It’s been nineteen days since my last post. It’s been crazy busy in the last few weeks, with small minor details consuming our days. It’s not very often when we get ‘down time’. There’s always plenty to do. Aside from mommy duties, there are a ton of stay-at-home mom stuff that needs tending to.
The last three weeks, seemed to have been a little easier with going out. Exactly three weeks ago, I got my license to legally drive. It’s been great to to just go when you have to. I’ve taken Apollo on ‘mommy and kuya’ dates, frozen yogurt treats with Arty, and small ventures to the grocery and Starbucks for some ‘me-time’.
Apollo was to spend two weeks at his grandparents in Toronto, but half-way through his mini-vacation away from home, he missed us and wanted to come home. We drove to Toronto, two consecutive weekends in a row. Dropping him off, and then picking him up. He, of course, changed his mind, the minute we arrived. Bribed with the thoughts of camping in the backyard with Papa, and other small adventures with the person he admires most, Papa. We didn’t end up letting him stay, because missing him was just too much. So now, the house is filled with noise, running around, and constant ‘mommy can I play on the Wii-u”, “watch YouTube”, “play NHL on the PS4”, and so on. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The girls and I have been sick this week. In the middle of summer, it’s always fun to be sick…said nobody! Perhaps, we’re all just a little tired and then some.
Does anybody know what happened to summer? It’s already half way done. It seems like it was just last week, when Apollo finished Grade 1, and we’re excited about the summer at home. Now, it’s half way over and we’re thinking about school shopping for Grade 2. On that same note; Apollo is going to Grade 2. Whoa. Where did the time go? I can’t believe he’s going into Grade 2. It’s all too fast.
Two months from now it’s Halloween, and it’ll be Cassi’s first Halloween. Then two months after that, it’s Christmas. I’m not mad though. Christmas is the most exciting time of the year in my household. We absolutely love Christmas. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the one who gets everyone riled up about it. But hey, I can’t wait. It’s definitely exciting to decorate and have the kids celebrate this wonderful time. It puts an emphasis on Family, not that it’s not emphasized enough throughout the year. But it makes it a must! I can’t wait!
I realize this post barely has anything for you to ponder about. But then again, I said I would only share what I had in mind.
Hope you have a wonderful Tuesday…wait, it’s Wednesday!
I find myself most nights unable to sleep. Sleep in peace. Have peace in my mind and my heart. So much things linger in my head, as if everything is just floating in the air and I’m finding ways to relate to all of it.
I hate how my mind makes me feel. As if I’m on some constant race to figure all the meaning of life. I can put meaning to a lot of things, rarely it being true or right.
I lay there, and wonder.
After twenty-seven years, I would hope I’m over all the sad thoughts that are so mediocre about being an adoptee. After so many years, I thought I’ve mastered not feeling, thinking, or wondering about where I began. But the truth is, as often, as I find these thoughts in the back burner, they linger, annoyingly, finding themselves tag along to “wishful wants” I see on the daily.
The truth is, the pain still sticks. The pain still catches on. The pain still wonders.
I look at my children, and I see how loved they are. Someone who never truly understood what it means to love or to be there for anyone or for anyone to love them back. But my children, who, Isometimes, envy.
They’ll always be loved, needed, wanted, fought for, and be someone’s world.
I woke up at fourthirty to feed Cassi. She hasn’t been eating consistently. She’s all backed up and crying most of the day. She doesn’t always finish the four oz she usually downs. I hope she’s alright. I hope she poops soon. #thingsthatmomwishesfor
Anyway, it’s now eight past five. The sun is slowly creeping through the living room window. I had gone to the kitchen to get a gatorade, but I opted for water instead. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I feel really conflicted. My heart feels a certain weight of trouble and I just can’t seem to shake it off at this time. J’s alarm has just gone off. This staying up when I could get a few more hours of sleep is probably going to catch up with me come seventhirty when I have to get Apollo up for school. But let’s see where this goes.
