happy halloween and a blessed samhain

I am who I am. I can't, won't, and don't need to change that. The people who matter love me despite my flaws and faults. They love me, and appreciate me, for who I am. I don't need to be graceful, because I have people that will pick me up when I fall. I'm not afraid of the lightning because I've already been struck too many times. My past does not define me, but it has shaped me. It's impossible for it not to. I don't believe in living in the past, but I also believe we shouldn't ignore it. Things happen for a reason and as history has taught us, when we don't pay attention to the mistakes we've made, we're bound to repeat them. I've repeated several mistakes and I'm still learning. It's one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. I don't always like myself. There are days when I can't bear my own reflection. When people are snarky or ignore me or have something to say to put me down, it's hard not to believe it because anything anyone can say to me is something I've already said to myself. I'm far more insecure than I let myself show. I don't believe in being weak and I don't trust easily. If you see, and understand, my vulnerabilities and my Achilles heels, you are someone I cherish. You are someone who has earned my love, my loyalty, my respect, and my trust. I'm afraid of letting people in close, afraid for them to drop the ball. Everyone is human, mistakes are bound to happen. I make them. Everyone makes them. But some of the mistakes have left gaping holes in my soul. Holes that have been filled up by certain people, certain things, and others I'm not even sure where to start. I'm not whole and I might not ever be, but I am strong, I am independent, and I know what I deserve and what I don't. At the end of the day, these are the only things that matter.

some things I've learned from a decade of babysitting

a baby sitter's dream come true - extra pacis in the utensil drawer!
So, the time has come. It's either your first time leaving your baby with a baby sitter or perhaps it is the first time with a new baby sitter. All of the families I have sat for over the course of my life have either been neighbors, people I worked with at the daycare center where I was a teen, or friends/coworkers of my parents. In that case, you and your child(ren) might be familiar with this person already. Even so, I highly recommend having a "get to know you" night BEFORE the night you're going out. Have your sitter come over, play some games, read some books, watch the bedtime routine, etc.

Here are a few different categories and scenarios that should be talked about/made known between parent and sitter.

1) How to prepare their bottle. Whether you formula feed or breastfeed, show your sitter how you make the bottles. If you breastfeed, feel comfortable enough to leave frozen milk with the instructions to just hold the baggie of milk under hot water until it begins to thaw and warm up. I've found this is helpful for moms who feed directly from the source and only pump occasionally to have backup for when they do want to go out. The first baby I ever watched who was breastfed was like this - she rarely took bottles so mom rarely pumped. Since breast milk lasts upwards of six months in the freezer, it was easier for her to pump whenever she had time and freeze it rather than worry about having to pump that day.

If you formula feed, either prepare a few bottles ahead of time to be left in the fridge or show your sitter how to make the formula. With my niece, they used room temperature nursery water mixed with formula so her bottles were made at every feeding as they didn't need to be warmed up. It's also a good idea for your sitter to know formula making instructions on the off chance they need to make a bottle or two should the need arise.

2) Under six months, babies usually aren't on any kind of solid schedule that a baby sitter would need to know, but if your child is on solids and will need them, jot down a quick set of instructions for your sitter to refer to when the time comes to heat it up!

3) Lovies. These. Are. Huge. If your child has a special blanket or animal-blanket head, make sure your sitter knows how important this is. Lovies will come in handy when baby is over tired or ready for bed or just wants a cuddle. If your baby uses a pacifier, do your best to make sure there are a couple of spare ones lying around. Trust me, I KNOW how hard this is. Especially when you get babies who like to participate in the Pacifier Throwing Olympics. As long as there is one spare paci that your sitter can lay their hand on in a moment of need, you're good.

4) Bedtime routine. This one is important for a couple of reasons - sometimes, babies (and toddlers) don't want the same routine their parents use from someone who isn't mommy or daddy. I've run into this a few times. Any attempt to put them down the way mom or dad does results in fussing, back arching, arm waving annoyance. In my experience, the parents I sit for have always been lenient about this. With one little one, who didn't have a sitter until she was 7 months old, I used to have to lay on her parents' bed with her and snuggle her up close to me with her pacifier like she was side-lying to nurse (which is what she did with mama in the middle of the night). Her face had to be smushed into my arm or my chest while she sucked on her pacifier while I rocked her back and forth sideways on the bed. If I didn't do it this way, bedtime was a nightmare. Said child is now 3 and as long as I tuck her in tightly and give her lots of face kisses, she'll happily go down. Heck, she even ASKS for bed when she's tired now! However, at seven and eight months old, while dad could happily plop her in her crib with her favorite blanket and pacifier, she never accepted that from me. And I was okay with that, as was mom.

If you are a proponent of any type of crying it out, understand that this might be unsettling for your sitter. It's not that your sitter doesn't trust you or is questioning your parenting abilities. Trust me. I'm all for parenting the best or most effective way for your child. After all, you know them best. But sometimes, depending on the cry, I physically get anxious listening to a child cry. It's like I'm not sure if this is how they sound for mom and dad and I'm worried that they're crying a different cry and I worry that I'm doing it wrong. In cases like these (and depending on how well I know the parents/how comfortable I am with knowing their boundaries) I'll either sit in the room and rock the crib or I'll sit next to their bed and sing quiet lullabies. I do my best to never take them out of their bed once they are in it if that's not what mom and dad do, but I also know that they might be feeling anxious because mom and dad didn't put them down and I want them to know that everything is okay and they are okay. If your child is older and this is an issue of terrible twos or threes and it's become something of a power struggle, make sure to let your sitter know. For me, personally, when I know this is a boundaries pushing issue on the part of the child, I'm more at ease with listening to them voice their displeasure. Sometimes, depending on their language skill, you hear some pretty hilarious things come out of their mouths!

5) Boundaries within the house. A friend pointed out, when I asked for ideas for this post, that her bedroom is off limits even to her own kids. This is important to know. As referenced back in the bedtime category, a lot of bedtime routines often take place on mom or dad's bed. Whether it's story reading or rocking a baby to sleep, sometimes mom and dad's room offers an extra level of comfort when they're not there. Same with animals. If you have animals that don't like random people in the house and are more comfortable being kept in a room by themselves, make sure to alert your sitter to the fact that the cats are in the bedroom and prefer to stay in there. Also, don't be afraid to add a pet task on to your sitter's list of tasks for an evening! If an animal needs to be fed or watered or let out, your sitter should have no issue with this. Especially if the kids can help and it turns into an activity that kills a few minutes in those "will it ever be time for bed?" moments when kids start to get overtired and cranky. Most parents give their sitters free reign of the kitchen and pantry. However, if there is something you have that is needed for the next night's dinner or lunch the next day, just stick a post it note on it or tell the sitter what it's for. This also helps when little fingers know what's in the green bowl in the fridge and try to get inside of it!

