35 Years Ago Today

 Art is by Mary from WorshipInk in Huntsville, Alabama. 

On October 30th, 1991, I was in 8th grade at a Baptist Christian school, even though I was growing up in a Greek Orthodox family. It was my first year outside of public schools, and I was getting used to the culture shock of church services with angry preachers speaking English instead of chanting and rituals mostly in Greek. On that day, I did the thing that evangelicals like my school believed to be the most important decision of one’s life, but that my family’s denomination didn’t believe in or ever talk about- I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal lord and savior. 

Even though my parents saw my decision as unnecessary because I’d been baptized as an infant, they still saw it as me leaving their church. It would cause animosity between my mother and I for decades, even though she was the adult who enrolled me in that school. 

Over the next two years, I accepted Christ 85 more times, because our preachers at school had a propensity to convince you that you “weren’t really saved”. So I would go on a roller coaster of getting saved again and again. I know I did it 86 times, because I kept a diary. However, 10/30/1991 was the first time, so it’s the only anniversary I keep. 

Do I still believe in the same thing I did at age 13? No. I’m no atheist though. I’ll get into the evolution of my beliefs later. (Maybe). Some think I shouldn’t commemorate this “anniversary” because what they did at that school was essentially abuse. However, I still do, because it’s a huge part of my story. Our hardships and trauma shape us. 

Mom Daughter Lunch Date

I drove to San Marcos yesterday to take Anna to lunch. The hair is green now!  It’s a part of her Halloween costume. She told me she’s going brown again after Halloween. 

After lunch, I went back to her place and got to visit the black cat formerly known as Jordan. A while back, Anna asked me if she could have him. She was going to take Alex, but changed her mind and wanted Jordan because he is young, only about 18 months old. She then renamed him Tommy, because her roommate’s cat is Jerry. She kind of needed a pet for her mental health, and her dad and stepmom wouldn’t let her have one of theirs. I paid her pet deposit and bought her all the supplies. 

Here’s Tom duking it out with Jerry. 

Here’s a flashback picture of Anna at age 5. Facebook said this picture was posted 14 years ago today. It must have been the first day cold enough for a jacket and gloves. 

 

Kid Choking

 I just wanted to take a minute to try and raise more awareness about the story going viral right now. An 8 year old girl choked to death at school six months ago, and her parents are now exposing the surveillance footage from the school. I think they waited this long, because the Texas Rangers were investigating. This is the clip I can find that best describes what happened in the footage, but it doesn’t show all the footage. 

When I worked with kids in Arizona 25 years ago, I had a one year old toddler choke on a piece of a toy that broke off in his mouth. I didn’t do the Heimlich on him. I held him semi upside down and hit his back twice. The piece of toy came flying out. When I picked him up to give him the back thrusts, I sort of left my body for a whole minute. I was very dissociated but still hit his back. I thought I would do it wrong. 

One misconception about choking is that they “can’t cough”. They can!  The only benefit of the doubt that I would give that staff member based on that video is that she thought a person can’t cough if they’re choking. 

That video didn’t show all the footage. Adrian also went up to 3-4 other lunchroom staff members. Their body language said to me that they thought she was misbehaving. They all seemed like they didn’t give a damn and even seemed sort of abusive. The first staff member sort of pushed her towards the trash can. It looked bad to me. I saw a comment online that said “They hated her.”  Maybe 🤷🏻‍♀️ 

Adrian Thompson was 8 years old when she died six months ago. At the time of her death, she had a 3 month old baby brother who is now 9 months old.  Her dad posted a TikTok of her meeting him for the first time. She was very gentle, loving, and crying happy tears. I can’t find it now, but here is one from her mom. 😢 

I just wanted to say, that someone who is choking might be able to cough. If they are, then give them back thrusts. If that fails, Do the Heimlich maneuver. If it’s a toddler that you can flip upside down, then do that. 

Another thing I wanted to say is to please have a more positive view of the kids in your care, whether they are your own or you’re working with them. Do not always assume bad intent. Get yourself onto their level and meet their needs. Anticipate their needs. Get rid of thoughts that they might be “testing your limits” or “manipulating you”. Ask yourself what they might need that they aren’t getting. It just seems to me that these staff members at Velma Penny Elementary School were hateful towards the kids and didn’t care. 

