Kathryn. Real.

Please for the love of all that is holy (or isn’t for that matter) please let us sell this house.  If you happen to be reading this pleas send good thoughts our way.

I’m totally becoming one of those moms who forces pictures of their children on unsuspecting victims ala Hyacinth Bucket (Bouquet).  10 points to anyone who knows who that is.

A couple of weeks ago I took down ½ a post about our financial difficulties.  I did this in part because I know my husband is a private person and our issues in such detail might have made him uncomfortable (even though he didn’t say anything, thanks honey).  I also felt like a jerk whining about money when we have so much; a beautiful home in a neighborhood so safe that I feel comfortable leaving our doors unlocked.  We’re a healthy (well, not counting the staph on my hands that refuses to go away) and happy little family.  We have so much more than so many others.  But that doesn’t mean that we’re not struggling. 

Since we bought this house two years ago we have lost 3/4ths of our income.  I wish I were exaggerating, but I’m not.  We’ve managed to adjust each time we lost another source of income, but with our mortgage going up 300 bucks a month not including escrow we are finally stretched beyond our means.  We’ve cut back all we can.  Our savings is gone from repairs and unforeseen bills.  We’re not poor, but we are broke.  We have to sell the house we love because it’s the only thing left and it’s our biggest expense.  We can’t refinance while it’s for sale, or until it’s been off the market for 6 months so that’s not an option either.  It would help tremendously if Kent would get a raise.  He hasn’t had one in 5 years and he is literally the IT department for his company.  They can’t even print without help.  (I’m not exaggerating about that either).  If he leaves they’re fucked.  He built almost all of their systems when he was a partner which means he can take them with him when he goes. If they continue on the track they’re on they will start making money soon, and I’m just praying that they’ll give him his due.  But it’s not likely because of some office politics crap that I can’t get into even though trust me I’d like to. 

So, we may be looking at foreclosure in the near future.

I know that there are many people who know us personally (including those that may or may not hold the purse strings at Kent’s company)  who can’t understand why I just don’t go back to work full time.  It’s a simple solution to our problem right?  Well, no actually it’s not.  First of all, a degree in French sounds pretty cool but has very little marketability especially when I’m so out of practice I don’t feel it would be ethical to tell a potential employer that my skills are up to speed.  Since I don’t have a masters degree, or any specialized skills I’m probably going to be forced to start in an entry position anyway.  So realistically I’m looking at making barely enough to cover day care costs. 

More importantly, I’m not staying home for my health.  I’m staying home because Kent and I believe that is what is best for our child.*  I will not apologize for that.  I should not have to choose between making ends meet and raising my kid. But that’s where we are as a society right now so if I have to sacrifice some worldly comforts so that I’m the one with him day in and day out then I won’t hesitate.  If that means living in a tiny one bedroom apartment and shopping for food at the dollar store for a few years I’m happy to do it (as long as we’re safe).

So the house is for sale through the summer.  Hopefully we’ll get enough side work to cover our bills through then.  I’m just so fed up with the whole situation I want to vomit.  The good thing is that most of my life is so focused on caring for Ellis that I don’t dwell on our broke assness much at all.  Just try to be negative when you’re looking at this…

* I know it’s not necessarily best for every family or even every child.  Two working parents works well for a lot of families, and I’m not saying children don’t benefit from the social interaction and education they receive at day care.  There are drawbacks and advantages to everything.

I barely remember me.  With taking care of a baby, keeping a way too large house picked up and clean, being gone for showings, and the part time work that starts today, I feel like I have 3 full time jobs.  This blogging thing is starting to feel like another obligation.  To who (whom?) I have no idea, but that’s the feeling anyway. And honestly by the time I have a few minutes to be still my brain is so fried all I can do is sit and stare at what’s in front of me with drool leaking out the side of my mouth. Soooo until one or more of these extra jobs goes away I am going to limit my posts to once a week, Sundays to be exact.  That’s right the day of the Lord will now also be the day of the Magic.  Can you see the drool?

Ellis,

Yesterday you turned 5 months old.  We celebrated by not driving around for the 4 hour window during which people came to look at our “fixer-upper”, and instead staying here so that your naps weren’t interrupted for once.  Speaking of naps, what happened to them?  For a while there you were taking two lovely two hour naps; one at 10 and one at 2 (times dictated by you).  Now I’m lucky if you nap for an hour total.  I think it might be all the driving around in the car while people look at our house (so that later they can rip it apart and tell us to lower the price).  Your sleep in the car then you don’t sleep at home.  The result is that I don’t get the all important nap which allows me not to curse and kick my legs in frustration when you wake up twice in the night and are so fussy that it takes me at least 6 tries to get you to eat. 

