Most days, I love you.

You are there for me, pretty much whenever I need you.

You are never late, you never forget about me, you are there for me to hold onto.

You make me a better version of who I am.

You give me feedback that is constructive (and sometimes a little painful to hear).

But some days, I never want to see you again.

It’s not usually your fault – it’s just that when I’ve had a long day and I know we should hang out, I just choose not to. And then I feel guilty, because you’re probably hanging out with someone else.

But you wait. Tirelessly… you wait for me.

Until I lace up my sneakers, plug in my earphones, and we get that party started.

Thank you, Elliptical.

I love you from the bottom of my box of Girl Scout Cookies,
Jenn

This post was in a response to a writing prompt given by noneother than Mama Kat herself. Check out her amazing writing prompts that will inspire you, challenge you, and force you to write love letters to inanimate objects.

Sometimes I need inspiration for a post.

Luckily, I have met some amazing folks during this blog journey. One, gave me a great idea! Ms. Kenya of Sporadic Publications did a post about all the names she has. She had a wonderful post about her lovely nicknames, her favorite being “Christopher’s Mom” (cue *aww!* so sweet!) I read this blog and say “yes! I must do that!” and I start to think about my nicknames. And then, I begin to think I’m very strange.

They start out innocent enough.

My Mom and Dad call me “Munch” (short for Munchkin) or “JL” (initials of my first and middle name) or “Snugs” (short of Snuggles) and “Jennifurry” (Mom, do you remember where that one came from?!). There is nothing more endearing to me that these names, because they were my first nicknames. And they are sweet and cute.

Then, enter Stacey, my best friend. Somehow in my time hanging out with her I have earned the nickname of Brush, Cujo, and J-Dauwgh. Say what? Yeah, we are supah dupah weird. As evidenced by the fact that her nicknames are Comb and Snakepit.

Enter another bit of sweetness, my husband. When he isn’t calling me J-Dauwgh, he will call me honey or babe, and a variety of other sweet and cute nicknames that I used to mock until he called me them and I just started to melt (love is a strange thing, no?)

Together, myself (J-Dauwgh), Stacey (Snakepit) and my husband (C-Money) call ourselves The Unit. “The Unit” was created on a sugar-high while driving to Vermont on my 26th birthday. The rest is history.

In my work I’m just Jenn. Or Miss Jenn (which is so adorable). Or Mrs. G (in the school I work at). Or that lady that makes me talk about my feelings (what-evah, it’s my job, kid).

So what IS in a name? I’m hoping not too much, since I SWEAR I am nothing like Cujo. Most days.

So what about you? What’s your funniest, weirdest, or sweetest nickname?

I work with bullies. I work with kids being bullied.

I work with parents who are bullies. I work with parents who were bullied.

It’s out of control. In a serious, life-threatening way.

It’s not the bullying of days gone by. I’m only 29, and the bullying that happens today is about 1,000,000 times worse than “my day.” When I felt bullied, it was because someone said I smelled like tuna fish. This may or may not have led to a life-long fear of smelling like tuna fish, but it did not lead to suicide. It did not lead to dreading school, avoiding others, self-isolation, and self-loathing. At worst, it caused me tears and a whole lot of jars in Baby Soft perfume (love that stuff). I don’t mean to belittle any experience with bullying in the past, it is all stressful, but I do believe it is a different beast these days.

A lot of the parents I work with assume that when I talk about bullying, I mean relatively harmless interactions between kids. They throw our sayings like “boys will be boys,” or “that’s how they learn how to toughen up.” I don’t believe that anything about today’s bullying is harmless. In fact, I hestitate to call it bullying- because it is frequently more like terrorizing. And it isn’t just high school. It’s middle school. It’s elementary school.

This changing world of ours allows kid to be in constant contact with one another. I have kids who are in third and fourth grade with cell phones! Why? Just in case. Of what, I’m not sure. Kids who have access to laptops, computers, and iPads. Kids who see too much, hear too much, and are exposed to too much. Bullying is happening earlier because kids are “growing up” earlier, but they can’t handle it. Because they aren’t meant to hear and see so much from the adult world. Pleeease parents, do not let your kids have unsupervised time on the internet.