RIP Adrian. 

Swiffer Fun and Dreading Losses

This is the swiffer pad after I mopped half of the grouphome with it.

Looking at how dirty the pad is is the funnest part of swiffer-ing imo.  

I replaced the pad and did the long hall and their bathroom. The second pad wasn’t this dirty after that -

I would say the second pad was 75% as dirty as this one. 

Tonight, I just grabbed all the throw blankets around the living room, the kitchen towels and potholders and washed them all in one load, with hot water.  A lot of them had crusty old food. 

It just seems like no one ever cleans or does anything here. And night staff is generally supposed to. So I try to.  

The supervisor here lost her husband unexpectedly, and she blames energy drinks. If she sees you with one, she’ll start preaching against them. She claims he drank five or six of them a day. Holy crap.  That’s $400-$500 a month. Plus, he paid with his life. ☹️ I only have one a day at most and almost never finish the can. For this reason I only get the small cans. She didn’t say what size cans he’d get. Still I try not to let her see me with one, because losing her husband was obviously very traumatic. Even if I throw my can away, I bury it with other trash.  Or I wrap it in toilet paper like it’s a sanitary napkin. It really must suck to lose your spouse.  People warn women all the time to “have a plan”  and I do- I have five or six backup plans that ironically, those same people who give that advice wouldn’t approve of.  But what would I do with the extreme sadness that would come over me if I lost Kevin?  The “have a plan” advice is usually only financial, not regarding grief. I can’t go to therapy, obviously.  I just have to think about it starting now, even if it doesn’t happen for decades still.  I can’t imagine trying to go to grief counseling if I lost Kevin and the therapist got judgy with me for marrying my supervisor.  I would lose my mind.  My supervisor’s husband died only a year ago (maybe less, I don’t know exactly when)  I can imagine you never get over it.  

Honestly, I would probably buy a van and do my own little personal tour of the lower 48 and do my side jobs, the retail apps. One of the apps, iVueit, posted on their facebook page a couple who is RVing across the country and doing iVueit along the way. That’s nice!!!!  Seeing new places is very healing, honestly. But- I wouldn’t take off if I had grandchildren by then. I’d stick around for them. Or, I’d make the trip not as long as if I didn’t have grandkids yet. 

Maybe I’d go in one direction, then come back and do grandma stuff then take off in another direction, come back for grandma stuff again, etc. If I make it to all 48 states, I’ll then book two cruises- Hawaii and Alaska. 

Of course, I might die before Kevin, but statistically, he will. 

Another loss that I am dreading- who I’m most likely not going to die first- is my cat Alex. Alex is getting old and just acts like the cat version of a 100 year old man. I am going to lose my shit when he dies. He was a very good therapy cat when I was going through the worst time of my life.  He’s very loyal. I was cuddling with him today, and a feeling of dread came over me. I probably only have a year or two left with him honestly. When Anna graduates from college in 2029, he’ll probably already be gone. 

Which reminds me, I have to ask Anna her preference of notification if I find myself having to euthanize him. Does she want to know beforehand so she can say goodbye, or would she prefer me just telling her after the fact?  We haven’t had that conversation. I dread so much about loss. 

Cleaning House

 I brought my own Clorox wipes to work just to wipe down surfaces. The ladies at the last house I worked at were amazing at housework, so that house was immaculate. These guys are terrible at it, and the house is a lot dirtier than I thought. The house supervisor told me that housekeepers make more than us, so she’s not doing any of it. I don’t know her medical history, but she also appears to have lipedema in her legs, so she probably can’t do it either.  The Clorox wipes come up really nasty. Last night, I looked at the mop situation. I cleaned out the mop bucket, but the mop itself was horrendous.  Some mop heads can snap off and go into the laundry. Not this one. So when she came in, I asked if I could bring my swiffer wet jet from home. She told me not to and that she would order one for the house. She ordered it with the grocery pick up. I’m not going to do a spring cleaning, but one thing per night will really help. 

