I don’t know if anyone noticed the date on that last post, but it was August 3rd, 2023. It took me till yesterday, August 22nd, to share it.
There has been some hard fought work going on. A lot of processing and all the emotions. I went through several days of hard hard depression, not getting off the couch, some isolation, and a decent self-pity party for 1. Yesterday alone was a ride of emotion as I dropped another $800 to my attorney and made the mistake of doing the math on how much she makes over some time.
Let’s talk about what did not happen. I did not fight and struggle against the brick wall that is Bella’s other mother. I did not defend, rationalize or explain anything. I did not mention the matter.
EVEN WHEN a DCF worker contacted me telling me that “someone” had filed a case of emotional abuse against me. “Emotional abuse” that sounded like a laundry list of 8 year old problems. “We don’t have food that is liked by an 8 year old. We withhold food. Or food is taken away. We yell. We drag the child out of places.”
Well, y’all know Angela and myself so this is almost laughable, but not when one of the choices of this report could land me on a Child Abuse Registry.
But again, guess what I didn’t do? I did not contact any “someone” about this report. I did not speak to the child about it. In fact, as far as the child and the other mother were concerned, it didn’t exist. I believe that the other mother was trying to “strike while the iron was hot” so to speak. It saddens me.
Wanna rewind with me for a sec to 2018? Recall that yes, we fought. There was yelling. I broke a plate. I was drinking. Also recall that I was home asleep in my bed when the police knocked on my door. I have maintained stupid ridiculous behavior, but no crime committed since that fateful day in 2018. I am a moron when drinking. I am not a criminal.
And so, what did I not do? I didn’t talk to the other mother about this. I responded to the report, as did my beloved. We spoke our truths and got advise on moving forward. We need a family therapist, y’all. For real for real. Raising Bella is going to be as much undoing as doing and I sure as shit need help with that. But I didn’t reach out. I did not make things worse. I did not fucking drink over it, wouldn’t that be something if that was a motive behind a motive? I stuck to my side of the street and managed myself. Full time job, I assure you.
1185 days ago, I took my last drink. So much has changed since then. My higher power that I choose to call Mother today, Mother Google if I’m feeling spicy, has guided me to be softer, more compassionate, more caring, understanding, to recognize and realize my own damn humanity. I am far from perfect and I don’t even know what the hell is best for me, so how would I even begin to conceptualize that for another human.
Hey Holly Dolly, remember when you said that you would change? Don’t let me down.
A quote from a Gwen Stefani song called 4 in the Morning.
15. If Respondent fails a breathalyzer test or refuses to take a breathalyzer test during her parenting time, her parenting time shall immediately revert to supervised parenting time.
Oops. I didn’t think to get a backup plan. I didn’t think to ask if the breathalyzer failed, what then? I just said okay and skipped out of court. I wonder if anyone outside of my circle will believe me? Alcoholics are liars. Once a liar, always a liar? Not so, in my case, but I can see that side.
I really want to be mad at Bella’s other mother, too, but I don’t think I can be. If she let’s this one slide, what happens on the next one? I never considered the possibility that this could happen. I wonder why my attorney didn’t mention it. Yes, if I am drinking, my visits with Bella should be supervised. I probably shouldn’t see her at all, but if I was drinking, it would take care of itself, because I would eventually stop seeing her by going to rehab or jail. If I was drinking…
Fuuuuuuck… So last Friday, July 28th, 2023, I blew numbers other than zero into the breathalyzer. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be a funny story. Let me say this, no good can come from stealing office supplies. It all started when I decided to bring home a package of alcohol wipes from work. I had intended on using them on my dashboard. I went to the river last week solo with my kayak hanging out of the back of the Prius. When I hit the dirt road, the dust kicked back up into the car and my dash was covered, and I mean covered, in dust. So I was going to use them to clean the dust off of the dashboard. There were other things going on besides the dust. I had wood in my car at the beginning of the summer and the inside of my windshield got coated in water that had evaporated during work. So I took my finger and ran the water off the inside of the windshield. Several pools of water formed on the dash from this and I had just let them dry. I was going to clean the hell out of this dash.
First pause, why the hell did I need those wipes from work? I have wipes in my home. We have cleaning products! So stupid.
