May 31, 2007

The Hurdle

I’m exhausted.  Tired.  Depressed.  Ready to crawl into bed and sleep for days.

I barely get any rest these days.  I have no energy.  It’s a miracle I managed to organize some areas of my house last weekend.

I feel like I’m expected to go, go, go, nonstop; and I have to be perfect, because people look up to perfection.

• Do this, do that, be here, be there. 
• Clean the house, weed the flower beds, do laundry, argue with my husband about not doing the laundry.
• Get frustrated with Dawson when he leaves his toys all over the place, then feel guilty for feeling frustrated with Dawson.
• Resent my husband because he can take off on a whim, no guilt, and I’m jealous.
• Go grocery shopping, stick to the budget, pay the bills, argue with cable company about unnecessary charges.
• Go to church, volunteer my time to charity organizations even though I’m swamped at home.  Feel guilty for missing church because I am so damn tired and stressed.  Realize that church is the only quiet place I can go to reflect and pray and think.
• Always keep a smile on my face, even when difficult, because it’s not good to show people your weaknesses, they’ll hold them against you.
• Worry about my son; is he eating enough, is he well-rounded, is he smart, is he too skinny, but then feel stupid for worrying and try to stop.  Then feel worse for not worrying enough.
• Don’t tell my husband how I’m feeling because he may think I’m nuts or he won’t understand.  He doesn’t get that I’m overburdened and I’m not supposed to tell him because I’m Super Mom and I wanted this life, so now I have to be the alpha parent and deal with it.
• Cry about things that I can’t explain.  Cry about people having babies.  Cry about the dog and whether he’s loved enough.  Cry about the future and what it will bring.  Cry about my friends, and worry about whether or not they’re happy.  Cry about things that are so stupid it makes you cry even more.

Sometimes I have these moments of depression and I can’t explain them.  I always manage to climb my way out of the chaos, but I worry about the next episode. 

The funny thing is, I’ve tried the anti-depressants.  It just made me more out of synch.  My doctor doesn’t think I need the drugs because the things I worry about are normal.  Most mothers experience these feelings.  Normal.  Hah.

“It’s how you choose to handle what’s thrown your way,” he said.

I’m feeling like a crazy person, but I know I’m not crazy.  Crazy people don’t sit around and wonder if they are crazy, they just are.

My stomach is churning.  I might be hungry, but the thought of food is nauseating.

I’m….

I don’t know.

And, Erin.  Dear sweet Erin is experiencing some of this.   I want to reach out and hug her.  I want to tell her that she’ll get past this.  And she will.  But she doesn’t need me to tell her that.  She knows.  It’s just a bit cloudy when you stop the medication.  It’s a hurdle.  I’ve tripped on the hurdle so many times.  One day I will jump it.  Just not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Or next week.  But when the day comes, I’ll know.  I will know.

May 30, 2007

Memorial Day Tradition and Party Recap

To understand the Memorial Day tradition in my family I have to give you a little back story.  I apologize for the length of this post.

My father bought a tavern in 1984. Called The Big One, it was a predominant biker bar.  Dad named it Jurgella’s Bar when he went into business and several years later renamed it to Frank & Ernie’s when he added a kitchen to the premises so that he could serve burgers and fish fries. 

The clientele of Frank & Ernie’s was one of the most diverse than any other bar in the city.  The most loyal crowd was the afternoon regulars who stopped for a beer after work, such as “The Journal Boys” because they worked for the Stevens Point Journal and “The Portesi Guys” who worked for Portesi Pizza. 

The second group was “The Construction Guys”.  These men were heavy drinkers, often potsmokers, and hard partiers. 

Always the bartender’s worst nightmare (I speak from experience), these guys would order many shots of Jack Daniels, Tequila and Jagermeister and proceed to throw their plastic shot glasses over their shoulders after drinking their poison.  Often loud, rowdy and obnoxious, they also spent most of their hard-earned paychecks in the tavern and never listened to reason.

In the late 80’s and early 90s my father hired several college kids as bartenders and Frank & Ernie’s became a popular hangout for the college set.  We had a drink that no other bar offered, called the Chucklehead, created by a barteneder who’s nickname was none other than Chucklehead. 