Bullying is becoming terrorizing because kids can no longer escape it. Social media, internet, phones. They are all connected all the time. It’s easier to hide. It’s easier to be anonymous if you are the one doing the bullying. Being connected all the time isn’t healthy for anyone, much less children who don’t have the ability to distinguish the internet world from reality, nor the established self-esteem to be able to withstand negative comments.

There is no one magic answer for bullying to disappear. Unfortunately. I think much of what it will take is everyone (not just parents, not just teachers, everyone) to be tuned in to what is happening. If a child is complaining of being picked on- this isn’t a time to let it go. If you have kids, know who their friends are. Often times kids will explain their friends, only to find out that their “friends” are bullies or unfriendly kids. Humans do not necessarily come hard-wired to understand what a good friend is – lots of kids assume that any attention means that someone is a friend (or even a best! friend! ever! omg!). Also? Bullying does not happen only if your kid is “different” or gay, or has red hair. It can happen to any kid.

I cannot stress enough how strongly I feel about this, because I see the fall-out every day. Now, we all see it in the news, with multiple suicides from teenagers and new laws being produced around online bullying.  As adults in the world, we need to pay attention to this. We need to unplug OURselves and plug in to the youth, to our kids. Before it’s too late.

When she was 5 years old, she often came home from kindergarten and stayed home alone, sometimes for the entire night. She slept under her bed when she was left alone, so no one could find her. Sometimes in the middle of the night, she would drag a chair from her room to her baby brother’s crib to pick him up when he cried even though she was afraid of the dark.

When he was 8 he tried to jump out of a window to get away from his mother’s abusive boyfriend. He broke his arm, and his mother refused to go to the hospital with him.

She lost an important piece of herself when she was 4. Her father took it from her one night when her mother was in the hospital recovering from surgery. She was wearing a pink nightgown, and couldn’t escape.

When he was 6, he got between his mother and father during a fight. A door that was meant to be slammed into his mother, was slammed into him. His wrist was broken. Loud noises make him cringe, he jumps at every movement, never trusting his environment to be safe.

One night, his father passed out in the shower, intoxicated. At 7 years old, he stayed up all night to make sure his father kept breathing.

She was born addicted to cocaine. Her mother left her on her grandmother’s doorstep when she was 3 days old. She is developmentally delayed and cannot emotionally attach to her grandmother. She is trapped in her own brain.

Their stories are heavy. Burdens that no human, but especially, no child should have to bear. But they do. They carry their stories with them every day. Often, you can see their stories in their behavior. They cry easily. They startle easily. They lie. They disrupt classrooms. They have nightmares. They refuse to talk to you. They deny their feelings. They overcompensate. They have flashbacks. They hoard food.

Because their stories are too heavy.

They end up in my office or the office of someone like me. They are desperate to give up some of their burden, to feel important, to feel heard. I do my best to be a safe person, to show them that a story carried together is always lighter.

Last Sunday, on a whim (and because I lacked the ability to pull together sentences), I did a stream of consciousness post. Then I googled this concept and found my people! My people being those who participate in Stream of Consciousness Sunday all together through this awesome blogger’s website! So now I get to do this every Sunday without feeling like I’m a lazy blogger. Score!

So, the breaking news of the morning is that I’m still blogging every day for NaBloPoMo! I’ve even gotten used to typing NaBloPoMo (believe me, I double checked this everytime I wrote it for several days because I didn’t want to be that blogger– the one you feel sorry for because she can’t even use the acronym correctly on the project she undertook). Right. So pat on the back, I’m still in the game!

Speaking of games. I’m sorry for the fans out there, but I will be so happy when football season is over. I get so tired of the facebook and twitter status updates having only to do with games and teams. So tired that I block them completely.