6) Electronics. This one can be tricky, at times. Especially if a child has misbehaved during the week and has lost privileges. If that happens (and you think your child might try and get the sitter to let him or her use the device), it's best to put it away before the sitter arrives. Even if it's something that the sitter might use after the children go to bed (like the Wii or the television remote controls), if it's put away before the sitter arrives, they can play dumb when asked to use said device. Often times, I've had parents text me to let me know where they've hidden things after they've left so the kids don't know that I know where it is. This way, it ends the tantrums of "Please please please? We don't have to tell mommy!". And yes, this has happened more times than I can count. In fact, I remember trying it with my own sitters! Being able to say "Mom put it away before I got here! I don't know where it is!" is a really easy way to diffuse the situation.

If you have a limit on screen time for your children, make sure your sitter knows. Sometimes, allowances can be made on a Saturday night. During the holidays, I've often brought movies with me (like Charlie Brown, for example) for the kids and I to watch. I also usually bring popcorn and we snuggle on the couch and eat popcorn and watch the movie. But I always check with mom or dad first before I arrive with a treat.

As an example of a treat, (and I realize that this only applies to sitters who have been with your family for years and love your kids like part of the family), two Christmases ago, I went to Target and got P and C (who were 5 and 3) each a set of Santa forks and spoons, a Christmas themed bowl, and a Christmas cup from the bargain bin. Then I got a blank card and wrote to them as their Elf on the Shelf. I had talked to their mom earlier in the week who had said that they'd been having great behaviors lately so when I arrived with the presents, I told the kids that I had woken up that morning and their Elf had left them presents at my house. Later, while I was changing the baby for bed, I hear P whispering to the Elf, thanking him for her presents and telling him how much she loved him.

7) Illness & Medication. If your child is sick and needs antibiotics or pain relievers, write down the dosage on a piece of scrap paper for quick review. Also make sure your sitter knows the best way to get your child to take their medicine. From droppers, to spoons, to medicine pacis, to syringes ... each child has their own preference and it'll help your sitter out a lot to know each child's preference. While I never give medicine without permission, either before mom and dad leave or after they leave through text or call, it's good to know where things are in case the need arises. That way, when you're out, you don't have to try and remember where you left the Tylenol the last time somebody needed it.

Also make sure that your sitter knows where your thermometer is and how to use it. Some, like the ear ones, can be tricky. Chances are your sitter won't need it, but it's a good thing to know and have on hand just in case, especially in the winter months. If you have a child who is teething, give your sitter instructions for medication if you medicate for teething pain. For example if the child is just fussy, a popsicle or a teething toy will more than likely suffice. However, if you have a child who teethes badly and ends up in hysterical tears, chewing on their fists or anything else they can get into their mouth, let your sitter know what parameters you follow for giving Tylenol or Advil. In most cases, I'll text mom and say "T's been crying for the last ten minutes and the teething ring isn't working and she won't take the popsicle. I'm going to give her the Advil." This way, mom is up to speed and she can check back with you in twenty or thirty minutes to make sure the meds have worked and your child is comfortable again.

8) Communication. With the advent of cell phones, it's easier to keep in contact with your sitter. A quick text message and all is well. As a sitter, I try and remember to text mom or dad and let them know that I'm getting ready to put the kids to bed and my cell phone is downstairs on vibrate so if I don't reply right away, don't worry. Sometimes, though, if bedtime is hectic, I forget to text. If you text your sitter and don't hear back in about ten minutes, double check the time. If you know it's bedtime, you won't worry that you haven't heard back.

The other thing is phone calls from the kids. For some kids, a quick "good night, mommy, I love you!" is enough for them to go to bed without issue. For others, sometimes a phone call does more harm than good. If you have found that it does more harm than good, make sure to let your sitter know. That way, when a child asks to call, the sitter can pretend to call and then tell the child that mommy or daddy couldn't hear their phone and that you can try calling again in a little bit. Nine times out of ten, they're asleep before they remember we never tried calling again.

As a sitter who loves the children she sits for, know that I will do everything I can to make sure everyone is healthy and happy. Even if that means walking back and forth across the living room with a fussy four month old for an hour or more (been there, done that. Nick Carter helped me out of that jam!) or laying down in a teeny tiny toddler bed to rub a head or a back until they're calm enough for sleep ... if it's something they need to feel comfortable, and it's within reason, I'll do it for them. I've given nebulizer treatments, rocked sick babies for hours, patted backs and given sips of water, held hair while they've thrown up and cleaned up any sicked up mess ... I'm not mom, but I do everything I can the way I know mom would do it because I want them to enjoy their time with me. I want mom and dad to be able to go out and do things without worrying that the kids are freaking out or have tied the babysitter up.

Oh. One last bit of advice. This is more for the sitter than the parents - no matter how hard they beg, DO NOT AGREE TO PLAY HIDE AND SEEK! They know their house better than you and their little brains will think of spaces you wouldn't even begin to imagine hiding in. Hide and Seek is a surefire way to give yourself a heart attack when 20 minutes have elapsed and you still can't find the three year old and the five year old is laughing her butt off because she knows where he is, but she's not telling you because it's funnier to watch you scramble around trying to find her brother. Not to mention, nobody wants to break out the butter or Crisco to get little heads and hands and feet out of places they really don't fit.

xoxo
Caitie
asaintedsinner

on how bullying effected my life and continues to do so to this day.

As I sit here writing this, I am currently 27 years old. Most of the events that take place in this happened when I was 11, 12, and 13. For the most part, I’ve managed to put it all behind me and move on from the bullying that I endured for three years. In 2010, when it was our ten year reunion from middle school, we met up for dinner. Silly me thought that maybe people would have changed in ten years. Instead, they laughed about how funny it was when they had teased and taunted me and when I told them that those things had actually hurt and had caused a huge fall out, they continued to laugh and tell me that I was being too serious.

There were two major reasons for my being bullied; my religion and the music band Hanson. Let’s start with religion. I was born and raised Roman Catholic. In the Catholic faith it is believe that when a baby is baptized, he or she is cleansed from original sin and can thus began their life washed anew. There are other sacraments, like first communion, confession, and confirmation that help to keep you free of sin as you journey through life. My classmates didn’t believe this. My classmates were mostly Baptist with a few Episcopalians and Presbyterians thrown in.

One girl asked me one day when I had been saved. I remember looking around, confused, because I had never heard that term before. I asked her what she meant and she asked me if I had gone to the principal and prayed with her and agreed to accept Jesus into my heart. I told her that no, I hadn’t, because I was Catholic and had been baptized and I already had Jesus in my heart. I was then told that I was wrong and when I went to hell, it would be fault and my fault only for not following the true teachings of Christ.