This secret recipe has been handed down from bartender to bartender and to this day, college kids at UWSP flock to the tavern in groups to drink this concoction of 13 popular shots.  (You won’t see the recipe on this blog.  You’ll just have to fly in to Stevens Point to experience it yourself.  Many bartenders have changed the recipe, but the original is hanging on the wall in my parents’ basement.)

Frank & Ernie’s also had the lingering crew of bikers who stopped in for a drink during their Sunday rides, as well as many customers who lived in the neighborhood that loved the Ernie Burger and the company of my witty father.  I have memories of the tavern, most of them fond, some of them awful.  It brings a smile to my face, even now, to think back on all the years at F & E’s.

In 1992, my father began hosting a party every Memorial Day at Iverson Park.  He would invite his most loyal customers, friends and family members to celebrate the holiday with us.  My dad would supply half-barrels of beer, burgers and brats and each guest would chip in $10 or bring a dish to pass. 

Iverson Park had a public pavillion located close to the bathrooms, the public beach, the baseball diamond, the playground, and it was right next to the volleyball court. 

Many times I had to sit at this pavillion at the ass-crack of dawn to hold it until my dad could get there with all the party supplies. There was no way to reserve the place because it was an open shell and claimed on a first come basis.

Frank & Ernie’s volleyball matches were the best part.  Each team had nearly 12 people on it and the games never had any rules.  Combine this with drunk players and good times were had all around.

Of course many people invited themselves to this party each year and I cannot begin to tell you about every drama I witnessed.  My father always told me to pretend I knew nothing even if I knew everything about any given “soap opera” situation.  But as a nosy teenager, I loved the gossip.  Can you blame me?

I smiled and laughed at Schelke’s drunken rambling about Sally the Salamander, his classroom pet in elementary school.

I pretended I didn’t know that Suzie broke up with Billy but now she’s dating Tommy, and Tommy just had a baby with ex-girlfriend Denise, and Denise gave the baby up for adoption, and now she’ll be at the party, so now we have to keep Suzie and Denise away from each other, because last year, Denise threw a can of beer at Suzie and threatened to kill her.  As the Barstool Turns, anyone? 

I ignored the fact that Jeff was a pothead who smoked his doobies in the woods behind the bathroom. 

I laughed off the numerous times that Dave and Tom hit on me when my dad wasn’t around. 

I didn’t acknowledge the many times Jay and Mike acted like complete assholes to anyone around them. 

I just looked away when Bob and Sherry had one of their many marital arguments.  

I tried to ignore when Dave and Kim fought about which girl Dave was hitting on when she wasn’t looking.  (Yep.  Same Dave that hit on me.) 

I didn’t say a word when Kerry and Wade were doing drugs in the bathroom. 

I didn’t confront these people.  It wasn’t my place. 

There were things you couldn’t stop even if you tried.  I always pulled Dad aside and let him know what was up.  And Dad always knew about these things anyway.  He always took care of them.  He was a man to be feared if he found out you were doing something wrong or illegal.

In many ways, my Dad was like a father to his customers.  I remember how they looked up to him.  Dad was the first person they came to for advice and help.  They respected him and listened to him most of the time.  They listened as my father spoke of the meaning of Memorial Day and the freedom so many soldiers and veterans fought for; the very freedom we have today.

Even with all the drama, I couldn’t undersand why my dad bothered hosting these parties.  He always made sure his guests had a designated driver (often, that was me).  If someone couldn’t afford to chip in he’d let them eat and drink for free. 

I realized this was Dad’s way of showing his appreciation to his customers.  When you think about it, these people put food on our table.  They helped pay for my dental work.  They were my father’s livelihood.

After a tragic accident in 1998, my dad stopped having the parties at Iverson.  Two of “The Construction Guys” got into an awful drunk driving accident that killed three people.  They had been drinking at another bar when they were out of town on a construction job and decided to drive home at bar close. 

My father was so angry.  He tried many times to get these men to quit drinking and straighten their acts.  He helped these two, so many times. 

I often wondered why he tried to teach these guys to be smarter and wiser.  I also wondered when my dad finally realized some people are two far gone to save.  After many attempts to offer advice and support he just stopped worrying about it.  He stopped feeling responsible for what “might happen” and decided to let these two make their own mistakes and hopefully learn a valuable lesson.  He cared about these people, but he knew it wasn’t his job to babysit them.