Angela and I are headed to pick up Bella and Angela mentions something about the state of my dashboard. Oh, I say, I have some wipes right there in my bag if you wanna start cleaning all this dirt off while we are driving!
Hindsight: I very rarely circulate the air from the inside of my car. 97% of the time, I would have had the air coming from the vent and not recirculating. But the air gets cooler if you recirculate and it was over 100°. Ang even asked me if the smell was going to bother me, and it never occurred to me to change the air to vent because the smell was not going to bother me. I use the alcohol wipes at work on my mouse, keyboard, and desk.
Angela proceeds to clean the passenger side of the dash including vents and part of the center section where the radio front is… and where the breathalyzer is stored. I would have to ask her how many wipes she used. I would guess two. We get to the destination, I blow in the breathalyzer in the car and hop out to get my Bella while it processes. Bella gets out of the car with a friend’s baby to show me. Cute kid. All the coo’s and kisses. Bella goes back to put the kid in the car. Bella’s suitcase is sitting by my car, she is grabbing her phone, and I go to show her other mother the screenshot of the breathalyzer, and it has a red number on it. .027. I look at it and say aloud, wait, what the hell? That has a number on it. I look again in disbelief.
I won the court case to have unsupervised visits and parenting time with my Bella on November 2nd, 2022. I had my first full weekend with her November 5th, 2022. Ne’er once has there been an issue.
I don’t think I even batted an eye before I was like, wait, that has to be wrong. That has to be a misreading. I take the breathalyzer outside and again, blow a number that is not zero. .015. I take the test again two more times within 5 minutes, standing outside on the asphalt in 100 degree weather. All red. .013, .011. At this point, I am assuming that the device is overheated since I keep it in my car and my car was parked in the parking lot all day and it’s hot as hell. Angela steps out of the car and I’m like, I’m getting a reading. She says, here, let me take it. I switch to the free app that isn’t monitored and she blows. .01. I try it. .01. She tries again. .01.
I’m so stunned that I’m not even going over what might have happened, other than the heat. Bella’s mom says she can wait about 15 minutes and we could try again. We all get into our cars and wait. Angela and I discuss different things that could have gone wrong with the heat or the calibration. I think we started looking at the BACtrack website for storing temperatures and such. I would like to go on record as saying that my wife recommended that I not keep the breathalyzer in the car during extreme heat or cold because it could mess with the device. After all this has happened, I am looking at the website, and she was 100% right.
Five minutes later, I take the test again. .018. What the hell? Now it’s going up again? Mind you, we have returned to the car that is running, with the air circulating. I thought nothing of it and couldn’t have told you if there was an alcohol smell in the car. This is all hindsight and research on the website. The minutes are starting to get long and this wait is difficult. 6:12, .018. 6:30, .013. I get out of the car and tell Bella’s mom that I don’t know what the hell is going on and she says we could try again tomorrow. I think she said that. I am bummed, but no where near going to worst case scenario. Doesn’t cross my mind. I open the back door and let Bella know what is happening. I tell her that the machine is malfunctioning and that I have absolutely not been drinking. She says, I know mom, you never lie to me. I ask her if she remembers what Pastor Valerie said in church last Sunday, about where is god? She says yes. So I tell her we will just have to see what god has in store for us here.
Bella had texted me earlier in the day and asked if she could come on Saturday morning. She wanted to help babysit the twins that her mom was babysitting. I said no, that our time was our time and I would see her at 6pm. Then I messaged her mom and told her the same thing.
Still leaning in the car, I cock my head to the side and ask, did you pray for this? I start poking at her so she knows I’m kidding. She giggles and says no. I said, did you pray for this so you could stay home and watch the twins tonight, while poking at her and tickling her more. “No, noooo,” she says. Okay, I say, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Her mom says to message her in the morning to arrange pickup time. And I walk around my car and get back in where Angie waits. I’m a little stunned, but it really doesn’t seem too bad. It could be worse. She could have canceled the whole weekend.
I took the last breathalyzer at 6:30 and by 6:34, had called BACtrack customer service, gotten a voicemail, and messaged Bella’s mom that information. Angela and I and Bella were supposed to have dinner plans with friends, so we drove back to Lawrence from the pickup spot in Bonner Springs and went to our friends’ for dinner.