And speaking of blocking people on facebook, I’m considering writing a post about why I consider deleting my facebook almost daily. There are just so many reasons. Yet it serves a purpose, so I keep it going. I probably would be happier if I just went through and deleted people, but then I would have to post a cryptic message saying “oh, I’m going to go and delete people now, so if you never see a post from me again, haha! And if you do, it’s because you are so freakin’ lucky that you get to keep reading my status updates that you should bow down and give thanks to me. Also, you should re-post this for the next 5 minutes so I know that you really care about me.” Or something to that effect. And I can’t do it. So I just hide people and their annoying streams of football references, re-post this if you care about me fodder, and the dreaded pregnancy complaints (no offense to my pregnant friends, I am *so* excited and happy for you- but as someone you may not get to experience it, it’s painful to hear  complaints about it).

Last night we went to see the movie “Jack and Jill,” it was an innocent move. I mean, Adam Sandler? He’s a funny guy, can’t be that bad. Or can it? Let’s just say I don’t recommend it. Unless you enjoy extremely strange plots, cross dressing, bathroom humor and have a fixation with Al Pacino.

Well, my five minutes are up! Time to get this bad boy posted and get on with my day of painting the living room (try not to be too jealous!) Have a great Sunday, everyone!

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

I’m so excited to be featuring a post that my very own Mom wrote today! You can call her SandyB. Everyone else does. Today is the opening day of (rifle) Deer Season in Vermont. I grew up in Vermont, and in a family that embraced deer hunting as a tradition. I know that deer hunting can be controversial, but it is also full of tradition and treasured memories for many families. My family uses their own land, abides by all regulations, and eats the meat (or gets tricked into eating the meat, ahem). It is also nothing like Bambi, so don’t get all your information from Disney, mmmkay? Anyway, because I was very young when my Grandfather died, I have fewer memories of this season. I remember mostly calling into deer camp on the CB radio to say goodnight to everyone up at camp as I usually stayed with my Grandmother. My Mom, however? Has a million memories that I love to hear about. She’s here today to share some with you!

         But, I had many happy years following my father around the woods.  He tried to teach me so much about the signs in the woods, the names of all the trees, the landmarks that exist such as abandoned cellar holes, the big rock by the huge tree, the mud hole and the list goes on.  He knew every animal track and something about all the wildlife and how everything co-existed in nature.  I wasn’t a great student and would pretty much nod and smile. 

Deer season brings back all those memories and more.  Here are a few: 

·         14 days later sign out of camp “only 356 days until the next deer season.”

I am a therapist. Okay, technically I am a Licensed Clinicial Social Worker (LCSW) – say that 10 times fast. But the word everyone knows? Therapist. What do I bill as? Therapist. So I guess, that makes me a therapist. Unfortunately, therapists tend to get a bad rap. But we aren’t all created equal. Right now, I work with children and specialize in trauma therapy to address abuse. I also work with adults (who are typically just children who didn’t get therapy soon enough).

I have also seen a therapist. I mean, who hasn’t? Okay, so maybe there are some well adjusted people out there, but although I consider myself well adjusted for the most part, life can be an overwhelming S.O.B. sometimes, ya know?

So anyway, today I am imparting 10 things your therapist might want you to know…

10. Don’t be paranoid. We only write things down on our notepad because we have terrible memories. We are not doodling a picture of you that says “crazy Mofo” as the caption  (usually). We see lots of people every day, and we don’t want to look like fools (I pity da fool!) when you come back next week and we can’t remember things we obviously should remember (like how many cats you have, or the exact shape of your tinfoil hat that will keep the aliens away. I kid. Sort of).

9. We will challenge you. If you want us to sit silently and not reflect back to you, or offer suggestions – say so. Otherwise, it is our job to challenge you – to challenge your thinking – and to support you in changing areas you would like to change. If you want to stay the same? Save your time and mine – stay home!