The horrible incident really affected my father and he was angry at Jay and Kerry for being so irresponsible.  He was angry that three people died because of their stupidity. 

I think it still affects him today.  And Jay and Kerry never did learn.  Kerry died of drug overdose last year and Jay is back in jail for probation violation (Possession of marijuana.  No kidding!). 

My father doesn’t associate with anyone from that group anymore.  He washed his hands of them.  He gave up trying to be a role model to people who take no responsibility for their actions.

When my dad decided to retire from the the bar business, he didn’t sell the tavern.  Instead he leased it to a woman who ran a bar that was torn down when the property was bought by a neighboring car dealership for expansion. 

He built a home bar in his basement and decided to start having a Memorial Day party at his house.  Only this time, he’d invite the people he was closest to.

This year was the first year things got a little crazy. 

A few people heard my dad was having a party and invited themselves because they obviously thought this was like the Memorial Days of the past.  Chip in $10 and you can eat and drink all you want. 

My poor mother was upset about this.  She found out that one of the invited guests told the freeloaders about the party and mentioned stopping by.  

This guest also brought a crack whore to the party.  A party with several children present.  Apparently, this drug addicted woman was his girlfriend and she could barely stand on her feet.  And the guy who brought her?  Drunk before he even arrived at my parents’ house.

All of this did not sit well with Dish.  Dish is a former employee of my dad’s and she’s very close to our family.  She’s like an older sister to me.  A bit of a drama queen, she’s also the funniest woman I know.

Dish went off the handle about the crack whore and we found out (through the grapevine of the other freeloaders in attendance) that this woman’s brother Todd was the son-in-law of one of my Dad’s closest friends, but Todd died a few months ago from an aneurism and allegedly he was a heavy drinker and potsmoker. 

Then my mother, true to her Catholic ways, tried to say we can’t prove it and that we should just pretend we don’t know anything and “turn the other cheek”.  

“We don’t know for sure.  She might just have the hiccups.” she said.

I couldn’t stop laughing. That just “cracked” me up.  Staggering around like a homeless wino = Maybe she just has the hiccups.

My brother was a bit drunk at the party and started telling semi-naughty jokes to an eight-year-old.  I’m certain little Adam will be called to the principal’s office today for telling a joke about Santa’s balls.

Around the firepit, my father tried to teach us a repeating game.  The rules of the game were to imitate the facial epressions and movements of the leader; basically mimic what the leader did.  I think it was an adult version of Follow the Leader. 

After every facial expression my dad would cross his legs and the players who didn’t cross their legs after copying the facial expression would be out.  You can imagine the angry players who couldn’t figure out what they were doing wrong.  It was quite funny.

Aside from the hiccupping crack whore and the party crashers, I had a good time. 

Next year, I’m going to host a party like the celebrities.  Send the invitation stating the guests must be prepared for a phone call the day of the party telling them where it’s at.  It might prevent univitied guests, don’t you think?

May 29, 2007

Long Weekends Can Sometimes Be Too Long

After a very long weekend, I’m ready to come back to work.  This feeling won’t last more than twenty minutes because I’m swamped with things to do at the office.  

Three day weekends are wonderful and I’d never trade them in for anything.  It’s just the repercussion of an extra day off takes it’s toll the rest of the short week.

Friday afternoon my boss allowed me to leave several hours early (and still get paid) because of the “good work and dedication” I bring to the company.  I graciously accepted this bonus and ran out to do some last minute errands before I settled into the weekend. 

I stopped at Target and Walmart to buy a few stylish fabric totes for my organization project.  I went to the bank to withdraw some much needed cash for the grocery store. 

When it comes to grocery shopping I always pay with cash because it keeps me within budget and prevents me from buying those unnecessary items I don’t really need.  Like Doritos.  And Symphony chocolate bars.

I managed to stop at the gas station and fill my car with very, very, very expensive ($3.45/gallon) gasoline, and took Dawson to Subway for an early supper. 

Doug was working second shift so the Doodlebug and I had the evening to do what we wished.  Well, at least Dawson did.   After 13 ”On Demand” episodes of Blues Clues, I had enough. I put that child to bed early and cracked open a wine cooler.

Saturday was Project Day.  I woke up at 7:00 sharp, cleaned Dawson’s disasterous room (it took 4 1/2 hours, it was a tornado site) and organized my pantry closets (at least one of them). 

