Redefining Perfect

Onto Part 4 of the tale of me (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 to catch up)…

and to restate the last few lines of my last post:

Stop at the drugstore, pick up a two pack of tests. Go to work and into the public restroom (this is how convinced I was that I was NOT pregnant). Pee on the stick…pace the small stall…
Stare in shock…
It’s POSITIVE!!! I’m…I’m….PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!
CRAP.

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I throw the fateful test in the trash and run up to my supervisor/good friend (and sometime drinkie-buddy), who is prepping a mocha and latte combo for some customers. I nod hello to the customers grab a business card from the cash register, scribble on the back of it “I’M PREGNANT” and hold it in front of her face. Her eyes get huge, she does a rapid stir of the mocha and hands off the coffee’s to turn to me “WHAT?!?!?!?!”

From there I call my mom in VA. First words out of her mouth, “You’re telling your Father.” Gee….thanks, mom.

I try to call Alex (again, not his real name for a refresher). I know he’s at a nearby amusement park for the day. I try to call him about 10 times, leave a very URGENT voicemail on his phone…or two, or three…NEVER get a call back. I work all day. Get home and call him again, “Come over now.”

“Not tonight, Sadie. I’m tired.”

“I don’t give a shite. Come over NOW. It’s VERY important! I wouldn’t have bothered calling you otherwise!!”

He begrudgingly agrees to come over. I take another test while I’m waiting…again, VERY positive. He shows up, I tell him. Wait several minutes for him to say…

“Can I tell you something?”

Confused I say yes. He proceeds to say, “I already knew. Chuck told me.” (Chuck being his best friend that I worked with…talk about a fast grapevine)

EXCUSE ME?!?!?!? “You knew?!?! And you wouldn’t come over when I called?!?!”

“ME coming over doesn’t change anything. We aren’t getting back together.”

You’d think right here the God’s-honest truth would dawn on me…but in my defense, I was pregnant and hormonal. Reason was NOT on my side.

I spend the next 4 months a bit of an emotional wreck. In the process I lose my apartment and have to move in with Alex and his family (he lived with his parents….AND Grandparents…who were the HEIGHT of backwoods hicks…I was woken up at 6AM almost every day with bluegrass gospel…God help me…I nearly killed them).

During this time Alex came to 1 prenatal appointment…the first one because I MADE him come. After that, he never came to appointments, and I stopped telling him when they were. We had ONE conversation about the baby. Yes. ONE. We lived in the same house and hardly ever talked. The ONE conversation we had was about names. He wanted the baby named after him, especially if it was a boy “So it can be a junior.” To which I scoffed and said, “Um, Alex…if we aren’t married, this kid isn’t going to be a JUNIOR…because it won’t have your last name.”

That was the first time I stood up for myself.

At six months the God’s smiled on me. My hormones leveled out and I suddenly became sane. I realized that the jerk wasn’t going to “see the light”. He’d talked enough bad crap about me that when his sister came home on leave she wouldn’t even LOOK at me or TALK to me…she’d talk THROUGH me or PAST me…but totally ignored me. He wanted nothing to do with me…and probably not my child. That’s when I got a clue and started making rational decisions.

I was already 6 months along and very happy with my OB and relatively happy with where I was living, and I loved my job…but I had to make plans to get the frick out of that house. I stayed there for another 3 months. When DC was born, my mom was by my side…Alex was nowhere to be found…by ANYONE. His family was there, and none of them were able to get in touch with him…he ignored all phone calls. The next day he was PHYSICALLY brought to the hospital by his aunt and HANDED his son. He showed very little emotion and handed over the baby not too much long after.

After another 2 months I decided to leave NC. I liked living there, really loved my job…but I couldn’t survive in THAT house, and I couldn’t afford to live on my own. So, I hopped in the car and moved to VA, to live with my parents.

My Dad became the father figure for Denver, and my mom was always there to keep me sane. It worked out surprisingly well…and lasted for quite a few years.

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Next installment, gaining full custody (with “visitation” for sperm donor) and child support after a nasty email fight…and moving…TWICE!