That’s where the issues first began. I was 11 years old and suddenly I’m being told that I have not in fact been saved and cleansed of sin and I’m going to hell unless I do it their way? I went home that night in tears. In fact, tears would be a common theme for those three years. There was rarely a night where I didn’t sob over my dinner because of how terrible school was. Even the teachers were in on it! They kept pushing me to accept Jesus and every time I told them that I had, I was told that I was a wrong and an infant cannot accept Jesus.

In addition to all of that which was going on, during my sixth grade year, I became a fan of Hanson. I just loved their music. As most fans do, I had the tshirts and the books and the whole shebang. I can remember one dress down day, there were whispers going everywhere. I didn’t pay attention, because at that point I was tired of the whispers, but before I knew it there was a parade of upperclassmen opening my classroom door to look at and laugh at my Hanson tshirt.

I was trying to hold it together, but it didn’t last very long. I excused myself to the bathroom where I had a good cry. In that moment, I decided that I wasn’t going to let them win. Why should I?

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t still cry about it at night. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t purposefully wearing things I knew they’d tease me about, but I wanted them to think that they couldn’t get to me. That they couldn’t hurt me. It wasn’t true, but at 11 what did I know, really? I remember one class, we a substitute and everyone else was being holy terrors. I had finished my assignment and was reading a book when the substitute came over and asked me to point out my name to him. I pointed it out and he thanked me.

    At that school, we had a check system for the day. It’s been so long, I can’t remember how many checks it was but if you got more than two checks for bad behavior, you received detention. I was the only person in the classroom that day that didn’t get a check mark. Oh, you can imagine the insanity that happened. Someone tried to tell the teacher it wasn’t fair because I had spoken to him. I think that was the beginning of my true breaking point. They were willing to stoop that low? They wanted to hurt me that badly?

    In seventh grade is when I began to cut. At first it was nothing more that little scratches because I was afraid my parents would find out and I didn’t want to hurt or upset them. In school, I would dig my fingers into the undersides of my arms with my arms crossed until I drew blood. It was the only way I knew how to keep myself under control. Seventh grade was also when I finally broke down and went to see the principal and accept Jesus into my heart. My thinking on that one was that I already believed he was in my heart, so what harm could it do?

    Unfortunately, the principal announces to the school who has finally accepted Jesus and all I got were smug “I told you so” looks from the bullies. From that point on, I was a different person entirely. I was defiant, I didn’t care what they wanted me to do or who they wanted me to be. I purposefully did the exact opposite of what I was told to do simply because I was tired of trying. I had cried for so many nights and I had even gone to the principal about it and I was told that I just needed to conform and everything would be okay.

    Once I left that school and entered high school, things were okay. I wasn’t bullied there, but the scars from the past remained with me. I made very little friends because I didn’t know who I could trust and who was going to hurt me all over again. I had people I was friendly with, but nothing that I would consider a true friendship. However in high school, the panic attacks started and for four years, I suffered silently because I was afraid there was something really wrong with me.

    The attacks were random, but they all had the same common theme : death. I was so afraid of what comes after that I would end up hyperventilating, unable to breathe, crying, shaking, and sweating. If the Baptists are telling the Catholic they have it wrong, and the Muslims are telling the world that they have it wrong (I was a sophomore when 9/11 happened), then who was right?! I couldn’t handle the stress of not knowing. I tried researching and I realized that there were common themes in all religions but I still couldn’t find the answer that would calm my panic attacks.

    The self mutilation got worse in high school. Or rather, maybe I should say it became more frequent. I was honestly afraid that I was downright mentally insane and I was going to be put in a mental hospital if I spoke a word of it to anyone. So I hid it and didn’t say a word. Every time I had a panic attack, I would bite my hands or my arms almost to the point of blood and then I would stop. For some reason, the pain centered me and brought my mind out of it’s panicky fog.

    I remember one attack. I was sitting in religion class and I suddenly felt like … like I wasn’t in my own body. That feeling where your skin is all pins and needles and prickly and you can’t tell if this is real life or if you’re dreaming. Only my mind interpreted it as “HA! You’re not alive! You’re dead. This is death and you are trapped in this school forever!” I remember running from the classroom with permission to the nearest bathroom. I was so panicked and so shaken up that I began to vomit and couldn’t stop.

    Once again, I turned to self mutilation to calm my brain down and when the shivers and shakes had finished, I washed my face, rinsed my mouth out and returned to class. My teacher looked horrified. My eyes were red from crying, my hair was matted down from being so sweaty. I gave her my best smile and told her that I wasn’t feeling well and since it was last period of the day, she told me to lay my head on my desk and rest.

    From 2003-2008 I dealt with a lot of death. I lost a beloved aunt to ALS. We lost a wonderful family friend due to old age. I lost my grandfather in 2006 and the hardest one of all, my gran in 2008. She died of a massive and sudden heart attack. No one was expecting it and to this day, I go to pick up the phone to call her or send her an email. Luckily for me, in the summer of 2004, I had a panic attack so bad (I know that doesn’t sound lucky, but it really was) that my mom finally clued into the fact that something just wasn’t right.

    I had been napping on the couch and had gotten overheated in the humid summer air. For some reason, heat is a huge trigger for me. If I get overheated and can’t cool down, a panic attack is guaranteed. That afternoon I had a dream that I was headed off to college (which I was. I went to RIC in the fall of 04) and while I was in my dorm, someone broke into my house and killed my family and when the cops came to tell me, the first thing they said was “The man came for you. If you had been there, your family would still be alive.”

    That panic attack was so bad that I ended up in the ER two days later. I couldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t sleep, I felt like there was a rock lodged in my stomach. I lost 9 pounds in almost three days because of how horrible I felt. I remember, the day of the attack, my mom sitting with me on the couch and it finally all came pouring out. The six years of attacks, the reasons why, why I didn’t want to

tell anyone, all of the reasons why I was so scared to be me. She called my pediatrician that day and we set up an appointment for three days later but ended up in the ER due to dehydration because I couldn’t keep anything down.

    The doctor I was referred to was amazing. He was patient and kind and he listened to everything I said, everything I babbled out. Both of my parents were there at the appointment as support and he asked them questions as well as me. Both of my parents were surprised at the symptoms they had noticed but had assumed was normal adolescence. When we came out of the appointment, I had a sample box of Paxil to try and a slew of diagnosis.

    I currently (as of the writing of this article in 2013) have been diagnosed with bipolar II, generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder. Now, as a medical person myself, I do know that most of these are caused by imbalances in the brain chemistry. But what I also know is that the bullying that lead the onset of my panic attacks didn’t help. Would I have developed panic disorder anyway? Maybe. It’s certainly a possibility.

