to participate in any of the activities. He basically graced us with his presence solely for the snow cone everyone got afterwards. I have to say I ruined one pair of cute canvas shoes because I volunteered to help make the 35 snow cones needed. This is the kind of stuff that happens when I try to be nice...also, the same reason I'm a raunch most of the time. (So, see, I try to be nice). From there I went to Mcdonald's to get lunch. Riley's been begging me to eat with her in the cafeteria...(that wasn't easy on the morning sickness, let me tell you), so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone. Of course, Mcdonald's wasn't the best choice meal-wise. Both Riley and Cole were so obsessed with the Speed Racer toys inside, and the whole time I had to threaten to take them away, just to get them finish. Ah, it was just as enjoyable as I had imagined it would be. At least Riley scored some massive points with her friends, she shared her fries and everyone was happy. When I picked her up after school, her friend Olivia, and Cole's friend, Henry came over for a couple hours. While I tried to ignore Riley and Olivia's "fairy speak", Cole kept yelling at Henry that he couldn't play with his new Speed Racer car, cause it was his "best one". But if Henry would like to play with one of his old cars, that would be okay--just don't take it home. Tuesday was LONG.

Wednesday one of my fantasies, as a PARENT, you dirty dogs, came to pass. It happened quite surprisingly. We were actually getting ready to take Riley to her dance recital, that her Aunt Amy had prepared her for, and I really got a look at my daughter. When I was young, I had imagined motherhood as taking my little girl to a dance lesson or recital, and she'd was dressed in an outfit just like this...the little skinny blond girl in a black leotard and sweats, hair in a bun, getting ready to do her thing. It was...nice. I never got to do that kind of stuff as a kid, so I'm thinking that was one of the reasons it was something I'd imagined myself doing. A bit surreal, in a very good way. Also, I was grateful that Riley had this opportunity, she's always been interested in this kind of stuff, even as a tiny thing. So my thanks to Amy, for giving of her time and talents to let this come to pass. For those of you that would like to see, I also included the video of her dance recital. (I noticed that Amy's blog has it, too...however, it is that good, so I'm sure no one will object to seeing it twice. (Unless you aren't attached to your hair...because any rude comments, and I swear, I will rip it all out). Anyhoo, Amy did a great job picking out their outfits and coaching them through the moves.





Riley's last day of school was today. I'm pretty stoked about this, as now I won't have to pick her up at 3:00pm each day, or even have to remember what day it is. No homework...I am already feeling the absence of stress and it's lovely. I know, it doesn't sound like school takes that much work on my part, but public school is amazingly involved. I think that because these days, there are so many kids and so little teachers, that parents are depended on to do a buttload of stuff. Some ways this is good, but other ways, it makes a lazy person's life harder. Believe me, that's no fun. I'm always skeptical of this so-called last week of school. It involves the "class day, the "field day", and then a half day. It's also only three days long, as they insist you come back after Labor Day...lame. Just let the kids go, already. By mid-may, they have all checked out...and so have the parents, really. However, I don't have to complain, anymore, do I? Nope. So maybe that's where I will end this post. Bring on the summer! (Just lay off the heat....I'm so not looking forward to sweltering in my constant state of fatness).

ps. Check out my virtual baby...it's actually looking more human/monkeyish rather than reptilian. This makes me feel less creeped out. However, I'm sure my baby isn't that skinny. Anyway, I hope not. That means all the eating for two hasn't been for the baby as much as it's been for me...anyway, I wanted to point that out for Kory, because I know that he really notices those things.

What I know.

After my last post, I'm hesitant to do this again. I'm still a bit gun-shy because of, you know, admitting all my failures as a mother and such. But, it felt good to get out. I am a crap mom sometimes...more often than not, lately. But, as I had mentioned before, I have been having particularly bad days. Today was good. (Even though I slept a bit more than I should have, but I feel justified because it's a holiday). Anyway, I was feeling bad because of my long nap, until Jeff told me what Cole had told him. He said, "It's good to have days like these". I don't know what was most enjoyable. Watching a movie? Jumping on the trampoline? Going outside? Playing inside? I'm completely at a loss, but there is one thing that I'm sure of. I have great kids. I love that they are so patient with me, and try to understand why their mother is a total drag right now. Even though I seem to be MIA, they are still confident that I love them, and to me, that's most important. So these next few months may not be that bad.

Oh, and thanks, Brandi and Moriah, for your comments. I was worried that I'd find child services at my doorstep this morning. Although deserved, I was really glad I didn't.

Officially four months and a day.