Whenever I worked graveyard shift in the past, caring for people who were sleeping, I was always expected to do a lot of cleaning. These people don’t even want to stay awake at work. I’ve been made to scrub baseboards in an already clean place before, and for less per hour.  BUT, I do not let it show that I think they have audacity, and for that, they all really like me. 👍🏾 

Not Believable

 If I ever want to be in the mood to write again, I need to spill here about the two things that the therapist didn’t believe me about. 

One of them was regarding the pressure from my extended family when I was younger. I basically started working with kids when I was very young, because the pressure on me at the time was to NOT get married or have kids of my own and to pursue only career and education only. This was in contradiction to their mantras that no one would ever hire me, but the pressure was still there. I have 20 first cousins, and ten of them never married or had kids.  That’s evidence that I’m telling it accurately  

The problem that the therapist had with this is that most other women get pressured from society TO get married and have kids. In her eyes, someone experiencing the opposite is probably either lying or delusional. But, I stand by my past. The only thing that I can probably agree with now that I didn’t see at the time was that maybe it was because of my young age at the time?  However, age was rarely brought up. The pressure on me was “don’t”. Not, “maybe someday” 

 

The other thing had to do with the year I graduated from college. When I explained that I could not find a job upon finishing my degree, she assumed it was during the pandemic. This would fit her political narrative probably. I said no, it was before the pandemic. She gave me this face: 🤨 and said “huh!”

I can’t remember if I told her that 2020 was my highest earning year ever, but if I did, that probably pissed her off too. I must not have, because she would have attributed that to my degree when it had nothing to do with it. It was all the apps that I do on the side now. They paid hella good in 2020. Anyone can sign up for that, and no one cares about your degree. 

Therapists not believing my story doesn’t mean that I can’t write it down. Some of the best writing that I’ve consumed in the last few years have been about subcultures that have nothing to do with any of the subcultures I have lived in. For instance, the HBO series “Big Love” with Bill Paxton. I loved the job they did on that writing. But I have only come across a polygamist family in real life once before, when I attended high school with the youngest daughter of one. I did not get angry at the show and write them a letter saying, “I’ve never been expected to marry a man with two wives already and seven kids, therefore it isn’t realistic!”  

It’s realistic in some parts of the country. It shows a lot of strength and maturity when one is able to understand that their experiences don’t apply to EVERYONE.  

Work Update

 Tonight will be my third night working at this men’s group home, affiliated with the same company. On my last day at the ladies’ house, they all gave me a hug and were not too happy about me being transferred. That makes me feel good. 

At this house, the only other staff member besides me is the house supervisor. If I hadn’t been transferred, she’d have to be here 24/7. She’s in her 70’s and kind of unhinged, but more on that later. Staff members are leaving this company for the following reason:

This past summer, right before I got this job and moved out here, this particular group of group homes was owned by a different company. My company bought them all in either May or June. The company I’m working for enacted a new rule that they must do hourly bed checks on the group home residents. You can’t lie about doing these checks, either. You have to log in to the desk top computer in the house and click on each client name and click asleep, awake, on leave, or hospitalized. There’s even a way to do it on your phone. Each check in is time stamped to make sure you did it every hour. The other staff members are appalled at this. I’m appalled at them being appalled. I just think it’s the bare minimum. 

There were two ladies at this house who have quit over this new rule. So the house supervisor and I are basically just relieving each other every 12 hours. My regular schedule is Monday through Friday 8pm until 8am, but she also said I can work weekends if I want. She also insisted she didn’t want me getting burned out because she needs me. So I told her that my husband is going to be out of town this weekend. His job goes to Louisiana every three months for an inventory account. I said I would work this weekend since he’ll be gone, but next weekend I’ll take off. There is a floater that can come in. She was happy with that, but appeared to think that my husband going out of town means he’s cheating on me lol. That was just the impression I got from her reactions to “He’s going out of town.”  I told her that I used to work there too, and I also went to Louisiana every three months. She seemed ok with that explanation. When I worked there, there was a coworker whose wife thought he was cheating when we were in Louisiana. It was a bit of a shit show. She had him on “locate my family” app, and the motel we stayed at had a tavern in the same parking lot/strip mall. She thought he was there drinking all night. 

But back to this men’s home. 