After that I sat down just for a moment and my ambition took a shit.  I had no desire to start on the craft room.  I’ll have to get to that this weekend.  Here’s a few before and after shots:

   Extremely messy bedroom.

   Very neat and tidy bedroom.

  Disasterous pantry.

  Organized pantry.

The rest of the photos are here.

Sunday my parents hosted a memorial day party at their home.  I’ve got lots of stories about this that I’m currently writing.  Stayed tuned for the recap.  Monday we visited my grandparents’ graves and I’ve got a post about that too.

Photos from the party are here.  Photos from the cemetary and a visit to my grandparents’ farm are here.

Can’t wait to read what y’all did on your 3 day weekends!

May 26, 2007

Let’s Count

Yeah, he’s a funny little boy.

Dawson learns to count.  He skips a few numbers and gets distracted by the T.V., but I think he’s kinda cute.   

May 25, 2007

Eight Random Facts About Dana

Mary of Mom Writes tagged me for a meme.  A meme in which I reveal eight random facts about myself.

Oh, where to begin.  I’m trying to come up with eight things you don’t already know about me and that is harder than I realized.  Here goes:

1. I despise most reality T.V. shows except Dancing With the Stars and the early years of MTV’s Real World.  American Idol makes me want to barf.  The Bachelor is complete bullshit because we all know the couple will break up once the novelty of television romance wears off.  Survivor is boring these days.  Besides, we’ve got Lost now.  And The Amazing Race?  Blah.  Wife Swap is the most annoying television show created, because who in their right mind would want to swap spouses, knowing fully that the person you get is going to be insane and you’ll miss your partner more than you realized.  We shouldn’t be taking our SigOths for granted in the first place.  Nanny 911 is almost tolerable, but it seems like ABC finds families with the most vicious children.  These people should be on Dr. Phil.  (Oh, did I mention I can’t stand him either?)  And what’s worse is I see commercials advertising new reality shows.  The Ex-Wives Club?  American Inventor?  Seriously, does this ever end?
2. I hate shaving my legs.  I can never shave without 42,000 nicks and cuts on my legs which makes me look like I wrestled a rose bush.  I like Veet, the razorless “shaving” system, but it never does the job completely.  I wish I could afford waxing, but I think I’d be afraid of the pain.  I cry when I have my eyebrows waxed sometimes.
3. I’m going to the BlogHer conference this July and while most of you know this, I’ve failed to mention how absolutely nervous I am about meeting the bloggers I love.  I secretly fear I’ll be left alone in my room because everyone will think I’m boring.  Totally irrational, I know, but I have already had a couple nightmares about it.
4. Sometimes when Doug cooks dinner, if I don’t like something on my plate, I feel bad telling him it wasn’t great, so I fib and then feed the dish to Murphy.  Shhh!  Don’t tell my husband.  He’ll cry.  I think.
5. I sometimes forget to read blogs.  Then I panic and do a long blog walk and pretend like I’ve been following along.  It’s terrible.  I’m sorry.  Forgive me?
6. I love gardening but I hate weeding.  I wish I had a gardener who came over to do my weeding, and maybe some landscaping.  And laundry, dishes, dusting and mopping. 
7. I let Dawson eat potato chips and string cheese for breakfast sometimes.  I know that’s not a good decision, but it keeps him quiet on the way to daycare.  Nothing is worse than a screaming child while trying to concentrate on driving.
8. I’m trying to find a way for me to work from home.  I desperately want to be home with Dawson.  Working out of the home is starting to wear on me.  I wish I had the luxury my mom had of being home with us until we started school.

There you have it.  Eight random facts.  The rules of this game require me to tag eight people.  I can’t tag Cheryl because Mary already did.  So I choose:

Erin of The Queen of Spain (that is if she’s not chasing naked toddlers around the house.)

Leslie of My Mommy’s Place

Christina of A Mommy Story (if she’s not in labor.)

Do I even know eight people?

Liz from This Full House

Lisa from Midwestern Mommy

Meg of Sleepy New Mommy

Debbie of Happy Working Mom

Carla of Four by 40

(Can you tell I had to dig through my comments?  It’s hard to think of eight bloggers, who haven’t already been tagged, on the spot!)