Traditions can make or break a holiday. The traditions we grew up with as a child are translated into something we try to do with our kids. Every year we add traditions or drop them, but if we don’t have any…our holiday can be only ho-hum. In my family there are several traditions that I continue to follow to this day. Christmas is not Christmas without them.

The first thing that makes it Christmas is listening to the The Oak Ridge Boys Christmas Album. How can you not hear Thank God for Kids with lyrics like “When you look down in those trusting eyes; That look to you, you realize; There’s a love that you can’t buy; Thank God for kids…” and not melt? There’s just something about this album that brings Christmas to our family. We ALWAYS listen to it on Christmas eve (there’s a song for that, too!!)

There are two movies that we must watch, too! First is Scrooge. It’s the musical version of a Christmas Carol and it’s just bright and cheery and perfect for decorating the tree with! And we canNOT live without Alastair Sim, the original Black and White version of A Christmas Carol. His pure joy when he wakes up on Christmas morning cannot be beat…even by the drool-worthy Patrick Stewart.

Beyond media, though…there is one specific tradition that has meant very much to me for the past 9 years. Christmas Eve.

When I was growing up as a child every Christmas Eve my brother and I would climb into one or the other’s bed (alternating every year) and my Mother would read The Night Before Christmas. The linked version is the one she read. The pictures were so magical to me. The way she read it brought life to the pages and made me so eager for Santa’s arrival. I can still remember the giddy joy of clamoring into bed, me on one side of her, my brother on the other.

When my oldest was born the tradition was passed on. My dad took up the tradition with his grandson, who meant so much to him. I bought myself the exact same version I’d grown up with, and my dad would read that – and then the bible story of Jesus’ birth (Luke 2:1-20).

Now my oldest is almost 10. I have two very young girls at home. The torch has been passed again – onto me. Now on Christmas Eve, I gather my babies close to me on the couch and we read The Night Before Christmas . I quote the bible scripture, having memorized it years ago. We play our Oak Ridge Boys and set out Cookies and milk for Santa…and if I’m thoughtful enough to remember, carrots for the reindeer.

I don’t know for a fact that my brother also carries on these same traditions, but I like to think that he does. They meant a lot to us growing up…and I’m so happy to pass them on. I only hope they mean as much to my children as they did to me.

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This post was made in honor of a contest over at Sue’s Navel Gazing…but I probably would have made it anyway I love the holiday! Thank you, Sue for the prompt!!

Onto Part 3 of the tale of me (Part 1, Part 2 to catch up)…

Moving to NC. Fewer pictures from here on out…

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After I was finally free of Bryan, I moved to NC. My aunt lived there and I had been accepted to UNC_Greensboro as a Dance Education major. I moved in w/ my aunt and crazy uncle (seriously disturbed) and found a job at a restaurant there. I worked at the restaurant through the summer until school started.

During the summer I dated Jeremy. A cute kid, but nothing major to come of it. Especially since part of me still believes it’s very likely he wasn’t sure what team he was playing on (no, I didn’t realize it at the time). And to show how crazy my uncle was…Jeremy and I went on TWO dates, MAYBE three…my uncle had run a credit check on him before our first date!!

That summer I turned 20. I was hanging out with the Rock-O-La crowd…and they were a bit older. I got an in at a local bar with one of the (incredibly hot and WELL muscled) bouncers and started becoming a REAL college kid. We went out drinking…and I ended up trapped at the bar during Hurricane Fran. We played Truth or Dare at our table and called said-hot-bouncer “waitress” the rest of the night.

These six months were the most ‘normal’ of my life. I started school, I was hanging out drinking at bars, shooting blow-jobs, lying about leaving my ID in my other purse to get into those bars…I was a normal college kid, working as a waitress.

School was going very well. My dance professors were impressed with me and asked how I ended up in 100-level classes when I should clearly be in 200-level. I explained that I did HORRID in the auditions…and they said they’d bump me up at the semester change…and DID.

I switched jobs in last September so that I could work at the brand new Barnes & Noble in High Point, NC. Store #2806. I was there when it opened…working in the cafe.

I loved my job. I loved my school. Things were GREAT!!

In November my friend and coworker started dating another coworker. His best friend was a HUGE coffee addict and came into the cafe often. We’ll call him Alex*. We started dating in December.