Now why oh why did I not take another breathalyzer sooner than 10pm, I have no idea. I never took a breathalyzer when I was actually drinking, but I know that the human body can process approximately a drink an hour after the first three drinks. I also know that .08 is the legal limit. Math tells me that the highest reading of .027 theoretically could have been processed back down to 0.00 in an hour. But I don’t take another breathalyzer till 10pm. I go to my friends’ house. I leave the device in the car. I tell the tale of why I don’t have my little beloved with me, and we eat and watch a movie. I thought about taking another one at our friends’ house once. I think I said it out loud, should I go take one? Should I get it out of the car? Laziness won that one because we were eating and watching a movie and the car was all the way down a flight of stairs out in the driveway. I still didn’t think much of this. I was not freaking out. I was not worried.
I took the test again at 10pm when we got home, sent the results to Bella’s mom, and told her that we thought the machine had just overheated. I had also been on the website and found out that you are supposed to get the damn thing calibrated once a year, so had paid like $35 to send it in immediately Monday morning for calibration. I communicated this with Bella’s mom. She replied that the entire weekend was a “no-go for her due to positive results.” She also asked if BACtrack would be able to confirm product malfunction.
Having no answer available at midnight on a Friday knowing customer service would not open till Monday morning, I went to bed without responding and slept 12 hours. Have I mentioned what is going on at work these days? Oh yeah, so we are getting a new computer system. And I work at a bank. Banks call their computer systems cores. I suppose it’s because we work with a ton of other programs, but the Core is the main guy where all the money is “kept” and accounted for. I have never worked at a bank other than this one, and I have never been through a core conversation, but apparently it’s a big deal. NOT only that, but we are also getting a new online banking platform and mobile app. They, the other bank work people that have been there longer than myself, say that it’s common to do one or the other, but both in the time they gave us is kinda nutty. My days have been full.
So I slept. I turned off my alarm and I slept for 12 hours. I can get away with four or six hours of sleep for a night or two. Hell, I can travel across the country on an airplane with two! I prefer eight. When I’m bad and watch an extra show in the evening, I get seven. Nine is lavish. I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping till noon on a Saturday.
When I woke, I told Bella’s mom that I did not know if the company could confirm malfunction, but what I did know was that I hadn’t had a drink in 1160 days, I planned to send the device in Monday for calibration, and I would check with customer service on their thoughts about leaving the device in a hot car, if it would cause it to malfunction because yesterday was probably the hottest it had been in 1160 days. And then I sent her a picture of my sobriety counter.
I was not trying to be flippant and I don’t love that I am saying this now, because it feels like I am defending possible flippancy. Or perceived flippancy. I sent it because I am proud. And there is no way that device showed a number because I was drinking. No way. Oh wait…
I think it was around this time that Angela and I started to put together the whole alcohol wipe thing. We talked about the vent being closed and the car air being full of alcohol while the device sat in a little cubby just below the dash, below the radio. We went back to the website, and sure enough, it has warnings about keeping the device around cleaners or household items with alcohol.
I had to crack up a little when reading this because there is no alcohol allowed in our home. This includes mouthwash and cold medicine. We both abhor hand sanitizer. I would be shocked to find a single bottle in our home. I don’t even know what household cleaners would have alcohol in them besides actual alcohol wipes. We use hydrogen peroxide for sanitized disinfectant and blood. My darling wife prefers, how shall I say, kinder softer gentler natural cleaners whereas I like to bleach the shit out of things and Dawn the hell out of floors or kitchen sinks. And neither one of us wears perfume.
So we start putting this together, that it was probably the alcohol in the air in the car from the alcohol wipes that she was using to clean the dash. And sure enough, we went back to the tests, which have screen shots of my face while blowing, and the test inside the car when we first got there was the highest, then lower but not gone outside, I took two more tests, and then back inside the car, the number went back up a little before dropping a little. It went from .011 outside to .018 when I got back in the car. Then .018 seven minutes later in the car and .013 fifteen minutes later in the car. All in the car with the AC on, circulating, not venting.