I wanted to clarify or expand a little bit on my previous post. It appears many of you guys have split into two in wondering about where I’m coming from. First, I want you to know that the part of me that deals with this aspect of my life has always been quite complicated. For the most part, my relationship with my father was never one to fully grasp or compare to with any other kind of father-daughter relationship. While it seems that any adult and child relationship could withstand the obstacles of being in a family and having to go through the motion of that, it was never the case for the two of us. Forget what you think and know about parent-child relationship. What you know about raising a child. What you think father’s and daughters are.
I like to think of my relationship with my father as some kind of story in a book. One where you piece two people together from halfway through the story and kinda see whether or not it’ll become something.
My father and I had one thing in common, which was dancing. We both loved to perform and we both appreciated the beauty of dance. That’s as good as it gets. Literally. There is absolutely nothing else we have in common. Well when you adopt a child privately at eight months old..an adoption that wasn’t planned, it would leave a certain question in the future about whether or not this would work out.
See, I’m not against adoption at all. I think that it’s one of the best ways to give love and sometimes find love. It is in those unfortunate circumstances that people find real love, sometimes. J and I want to adopt. We want six kids, four to be biologically ours and two to mix into our family and share our love with. But..when an the adoption wasn’t something you thought through and really wanted, eventually there comes consequences from that.
My dad had moved to Canada, after his father passed away. I was three. He tried to leave me with his aunt, but that didn’t work because apparently I cried and cried and wouldn’t stop. So she then sent me to my dad’s sister-in-law, where I would eventually spend the next six years considering as my family (this chapter is a whole other story on its own).
Fast forward to when I was nine. It’s October of ’97 and snow coated the land so well. I’ve landed and my bone marrow could feel the cold as the plane sits to allow people off. A fellow flyer had walked me to baggage claims because the stewardess that was supposed to have been watching me from the Philippines to Canada-maybe got left behind. The whole trip, this lady from the plane took care of me. Anyway, I could see my aunt through the glass windows; who I’d met a year back when she took a trip back home with her giant son (he’s half white). I had finally figured out how to get to them and there he was..my father. He hugged me and covered me with a coat. He wouldn’t stop hugging me, and I wasn’t used to him so I said, “stop hugging me. I don’t even know you.” You probably think I’m a brat, but if you haven’t figured it out by now I’m that person with the foul mouth who says anything and everything as if I’m not aware of what social filter is. He went on to say, “I’m your dad. I’m the one in the pictures.” Well, that statement never did sit well with me.
Moving forward, the first few months were probably the most awkward in our relationship. Here’s an image of my father. Don’t worry you won’t need to close your eyes to imagine.
He’s about 5’8 / 5’9 probably the tallest in his siblings. He’s got a steep nose, with dark hair..wait there’s a photo up there already. He’s literally a spitting image of Antonio Banderas, mixed with a dash of Marc Anthony. The thing is he looks very Spanish. His features are from his uncle. His family is part Spanish, on his dad’s side. Moving on..
We never really had those first six years you’re supposed to have when you have a child. Those years are the most critical in a child’s development. So when you have nothing that you started with or built a foundation from, you’re starting at something half-way completed. It was only a matter of a few years before my next milestone. He had missed the character I’ve become, the mannerisms I had, the person that I was becoming, the toys that I liked, the TV shows that I liked, the kind of friends I liked, the type of clothes I liked, the kid I had become.
He had slowly began to understand my personality. A good kid with a bad temper. Countless troubles at school began, not academically but socially. Being in his mid forties already, he had no clue how to help me socially adjust. This caused chaos in my mind that then transfered into our relationship. I began to grow as a person, and eventually made friends. Having friends who were boys were an issue. Wanting to hang out with friends was an issue. So because we couldn’t find common ground and he refused to find it in him to understand what I was going through; normal stages at that it really became a struggle for the two of us.
My father worked as an accountant, and this means I’d spend the time he was away at work with my aunt who lived near us. In the summer time, during off days from school, I’d bounce around between his family members and his friends. Never finding consistency and balance.