January came along and I was promised “big things” with Barnes and Noble. I left school for a semester (stoopid) so that I could work full time at B&N. I DID love my job…I loved the company, seriously.

Things at my aunts house, which had never been great (did I mention my uncle was nuts?) went downhill fast once I left school. At the end there was a huge blowup where he accused me of lying…and my dad told him to shove it, that he knew I hadn’t been lying. And I moved out into an apartment.

I was still seeing Alex. We got engaged on April 1st. Yup…that’s right folks, April Fools Day. I still have the ring (a ruby ring I picked out…it cost $80).

The “big things” fell through at B&N when my manager made a VERY stupid decision (which we all realized a couple of months later) and picked someone over me to manage the cafe. The person he picked had NOT been with the company very long, or in the area…but had “food service experience” (he was supposedly in chef school)…Uh, yeah…more on that story in the next installment because that’s when it gets juicy *lol*

So, anyway. I’m working at B&N full time. Still loving my job…have great friends at my job. We go out drinking at times, or just hang out after hours. GREAT friendships developed there. In fact, 80% of the staff was from Western New York…it was kind of freaky like that…we all ended up in High Point.

And I guess you’re wondering when it happened? Well, a timeline for you (and all of the dates are accurate, don’t ask me why I remember them)…

April 1 – we get engaged
April 15 – go to hospital for pains. Am told I have a cyst on my ovary that it will burst on its own (they LIE, but that’s for later)
April 28 – We go to a Metallica Concert
June 12 – Alex dumps me. HARD. Calls off engagement and basically tells me he no longer wants to see me…ever again.

I’m distraught over this…but still oddly…calm.

June 14th I’m driving to work…I have to work 3:30-close (midnight). It’s about 2:00 and I’m heading in because I’m bored. I figure I’ll hang out at the store until it’s time to go on the clock. So I’m driving down the road and the song comes on…you know the one…

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover…

I love this song…so I’m singing at the top of my lungs…

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother…..

I freeze mid-chorus…and no, I’m not kidding. I’m driving down the road, my eyes wide in shock. Thoughts race across, “My boobs have been KILLING me at night for the past week.” I try to push that away…then theres, “When I had that TV dinner I got SO nauseous.”

CRAP.

No…it’s not possible. I have a cyst on my ovary. Alex takes anti-depressants and can’t ever complete the transaction…it’s silly.

I go back to singing, but can’t shake it.

CRAP.

Stop at the drugstore, pick up a two pack of tests. Go to work and into the public restroom (this is how convinced I was that I was NOT pregnant). Pee on the stick…pace the small stall…

Stare in shock…

It’s POSITIVE!!! I’m…I’m….PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!

CRAP.

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*Name has been changed to protect the innocent (my DS…not his sperm donor)

Okay, back to this. To recap…I was cute:

I danced a lot…

And I did theatre too. Here I am as Laura Ingalls in Plum Creek…a play I wrote myself as well as starred in. Yeah…I’d almost forgotten about that. It was…sixth grade, I believe. The year before I was in a Lewis & Clark play as Lewis…

Then I became gawky….

And Geeky…

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And then I moved to Indiana. I had high hopes for a ‘new life’…but I’m afraid I remained in the geek realm. I was a flaggot…flag hag…I was in color guard. I started dating one boyfriend at a Star Trek Convention my junior year (Yes. I’m serious.) In fact, here we are a month later going out to a party…

But by just before my senior year I was not so much a geek anymore, at least I don’t think so, in appearance. I still didn’t have a ton of confidence…despite the fact that I did pageants (and did WELL in them), and was in dance, my self-confidence was shot. Here I am, slouching but pleasant enough, taking pictures for pageant stuffs…my hair was long, but not its longest…

I started dating Bryan. He was my first long term boyfriend…like we dated for three years, I think. We got ‘engaged’ *rolls eyes*…he was my first. He was also abusive. Emotionally and on rare occassion physically (I got slammed into a wall for saying ‘no’ one night). In my mind I thought I was happy. I thought I deserved a relationship like that. I was still the ‘nerd’ the ‘geek’. It wasn’t until years later that I learned the guys I crushed on in high school actually liked me back…and of course, it was too late then. Instead, I was with Bryan. By this time, looking back, I think I was pretty damn attractive, actually…totally not so geek like (although my love of STar Trek was still strong *lol*). As my prom picture displays, I was s’okay…but still with him.