I am trying to kind of low key document some of this stuff that I am finding instead of blasting Bella’s mom with it. I load some docs into the Family Wizard app, the calibration receipt, the shipping receipt, and the pics above. I load the documents Monday, July 31st and then on Tuesday, I send her a message stating that I loaded these docs in there if she wanted to look at them. I stated that Angela and I had found an article on the website about cleaning with alcohol and that we had been cleaning the dash on our way to meet her. I mentioned the upcoming weekend. She had stated that I could make up the weekend that I missed due to the malfunction in the device. I stated that I had sent the device in and the return time quote was 10-14 business days so I didn’t know if I would have it back by this weekend. She did not respond to that message.
She did, however, send me a message a few hours later stating that, per court orders, my parenting time would return to supervised and to contact her when I wanted to arrange that. She directed me to my attorney if I had any questions. Sometimes the pause button works and sometimes it doesn’t. I did respond to that message, but I didn’t say anything bad or mean. I said the positive was 100% false. I told her that I understood not wanting to do a visit until we got the device back, but that I had not had a drink in over three years.
See, if you let me go for a while, I eventually come ‘round to a circle. Or a point. Or progress. Back to not being mad at Bella’s other mother: I don’t think I can be. If she let’s this slide, then what? Why didn’t we have some kind of a contingency plan? I don’t ever even remember talking about it with my attorney. Ne’er was a malfunction discussed. In fact, I think former spouse wanted to talk about or set a plan for if I ever started drinking when Bella was in my custody or care, and if I remember right, I didn’t want to have anything to do with a “what do we do if Holly drinks” plan. I was adamant in court, trying to convey a confidence to the judge, that that wasn’t something that needed entertaining. If anything happened, I think I said Angela would return Bella with me or I would contact Bella’s other mother if Angela was out of town.
And so I signed a paper with the first line of this very long blog post on it.
My last contact with Bella’s other mother was August 1st. Tuesday. Today is Thursday. What I have done in between is roll out a hell of a lot of new stuff coming in from other departments. I have sent out assignments to test my rep’s paperwork docs, printers, and sign-ons. I am sending out information as quick as I can collect it and if one of my people asks a question that I don’t know, I shoot out more emails to other departments. It sounds stressful, but I find myself doing the best I can nearly all of the time and my goal is to get my people what they need to be successful. I find it very rewarding.
I have also contacted my attorney. She has not responded and again with the frickin’ hindsight, but why did I text her? I should have sent an email or called. So tomorrow I will send an email or call. I am scared about how much more money this will cost. That’s why I texted. I wanted to be like, oh hey here’s this casual little text, please don’t charge me 15 minutes on a $300 hour to read it.
I wonder why we didn’t put something in place for this. Why no one said anything about a device malfunction versus the alcoholic drinking. I know I cannot be the only person that this has happened to. I wonder if writing that little wiggle room into a legal document would be all an alcoholic would need to take advantage. Well, I know the answer to that, but what about the alcoholic that actually needs a little wiggle room because of a device malfunction?
I guess we are up to date. I am mad at myself for not saving money. After the divorce, I had less things. When I went to treatment, I had a few suitcases. When I went to Wichita, I had a carful. I have everything I own now under one roof. I like things. I like all the little gadgets and tools. I like having money to spend. And I need all these things, dontcha know? I wish I had saved more money. Perhaps after Ecuador.
The headstone has been up for at least 5 years. The new addition, death date, was dark after having just been added.
I was pretty nervous about my first trip to Ellsworth after my Grandma died. I found some pretty unexpected results. First and foremost, I was able to take care of myself amidst all things Ranker. Secondly, my memories tended to focus on times when I was a kid.
Me and Grandma about 2 years ago.
Surprisingly still to myself, I was able to take care of me. My family is loud, argumentative, and often unkind to each other, especially on the male side. There are often arguments, unkind words, impatience, and we all have control issues. Sometimes this hits me upside the head because my brain helps me forget, every time I go there. Thanks, brain, but sheesh, it can be jarring.
I focused on myself, had the privilege of focusing on my child, and choosing how I speak to her and the rest of the family. My Belly and I just had a good time and did what we needed to do. First stop: Grandma Della’s grave. Throughout the years, I have almost exclusively stopped by Grandma’s first, so I thought it fitting to visit her grave first. Seeing the fresh dirt was gross at best. Someone had put peonies on her grave. One of if, not her very favorite flower. I added my 3 year coin.