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting on the couch with my legs up and you were in my lap, happy, having just eaten when all the sudden I realized that you were like, actually sitting in my lap.  Not needing me for balance at all.  You sat there for a few seconds all on your own, and I laughed and cried and called you dad all at once.  Since then we’ve practiced sitting every day.  Not in an I schedule 30 minutes of sitting practice and we will now do sitting exercises kind of way, but in a we’re playing on the floor why don’t you try to sit on your own for a couple of minutes kind of way.  You’re still a little top heavy but with help you can sit up for as long as you feel like it, and without help, you can sit up for a couple of minutes.  You’ve become a master roller.  You don’t even mind being on your tummy now because you know you could remedy the situation if you wanted to.  The other day I put you on the floor on your back and went in the other room to well, pee alone frankly.  When I came back you had rolled over so many times you were halfway across the room.  You can cover quite a distance little man! 

This month has seen quite a few firsts for both of us.  Your dad finally convinced me that you would not get kidnapped from the YMCA day care if we went to work out for 30 minutes.  So we’ve been a couple of times and you’ve charmed the sox off of the nice young ladies who work there.  The first time we went, we were there for 20 minutes and your dad went to check on you no less than 3 times.  He talks a big game, but he’s just as nervous for you as I am.  You went to your first baseball game too (thanks to your aunt Genay for the tickets!!).  You loved all the sights and sounds and attention but were asleep before we got to the car on the way home.  You started taking naps in your very own bed this month too, although we’re still working on that.  And for the last two nights you’ve slept in your own bed for most of the night.  I’m conflicted about this because right now you love to snuggle up to me to fall asleep, and it’s one of those wonderful, special times that will be over before I blink.  I don’t want to rush it, but I also don’t want you to be scared to sleep alone.  So maybe we’ll mix it up a bit, I’m we’ll figure it out together.

We’re a pretty good team, you and me.  What I wish for most in the world is that we always will be.

You’re still working on those teeth of yours.  They seem to be hurting you more and more so maybe they’ll be in soon.  The one that we thought was coming went back down and you’re chewing on the other side now.  Last night we gave you your first taste of real food.  You weren’t so sure about your first bite of apple sauce, but after a few more you seemed to really like the stuff!  You still like moms milk the best though.  We’ve started giving you a little water here and there which you really like.  Your dad started it by giving you sips of his drink from his cup, and now you want to drink everything he has.  You don’t really swallow much but you lick the liquid and bite the edge of the glass.  You much prefer it when we hold our big glasses for you than having to drink from your own sippy cup or even bottle.

It seems like each month has been more fun than the last.  I can’t wait for what comes during this one.  My prediction: crawling.

I love you little man

Mom

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Warning: Gross bodily fluid talk below 

Remember a few posts ago when I mentioned that I had been diagnosed with eczema?  Yeah, it’s not eczema.  It started out as little water blisters under my fingernail and progressed to a giant yellow oozing mess all over the tip of my finger.  It hurt like a son of a bitch so I went to a different doctor who cultured it and found out it was a highly contagious antibiotic resistant strain of staph I was infected with.  Great.  Of course as soon as I got off the phone with my doc I called to make an appointment for Ellis just to be sure I hadn’t passed it along.  So far so good.

In other depressing news if the house doesn’t sell very, very, very soon we will be in a very, very, very bad situation.  Like worst case scenario time.  We’re getting desperate.  I don’t know how much longer we can act like normal human beings with this financial monkey on our back.  At least Kent still has a job.

And our kid smiles at us like this every day…

Last weekend the family and I went to Houston to meet up with Kent’s sister Genay, his brother Keith and their families.  We went to an Astros game on Saturday night.  It was Ellis’s first baseball game.  He really seemed to enjoy all the sights and sounds.  I always loved going to games with my dad and brother growing up so I’m hoping E loves it just as much.  It’s a 5 hour drive from Flower Mound so we were pushing our luck with the wee one.  The drive down was great, he was a perfect angel.  The drive back was another story.  He kept throwing his pacifiers all around the back seat, hence my arsenol pictured above.  We had a great time visiting with the family.  Kent’s niece had a baby a few months before Ellis was born so they got to meet eachother.  He’s got the cutest head of bright red hair, and was really sociable with E. 

Here’s a video of Ellis laughing (not related to this weekend in any way).  Check our weekend after the jump…

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For as long as I can remember I have thought I was fat.  Even when I clearly was not (looking back at pictures it’s hard to believe I felt that way) I felt like I was the biggest one of my peers.  In ballet classes when I was 6 or 7 I remember being told to suck in my stomach.  I’m sure they told all the girls to do the same thing, but I thought it was meant only for me.  In tap classes I was horrified that my thighs would jiggle during a shuffle step or ball change. All I wanted in the entire world was to be a professional ballerina.  That dream was promptly squashed by my teachers and other important people in my life.  I didn’t have the right body for that, they said.  I’d never make it into a conservatory with my shape.