And that's where I am today. Four months along, plus one additional 24 hours. I'm still sick, and I'm fighting the effects of being off my medication, cold turkey for this amount of time. Shauna, thanks for the offer of reprieve. If I get too desperate, I'll certainly give you a call. Though I've done it before, and found the hard way WHY I continue to be on anti-depressants, it's always kind of a let down that I still need them. It's not that they give me some fabulous high, or make me feel like Mary Poppins, where I'm up for singing a song about everything at any time, and will even scrub my toilet with a smile....it's more about the little things I take for granted every day.
Getting out of bed. I've said over and over again that I walk in the mornings. That, for me, is worth mentioning because after I get Jeff's pitiful lunch ready and Riley's, and see her off to school, my bed is the next place I'm longing to go. Usually, that desire wins out and that's where I am for the next half of the day. It's a disgusting cycle. I'm so grateful that Cole is content with his toys, some snacks, some movies, and having free reign in my room while I doze, because I'd have one severely unhappy little boy on my hands. I feel really certain that this baby is the last I will be having. I'd not forgotten what it was like for me, but I had glossed over what it was like for Riley and now Riley and Cole. Like I said, my children put up with a lot, when it comes to their mother.
Taking care of myself. I usually will shower and get ready...yes, even though I just put on clean pajama pants, I still count this as getting dressed. But this is usually around 2:30pm, right before I have to pick Riley up from school at 3:00. I'm aware of the pathetic-ness of this action, however, feel too much apathy to care. I try for a good solid four hours of interactive time...and sometimes have to cut that short. (I can feel your opinion of me and my mothering skills dwindling with each new sentence. I can't defend myself a single bit, so continue judging).
Controlling my emotions. This is confusing to me, as well. Most of the time, and I think this is due to depression, I just can't care about anything. With the exception of my children and husband. I may not be that great at showing them, but I do try to let them know of their importance to me, especially now, when my actions say otherwise. But, and I think that this is mainly because of the pregnancy, I'm angry and sad and impatient and worried at any given second. I say things I regret, and I do things, when I actually do things, that I regret as well. I think it's better that I find a hole and crawl in, because I do less damage that way. I am reminded of my childhood, and how out of control I felt. It was the most terrible time, ever. Not only was I dealing with these emotions, but I was dealing with all these people that didn't understand, either, and just assumed I was mean. Or hateful. Honestly? I was...that's how I felt, constantly.
Blah, okay...no more pity party for me. My point, and amazingly enough, I have one, is that I only have five more months left. And I'm not crying as often as I have during my other pregnancies, so this, believe me, is a positive. And in all honesty, I have more good days than bad ones. I hate when I do have bad ones, because I can't even explain why it is bad. I just have this defective brain and when taking the proper meds, I can usually hide this embarrassing fact. But without them, hiding it progressively gets harder. So, don't be surprised if I just kind of, check out. This is what works for me, and somehow, makes everything easier. As a kid, this was my go-to response, and it's a working system. I know that there are things I could probably do, meds that would probably not have too much of a negative effect on the baby. (Supposedly this is to be somewhat reassuring?) But as with Riley and Cole, I've made the decision that this time I just need to concentrate on what's best for our new one. Having no education whatsoever in the medical field, maybe I'm just being overly ignorant. The thing is, though, I've dealt with this my entire life. I was that kid that acted strangely enough that my kindergarten teacher took my mother aside and said she was concerned about me...and why I wasn't happy. If there is any chance at all that I can save my kids from this, and I'm aware it could very well be hereditary, I'll do it. When they are happy, laughing their maniacal laughs and almost to the point of puking, because those of you that know them, know they will, that's when I am completely okay with this decision. And so far, no teacher has told me I have melancholy kids....so I'm hoping that at least I'm not making anything worse. I feel like if I can just concentrate on Jeff, Riley, and Cole, then I can get through this next five months without any massive break-downs. I promise that my next posts will be better, less on the drama. I just thought a little heads up was in order.

A serious one.