I only saw my Grandma cry twice in my life, and both were alcohol related. One was exclusively my doing, staying out all night and cheating on my first wife. That’s all I have to say about that. And the second I will not speak on.
Bella was by my side and we inspected the grave, the new carving, and the amazing sculpture that had been added to my Grandfather’s side. This was made by my Uncle Duke and I think it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen him make.
The blue N is for Northern Natural, my Grandpa’s company that he retired from before I was born. And I guess piston parts, and a circular crank from the plant as well. Other additions that were from my lifetime: the gearshift from my Grandpa’s truck, and his hammer. The back, a handmade hand-welded cross, all made by my Uncle Dwayne, who we also call Uncle Duke, who is a welder. Behind is a separate yard art sign that reads: On Angel’s wings you were taken away, but in our hearts you will always stay. Your loving children. Dorsey Ranker. November 11th, 1924-September 23rd, 2017. Grandpa’s side is also decorated with the American flag and the Navy Flag. They done already mowed over Grandma! Lol. And Grandpa’s grass isn’t looking too hot either.
Belly and I went, we saw, and then we headed for mom and dad’s. The weekend went off without a hitch. I was able to nap one day and sleep in the next. I was able to hold my tongue mostly most of the time in a very conservative place. I was able to be myself without shame or fear. I was able to take care of myself and my daughter.
I tricked her into this picture when she wouldn’t look up by yelling, “What was that?”
The most surprising thing was how easy it was to take care of myself and Belly. I had to laugh at myself upon reflection because the surprise was on account of me forgetting how much work I have done to be okay. 3 years of sobriety has never been achieved in all my attempts starting in 2009. I have done the work. I have taken the steps. I have failed forward hundreds of times with the only thing going for me is that I never died. I lived to tell, and try again. This time I am succeeding, thriving, really truly living. I am the only one to whom I answer, to whom I am accountable. That used to scared the shit out of me and I didn’t love me enough to show up. Today, that is so far from the truth that I still get to delight in it.
I get to grieve. I get to mess up. I get to show up. I get to “embarrass” my kid. I get to be bored as shit at horse shows. I get to swim with my belly hanging out because a sports bra is the only thing I can wear with the neuralgia. I get to love myself in my obese skin. I get to stay calm and speak kindly to EVERYONE. I get to travel with my kiddo and not worry my wife. I have a wife!
Bella and Mocha Cappuccino.
Back to Grandma: I may have put some of this on my family, but I think the result was healing for all. I started talking about homemade ice cream weeks before our visit. Now consider that Grandpa died 5 years ago and Grandma lived with my folks after he died and then the nursing home. So we haven’t made homemade ice cream for years, even before their deaths. But that was something that we used to do on big family weekends, so I had my heart set on it.
My folks have their own hand-crank ice cream freezer. It needs to be soaked in water before we make ice cream to seal up the cracks so the salt water doesn’t leak out. Bags of ice and rock salt must be acquired as well. And I needed them to find Grandma’s recipe, which I had taken for granted that someone had saved. I urged my folks to prepare all the things and I would bring my cranking arm. They delivered and we had a really nice time making 2 freezers, each a gallon, of homemade ice cream.
I’ll tell you right now that it was not as good as grandma’s and I had not one, but two alcoholic scares in making the damn shit. Grandma always mixed up the batch. Always. I often watched, but even when I “helped,” I probably just pored the sugar that she had measured out, whipped eggs that she had already cracked, or did two teaspoons of vanilla. Once everything was set, she would always add a little bit more sugar, and, I think, vanilla. To taste. Her taste. She had it perfected.
My mom delivered with the recipe. I found out that my folks’ freezer was smaller that Grandma and Grandpa’s, so she had a smaller recipe that was proportionately cut down. She also had Grandma’s hand written original recipe. I have no idea where she got it. Mom and I mixed up the first batch and off we went. Kids gathered around the freezer and asked questions about the process. Why the salt? Why the ice? Why are we making this when we can go to the store and buy it?
Mavrik, Wyatt, Isabella, Arabella, Me, and Papa.