    But I also know that when therapists and doctors ask me when all of this began, I can pinpoint it. I can say to them “It started in middle school and got worse through the years”. This isn’t a piece on who is right and who is wrong when it comes to religious beliefs. I consider myself agnostic now as I try and find the pieces of who I am and what I believe. This is a piece that I hope even just ONE person reads and realizes how serious and traumatizing bullying can be.

People take their lives because of bullying. I’m a lucky one. My parents are my rocks and without them, I don’t know what I would do. I know I’m lucky but there is one child out there, right now, who won’t be so lucky. I write you this story, this piece about my life, in the hopes that maybe someone won’t have to turn to suicide to feel better about who they are. We’re all amazing. We all have potential. We just need someone to believe in us.

   

knowing when to cut your losses

I've not had the best luck when it comes to "love", so to speak. The only real boyfriend I've ever had sexually assaulted me and the one man that I was in love with never loved me enough to choose me. I met someone that I thought could really fit me. We seemed so compatible. He was like me, only a dude. But I guess there are some things that aren't meant to be. Maybe I said too much too soon. But I felt backed into a corner with constant questions.

My brother tells me that it's all a "game" these days and that if you don't play the "game" then you're not going to get anywhere. I am 26 years old. I do not feel like playing any games and if I have to play one to find someone? I don't know that I want to find someone. I don't trust easily and it takes a lot to gain it so once you have it, you better be careful with it because if you lose it, you won't be getting it back. Maybe that makes me a bitch and maybe it means I won't ever find love. I don't know. I like to think that some guy out there will want to take me on as is. I guess we'll see what happens in the future. 

Christmas .....

Today was hard. So incredibly hard. I don't have the words right now. Today was the first day I've been back to my Gran's grave since she died almost 5 years ago. Today was the first holiday held in her and Papa's house since she died. It was just ... unbelievably hard. Thank god for my cousins. They help to keep it real, help to keep me grounded. I miss her so much, I can't even begin to describe it. The pain has mostly dulled but every so often, like at dinner tonight after grace was said, it's like a knife in the heart. I miss her deeply.

Gran's grave. She's buried with her mother & her father.

My Gran and Papa. I believe this photo is from 1992.

The Frazier side of our family did a photo shoot together.

I believe I was about six in the photos, so 92 is my best guess.

The poem that was on Gran's funeral cards.

All 16 grandchildren, 6 daughters, & 6 sons-in-law

all laid white roses in her grave, along with my Papa.

I can't believe it's been almost five years. It feels like just yesterday. I just miss her so much. More than I ever knew was possible to miss someone. If there ever was a time for faith, it's when I'm missing her and hoping that I'll get to see her again someday. Please, let there be a someday where I'll see her again.

We will never forget ....

Today is 9/11. It is a day to remember our fallen heroes and the victims of the terrorist attack.

We buried my great uncle this morning. He served overseas and had a military burial. Around the time of that one of the towers fell, we were sitting in the funeral home chapel, paying homage to my great uncle, a war veteran. We listened to stories of the things Pop Pop Charlie had done. I wanted to stand up and say something, but I felt that what I had to say paled in comparison. The only thing I could say was "He was the only one who always called me Caitlin Bridget. Always." because, you see, three months before I was born, my cousin Caitlin, spelled the exact same way, was born. So to him, I was always Caitlin Bridget. It was how he made me special in a world full of people with the same name.

My brother, a Airman in the US Air Force, stood in his dress blues and saluted my great uncle's casket while TAPS was played. My great uncle was also his godfather and my brother felt it proper to pay him homage this way. He looked so handsome standing there in his dress blues, at attention, his hand up in a salute.

I had almost forgotten what day it was today, being so wrapped up and emotionally strung out from the wake last night and the funeral today. And for some reason, seeing my baby brother (okay so he's 24 but he'll always be my baby brother), I just started bawling. How did he get to be so big? Will something happen that will send him overseas to protect us because we've  been attacked again?

Everything is up in the air, but tonight, I do know one thing. My Pop Pop Charlie, my Grandpa, and their brother George are all reuinted together. Even more important, I know that my Pop Pop Charlie and his beloved wife, whom he lost in 1974, are sharing a dance that's been a long time coming. While it's hard for us to lose him, I know he's missed his wife every day since she passed and it must have felt like coming home again to see her there when he stepped through the gates of Heaven. I have no doubt that she was waiting for him.

I didn't get a picture of the casket with the flag on, but I did get one from the window of the car as we were pulling away. There's a simple sort of beauty to the display of love in this picture. While I don't like the idea of him in a box, it's a beautiful box, much like he was in life. He has so many who loved him and will continue to love him until we see him again.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

(traditional Gaelic blessing)

What Truly Makes Life Worth Living

I'm a very lucky girl in a lot of ways. I have amazing friends that I have the pleasure of calling family. Amazing little ones that I get to call my nieces and nephews and who call me Auntie even though we don't share any DNA. I love those kids just as much, if not more, than the people whom I do share DNA with. These last few weeks have been really hard on me. I've been in a place in my life where I don't really know if I'm coming or going. I can't decide what the next step is. I can't decide where I want to go next.

I'm 26 years old, I have a job that I would love if my boss wasn't such a narrow minded irritant. I only have an associates, yet I am nationally certified in what I do. I want my bachelors. I want to find love. I want a family. I'm envious when I log onto Facebook and see all of these friends I went to elementary and middle and high school with who have found their lobster and are married, have kids, or are about to have kids.

I feel like I've been wasting my life. What have I been doing? What do I have to show for the things I've done? What are my achievements? And you know what I've come to learn? 

Being a good person, doing things for others without expecting anything in return, wanting mankind as a whole to be better simply because I know they can be? That's a damn good achievement. Having people in my life who KNOW they can count on me, people who know they can pick up the phone and ask a favor and I'll be there for them? That's a damn good achievement. 

You see this little dude right here? This is the Birdman. His mom and I were friendly in high school. She was a year older than I and I always admired her. She was strong, the kind of girl I wished I could be. Randomly, last October, she was in need of a sitter for Calix and I offered. I'd worked daycare, I wasn't a total stranger to her. Let me tell you. Best. Decision. Ever. Made. I have a date tonight with Birdman and I'm excited. I'm excited every time I see him.  I get the biggest hugs and the sweetest kisses and he snuggles up to me on the couch and says "C'mere, I just wanna hug ya" and when I pick him up to carry him to bed his little arms tighten around my neck and his little voice whispers "I just love you so much, you know that?"

