What’s in my Purse? Updated!

I really need to clean it out.  Seriously.

a.  Appointment cards;
b.  Bottle caps (people are going to start thinking that I have a drinking problem);
c.  Cufflinks (Jackie’s Batman ones);
d.  Dial hand sanitizer;
e.  Essie nail polish (it’s like a purple-ish fall color – really pretty);
f.  Foundation primer with sunscreen (Mary Kay, SPF 15);
g.  Gum (Orbit spearmint);
h.  Hairbrush (round with a leopard print handle);
i.  Insurance cards;
j.  Jameson’s allergy medicine;
k.  Keys;
l.  LOTS of coupons (Catalinas, because I shop at The Children’s Place and Old Navy a lot);
m.  Money (like $7 – ha!);
n.  Nail glue;
o.  Organizer, currently holding my make up.
p.  Pens and pencils;
q.  Quarters;
r.  Receipts;
s.  Sunglasses;
t.  Transformer action figures (I’m a boy’s mom);
u.  Ultra Light cigarettes;
v.  Visa gift card;
w.  Wedding ring box, currently holding my wedding bands and Jack’s wedding band;
x.  “XII” month student planner;
y.  Yogurt covered raisins (yet another thing that belongs to my son); and
z.  Zipper pockets FULL of change, bobby pins, straw paper and candy wrappers.

Have I mentioned I really need to clean out my purse?

Have a good weekend, Party People.

Meg / cC

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Unlovable?

unlovable

Interesting – I Googled this word today (mostly because I couldn’t remember if it was spelled ‘unloveable’ or ‘unlovable’).  The box popped up that showed the definition.  I was almost annoyed by its simplicity and sarcastic connotation.

Unlovable – adj.; not loveable.

And then I read the same word in a corresponding phrase:

i.e., an unlovable child

How awful.  It’s hard to even read that, let alone type it.  And it’s even harder to wrap my mind around the fact that there are some people who feel that way about children.

But the reality is, there are people like that.  And there are children who feel and are made to feel unlovable.  I know, because I was one of those little girls.

I received recognition as a child/teenager in a few different ways:

  • I was physically controlled – spanked, popped, or worse – when I misbehaved.  In other words, I received negative recognition;
  • I was neither punished nor encouraged when I was at home.  I spent almost my entire home existence in my room, not talking, not laughing, but also not being a burden; but
  • I was NOT punished when I made good grades, worked really hard at my job and made a lot of tips on any particular day, stayed away from my boyfriend and friends, and also stayed off of my phone.  I was NOT punished when I didn’t ask for things (permission to leave the house, something special at the store, lunch money, new clothing, a ride to a band competition or concert, or any of Daddy’s affection, time or attention).  I was NOT punished if I followed the “be seen and not heard” rule.  And there were even a few instances when I was congratulated for my good behaviors / hard work.  I vividly remember the two times Daddy told me he was proud of me, and those fall into this category.

I spent every single second of my childhood feeling like the only way to be loved was to earn it – that the only way I was worth anything is if I was useful or productive in some way.

Earn it?  Why would anyone even want love that he/she has to earn?  Well, the answer is simple – because it’s the only love he/she knows.  And so once a child has established a strategy, at such a young age, that “works” for him/her, they survive by repeating that strategy.  “I must earn the love and acceptance and affection of others.  I must be valuable by being useful.  I must do something productive in order to be special.”

I question whether or not that kind of love really is the true definition of the word.  But it doesn’t matter, because it’s all I know.  And the burden of “needing to be worthwhile” has followed me through every crisis, every crossroads, every decision, from the time I was 6 years old, until now – and I’m almost 30.

Off and on since age 11, and consistently for the past 18 months, I have been in therapy, trying to do more than just “Band-Aid” the idea that I am completely worthless – because that’s the root of all of my problems.  And it is difficult to dig into those wounds, even over two decades later.  Even typing this blog post is cathartic.  A lot of tears are currently being shed on this keyboard, as is usually the case when recalling my childhood.