8. Adulthood is a constant struggle to overcome your childhood. Usually. So when we ask you about your childhood, don’t be a wise-ass. Just answer the question because yes, it does matter (or we wouldn’t bother asking). Frankly, you learn how to cope with life when you are a child, so sometimes it’s a matter of learning about how you learned to cope with life and if it was healthy or not. Don’t take offense.

7. We know things. Really. We went to a lot of school, and most of us have a life long relationship with Sallie Mae to show for it. If we make a suggestion, try it. IT MAY HELP! It may not. But if you enter a working relationship with a therapist assuming that nothing will work then guess what? Nothing will work. You’re the one paying the money. You can make the best of it, or you can have a bad attitude. The choice is yours.

6. SPEAKING of money, we are expensive. I get it. Again, we all owe 6 years of debt to Sallie Mae. Sorry ’bout that. But did you know most private therapists have sliding scale fees? Yeah. It’s in our bitchin’ code of ethics to work with people around payment. So before you decide you aren’t going to get a therapist because you can’t afford it? Reach out and ask.

5. We WILL in some fashion, manner, or medium ask you how you are feeling. Because you know what? IT MATTERS. I know it’s cliche, and I hate myself a little everytime I ask it – but let’s face it, feelings are what we all tend to avoid and that’s probably why you’re in therapy. Acknowledge them. And stop rolling your eyes.

4. You are not a broken car. We can not replace your muffler and send you off running smoothly, free of hysterical, over-the-top, inappropriate emotional reactions. People are not things that can be fixed. We can give you opportunity to say what you need to say (thanks, John Mayer for ruining that phrase) and we can offer up advice about things to try to reduce symptoms. We cannot live your life for you. You must figure out what works for you. Also, we cannot come to Thanksgiving Dinner, your birthday party, or your work Christmas party to explain to people “why you act this way.” Stop asking.

3. Not all therapists have couches. Sorry. And if they do? They do not want you to lay down on it the moment you walk in the door. As my teenage clients would say………awkward.

2. If we’re not clicking personality-wise, don’t be afraid to speak up. There may be a change we can make, or we can refer you to someone that may be a better match. Believe me when I tell you, that we do not take it personally.

1. Please show up. Listen, we don’t get paid when you don’t show up. So if you can’t make it – or you’re pissed at us for what we told you last week – don’t be passive aggressive, just call and re-schedule. It’s way cooler than standing someone up. If you do this a lot, someday you may show up and I won’t be there. Okay, probably not. Because I want money love my job, and wouldn’t want to miss an appointment. But still? Have some respect. Show up or call to let us know. I have things I could be doing if you aren’t going to be there, like drinking paperwork.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Linking up with Mamakat’s writing prompt today for the first time! The challenge I chose was to write a poem ending with “my friend.”  I couldn’t get the button to work, so the link will have to do for this week until I become more savvy.

There is beauty,
if you look around.
Beauty in the beginning of something new,
a chapter all your own.
Dizzying possibilities within your reach..
they lay before you, crossroads.
I am proud to be beside you,
to cheer you,
to hold your hand and snuggle you.
Remember the questions will have answers,
the choices will unveil themselves,
you will never face the unknown by yourself.
Our journey is as one,
but also separate.
A team, but also individuals.
Our triumphs, our failures..
they are ours apart, and ours together.
I am proud, to call you my husband
the love of my life, my partner
my friend.

I was right in the middle of a dream (although I forget what about now), when I was suddenly awakened by Jenn shaking my arm. I could see she was wide awake and looked almost a little distressed. “Honey,” she said,”my water broke…our baby’s coming.”

Holy crap. It’s really happening. What happened next is kind of a blur, but I did my best to crate Skeeter (who was going nuts; he can always tell when something is up) and help Jenn out to the Buick, grabbing wallets and cell phones on the way.

I called her parents on the 20-minute drive to the hospital, and luckily, mananged to wake up Sandy. When I told her what was happening, she started crying and told me that she would get there as soon as she could.

I called Stacey next, then my parents, and pretty much got similar reactions.