The last time I watched him, he started calling me Auntie on his own. Up until now, I'd just been Caitie. And without warning or preamble, he was calling me Auntie. Not even "Auntie Caitie" just Auntie. And let me tell you, I already thought this boy couldn't make my heart swell anymore than he already has. I thank my lucky stars that his mom and his dad entrust him to me. They trust that I'm going to take good care of their boy and love them when they're not there. They know I'll attend to his hurts and soothe bad dreams and I'll do everything they would do if they were there. Because that's what Aunties do, you know. They love you like your parents, keep secrets like nobody else, and they help to keep you in line.

It's not about blood or DNA or any of those things. It's about the organ that sits in your chest, eighteen inches from your head. It's that organ that clenches tight at the sound of a wail and explodes into a million pieces with a sweet little kiss.

There's another little three year old that I watch. I call him Mac. He has a baby sister, who's nine months old, and a bit of a clingy girl. She hates when Mama's not there and sometimes she takes up a lot of my attention, leaving the older two to play together or watch a movie. And I always feel bad. I feel bad that T takes up so much time and that I can't play with them like I want to.

Last Saturday, I was watching them and Little Miss T needed a bath. Sweet potatoes stain blond hair, you know. And Mac came into the bathroom with me, wedged his little body right between the toilet and the tub and put his little hand on my shoulder. "Caitie? You take such great care of my sister. Thank you for taking care of her," and he kissed my cheek as I was knelt over the tub, trying to wash apricots and sweet potato from the giggly girl's hair.

And you know what? It's not about the degrees you have or the job you do or anything like that. It's the way the people in your life make you feel and the way you make them feel. I posted these last two things on Facebook the other weekend. The first one was while I was watching my nieces and nephew, aged 8, 6, and 2. The second one was while I was taking care of Mac and his sisters, aged 5, 3, and nine months. Said nieces and nephew are in that pic at the top of my post. The little dude in my lap, and the two girls in pink right beside him. The dude in black with the goofy smile is my actual brother. He's 24. 

Anyway, it's late and now I am officially rambling. Here are those two facebook posts and with those, and this post, I finally feel like maybe ... just maybe ... I've been on that right path all along.

Things I Have Learned Today: (8/24/12)

*I hate driving in traffic. (I knew this, but it was reinforced.)
*2 and a half year olds are AWESOME birth control
*Telling said 2 and a half year old "Jay Thomas, you sit down or take that pop out of your mouth!" gets me a twenty minute "Who Thomas? Thomas Train? Why you say Jay Thomas?"
*Grateful little girls who say please and thank you make me want to give them the world.

*My boobs are apparently the perfect aiming target for aforementioned toddler.
*Playing Call Me Maybe is the PERFECT bribe to get a 2 year old to pee in the potty. Also, Junior Mints help too.
*Listening to my little nephew's voice telling me sweetly "Hi, Auntie. You home now. We go Chuck E Cheese. I play games" as the first words out of his mouth when he woke up and saw me makes me want to take him and let him play ALL the games.
*I still want kids, but I want a few more years of sleep.

Things I Have Learned Today (8/25/12)

* Accidents cause traffic even if the accident isn't on your side of the highway. I HATE RUBBERNECKERS.
* I have FINALLY learned the difference between T's mad cry, hungry cry, and sleepy cry. THIS ONE IS A BIG WIN FOR ALL.
* I love snuggling post bath, freshly smelling babies who want ALLTHESNUGGLES.
* I have a very melty heart when a very adorable 3 year old says to me "Caitie? You take such great care of my baby sister. Thanks!" as he pats my shoulder and kisses my cheek as I'm knelt over the tub giving said baby sister a bath.

* Don't ask a 3 year old a question unless you are REALLY sure you want the answer.
* There is nothing sweeter than listening to a big sister read bedtime stories to her little brother.
* There is also nothing better than two VERY understanding big siblings who understand their baby sibling needs a little extra TLC and do their best to help me and/or occupy themselves without killing each other, the cats, or destroying the house.
* Zo-Li sip cups are the most amazing invention ever and they get fussy baby to take mama milk without fighting me and the bottle.
* Ticklish almost 9 month olds have the best laugh in the world.
* A quiet house, with three sleeping children and the sound of lullabies playing from upstairs makes me feel accomplished and eager for another night to do it all again with them.

xoxo,

Caitie

Clam Cakes and Auntie Maur

So, I've been told that clam cakes are a New England thing. Or, rather, a coastal New England thing. Rhode Island, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Maine. I love them. I've loved them for as long as I can remember. It's a family tradition to have chowder and clam cakes on the 4th. My beloved aunt Maureen, who passed away in 2003 due to ALS, was the one who used to make them for us.

You know ... I often wonder if things happen unconsciously for a reason. Like if there's something in the back of your brain that's telling you "You have to do this. Now. There won't be time again." The summer before my aunt was diagnosed, I asked to help with the clam cakes. I'd never helped before but that summer, there was something in me that NEEDED to help her do this. So from start to finish, I watched. How much batter mix went into the bowl. How many cans of clams and how much clam juice. (we never have enough. I've told my grandmother we need at least three cans and she only ever buys two. NEEDS. MORE. CLAMS!)

Anyway, that July, I watched. And I watched her stir the batter into the right consistency. You need it thick, like spackle. And it has to stick. If it's not sticking to the spoon and the bowl, it's not right. It can't be too thin but it can't be too dry, either. I can't explain it, because there's no set recipe. It totally depends on the weather outside. If it's humid, you don't need as much liquid. If it's dry and hot, you need a bit more than normal. It's all by sight and touch.

In October, she was diagnosed. I'll never forget the night we found out. It was the first time I had seen my dad cry. He hung up the phone and kind of just slid, all boneless like, into a dining room chair. His face was white and his green eyes had tears in them. They told us that most ALS patients have about 5-10 years to live - but she had already had symptoms for a lot of years. From the time she was diagnosed, we had three years with her.

ALS, also known as Lou Gherig's Disease, is a horrible, terrible disease. The long and short of it (without getting too technical) is that the nerves basically die, rendering the muscles useless. For my aunt, it started in her legs. Feet problems, I believe it was drop foot that initially had her realizing that something was wrong. It took years for her to get diagnosed. I believe it was almost two (I could be wrong on that, it's been awhile).

Slowly, over the course of the next three years, my aunt became increasingly more paralyzed. She was eventually wheelchair bound and at the end, she couldn't move anything. Not her legs, not her hands, nothing. She passed away in the evening hours of Thursday, November 6, 2003. It was both heart breaking and a blessing. It was so hard to lose her, but at the same time, I knew she was up above us, dancing around and using all those muscles and limbs of hers.

Anyway, I got off on a tangent there, as I tend to do sometimes. The summer after she was diagnosed, I made the clam cakes for the first time under her supervision. She told me she was having trouble stirring and let me do it all. The clam cakes were a success! And from that moment on, I've made the clam cakes every single Fourth of July. It's a bitter sweet task for me. I love doing it. I love that I can make them. There's nothing like scooping batter off of two teaspoons into hot oil and listening to them cook. The whole experience just screams Fourth of July to me.