In some ways, it’s easier and in some ways, it’s not. When I get there at 8:00 am they’re all turning in for the night. Most of them lay awake in bed for over an hour. They wake up between 5:45-6:15, which is earlier than the ladies. They have fewer medications, and none of them need help showering or grooming. They do all the same household chores as the ladies’ home, but they don’t do as good of a job as the ladies. One of them has the same first name as a celebrity, and I started calling him the full name of that celebrity. He’s all over that. 

So all I do is clock in at 8pm, see them all off to bed, tidy up a bit and do the hourly bed checks. Then only really deal with them the last two hours. I have needed to slow a couple of them down with medications- they seem to want to hurry up and take their meds too quickly, and since they’re all new to me and I haven’t memorized their medication lists, I am insisting on giving them one pill at a time until I mark it in the computer. 

So all in all, it’s very chill. I like doing this kind of work much better than I liked doing home care. I didn’t think I would, either. Taking care of elderly in their homes is often as physically taxing as caring for a baby or toddler (even harder actually, because babies and toddlers are easier to lift and don’t die).  Working in a group home like this with adults who have IDD feels more like caring for tweens or teens. It’s not physically taxing at all, you just have to constantly “remind”. And since they’re actually adults, you don’t have to impose arbitrary rules on them like you might with older kids. That makes it easier on everyone. 

I also never worked 84 hours a week with elderly in their homes. Not sure I’d want to!  

House Switch

 Earlier this week, I met the nurse and another staff member at one of the other group homes that is run by my company. The nurse went through the medication routines and the diagnostic lists of the four men who live in the group home. 

Then this morning, the manager of that house called me and asked me if I was interested in working at her house Monday through Friday from 8pm until 8am. I said yes right away. I know that’s 60 hours a week!  That will actually be good for me. I want to pay off my student loans already!  These guys are supposedly a “little harder” than the five ladies I work with now, but that’s not saying much. They’re easy compared to literally all of what I’ve done in the past. 

Then, that house manager said, “Oh good! Thank you so much!  I’m so glad you are willing to do it, because if not then I might have to kill myself!”  😮 

“Oh!” I exclaimed “No don’t do that!”  

We both weirdly chuckled. What an insane thing to say!  So that starts this Monday night at 8pm. I’m actually looking forward to it. They said two of the guys will already be in bed when I get there, and the other two will go before 9:30. After that it’s just the “hourly bed checks” until medication starts at 7:00 am. The five ladies I work with now start their meds at 6:30. I may have to help the guys more with making breakfast, but that’s ok. 

Maybe I can pay my student loans off for my 49th birthday! 

Feeling Blah

 For no reason at all, here’s a video of my cat Mitchell being a poopoo head. 

I don’t think I have it in me anymore to write my book. I’ve mentioned it here before- the book I wanted to write is called The Child Advocate.  The extremely rough draft has about 45,000 words.  It’s “based on” my own experiences working with kids and what I learned along the way. 

When I started writing it, the creative juices were really flowing. Then I started having memory after memory and I was like, damn. I have really been through a lot with this crap. It was at that point that I decided to go to therapy to process all of this.  You can read about my ups and downs (mostly downs) Here. 

I think therapy has sabotaged my ability to write this book. Every time I sit down, I hear the one who didn’t believe key elements of my story and also the one who basically yelled at me to get over it. I cannot bring myself to write and publish something that got me those reactions from therapists.  If someone actually read my book though, and either found it unbelievable or thought I was just some whiner that needed to get over shit, I would be ok with that.  Coming from therapists hits fundamentally differently.

After that, several more “free consults” proved that they have a problem with my marriage, due to the fact that we met at work.  I cannot just start therapy again, I have to constantly ask if they’re ok with my marriage. They’re either not ok with it, or they are and they insinuate that once we build trust, they can help me see how wrong it is. How about no. I do not want to lose my autonomy. 

The spark to write it just isn’t there anymore. I realized this last night when one of the therapists who I had a free consult with kept me on her mailing list for whatever reason and invited me to a free group zoom meeting called “celebrating neurodiversity.”  Now the neurodiverse label, I don’t know. I have already been diagnosed and then undiagnosed with two different things, who knows if these people would undiagnose me with ADHD if they could. Obviously they could- the only diagnostic tool used on me was a checklist that took 60 seconds. But I looked at all the other faces on the screen and something in me just knew that the past couple years of trying to “seek therapy” has drained all the creativity out of me. I don’t even want to do my quilts and wreaths anymore. When one young woman started sharing that she just doesn’t know how to establish a morning routine, I clicked exit and said screw this. I don’t have time for this anymore. At least this bullshit was free. 