The first freezer of ice cream is harder as the ice melts and molds around the freezer inside, but the second batch goes pretty smoothly as the salt water is already melting and super cold. I went into the house to make the second batch. Without thinking at all, I licked the side of the lemon extract bottle after measuring it out. It’s a bad habit that is also strangely a family thing. My mother does it as well. Anywho, lemon extract is 87% alcohol. I was instantly nauseated and full of fear since I take a breathalyzer every night that I have Belly at 8pm. It was about 7:20. I freaked out and put my mouth under the sink and starting rinsing my mouth out and drinking a ton of water.
I grabbed my phone and texted the Calvary, who very quickly let me know that it would not show up on the breathalyzer. My heart was racing. My body temperature was high. I dropped the ice cream mix off into the freezer so the kids could crank and I headed out to my car to grab my BACtrack. I tested the BAC, and the Calvary was right, 0.00. Phew!
Back to the cranking.
The next day, we were sitting around eating the ice cream with Uncle Eugene and Auntie Louise. I mentioned how the ice cream was subpar. My mom says to Louise, that we wouldn’t want to add too much extra vanilla on account me. I was like, why-not-oh-my-god-it’s-raw-and-doesn’t-cook-out, so there is an alcohol content. SECOND FREAKOUT! It never occurred to me. Vanilla is like 17% alcohol. The recipe is two teaspoons in a gallon, so I am good, but again worried about the 8pm breathalyzer. Oof.
In the end, all was well, but it was a great reminder to stay vigilant. I was thrilled to make homemade ice cream in order to honor Grandma Della and Grandpa Duke. We crushed it. We added plenty of new tradition as well. Mom and Dad have been in Ellsworth for like 3 or 4 years and I pray they are there for many more. I will bring my happy little ass without apology as often as I can. Living amends. May we never outlive them.
Me and Mommie: She is the new Matriarch and I absolutely adore her.
I successfully navigated the first weekend in Ellsworth without my all time most favorite person. I achieved self care and brought the kid back alive. We had a really wonderful time. I continue my grief process by walking right into each situation. The definition of courage is taking that action in the face of fear. Today I am safe, sane, sober, and strong. Caterpillar to butterfly. #loveholly
It feels super dramatic to say that the kid saved my life, but really there is no way to tell. Maybe she did.
All I know is that I did not get off the couch last weekend. I went to work this past week, but I went to work from home on that same couch spot. Everything has been hitting and sitting since we got back from Arkansas.
Hitting me like a two by four. Hitting me like grief. Sitting on my chest and staying there. The house was a mess. I mean the house was a mess like we threw our own wedding and then left for a week on a camping and kayaking trip. Wedding prep, after wedding mess. Gifts, decorations, wrapping paper, cardboard, life, mess, mail, leftover food, things stored or set, all over the goddamn place.
And then we gathered anything and everything camping, which did not coincide with throwing a wedding. And left for a blissful week full of supplies and resources, tent, coolers, camping totes, food, kayaks, safety gear, lanterns, bug spray, campfire supplies, saws, axes, life jackets, bedding, clothes, shoes, bought more stuff there, and then came home and I personally just crashed. I barely had the energy to empty my own car yet alone hers.
What made it out of the cars after the wedding and the mini-moon found a new temporary home in the front room. And so started the making myself feel bad for feeling bad. This is rookie mental health stuff, but I think that even the pros could succumb to this on occasion. Stuff like, I am so blessed that I have two living rooms and one is just storing shit right now. Two couches but you can’t even see one. Laundry to do but nope, not getting off the couch. Oh, and by the way, why is it so painful to sit on the goddamn couch? If this nerve pain were a greater issue for a greater number of people, then the pharmacy companies could make money off of it and someone would have found a better cure by now, better pain killer, hint of boomer, where is the goddamn pill I can take instead of doing something about my condition. It hurts to sit. It hurts to move. It hurts to think about where to even start organizing this life in this spot.
Enter the life saving thought. I knew this kid would save my weekend. I knew she was coming and I knew, at absolute bare minimum that she would say, I’m hungry. And while I could have said, great, there is food in the kitchen, thanks only to my wife, I knew that I would not do that. I knew I would get up and assist her in getting food. I wonder if she brought a cape. I wonder if I could find my KU cape to loan her.
Photo from our wedding.
I didn’t tell her all of this. I told her some. I told her I had been struggling to find motivation and that it had been hard for me to be happy this week. I wanted to share as much of me as I could, at an age appropriate level. I did not want her to know that I was relying on her to pull my ass out of the ditch. That’s not her responsibility but I gladly used her as a tool.