As most of you know, I grew up in Buffalo, Wyoming. All in all there were about 4,000 people, give or take, that made up the entire population. Now this included TWO African Americans, about nine or ten Latino families, the Bask settlers that basically founded the area, and white-whiteys, which was probably about 98.2% of the people there. I considered myself part of the last group, but really, what does "white" mean? Who really knows what color their heritage was? I know there was some Native American, Scottish, Irish, (probably some severe in-breeding as well, when I look back on the town of Burlington Wyoming, where my Granny came from, and that curiously enough, I was related to each and every person in the area). My point is, I was raised in a predominantly white area with a lot of prejudices toward anyone different. Perhaps it's not that way now, because I'm sure the tiny town of Buffalo has grown a bit. However, old habits die hard, right? Still to this day I'm culturally challenged and that's because I grew up there, AND that my parents and grandparents had no qualms about using racial slurs...and until a certain age, (not too old, I am thankful to be able to say), I didn't even realize that type of thing was wrong.
Back to my point, being the one I'm trying to make. I pretty much knew all the kids in my graduating class by third grade. We quickly put each other and ourselves in a crude caste system depending on richness of parents, home locations, religion...etc. I look back and have talked to others about their childhood, and apparently, the BHS class of 1996 started early in being overly concerned about who belonged in what category.
As we all know for certain, kids are mean. I remember being in the fifth grade. I can't recall my teacher's name, but I remember her short hair, glasses, and southern accent. That it wasn't something I'd heard before, so it stands out. Anyway, a kid that was different sat across from me. We were seated at the same table of desks, much to my chagrin, because he'd been different since I met him in second grade. First strike against him? His name was Guy. Second? He had severe scoliosis and had to wear a big brace type thing every once in a while. The third strike was that he was effeminate. I'd never known him to be otherwise. He was friends with all the girls, very kind, and dressed...weird. He was very style conscientious...more so than a normal kid that age would be.
So, from second grade on, he was just known as "Gay Guy". I thought that he would be okay with this, because that's really all I had ever heard him referred to. We'd snicker at recess and talk about him and say he was gay, even though we really didn't comprehend what that meant. But somehow, I'm sure someone's parent had said something about Guy's difference, and that kid decided to pass it on to every kid within earshot. (Another reason parents need to be cautious about things they say in front of their children).
Back to fifth grade. I still didn't know exactly what Gay meant, but it didn't stop me from saying it to Guy daily. Anytime he was seated across from me or passed by me I would seize the opportunity to say something rotten. Besides, I had been teased mercilessly since the third grade about how fat I was, (a trend that would continue until I entered High School), so I knew what to say to make it hurt, and because I had been teased, I felt that I was truly justified in doing the same thing. (I'll remind you now that I have never claimed to be an immensely intelligent person).
One day, after many comments from me, I'm sure, Guy decided to take matters into his own hands. Which, what else could he do? He couldn't tell the teacher, he'd be a tattle tail. He couldn't cry, that would just invite more ridicule. He couldn't get mad and freak out, I would have pounced on that immediately, thinking that that would have been the best reward for my behavior, ever. So on the playground, after saying something terrible....I can't remember what I said, of course, but I can remember what he said. He looks at me, shaking because he's so tired of how mean I am to him and says, "Tomorrow you'd better not come to school. I'm bringing my knife and I'm going to kill you."
Needless to say, I didn't see that reaction coming. I immediately got this sick feeling in my stomach and I started bawling. If the tables had been turned, I would have been glowing from my verbal triumph. As it was I was scared, and sick and knew that I needed to talk to someone about it, but also knew if I did, I would have to tell them what I did to warrant that sentence that would ring clear in my memory twenty years later...and counting. After going home and going into my room, crying and praying because I was sure it was my last day of life, my mom came into my room and asked me what happened. Eventually, I told her. And I couldn't leave out the things that I said, because I figured it would be worse if she heard the whole story from someone else. She wasn't happy with me. I wasn't happy with myself, I was so embarrassed and ashamed, I almost welcomed the thought of dying. At least I wouldn't have had to face Guy and his knife the next day at school. So I told her that the next day I would tell him I was sorry, because I was. Mom asked if I wanted her to call his mom, and for some reason, I couldn't bear thinking that his mom would know the awful things that I had said to Guy every day. I just hoped that I could get rid of that sick feeling.
The next day, I went to school. I saw Guy, and he saw me, and I waited. I went to first recess, and was still alive. I made it to lunch recess, and somehow survived that as well. During last recess, I went up to Guy, and I said, "I'm really sorry for what I said...all those times. And I'm not going to do it anymore, I promise." Guy looked at me like I was crazy, and asked what I was talking about. At that point, I just stood there, and thanked the Lord for the next X amount of life I had left.
I actually kept my word, though. I didn't tease him after that. Sure, I was still teased, and I still hated it, and thought it was unfair. But I was truly nice from then on. Guy and I actually became really great friends, and stayed that way throughout high school. In our Junior year, he came out. He said he was gay and I really don't believe anyone was surprised. Yeah, he was still given a hard time by tons of people...especially guys, because as you know, Guy was attracted to all of them. Because he was gay. Whatever. My long point is, if I would have succumbed to the Buffalo Wyoming mindset, I would have never been friends with Guy. If he wouldn't have ever threatened me, I'd probably be as homophobic as most people I know. I would say especially here, but I think it's really everywhere. There are few truly tolerant people in the world. He wasn't what people accused him of. He wasn't some attention seeking flamboyant person that just tried to make you uncomfortable. He was kind. He was funny. There were many times that he saw me cry and he always made me feel better. I would have missed out on his friendship, and I would have missed out on one of the best parts of my adolescence. So I guess the point of this post is to encourage you to step outside of your paradigm when it comes to other people. I won't list the exact reason for this post, but I heard something today, and it made me sad...and it made me think of this past event in my life. I hope that some of it made sense...and wasn't perceived as me just telling you what a fabulous person I am, because I'm not. In reality, I have far more stories that end in my embarrassment or shame because I handled a situation without any compassion or thought. So enough preaching for tonight. I wish you all of you well, and happy, open minds.