I remember one night at dinner in 4^th grade mentioned that I had been weighed at school that day and when I said my weight family member’s mouth fell agape with horror.  I must be mistaken, they said, there’s no way I could weigh that much.  It hadn’t crossed my mind that there was anything wrong with that particular weight until that moment.  Similar comments were made here and there.  Compliments that my ankles were looking thinner, (I hadn’t realized I had, had fat ankles) advice about sleeveless shirts, (I shouldn’t get that one because of my arms, they said worriedly) and maybe I shouldn’t have that dessert, but an apple instead.  There was a time when I would chew the apple then spit it in the sink so I wasn’t actually eating it.  I am not blaming anyone here.  I am positive these things were coming from a loving place.  They just wanted me to be successful in the world, and part of that means being thin.

I’m sure it didn’t help that I was modeling from the time I was 6 months old.  Constantly being around women who were so thin and so worried about staying thin must have had an effect on my little brain. I finally quit when I was asked to model a training bra when I was 10.  I just didn’t feel thin enough.

By the time I was in Jr. High my relationship with food was a disaster.  I was wearing a size 8 when most of my friends were wearing size 2 or even zero.  I had the shape of a woman.  I was the recipient of lusty glances from grown men in public that made me uncomfortable.  I was 12, but looked 16.  And I was way ahead of my friends.  My best friend Nicole’s boyfriend said I should take diet pills because a size 8 was fat.  Nicole wore a 6 but she was several inches shorter than me.  It didn’t matter, I bought it.  I had to get thinner.  And so the dieting cycle began.  I only allowed myself 10 grams of fat per day.  I rode the exercise bike at least an hour a day.  I lost weight and I was happy.

But of course it came back.  In high school I was back up to a size 8 and felt completely enormous.  It didn’t help that my breasts were the largest of any other girl in my grade.  It seems if you have a large chest but don’t sleep around, teenage boys don’t know exactly what category to put you in.  I was 16 but looked 19 and was getting lusty looks from older men that still made me very uncomfortable.  My father’s friends would have a little too much to drink and say to him (in front of me) Kathryn sure has “grown” while cupping their hands in front of their chests to mimic breasts.  I felt scared and completely out of control of my own body.

In college I joined a sorority, and participated full on.  My weight stabilized for a short time.  It was normal for a 20 year old.  I was not fat, I was not thin.  Then one of my sorority sisters died unexpectedly after being hit by a drunk driver.  Somewhere deep down I decided that this would be my excuse for eating.  Life was too short not to eat what I wanted right?  I could die tomorrow and what good will it have done to not eat those fries.  I ballooned up very quickly.  My boyfriend cheated on me as quickly as I got fat (actually, really truly fat).  So I continued to medicate with food, not realizing what I was doing.  I spent a summer in Paris and came back determined to lose the extra weight.  My neuroses did a complete 180.  Instead of thinking I should eat this because I might die tomorrow.  I was thinking, taking these diet pills and eating one bagel all day while drinking 10 cups of coffee is totally worth it, because if I die, at least I will be thin when people come to see me in my coffin.  Or I was only going to do it this way until I got skinny, then I would keep it off the healthy way.  This was of course followed by a very slow gain until Kent’s mom died, and then it became a rapid gain.  Again I was using food to medicate.

I don’t think it was any one thing that made me this way.  I think if I had a different temperament none of these events would have had any negative effect on me.  All I know is that somewhere along the way I began to believe that to be good enough, I had to be thin and beautiful.  And I’m tired.  I’m tired of feeling like the size of an ant every time my husband comments on someone’s weight on TV because “Oh my God if he thinks she’s fat he must think I am the most disgusting looking creature to ever walk the earth.”  I’m tired of knowing that if I were 20 pounds lighter that guy would probably have held the door open for me.  I’m tired of wondering if what I see in the mirror is as bad as what other people see. 

The other day someone in my family was over to see the baby and we were talking about his chubby little baby thighs.  The person said “Well, he comes by those naturally eh Kathryn”.  Or something to that effect.  It made me feel like I was going to throw up.   And it made me hate myself even more because it affected me like it did. 

I’m doing something about the weight.  It’s extremely difficult to go back to eating like a normal person after eating like a pregnant person for almost an entire year.   I’m eating better (more and more) and exercising more and it is slowly, very slowly coming off.  But for the first time this alone isn’t making it all better.  I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about my mental health before I can truly solve this issue with my physical health.  And now that I’m a mom, that need is being pushed down to the bottom of the list like a lot of mine and Kent’s needs.  I just don’t know how to fix me; I don’t know how to make myself better.  I want this issue to be gone from my life already and I’m starting to feel desperate.  I just want to feel like I’m good enough.