Regarding morning routines- not all days are the same. You need two or three different routines that will work for different types of days. The difficulty comes when you think you failed because you couldn’t stick to ONE.  Make a few different lists for different mornings. Tack them to the fridge and decide each morning which kind of day it is. That’s it. 

I am thinking that I’ll just sit at my desk at home and compile all of what I have into one document and store it in a flash drive and then shred the rest. My daughter already knows where the flash drive is in case I die. Maybe there’s a chance that the act of “compiling” will make the inspiration come back. 

View Spike

 I made a post earlier today. It had 17 views when I left the house. I drove an hour and it went up to 133 views. This freaked me out so much I deleted the post. My posts only get over 100 views occasionally, and it’s over a few days not an hour. I have no idea what happened. Yes, more views are welcome!  I just didn’t share it anywhere that would garner that   

Brie in a Pumpkin

I hollowed out this small pumpkin and added Brie, cream cheese, fig jam, thyme, walnuts, and honey. I baked it at 350 for about an hour. I also baked bread from scratch. It’s amazing! 

 

20 Years Ago Today

 October 6, 2006 was the day I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive!  8 months later, I held Anna in my arms. 

I was working at the children’s museum. We had walked talkees and a coworker who was pregnant and due at Thanksgiving. That morning on the walkee talkee, our supervisor announced that she had the baby that morning. We were surprised. He was early. He spent quite a bit of time in the NICU, but was ultimately healthy. 

I started realizing I could be pregnant. I didn’t think it was possible, though, because my old church seven years earlier had convinced me that it wasn’t the will of God for me to have a family. Yes I was married, but I felt like I was living against God’s will if I was married. It was complicated. God definitely wouldn’t allow a baby to be conceived if having a family wasn’t his will. 

After work, I went to Walgreens and got a pregnancy test. I decided to test anyway because it had been a long while. However, Walgreens didn’t have a bathroom. I went across the street to Kroger. I used their bathroom, and the positive sign came up immediately!  Not “in three minutes” 

I walked out of Kroger and the alarmS went off. The store manager approached me and asked what I had in my bag. I told him it was a pregnancy test I got at Walgreens across the street. I swore I didn’t get it there. He asked for a receipt, but I’d left it on the passenger seat of my car. He was really tough with me and didn’t believe me. I was embarrassed showing it to him because I had peed on it. 

After that, he begrudgingly let me go. I was 28 years old, but looked young for my age. There was a teenage runaway shelter around the corner from that Kroger- it seemed like he thought I came from there. 

I ran to my car, grabbed the receipt, ran back in and showed it to him. He immediately felt bad and went to the floral department and gave me a yellow carnation. My first husband and I had that carnation on our kitchen counter for two whole weeks. 

Years later, I described him to someone I knew who was a Kroger manager. She knew him and said he was tough on everyone. No one liked him. Someone damaged his car in retaliation for being by tough. His insurance wouldn’t cover it, so he drove around with the damage. I can’t judge him for that, because a deer did that to me and I’m still driving around with the smash door. 

One Day-

Kevin and I earned a $1,000 prepaid card when we signed the lease, but it’s only good for online purchases. This is because it’s not an actual card to swipe, just numbers. When we walked out of the leasing office from claiming it, Kevin announced to me that he was giving it to me as a “thank you”. Kevin is really happy to have moved here and credits me with having the idea. He told me that I have “bursts of genius”.  

I used the card to pay my cell phone bill, then I paid off the rest of my car insurance policy. I added it to my Uber Eats wallet and have been getting food delivery with it a couple times. I don’t have any other bills except for the student loans. But I can’t use this for those- those payments need a checking account and routing number. So I started buying things on Amazon.  

Amazon has grocery delivery!  It sucks though. I bought 8 things, and they came in four separate deliveries. Eventually, everything comes!  I got some books and accessories. I got a microphone because I want to start recording myself talking. 

