“Spiteful words can hurt your feelings, but silence breaks your heart.” ~Author Unknown

So, at the time of writing this, I wasn’t sure I was going to even post it. I was trying to work some thoughts out. Still trying to really. Now that I’m posting it, I’m not sure I’m going to link it. I’m not sure of a lot right now. But, it’s part of who I am, it’s part of my process. It’s not witty, it’s not funny, it’s pretty much just kind of raw me. While I am usually always smiling, typically optimistic (at times to a fault) and seek out the lesson in everything… this time I don’t know what I am.

If you’ve been reading, you know that I recently did some Spring Cleaning. Sweeping out some bad to give the good more room to breathe. In reality, it was a hard thing for me to do. By nature I see the good in people. Once I care, I have a hard time walking away. Setting boundaries are sometimes hard enough for me. Even when a relationship, of any kind, swings off balance, when I care, I will take it and take it hoping it will eventually swing back to where it was. I don’t like to give up on people. This gets infinitely stronger the closer I’ve gotten to them and the closer I’ve allowed them to get to me.

I saved the hardest for last. One that had gotten off balance, but I knew at its core was good. When I ran back through the last year the positives clearly outweighed the negatives, there was a unique bond and yes there was love there. That while it may need repair, it was a keeper.

So I laid it at their feet. Which was scary, but I had faith. Faith in them. Faith in me. Faith in us.

I have listed all the things I knew in a recent post about my Spring Cleaning. The truths I had walked away from the lesson with. Bit it would seem the lesson isn’t finished.

Yes they had gotten my email.

Yes they had already started to respond.

Yes they wanted to talk.

Yet it remains at their feet.

A part of me does too in a way.

And now they have gone completely silent.

And instead of I knows, I am left with I don’t knows.

Question after unanswered question.

Why haven’t they responded? Are they scared to? Or do they just not even care? Do I matter? Did I ever really matter? Why say you love someone and then 48 hours later…? Do I just walk away? Do they wish I would? What happened? What did I do? What do I do?

Question after unanswered question.

And a lesson I am not yet sure of. Or maybe it’s right there but, feeling unworthy of even a response, tears have blurred my vision.

Whoever said silence was golden was sorely mistaken.

Silence hurts.

Silence can break your heart.

My monkeys are getting soft… and they’re taking me down with them.

The fact that my girls could quote Star Wars at two and three years old didn’t surprise any of my friends and family. The shocker was they did it wearing pink.

“I thought you hated pink.”

Pink does indeed make my right eye twitch in many of its applications. The only proven documented cases of me donning pink are my sister’s wedding from Hell (think pink meets Carmen Miranda) and medicinally. I have the distinct pleasure of being allergic to mosquitoes and yet living in a place that jokes they are the state bird. Thanks to those lil bloodsucking bastards and Calamine lotion, every summer I turn into a pale pink spotted leper. My theory on the whole pink thing with my daughters is this- just because I have issues with the color doesn’t mean I’m gonna impose my view or distaste of it on them. I want them to be their own lil people and if that means them liking pink, so be it.

Alright, look, I was totally hoping they’d take after me. They had me pretty convinced I was in the clear for a while here too. Pink was a passing phase. Purple, red and black have replaced it.

But I am far from out of the woods.

I know my name has girlie in it. True to form, I am quirky with my girlie-ness. People have been known to receive surprise packages of homemade daisy sugar cookies lovingly decorated with M&Ms. But, eldest’s last birthday cake request turned out to be a life size Yoda. Which I blissfully tackled creating new cuss words as I built him. I’m almost always seen wearing lipstick. Yet the makeup and hair product department scares the complete shit out of me. Last year I am proud to say I learned how to put on eye shadow for the first time. Figured one day I may need to teach the monkeys that. Hairspray, however, is still a complete mystery to me beyond a fixative for charcoal drawings and a make shift self-defense device. You never know when an Aqua Net flame-thrower may come in handy ya know. I’m girlie on some levels, others not so much.

I had a close call last year when my phone rang at 7:15am on Black Friday. Panic ensued when a woman who is like a sister to me uttered ”Look bitch, my nieces are getting Barbies this year and that’s that. Suck it up.” And they did. It was less than a week later I got the joy of calling her and saying “Guess what hooker- your youngest niece just popped the head off her Barbie and chucked it at her sister. And she did the same back. That’s right, Barbie head fight all up in here.” Whew.