Can you tell I regret being with him? I chose my college because of him. I got accepted to many schools, got a scholarship (small one that barely covered books, but a scholarship) to one…out of state schools, state schools…but I chose my school based on him.

Remember, I warned you before this all started…I was STUPID!!!! STOOOOPID!!!

So, I went to IU. One semester is all I lasted. I continued to date Bryan. I skipped class for Bryan…I only went to three days of classes. I don’t COMPLETELY blame this on me dating Bryan. I also blame it on the fact that I went to college for something I did NOT want to do. That was NOT related to dance in any way…and I hated every minute of it.
Of course, adding to my stupidity is the fact that I continued to date Bryan when I could have had the hottie in that pic. *sigh* Yeah, he turned frat guy…but damn was he cute!!!

So, a semester at IU and I flunk out. I continue to date Bryan for another year and a half. I’m ashamed to admit that I begged him to stay with me when we broke up…but I was moving out of state anyway…so it’s all for the best. It’s an embarrassing part of my past…but it’s one I learned from.
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Tomorrow I move on to North Carolina. Many things there…good school and birth of the DC.

Before I get to the part of my life where I bring in my DH, there’s a lot of backstory to go through…well, quite a bit. I’m short on pics right now (especially decent ones of me once I improved from geekdom)…but I’ll post those tomorrow once I have access to my bedroom (DH is snoozing now).
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In the beginning there was me. And I was cute (seriously, check me out with my brother at 10). I was little and cute and very much what K is probably going to look like in about 7 years. I was happy, popular, and relatively outgoing – but a bit of a crybaby. I danced all the time, took many classes and by the age of this picture I was teaching little ones to dance (yes, seriously).
P.S. Not the JELLIES on my feet! Yay for the 80’s!!

Then in sixth grade something very strange happened. The most popular girl in school decided I was a nerd. She told everyone…and that was the end of me. I was picked on constantly, and I wasn’t even truly geeky yet. But within the next two years I did it all. I got braces, glasses and zits like mad. Janet must have been psychic…or it’s true that you come as you believe.

Shortly thereafter I met Kathy. She was my bestest best friend. She was REALLY cute and VERY popular…but she didn’t go to my school. I met her at a campground – she was the cousin of my parents best-friends kid (you got all that?). After I met her I did something very very stupid in an attempt to be like her…I had my hair cut really short and permed…just like Kathy. Oy, you can see the sad sad results in this other picture (LOVE the HUGE glasses…don’t you?). This was a very bad point for me…ALTHOUGH I was happier than I had been for 3 years because of Kathy. She was genuinely nice and genuinely liked me. Our friendship lasted for YEARS.

The next year the hair grew out and I started to come out of the zit zone, and was actually looking halfway decent. This was me, Kathy…and my cousin, obviously:

That same year I fell in love with Mark. He was fi-ine…but he was dating my BFF (of course, the cute one) Kathy. I got his BFF Eric…who had a big nose and wasn’t a good kisser. Mark and I developed a close friendship, close enough that he used to write me from boot camp. We never dated, and I’ve since learned that he got married and had 6 kids and got fat…but back then he was fine and I SOOO Crushed on him!!!

And we moved to Indiana my freshman year of high school. New school = new hope? But does the hope pan out? Possibly…but you’ll see tomorrow

On top of my usual baby-filled posts…I’m going to follow the ‘cool girls’ and post my “How I met my hubby” story here. Well, the story of me pre-hubby will be involved…and I will warn you…I was STOO-PID, NEEDY, and PITIFUL. But, hey…I grew up…sort of.

Oh yeah…and involved in that story (and it’s aftermath) will be the story of how NONE of my children should be possible…and how/why some days I blame myself for K’s issues for several reason (no, not the CF…that’s a genetic roll of the dice).

Anyway, the story of poor, poor, pitiful me (and subsequently my poor DH) will start (barring any hospital runs) tomorrow!