Food adventure: homemade spring rolls.
She came through with flying colors. We had food adventures, again, assisted by my lovely wife. We mowed. Then we played soccer. She encouraged me so well. I want to play soccer so your effort in mowing the lawn isn’t wasted, she said. Who’s playing who? Who cares?! We edged the garden beds. We weeded gardens. We played with the dog. We biked. She explored the limits she’s learning with how far geographically she can go and how often she needs to check in. She explored her emotional limits by stating she didn’t want to go to church. Small fits were thrown. Boundaries were tested. I took care of myself. Angela did her own thing including but not limited to being by my or Bella’s side all weekend long.
Letting a kid mow the lawn. What rows?
I was so happy smack dab in the middle of a heavy deep depression. I sat on the front porch waiting for bella to get back from a lap on the bike, and cried, thanking Angela for her help and expressing my feelings. I’m so happy, I said, tears streaming. This is so nice. This is exactly what I needed and I knew that my little family would just be themselves and deliver.
Food adventure: m and m s’mores.
My current mental health meds have been the same prescription since January 2020 and I have no desire to change them. That being said, I do not cry very much, or as often as I used to, by far, by very very far. This grief and downswing after the wedding and mini-moon has brought me to tears repeatedly. Being able to cry happy tears in the midst of all of this was an incredible emotional release. I was so grateful to be sitting sadly on the front porch crying happy tears with my new wife waiting for my superhero to round the corner on her bike.
When I started writing at the beginning of the year, I found that I did not have something to say every day. The effects from shingles continue and I started sleeping later. This was self care for me. But then I had gotten out of the habit, lost my built in time, and now things have started piling up.
Where do we go from here? Every time I think of this phrase, I think of the song from Evita. I don’t know who wrote it. Please hold.
Tim Rice, performed by Madonna for the movie Evita, written in 1996, and that’s how long I have been listening to it. The song is about the wife of Juan Perón, Eva Duarte Perón, who gets sick and is no longer useful to him as a politician, yet he stands by her side. She realizes that he loves her for her and not what she can do for him.
Where do we go from here? The song has meant different things to me over the years. I think I used to sing it to myself when I let someone down. These days I sing it to myself when I let myself down.
“Where do we go from here? This isn’t where we intended to be. We had it all. You believed in me. I believed in you. Certainties disappear. What do we do for our dream to survive? How do we keep all our passions alive, as we used to do?”
“Deep in my heart, I’m concealing, things that I’m longing to say. Scared to confess what I’m feeling, frightened you’ll slip away. You must love me.”
Before we get all excited, I want to state how much I love myself these days. So nothing major has happened like it might have in the past. No one drank, no one lost a job, or a car, or custody; nothing like that. I just haven’t been myself lately and I need to start talking about it again.
The first two years of my sobriety, I had a routine where I got up in the morning and read my prayer and meditation books and wrote on them. I decided to try something new this year by writing daily, but then discovered that was quite a challenge. I just didn’t have that much to say. So now I am not journaling, and not writing.
If we add this to life, which continues to happen, I have lost some of my processing power, a tenet of my self care. So I sit here, staring at the blinking cursor, a little dumbfounded, because I do not want to go back to journalling daily just yet, but I don’t want to write BS in my blog, and I need to keep blogging. Processing.
Before complications from shingles, I would read an actual book when not writing. And I really enjoyed the quiet house to myself in the mornings before the world woke up. If I could get back to getting up sooner, I could read, then write when I needed, and publish whenever the hell I want because it’s my blog. Ha!
The morning inspiration, however, appears to be in remission. Where do we go from here?
Let’s add a nice phlegmy cold to the shingles and see how it changes the numbers. I don’t know why I thought my recovery from these blasted shingles would be linear. I adore linear for about 75% of my world and the above graph for the other 25%. Since I like to control things, I’d like to choose the 25%.
But I started feeling better! I chopped wood! I tried going back to work and then found a great excuse to quickly get the hell out of there. I got so frustrated that I actually did the math to calculate how long till my retirement. Spoiler alert: it is not close.
I know that I will do myself no good if I stress about recovery or missing work or working from home or my participation level at home or how well I am performing as a mother or looking towards upcoming events.