Still not out of the woods.

Last week during our drive home, eldest monkey was talking like 93mph about her day. Then gasps. “Oh my gosh mommy, I totally forgot to tell you- J CALLED ME HIS BFF TODAY!!” My brain so hadn’t processed yet and before I knew it I was all “Oh my gosh that is like way awesome.” And then she was all “Do you know what a BFF is? “ And I was all “Duh, it’s totally Best Friends Forever.” And then she was all “Wow. Mommy you are like so totally awesomesauce.” Then a voice of logic from within bitchslapped my neurons back into place. WHAAAA?? She’s only 5! I had visions of a 13 year old having body snatched my kid. And me for that matter!!! That night we had a “Goonies” intervention. Had to be done.

But it started to sink in. She’s growing up. They are growing up. And being exposed to BFF’s and lip gloss. I know girls will be girls. The dresses and skirts don’t bother me at all. I can even live with the fake plastic my first hooker heel dress up shoes they clomp around in. Well, until I step on a stray one. Them suckers hurt. The first rock star they met in person wasn’t someone from a Disney show, it was Maynard from Tool & Puscifer. They don’t want ballet lessons, they want to go to “Kung Fu School.” It’s been balancing out, but I’m scared of the scale tipping. Too soon! Not ready. There’s not nearly enough saved up in the therapy fund yet.

And then there was this Wednesday night. What started out like a normal Monkey Family Movie Night, quickly downward spiraled. Alvin and the Chipmunks the Squeakquel was harmless the first time we watched it. This time, it changed. While Simon is still their favorite, my safe lil balance was thrown way off. Thanks to those lil Chimpettes. Monkey Family Movie Night turned into me learning the words to some “you’re hot and your cold…. you’re yes and you’re no” song and Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” Not just the words, oh no, we went further down the rabbit hole than that. To sum it up, a knock on the door from the neighbor girls later and I had a room full of lil girls and somehow I was choreographing our own routines to the songs.

I am not ashamed to say I had fun. Their giggling is infectious. And it’s my favorite sound in the world.

But, I’m scared. I’m scared of that scale getting tipped long term to all that is pink and plastic and Barbie. To stereotypes and living up to peers’ expectations instead of being true to themselves and who they really want to be. They are my daughters though. I have faith they will settle into their own quirky girlie-nesses. Proud to be girls. Knowing that being soft doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. That having boobs doesn’t mean you don’t have brains. That life is a continual learning process and someday their daughters may teach them as they continue to teach me.

The next day eldest’s class went to the book fair they have going on at her school. She was given an envelope of money from me and told she could buy anything she wanted with that money. There was only one requirement- it had to be something SHE wanted. Not what she thought I would want, or her sister would want, or her BFF would want. What SHE wanted.

And this is what she came home with.

Obi-Wan, you are my hope.

Approximately 13 minutes into third period, Mr. C’s accelerated chemistry class knew I was wearing red and black plaid bikini underwear. Yup. Good times. I was proudly perched on my lab stool eagerly ready to learn when he began demonstrating the lesson. As soon as the smell hit me… thunk. That was the day I found out I was allergic to ammonia. And that my face is capable of turning the exact shade of red in that damn plaid underwear. It took until fifth period for news of my underwear sighting to properly reach the whole school. It took until winter before I would wear a short skirt again. With tights. THICK ONES.

Even a nerdy science girl gets that panty peekage as grand as that doesn’t happen every day. Laughter I expected. Laughter from those I thought were friends I did not. And I’m not talking in that laughing with you way cuz hello at that age there is a certain acceptable grieving period one must go through on such an epic incident of embarrassment before one can laugh at one’s self. Two periods didn’t quite cut that. Rumors blindsided me even more. You see, despite the red face, restricted airway and eyes swollen and watering for hours after, I had staged it you know. I was basically just an attention-seeking whore. Two terms that couldn’t be further from the truth. And you didn’t even really need to know me to know that just wasn’t who I was. People are odd creatures. They remind me of those lil Russian stacking dolls. You never know what you’re going to get when you lift the face off the top one. Sometimes all the ones inside are exactly the same, other times they are drastically different. You never truly know what the other faces will look like. Until it’s too late.