But it makes me miss her. The kitchen of the house where I currently live, my grandmother's house, is the same kitchen where she taught me how to make them. And every time I'm in there alone on the 4th, mixing the batter and heating the lard to fry them, I always think of her and that last 4th we had together, working to make the clam cakes. So many things have happened since we lost her nine years ago. Her daughter, my aunt, got married. She blessed the family with two gorgeous, amazing kids. I graduated high school and college. My brother joined the Air Force and has since been to both boot camp and tech school.

There are lots of moments throughout the years when I miss her, but nothing makes me miss her like making clam cakes on the Fourth of July. We love you, Auntie Maur, and we miss you terribly. I hope you're having fun wherever you are.

How To Make Clam Cakes!

Step One!

This is what you fry your clam cakes in. 

Scoop it out and get it hot while you make your batter. 

Step Two!

Melting lard. It really looks gross.

And kind of makes you feel like a fat ass hahah!

Step Three!

Your ingredients! I forgot to take a picture of the batter mix.

We just use a local mix that's for fritters and clam cakes.

Like I said above, you REALLY need at least three cans of clams.

They weren't as clammy this year as I like, so next year, I'll make sure to get three cans.
 

 Step Four!

This is what your batter should look like. 

This year it ended up being the two cans of clams (PLUS their juice) and half the bottle of juice.

It's really sticky and when you pull the dough out on spoons, the dough stretches kind of like pizza dough.

Step Five!

Fry the little suckers hahah.

The really cool thing about these is that they cook themselves. Honestly!

When they're done, they flip themselves over. After they flip, give them about two-three minutes.

Then remove them from the lard with a slotted spoon and dry on paper towel! 

Step Six!

Dry and serve! 

They're so hot when they come out that I just pile them on top of each other on the paper towel.

They keep each other hot without being "burn your mouth" hot.

I personally serve mine with some cocktail sauce and/or dip them in my chowder broth!

I hope everyone had a lovely and relaxing Fourth of July! Here's to the rest of a great summer!

Healing Up

So ... I had foot surgery on April 13th. My last post spoke of it, but I was so doped up on meds, it probably doesn't make sense!

We thought it was just a simply ganglion cyst removal. Welp, when I came out of surgery they told me it wasn't a cyst but it was filled with blood and they didn't really know what it was. And OH, by the way - here's some crutches and stay off your feet for a week, don't change the bandage for at least five days, and here's some Percocet cause it's gonna hurt.

Saturday and Sunday of that week were a BITCH. I was in so much pain I pretty much stayed drugged on Klonopin and Percocet so I could sleep. Percs didn't make me sleepy, they made me high as fuck and it gave me headaches so I took the K-pins to sleep. Rest of the week was okay, didn't do much, slept a lot. Went back to work this past Monday after being out for six freaking days, had my first post-op appointment tonight.

Turns out it was a ruptured blood vessel. Which, apparently he knew that SOMETHING had happened to the blood vessel when he closed my foot up cause the whole point of crutches for a week was because he didn't want my putting pressure on the foot and rupturing those sutures in the vessel. So he thinks that somehow the blood vessel got injured and then the injured part swelled and that's what was bulging out of my foot. So basically, what they cut out of my foot was the injured part of the vessel but they didn't know that at the time of surgery. They thought maybe it was a tumor or something. So they took it out, stitched the vessel closed, sent the part they removed to pathology, and here we are.

Unfortunately, they don't know WHAT caused it. I don't remember any trauma or injury and I would think that I would have had to have bruised my foot pretty badly for it to have happened. Since we don't know what caused it, we can't be 100% sure that it won't happen again or that it won't happen in the other foot. So much fun, right? Stitches are out though and in a few days I can stop bandaging it and give it a good cleaning. It's super bruised and there are still marks on it from the surgery pen.

Pre-Surgery:

Post-Surgery:

the perils of foot surgery.

Day ... five of laying in bed like a lazy ass. Stupid frigging foot surgery. I should have known that this would happen. It always does. First, the surgery was delayed four hours. (OMG I was so frigging starving!) and then it turns out that it wasn't a ganglion cyst like they thought, they don't know what it is so it's been sent to pathology, and oh by the way ... you have three times as many stitches as we thought you were going to have and you're going to be on crutches for the next ten days. Not to mention the excruciating pain and the being unable to put pressure on my foot.

Luckily, I have wonderful parents who make food for me or else I would starve to death. My brother was wonderful though. He took me in for the surgery and brought me back home and fed me and made sure I had my meds and he even carried me through Walgreens to get my meds so I didn't have to use said stupid crutches. Percocet? I highly recommend it. Seriously. So good.

But I had feeling dependent on people and I hate having to hop, on legged, into the bathroom and then back from the bathroom and being exhausted and needing a nap because it takes SO much energy to move around. And I have to be back to work on Monday, healed or not, cause someone else is already out on Vacation. I might be napping instead of eating come lunch time. Stitches come out Wednesday, though, hopefully so I hope there's more progress between now and Monday.

Now I'm off to eat my yummy bagel sandwich consisting of ham and cheese that my daddy made me so I don't starve to death. 

winter in new england

so much has happened in the past few weeks and most of it i can't say in public simply because i don't know who i can trust and i really cannot afford to bring any bad things down upon me so .... pictures! i took these this morning. it's our first TRUE snowstorm of the season and we've already gotten 5+ inches. they say we're only supposed to get 8, but it doesn't look like it's stopping any time soon! anybody out there got warm weather and wants to send it my way??? so not a snow fall kind of girl. i'm looking forward to my 80 degree days again!!

xoxo,

caitie

I don't want to be in love with you anymore.

I'm so sick and tired of being in love with you. I don't want to love you anymore. I don't want you in my thoughts anymore. I don't want you invading my dreams. I can go months without thinking of you, without remembering how you made me feel. I can meet another man and not want to compare him to you. I can develop a crush and not feel guilty about it. And then, out of nowhere, you come slamming back into my life. Why? Why can't you just STAY gone?! I don't want to love you anymore. I don't want to be in love with you.

I know you're not the person I fell in love with. That person doesn't exist. I don't know if he ever really did. Logically, I know that he wasn't a figment of my imagination. After the assault, you were everything I needed you to be. You soothed the hand shaped bruises left on both flesh and psyche. You were the strength I needed when I didn't even know who I was or who I wanted to be. When I was lost and couldn't lift my head above the current, you were the raft I needed. When it all crashed down the first time, I convinced myself I didn't need you. I convinced myself I was better than you and your love.