At almost 30 years old, I still feel like there’s a sign on my back that says, “Will Work for Love.”  I feel like a bad girlfriend if Jackie’s scrubs aren’t clean for work the next day – because he doesn’t hesitate to ask, “Do I have clean clothes for tomorrow?”  I feel like a horrible mother if a home cooked meal is not on the table every night.  If Lexi makes less than a B on a quiz or test, I feel like I did not adequately help her study.  And because I feel like I’ve failed in one or many areas, I also feel like I do not deserve love.

Two nights ago, Jackie told me that I care more about controlling the household than I care about the family itself.  I was up crying about that accusation for a lot of that night.  What he doesn’t understand is that I feel like the only way to earn love from him and my children is to control.

There are so many things in my life I have absolutely no control over.  I couldn’t control the fact that my mama left me when I was 11 years old.  I couldn’t control the fact that Daddy married someone who psychologically tortured me for 3 years – keeping a written log of my weight, keeping a lock on the food pantry, listening in on every one of my phone calls, taking money from my pockets when I forgot to take it out of my dirty jeans after work, embarrassing me in front of our pastor and my father by accusing me of sleeping around (when I hadn’t even slept with ANYONE), reading my journals and notes I wrote to friends, calling me “crazy,” and even putting a dollar limit on what foods we could order when we went out to dinner.  I couldn’t control the fact that my second husband was a total douchebag and didn’t hesitate to belittle me any chance he got.  I couldn’t/can’t control the fact that my future 17 year old daughter manipulated me, tugged on my heartstrings and made me vulnerable to her emotions, only to screw me over two days later.  I can’t control the fact that our Tut, a person I have grown to truly adore, respect and appreciate, is moving across the country.  I can’t control the fact that my sisters do not include me in their lives, unless they need something from me.  I can’t control the gossip that floats around at work.  I can’t control what my ex-husband does with our kids when they are on his time.

But I can control some things.  I can control the condition of my home.  I can control how much laundry gets done, how often the yard gets mowed, what meal is served for dinner, what time the kids go to bed, how clean Lexi’s hair is and how she styles it.

So it’s really just a simple mathematic equation – even if irrational.  Combine my theory that I do not deserve love, my need to control everything I possibly can, and the notion that I am only worthwhile if I make myself valuable through services, and you end up with this huge pile of issues to sort through.

When someone tells me they love me (who are really just Jack and my kids), my gut reaction is to cringe, and I think to myself, “Why in the hell would you love me?  What did I do to earn it?”  And it’s so hypocritical, because I love Jack and I love my kids, without hesitation, and regardless of what they “do” for me, and I always will.  But I cannot, for the life of me, understand why they’d reciprocate.

So you see, it’s a self-worth issue, and it’s something I deal with every day.  Some days are better than others.  And since today is a down day, I needed to vent.

I’m exhausted.  Rant over.

Meg / cC

It Bothers me When…

I’m taking a break from my daily blog “assignments” to vent a little bit.  In fact, I’m not even sure the daily assignments are going to continue – I can’t keep up, and I don’t want to be under pressure and spit out a shitty blog all for the sake of meeting a deadline.  That’s not to deter anyone from sending me requests, though – keep those coming – certainly, I want to write about things others want to read.

Today I am frustrated.  There are so many things going through my mind and so many things on my to-do list.  I just know I’ll never get everything done.  And I think the thing that is the most frustrating is that I don’t feel like I have help crossing things off of my to-do list.

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not that I don’t have “help” in some way.  I’d get even less done if not for Jack, and I know that.  But women know…it’s the KIND of help that makes a difference, and the KIND of help that eases our minds.

Let me break it down for you…below are pictures of my to-do lists, one for tonight and another for the weekend.

todo2

todo1

See?  I know there is NO WAY all of that stuff is going to get finished.  Which means my list for the following day gets even longer, because the incompletes from today will be tacked on.