Finally at the end of grade school, I had started a fling with a boy that would eventually become my first puppy love. That lasted till I was sixteen. Those three years would prove to be more trouble between my dad and me. It lead to me going into foster care.
I spent a year in foster care, with an Italian family. It was one of the toughest and confusing time in my life. I wondered why my dad had bothered uprooting me from where I was from to half raising me here. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t get me. Why our relationship was so complicated. After turning sixteen, I was able to make decisions for myself and what would happen with my status in foster care. A child of the government. I chose to live on my own from then on. And I fend for myself, figuring out life on my own, in my own terms. I would eventually be in and out of his house, because a part of me still cared for him. But it wouldn’t last. And we lost contact.
At eighteen my first serious relationship began. J and I hung out, and didn’t become an item until a year after. Eventually at twenty, J and I became parents. Two people trying to figure out adult life was complicated. Relationship in its own was complicated, but we got through it. A few months before I was due to have Apollo, I e-mailed my dad and figured this thing between us will have to quit. He was becoming a grandpa for the first time ever. I was becoming a mom and it was time to mend the pieces in the aspect of family. I wanted him to be there. I wanted him to know my son. I wanted him to be a part of his life. And with that, things were like nothing happened. My dad would eventually become a part of my life again; a part of Apollo’s life.
My father would be a part of my life for the next several years, helping me while I worked and eventually deciding to take on post-secondary academics. We would still bicker about the petty things of life, from his disapproval of my tendencies of caring for my home, to my way of parenting. This would lose us a few weeks here and there, but my apologies for things even when I wasn’t at fault, would mend these breaks.
A few Christmases ago, he had began his trips to The Philippines where he would spend six months a time. It was the first time he had ever gone for that long. He’s made trips there before but a month at most. Our relationship would become second to his new life after that. He had find no relevance to be around, as I had began my own life, had a child, had a family of my own and would eventually feel as if he was no longer a part of, even with my reassurance that I still needed him. It appears that the chaos of life is all the time when I needed him, but it wasn’t like that. I wanted him to be a part of my life, I wanted us to be better. I wanted us to figure out what this thing was between us that we couldn’t sort through. But his way was way beyond what I was willing to compromise, and I couldn’t find it in me to make mends.
The last month he was in The Philippines, I had informed him that I was due to have a second baby. That J and I were ecstatic to be having another. From his end, this wasn’t a good thing. He had left me with, “Why would you have another one? It’s not cheap to have more kids. You aren’t financially stable, you are just ruining the lives of your kids.” I thought differently. While we did struggle financially, we acquired help from J’s family when were really needed it. And perhaps, they did better in the true definition of what it means to be there for your kids. My dad was no where. But we made it the best we can. It wasn’t easy, it never is, but it was all worth it for the sake of our son. Two years would pass, and we’ve lost everything between my father and I.
Last Christmas was the first time I seen him in over three years. Apollo would still know him as his grandfather, like things never changed, but it would be different for Artemis.
It would also be the last time I’d seen him, except for the brief five minutes he gave me and refused to see me during Easter. I would spend countless times calling him, and he wouldn’t pick-up or return my call. The last I spoken to him was a few weeks back, over facebook video chat. I had shown him our new house, and intended to talk longer to update him on my life and the kids. But this call wouldn’t last longer than ten minutes before he had shoo me away for another incoming call.
At this point, I’m uncertain, as I always have been. That relationship you’re to have with your parents is said to get better as you get older. Well, we’ve been stuck in this ever since I can remember. It hasn’t changed, it wont change and it’ll have to do.
So please be a little more understanding when I say, I do not relate with most child-parent relationships. I do not relate with most emotional attachments between child and parent. It isn’t a thing for me to know or begin to understand how these types of co-existing works. While it sucks that this is the way that part of my life has waved about, I do not regret the efforst I’ve made or in whichever way he figured I haven’t.
There will come a time, when I’ll have to figure all this stuff out. Until then, when I have found it somewhere deep down to understand why this is all acceptable in defence to our differences, then that’ll be the day I find closure. Until then, like most things in my past which I’ve no control of in trying even a tiny bit to fix, it’ll have to sit somewhere between I halfly cared to none.