But you came back in. And you shook my entire world up. I admit, part of that was my fault. I was so incredibly stupid for seeking you out in the first place. But I had wounds that I needed healed. I needed that closure. I should have known you'd never give it to me. Instead, you stirred me back up. Instead, you made me fall in love with you all over again. To see you with your little girl, to see you being the man I always knew you could be ... how could I not fall in love with that? I could hardly breathe when in your presence.

Was it a lie? Was everything a lie? You're not that person and I know this. Logically, I know that you are not who I think you are. You never outright lied to me. You never pretended to be something you weren't. But with me, you were always different. You weren't the manwhore everyone expected you to be. You were quiet. You were calm. You balanced out my crazy. You were one of a few people who could put me in my place without hurting my feelings. You did it with tact and grace while still being firm.

You are selfish. You are arrogant. You care more about the things you think will make you into the person you want to be. Why couldn't you see that we were both in the same place? Didn't you realize that we could've helped each other to find the place we wanted to be? I finally came to see you would never be anything more than a man-child. Forever, in my heart, you will be the one who pieced me back together. You will be my first love, until the day I die. But I don't want to be in love with you anymore.

I want you to stop invading my dreams. I am sick to death of dreaming of her. She will never be OUR daughter. I will never have children with you. So why, when I dream of her, are you always there? I don't want you there. I don't want you tainting those moments. I don't want to dream of you anymore. I don't want to dream of her either, to be honest. I suppose in my mind, she'll always be yours. My blue eyes, your jet black hair, and chubby rolls. I'm sick to death of it. Would we have made a beautiful child? Of that, I have no doubt. But it will never happen. You are not meant to be the father of my children. I wish you would just disappear. I wish I could control my dreams.

It's easy to realize all of this when I'm awake. It's easy to be logical when I'm awake. I'm tired of hurting over you. I'm tired of letting myself fall back into that same pattern. I so badly want to unblock your profile from Facebook. But I won't. I can't stand to see the pictures. I want to tell myself that I am over you. That you were nothing more than the older boy that my high school self was in love with. But you couldn't let me have that, could you? You had to tell me that you were in love with me too. You had to tell me that I'd be a lucky catch for any guy and that you'd be forever jealous of the man who got to have me as his wife and the mother of his child.

Was I supposed to be flattered by that? Was that supposed to make me feel good about myself? Because in reality, all it did was piss me off. If you're so jealous, then why couldn't you man up and be that man? Another crush told me that I was good enough to fuck but not good enough to date. Is that how you see me as well? I'm good enough to fool around with but never to settle with? You can pick up the broken pieces and glue them back together but you can't stick around to see how well the glue dries?

I don't want to be in love with you anymore. I'm sick and tired of thinking of you. I want you gone from my life forever. Why can't I seem to get rid of you, even after all these years?

this is a hard post for me to write ....

cutting this post due to talk of sensitive topics such as abortion and fetal death.

living with BDD

Part of this whole body dysmorphic disorder, for me, happens to be 1) my hair and 2) the numbers on the scale. Luckily, now that I'm medicated for it, I can logically realize that I'm being irrational. The numbers don't necessarily matter. When I was at 105, I looked horrible. I was a stick. A skeleton. But that number sounds SO nice in my head. I love the way it sounds. I want to be that weight again ... except, I don't really. I didn't look healthy, I didn't look good. Everyone commented about it, they were worried for me because of how I looked.

I'm at 135 currently. I'm okay with the way I look in the mirror. Not thrilled, but okay. I started a Zumba class last night and I'm super excited for it. I'm signing up for it and I'll be going every Tuesday and Thursday. I hope this helps. I HATE exercise. ABHOR it. But this was tons of fun dancing! It didn't feel like exercise! One day at a time, right? Another step closer to better, overall mental health. My hair kicks ass right now, I love the colors, so that makes me happy. Now if I can just stop with the number obsession.

Music Thursday!!!!

Check out this AMAZING cover of Nelly's Just a Dream! 



it's tuesday, but all day it felt like monday

Okay, so, first things first! Fucking AMAZING short film by the UBER talented Mr Avan Jogia. Yes, yes, THE founder of Straight But Not Narrow. It's great and I love it.

Watch it! It's GREAT!!!!!

Secondly ... I accidentally snagged a purple surgery marking pen from the ER on Sunday. Yes, I do mean accidentally. I have this thing with pens, I don't even realize that I pick them up and all of a sudden, there's a new pen in my pocket. But this is an AWESOME pen cause .... well, I can draw new tattoos on myself every day and then wipe them off at night with baby wipes and alcohol pads! I love it. I had TWLOHA all day today and tomorrow I'm gonna put SBNN on my wrist. I tried out my new tattoo earlier and I still am not 100% on where I want to put it. I kind of like it on my forearm, but I think momma might F R E A K. So we'll see. 

Thirdly ... I kept thinking today was Monday. For most of the day. It FELT like a Monday. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. the two systems we use at work for patient care/tracking/billing .. pretty much EVERYTHING went down for a good twenty minutes. Part and parcel of being part of the "electronic" age ... we couldn't do SHIT. Then our phones went down for like an hour. See what I mean?! MONDAY.

Friday, I think I'm headed out to Mardi Gras for Steve's band. I don't know. We'll see how the week goes. We're going to Connecticut on Saturday (IF THE POWER COMES BACK ON DAMMIT!!!!!) for my Papa and my cousin's birthdays so I might not cause I don't want to be exhausted and hung over on Saturday. I'd rather get my drink on THERE. ;) I asked a coworker to go with, so if she mentions it, we'll go. If she forgets, I won't bring it up. We shall see how it goes.

Wisdom toothery happening. Only need one out, but it's entangled with the nerves in my jaw. FUN. Only ... not. So, November 23rd that sucker is coming out. They're going to knock my ass out and then dope me up with percocet so woohoo! Thanksgiving should be mighty fun this year. ........ I think that's it, y'all! Not much more from me. Watch Avan's movie and then check back on Thursday for Music Thursday!!!

Beannachtaí ort a chara,

Caitie

~asaintedsinner~

oh my lord in heaven - Music Thursday!

I am beyond in love with this song. Her voice is fucking INCREDIBLE and the lyrics are SO powerful. I vaguely recognize it, but I think this one was a bit before my remembering time as far as music goes. Until I hit middle school, I pretty much listened to whatever momma and daddy were playing.  The other version of this one that I am in love with is Christian Kane's version. YUMMY YUMMY. That long hair and that voice. Hell, both of them. I'd bat for both teams for either one of them hahahaha.

i wrote this one year ago

"The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future." --- Oscar Wilde

I don't know why this quote has been stuck with me for months now. Actually, that's a bit of a lie. The quote that has been stuck in my head is "every saint has a past, every sinner has a future" and it wasn't until the other day that I realized there was more to the quote and that it's an Oscar Wilde quote. But for whatever reason, it's been stuck there and recently I made a change of my AIM name to asaintedsinner and I changed my email address to asaintedsinner@gmail.com and my twitter is now asaintedsinner and as soon as funds come available, I'll change my journal to asaintedsinner. I know I mentioned changing my journal before but I was going to go to asaintlysinner but I like asaintedsinner better. I don't know what it is about it but it gives me hope. Does that sound completely and utterly weird?