The contractions started on the way to the hospital. I did my best to drive fast, but steady. I admit that I had flashbacks to the story my Dad has told me many times about my Mom throwing up in his car while in labor with me. I realize that I don’t care about collateral damage, I just want Jenn and the baby to get through this ok.

We made it to the hospital without incident. We were given a room. Jenn was in labor for five hours, which probably felt much shorter for me than for her. On a positive note, it gave Sandy time to get there from Vermont. Even Mike managed to come with her, his third time out of Vermont in thirty years. Stacey and my parents, only living 30 minutes away, made it in plenty of time.

I spent much of my time holding Jenn’s hand, and doing my best to comfort her. She was nervous…how much would it hurt? Would the baby be born healthy? I have to admit, that I was just as nervous, but tried to maintain my composure for her.

I was never so nervous, as when it came time for her to push. She held me hand so tight..and I did my best to hold back. I was crying; I couldn’t help it. Jenn told me later that it didn’t hurt as bad as she thought. It didn’t take long, and at 9:27 am on Wednesday, November 14th, I’m pleased to announce…

…nothing.

We woke up at 5 am like normal. We went to work. I spent my lunch break writing a work of fiction for people to read.

On Friday, February 25th, 2011, Jenn had a miscarriage (as explained in her post from today and others). The above story might have happened today, or tomorrow, or next week. It might have happened in a different way. We’ll never know. All we’ll know is what DID happen. And all we can do is hope that this story will play out in some form, some day, for a different baby.

Happy Birthday, Baby That Never Was.

November sucks.

Before I met Casey, there was a time that I didn’t want biological children.

Let’s face it, I have a pretty crappy set of genes in some ways, and I became determined that I didn’t want to continue passing them down the line. I was certain that I would simply adopt at some point and that would be fine.

When Casey entered the picture, I let him know early on (so as not to have surprises later on) that I wanted to adopt children. I didn’t believe that I wanted biological children.

And then, a few months after we were married I had a pregnancy “scare”… I say “scare” because at the time, I was scared. It wasn’t in THE PLAN to have kids (biologically) or to have kids at all until we’d been married awhile. It turned out that it was a false positive or some such nonsense, as only one test was positive and the 25,000 others I took were negative. We were in the clear.

Except.

The day or so that I thought I was pregnant? I was scared, but also incredibly excited. Feelings were ignited in me that I didn’t know were possible. My fingers were on FIRE googling how to have a healthy pregnancy. Suddenly I was dreaming about what a baby that Casey and I made would look like. Would they have curly hair like me? Blue eyes like Casey? What adorable way could I tell my parents?

The same sort of feelings came about for Casey, and we started talking about trying. Casually. Like it would just sort of happen in its own time. A year after that we started talking about TRYING. Like charting and tracking and paying far more attention to my underwear than anyone should. I learned terms like TTC, BD, BFN, EOD, HPT, OPK – seriously it’s like another whole language. Thank goodness for communities of women who helped me through this- and Dr. Google, of course.

Months after that we miscarried. This is the month that I should have been having a baby.

We found out Casey has low sperm count and he ate more bananas and seeds than any human being should because it might help. Nothing. So a couple of years later, we are now in a process of grieving. We cannot afford further testings or treatment, because I no longer have insurance and Casey’s doesn’t cover it. We cannot afford private domestic adoption without going into deep, deep debt and being picked over with  fine tooth comb by an adoption agency that I’m not sure would take us due to Casey’s stroke and my chronic health disease.

A decision that is easy to make, becomes so very hard to follow through on. Our options are limited. We keep hoping for a natural miracle, but my hope is dwindling. When we eventually move to NC and get settled, we will look into adopting through their welfare system. But the baby thing? May very well not be in the cards for us. I don’t know how to reconcile with that, but I am trying to every day. I am also trying to break the silence and shame around it, because it certainly exists.

Infertility is real. It is painful. It is part of our story, and our journey. It is likely part of the journey of someone you know. Be open to hearing the stories, be gentle, and be kind with your words and judgement- we never know what someone else is going through or what they are trying to let go of.