The good of all this? I’ve my own family now, and my family is the best thing that has ever happened to me. It’s what I have always wanted, it’s what I have always needed.
It’s that time again.. I’ve spent a couple of hours trying to get this out. It was that hard for me to dig in there and find it in me to share. So please be kind.
One of my resolutions this year, is to give myself time. Time to do, whatever. It is so important for moms to give themselves time. Not just to shower, sip on hot coffee, or to comb their hair. Moms need time to breathe, enjoy the moment for themselves, reflect on themselves, their life with kids, as a wife, as a person. It is crucial to the sanity, and abilities of moms to have that in order to keep loving in the way the people in their life require from them. So please, take care of yourself, too!
I know, I know.. I said, one per day but, J had food poisoning on Friday night, and Arty’s 1st Birthday party dinner with her godparents was saturday night. I literally was a chicken without a head. Imagine a baby in tow, a six year old, and a super pregnant woman trying to supermom it all those two days. Expect Sunday means, I halfly, died. Just halfly died since, I am supermom afterall.
This morning seems to be a case of the ‘bad mondays’ with -18 weather, and a six year old with morning ‘tude. Typical day right? Except, it meant layers of clothing for three people = more time gone = aK late for school. 😩
Im blogging from my phone, while Arty, and I sit at Starbucks for some morning fancies (white chocolate moccha & banana loafs). J, is just out for the morning, since Arty’s due for her One year old immunization at 11. The case of the ‘bad mondays’ is about to drag on. Arty’s bound to release some evil after those painful shots on both her legs. 😯
I have been entertaining the idea of writing a ‘book’ for several years now. I’ve also written, or began to, or thought I could have something a few years ago that’s dusting the pages in my Evernote account.
I don’t know if it’s writers block, or if it’s the brain-cells I don’t have, that I can’t seem to get it going. Maybe, it’s the type of book I want to write..where it may require closure. Maybe it’s the closure part, I’m afraid of. To have to feel things, as it comes.
I don’t know why you, and I butt heads so often. Why I feel like the connection wire of our relationship seem to have some chewed-up marks.
I feel so guilty for not having all the time in the world for you. Your requests are so simple, too.
I don’t mean to use your sister as an excuse, but this whole ‘mommy’ thing with ‘two kids’.. I’m still trying to figure it all out. With the third one coming, I’ll probably get worse, before I get better.
I need you to trust me, I need you to give me a chance, to give me the benefit of the doubt, that I’ll figure this thing out, with us.
I’ve probably made all the mistakes with you, and now it seems like I’ve been unfair to you. But I promise you, my love for you then, now, tomorrow has been the same since you gave me the title, “MOM”.
You are so much like me, more than you want to be, more than you’ll ever be like you’re daddy. I’m sorry you’re more like me than your dad. Maybe we wouldn’t butt-heads so much. I appreciate you for all that you are. In times when it’s not chaos and arguments, you are everything amazing.
You’re kind. You’re sweet. You’re thoughtful. You’re generous. You see things in ways, most people are too blind to notice. Your voice, speaks not just with volume but with character. Your heart is pure, and humble. You are everything, any parent would hope their child to be. I hope you never loose that, because of my shortcomings.
You have the humour, the wit, the smile, the heart.
Thank you for being so good to me, when I don’t deserve it. Thank you for ‘understanding’ me, even when you don’t, really.
I pride myself on being a strong character. Determined. Strong-willed. Intelligent. Analytical. Considerate. Honest. And the list goes on. But having to maintain those list of characteristics, is probably the reason why I’m insane.
I have always feared, knocking one of the balls off, out of the juggle. Always calling things, before they even show possibility of failing. That also backfires, sometimes.
I fear failure. I fear losing. I fear second-best.
Because as far as I can remember, I have always failed, and that leads to losing, and that leads to, second-best. You get tossed out. You get left behind. You get the wrong side of the stick. You get laughed at. You get mocked. You get put in the deep hole, and it’s the hole they choose for you.