I was thinking at work earlier, between patients, that I am a horribly negative person. I know a lot of people must think that I probably only update my journal when something bad's going on because that's when I need the comfort of others ... but no. There's just literally always something bad going on. And I cannot live like this anymore. I don't exactly know where I'm going to start because I do know that some things (like the grandmother issue) is out of my control. The economy is bad. I make good money per hour but I can only work part time right now because of the accident. I don't know what's going to happen once the doc releases me for full time work. Supposedly there are positions open at my job but you know what? I don't think they'd give them to me. Not yet, anyway. Since I took this job in September I've had to miss several days because of emergency dentist appointments and car trouble and ... while I'm trying my fucking hardest to be as reliable as possible and when I'm at work I do a damn good job ... I think I have a little while to go to prove myself.

I'm a shy person. I don't know if that comes off in journals because I think it's easier to seem stronger when you're on the internet, but I'm shy. At least until I get to know you and then I can be the most obnoxiously loud person on the planet. But upon initially meeting someone? Shier than shy. I hate rejection. I walk into a room, I talk to a few people, I move on to talk to new people and I am immediately paranoid that those first people are talking badly about me. They don't even have to give a reason as to why, they don't have to do anything that would make a sane person think they were talking about you badly, but I just get so paranoid. The idea of rejection makes me want to throw up all over the place. It's happened and it was horrible when it did. I'll never forget this one time ... this kid and I had been hanging out, he'd platonically spent the night at my dorm room, it was all good. He was cute, I liked him. I ran into him on campus and he could tell I'd had a stressed out day. He hugged me and I asked him for a kiss. I don't know where I got the guts to, but it wasn't like we hadn't already kissed. He kind of got this bewildered expression on his face and asked me why. I got away from him as quickly as I could and never saw him again.

I hold onto the past. It's not a good thing, but I do it. I can't let things go. I use everything as an excuse as to why I can't do something. I can't go out and date because of what Chris did. Boys can't be trusted because Tommy's a fucktard. I can't make the first move because they'll all reject me like Dave did. It's not healthy, and I know it's not, but I don't know how to move forward. I don't know how to let it all go, to realize that not every person is going to be like those three. There was another boy, not too long ago. He worked at the pub where my parents go every weekend. The owner of the pub is a sweetheart and she loves us and she kept trying to set me and James up. I came down to the pub several nights, but the first night he was so busy we couldn't talk and the next time he was on vacation. So the first night, while a little on the tipsy side, I had Nicole give him my number. And he texted me. And we texted for awhile. And then the texts stopped. I was the last one to text. I wasn't going to be the next one. I refuse to seem desperate. Don't get me wrong ... I think I might be hahah. I feel like I'm going to be alone forever. My biggest dream above all of them was being a wife and a mommy and I feel like it's never going to come true. I know that it can't come true unless I put some work into it ... but I don't know where to start. I don't like knowing that I could be rejected. I don't like the idea that I could really get into a guy and spend months or possibly even years with him and have it end while I'm still so invested. I know that other people go through this all the time. I know that I'm not the only one. People go through this all the time. Sometimes it makes people better, stronger, in the end. I guess I'm just insanely scared of becoming even more broken than I am.

I had a come to Jesus meeting with my grandmother. I'm tired of the complaining. I'm tired of the "oh I can't do" or ... or the fact that as long as she isn't inconvenienced, who cares if the rest of us are? We're going to Maine for Christmas to be with my mom's family. This year we'll be with my dad's family for Thanksgiving and my mom's for Christmas. But we almost didn't get to go to Maine. Cause my grandmother refuses to drive to her niece's house. It's not that she can't. It's that she doesn't want to. She was going to sit home alone on Christmas and let us go to Maine. Never mind the fact that that's just wrong, on a human level, but we'd have to listen to it. For days and weeks and months. That's why we never ask her for help. Because she complains for DAYS. Oh my thumb hurts. Oh my back hurts. Oh peeling those potatoes really took it out of me. SUCK IT UP. We all have to do things that sometimes hurt. My mom and I do SO much, sometimes beyond our means, just so we don't have to listen to her. That's how bad it gets. And I can't escape that right now. I just can't. I barely make enough each month to pay the two measly bills I have. I can't pay rent. I couldn't afford it.

But I need to get better. And I know this. I have hope, like a sainted sinner. Every saint has a past ... just because they're good now doesn't mean they've always been good. Doesn't mean they didn't have their hardships. Didn't have their struggles. But they worked through it and they persevered. Every sinner has a future. Just because things are bad now doesn't mean they can't get better. Just because you've made the wrong choices now doesn't mean you can't pull yourself up, make it better. You can correct the errors of your ways. And that's what I wanna do. Go from bad to good. Make myself better. Now ... I just need a game plan.

in the dip of the valley between mountains

I'm in that blah spot again. Since August everything was planning for the concert and for Meg to come and our trip to Boston. Each day was one day closer to the "big event" and now it's been two weeks and I don't have anything, currently, to really look forward to. Sure, there's the country band at the Pub and that was SO much fun last time, but it's not encouraging me the way the concert did.

I hate being here. I feel like I shouldn't be so blah. I feel like I should appreciate the little things and not be looking out for the big things, but it's hard. I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately and I'm tired of settling. I want butterflies and sparky feelings and and and .... I don't know. I don't want the fairytale, but I wouldn't mind something close to it.

14 years and counting

It may sound stupid or even simple. Hell, it might even sound a little childish, especially considering I'm 25 years old.

However ... seeing Hanson in concert on Sunday and getting the opportunity to shake Taylor's hand made ALL of the abuse, the bullying, and the self harm worth it. Their music got me through so much when I was in middle school and high school. Not to mention, being fans of theirs and STANDING up for myself for being a fan has made me the strong person I am today.

I don't totally love who I am. At least not yet. I'm getting there though. For now, I take comfort and peace in the moments that remind me that I am a good person and that I might actually have something to contribute to this world. It's not perfect, I'm not perfect but it's like I like to say .... perfection is boring. True happiness is in life's imperfections.

So thank you, Isaac, Taylor, and Zac. For 14 years I've used your music to help me escape and it's taught me how to be a strong, confident person. Your concert was amazing and I can't wait for the next one.

Caitie
~a sainted sinner~