This morning I was browsing for more books and found this- it’s a book written by a Palestinian about October, 2023. I love the title so much. 

“One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This”. 

That’s a great title. It’s based on a tweet he made in 2023. That’s in the screenshot below. 

 I have not been following that war lately, because I was distracted by the Lindsay Clancy trial. The media hype of the Lindsay Clancy trial is dying down now, but it was really triggering for me when it was everywhere. 

My mom claims that she had postpartum depression for 15 years. This would make sense if she kept having children for 15 years, but I was an only child. My mom was very physically abusive in my early childhood and verbally and emotionally abusive to this day.  She always blamed postpartum, and subsequently me. I was her scapegoat for everything, and when I see women murdering their kids and blame postpartum, I actually feel grateful to be alive. I caught my mom saying once that she threw me in my crib when I was 20 months old, and I started “jerking around.”  I asked her if I was having a seizure. She replied, “No you didn’t have a seizure, you were just jerking around and being dramatic!” 

I tried to ask her later on about this event, because obviously I have no memory of it, but she now denies it and tells me I’m making up the story of her talking about it that one time. So it’s no use giving it any credence. 

It’s even more triggering to hear millions of women saying, “I am Lindsay Clancy” and “I stand with Lindsay Clancy.”  I can one thousand percent say that I do not stand with her, nor am I her. I had one child, and I suffered depression during my pregnancy. Once Anna was born, that depression went away completely, and I was elated for about 9-10 months. Then when she was about ten months old old, I was depressed for another reason. I think that’s when we started having marital problems? I’m not sure why I was depressed, but it wasn’t because of my daughter. But a doctor still diagnosed me with postpartum depression because “it’s been less than twelve months, and postpartum depression can onset up to a year after giving birth.”  I wasn’t having it at all. To me that was BS and I didn’t want them blaming my innocent daughter. 

So I'm not  Lindsay. Technically, I’m her kids. The thing is that saying you aren’t Lindsay has awarded women with a label of having internalized misogyny. Internalized misogyny?  I just don’t believe in murdering children. If that makes me a pick me or “not a girls girl” then so be it. Why would I want to be something else if it means “understanding what it’s like to want to kill your kids”?  Who wants to understand that?  

“Educate yourself about mental illness.”

“Educate yourself about postpartum depression and the difference between postpartum psychosis.”  

How about No?

I loved the title of that book, because I would like to believe that someday in the future, preferably in my lifetime, people will look back on the Lindsay case and see how wrong it is for this large group of women to react that way. I hope they see that it sets women back. It’s not the people who are choosing to be stay at home moms, have large families, choose female dominated careers, grow long hair, marry men etc who set women back. These people who “are Lindsay Clancy” are. Because regardless of what you suffer from, it’s wrong to murder kids, and I cant believe I have to say that. We aren’t going to be taken seriously in the long run if we are excusing murder. 

And I will never in a million years believe that “It’s not an excuse it’s a reason.”  

All of the nonverbal communication around that disclaimer screams that yes, you want it to be an excuse. Excuse/reason/whatever. Seems like the same thing. 

When children die, it’s a loss for everyone. Children have so much potential. It’s not that “they would have cured cancer.”  The cure for cancer is already known- catch it early and remove it. Cancer is diverse, “the cure” isn’t a one time event, and when people say that, they are being smart asses. They aren’t talking about curing cancer, they’re saying that each child isn’t that special. But they are. They could have become anything. Maybe one of them would have made universal full body imaging more accessible to non-extremely-wealthy people. Not the “cure for cancer”, but an increase in catching things at stage 1. 🤷🏻‍♀️ Maybe Cora would have become a caregiver like me, and maybe she would have made your end of life experience enjoyable and with dignity and joy. 

The constant trigger from that news story has affected me a lot the past couple months. I’m trying to move forward, but I’m realizing I need to advocate for children more. It rips me apart to see women standing by a child killer like those kids didn’t matter. I’m not sure if I need to become someone who doesn’t watch the news. The news is everywhere. I don’t know how to tune it out. Maybe I can teach myself to transform that energy into advocacy. And maybe- one day, everyone will have always been against this.