I was just thinking this morning, how can I wrangle my boobs for Transformations so I am comfortable and still look nice. I want to make a big deal of this last Transformations but anything more than a T-Shirt is painful and, at best, very uncomfortable without a bra. I also tried a bra on Monday and it was a hard pass. Gen Xers don’t freeball.
The very last Transformations is coming up this weekend. We have the moon and I want to take her out and show her a lovely Lawrence, KS evening. I want to do makeup and all that girly stuff that she loves. I have pictures of me in jeans and a hoodie as well as a nice dress from past Transformations.
It all just makes me tired and anxious. I hate anxiety! I’m sure anxiety loves that.
It feels like I have been sick forever. I added a cold to this ball of awesome this past weekend. What is my body trying to tell me? How can I better serve myself? What is it that I need in this moment? Use your training, Holly.
A quick google search on recovering from shingles only tells me to steer clear of people as long as I have open wounds. I have not had open wounds for a month. I still cannot move without pain, cannot wear my trusty over the shoulder bolder holder, and don’t know if I am supposed to ignore the pain and press on or rest. I am frustrated. I am tired. I am grumpy and worn down. And I am sick of all those things as well.
The new routine with the moon lends itself to less down time. I am so grateful to my person who has been taking art classes and exercise classes and generally doing her own thing. She has been taking care of her while shingles and joint custody have taken my time. It’s very inspiring to watch. I am so grateful that we have built this life together. It is, and I pray it will always be, the backbone. If my recovery is my foundation, then this life with my person is the ground level, the cornerstone.
Thanks to all who continue to show up in physical life, digital life, spiritual life, and mental and emotional life. I dig you all. Love, Holly.
January starts the newest version of the court order from the step up plan ordered by the judge. I now have my baby every other weekend from Friday after school to Sunday at 6pm.
The following week I get her Monday after school until Tuesday morning drop off at school. It ends up being the same week since the off week is the Monday after the weekend. It’s kind of confusing and yes, I will say it, stressful.
This weekend is a holiday, so I’ll have her till Tuesday morning school drop off AT HER REQUEST. Her other mother and I had agreed that, with this weekend being long, I would drop her off Monday night at the halfway point, but she called stating that she would like to stay until Tuesday so she “won’t be tired.” Confirming with her mom, “She is excited to try 4 nights with you.”
You never know how big a small thing can be.
Looking back on this very blog, The Isms of the Ic, memories flood in if I allow them. I am very grateful to live in the present. I would also not possess a fraction of the gratitude that I have for the present if it were not for my past.
I don’t even know what the hell that thing is on the right! My baby girl is into some strange stuff. A fraction of the collection along with a very dear blast from the past.
New year. New part of the parenting plan. Yesterday I got to pick the moon up from school. I went in and met her teacher, her social worker, her school counselor, and got my password for the district website. (Spoiler alert: it says I don’t have a child enrolled. Oops)
We came home, played with Badger outside, and then hit the kitchen for this strange kid’s food choices. We had Mac and cheese and fried mushrooms, kiddo’s choice.
Appetizer of fried mushrooms
She started her homework while I cooked. We had reading and math. I copied the 3 minute addition drill and we did math side by side. She read her reading assignment to me and had me check answers to everything at her request.
I have prayed for this day. I have dreamed of this day. I have worked my ass off for this day.
Oh my god, it was such a physical struggle. These shingles are kicking my ass! It was painful to wear a bra to pick her up from school. I removed it while driving home because it was so uncomfortable. I finally reached out to my spiritual advisor, who also happens to be a nurse, and she suggested that I call back in to the doctor and let them know my progress or lack there of, and pain levels. Why didn’t I think of that? Oh yeah, because I need help with my life and I am so grateful for that. I am not 100% equipped to go it alone and I don’t have to.
After dinner and homework, we popped down to the Arts Center to see our beloved at art class. And we finished the night by reading Scaredy Squirrel (for the 4th time) in bed.
This part of the parenting plan has been tough with work. It’s been tough communicating with Isabella’s other mother. These shingles can suck it. But side by side math at the kitchen table in my own home and reading in my own bed. This is what makes it all worth it. My baby and me. Amen.
The Isms of the Ic 