So on the heels of reviewing these lists, I’m going to make ANOTHER list – about things that really aggravate me…you know…just in general:

  1. I HATE repeating myself.  Whether it’s “Lexi, put the hairbrush back in the bathroom,” or “Jameson, please brush your teeth” or “Jack, please don’t forget fix-a-flat,” asking someone to do something should never have to be repeated, in my opinion.  When I ask, just do it – don’t waste my time and breath by needing to be reminded to do the same things every single day.
  2. Most of the time I feel like Jack and I split household chores fairly evenly.  Jack does the dishes, the litter box, and the sweeping and mopping.  I do the laundry, the cooking and general organizing.  We try to split homework down the middle.  However, Jackie is currently unemployed after a big blow up at his clinic (no fault of his own).  And those chores are still split down the middle.  Jackie does about 60% of what I ask him to do but not an ounce more.  And that means there is still a TON of stuff to do when I get home from work.  The only downtime I get is my drive home.  Once I hit the house door, chaos ensues.  I still have to cook, I still have to fold laundry, I still have to make sure the kids are bathed and that clothes are picked out, and I still have to help one or both kids study.  Currently, the yard is not mowed, even though I’ve asked him three times to do it.  He really did forget fix-a-flat this morning.  I’m sure the dishes will not be done or put away when I get home.  And Lexi, especially, will still have a ton of studying to do.  I stress about things going on at home while I’m working, and then I stress about things going on at work while I’m at home.  I cannot win.
  3. I am super picky about the way my house should be cleaned, and I realize that no one can do it to my satisfaction.  But there are some things I do not understand.  If you’re sweeping, why not really try to get under dressers, beds, tables, etc., and even behind appliances, to make sure ALL of the dirt is swept?  And why would anybody bother sweeping before the floors are picked up?  Why do six of the ten dirty dishes, and leave the other four in a sink full of dirty dishwater?  Why wait until the yard is waist deep before you have enough fire under your ass to mow it?  Why wait to be asked to do something?  If you see that something needs to be done, why not just do it?  Or better yet – why wait for me to flip my shit before you think to yourself, “Maybe I’ll take the trash out BEFORE she tells me 20 times to do it.”  My rule usually is…if it takes less than two minutes, go ahead and do it.  But there are four people in a tiny three bedroom home.  It’s crowded and cluttered and just thinking about it makes me claustrophobic.  It’s obviously more difficult for others than it is for me – if it’s trash, throw it away; if it’s dirty, put it in the laundry; if it doesn’t go there, put it where it does go; and don’t stop doing a job until it is completely finished.  Am I the only person who views housework this way?  Am I really that crazy?
  4.  I cannot communicate with any member of my family in an effective way.  Last night, I talked to Lexi on the phone.  I asked her to do three things – 1.)  go over her vocabulary words; 2.) take a shower; and 3.) pick up her dirty clothes.  Guess what’s still on the bathroom floor?  #3!  I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself when I give direct instructions.
  5. I work VERY HARD to keep drama away from myself, and that is something I couldn’t have said, truthfully, even 5 or 6 years ago.  Lately, though, I have removed people from my life who breed conflict.  But for some reason, “victims” and narcissists follow me – what the hell am I?  A drama magnet?  I can’t post something on Facebook without offending someone.  I can’t express my opinion without causing gossip.  I can’t have lunch with Jackie on any given day without initiating rumors.  Hell, I can’t smoke a cigarette under my carport without the having the neighbor’s ankle-biting dogs chomping at my ankles.  I just want to climb and ladder and scream from a rooftop, “LEAVE ME ALONE!”  It’s not enough, apparently, to have a to-do list miles long, but on top of that, I have to pacify those whose feelings get hurt, or mediate arguments that shouldn’t even really be a thing, or leave work every day while people are staring at me and whispering.  Grow up.  It’s exhausting.
  6. I am still not feeling well.  I pulled a muscle in my arm last night and I can barely lift it today.  I got 3 hours of sleep.  I have a lump on my right breast that is very small, but very sore and tender.  I’m still coughing and sneezing – and peeing on myself when I do so.  So there are a lot of things I need to do, but don’t feel like doing any of it.  Not a good combo.

So, I guess today was grouchy day.  I think I’ve gotten all of it out of my system.

Aside – I AM SO SORRY IF THIS POST IS OFFENSIVE TO YOU!  See Bullet #5.

XOXO,

Meg / CC