It’s Spring Cleaning time for me. I’m definitely not one of those people that takes great joy in cleaning. Don’t try to eat off my floor, I wouldn’t advise it. And yeah, still no ammonia based cleaners for me. This year, I’ve done things differently. I’ve decided to start Spring Cleaning my LIFE before my home. Ok, for a fleeting moment there was a small part of me that thought it would be a great diversionary tactic to avoid the tedious scrubbing of my physical surroundings. My gut and my heart knew it would actually be much more difficult. Truthfully though, Life had already begun to show me the necessity for it over the past two weeks and for once I wasn’t too stubborn to listen.

I started with myself and a simple question- am I happy? Then tackled the unpleasantries- who am I? Where am I going? How do I propose I am going to get there? What makes me happy?

Honestly, I was pretty proud of how I was working through all of it so quickly and comfortably. That should have been my first red flag. Then Life, that twisted lil skamp, started flipping the heads off the Russian dolls in my life. Two dolls in I knew I needed to switch gears and pull some off myself. Or gut check and make my best educated guess at what truly lay beneath. Which sucked. Hard. But I did it. I purged what I determined to be the false, the negative, the energy suckers, the constantly need ego strokingers. I thought I had gotten them all. The fact that I thought that and I worked through it rather comfortably as well should have been the sign the freakin’ apocalypse was coming. And not the fun zombie kind either.

For about a day I felt I had emerged from my Spring Cleaning confident, focused, surrounded by positive, loving friends. Yay me!

Then someone brought a jug of ammonia to my party. Thunk. A couple of conversations with a couple of people and my whole process was going to need to start all over again, face red, head spinning, eyes watering, self doubting, lil Russian doll heads popping off all over.

I would have rather just lifted my damn skirt and shown everyone my underwear. Again. After Spring Re-Cleaning, I’ve decided this time the underwear wouldn’t be plaid bikini. For starters we’re looking at boy shorts instead because this ass needs to be contained. They would be black and in red letters across my ghetto booty it would read I KNOW.

I know who I am.

I know that I trust until given a reason not to and some people may use that to their advantage.

I know that I love those I care about unconditionally without honestly wanting anything in return.

I know I am a genuine and kind hearted person.

I know I am flawed, but I am REAL.

I know when you look at all the other faces of mine behind the one you see-

I know who I am.

I know where I am going.

I know what makes me happy.

I know who really knows me and really loves me.

I know I am still allergic to ammonia.

And now I know I am allergic to mismatched Russian stacking dolls.

Once upon a time there lived a little girl who believed that anything was possible. That just because something hadn’t been done yet did not mean that it couldn’t be done. That someday a Princess would slay a dragon. That someday what was on the inside would count more than what was on the outside. That someday people would come in so many colors, black and white would cease to exist. That someday the world would be a peaceful and happy place.

As she grew, she held tightly to this belief, this faith that anything could be accomplished. The harder life tried to beat it out of her, the more and more cemented in her belief she became. When things got really dark, she would close her eyes and picture the endless possibilities that lay ahead until it was safe to open them again. As the girl got older she saw many things no one should have to see and went through many things no one should have to go through. Each time, she closed her eyes and thought of a time when no one would. In fact a time when no one would go through worse either because she knew that there were many out there that not only faced worse in their lives, but did so on a daily basis.

That girl, not so much a girl anymore, also thought of a time when she could do more than small little things to ripple a very large pond. Very few things made her happier, and still do really, than proving the “you can’t” sayers wrong.

A couple of months ago, one of her pet peeves seemed to be everywhere. Like someone let it get into a bucket of chicken after midnight and it multiplied out of control. Just what was it that was eating that chicken? Grumpy, negative people. The kind that spew their negativity at everyone and prove that whole misery likes company schtick. The kind that constantly whine and bitch and moan about everything, yet do nothing about it. Perhaps that isn’t fair, sometimes they do go through the effort of raising a finger to point it at those whose fault they would like to blame for it. But, of course it is never THEIRS. And sometimes some of them may do so simply because they don’t know what else to do. But when it comes down to it, even when you don’t know what exactly to do, you aught to try something. Any effort is better than no effort at all. And that girl has always believed if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem. So that girl closed her eyes and she thought of a time when the positive would outweigh the negative. Then she tried to imagine just how she could make that happen.

It was around this time that a couple of other people she had grown to know quite well were facing the same negativity and about done with it as well. They realized that on the outside they were so very different, but on the inside, they all shared the common bond, the desire to make a difference. To make a change in this community, in this country, in this world. Together they also knew that they did not have the one right answer on how this would be done, but that was ok. The mere fact that they knew they had each other and knew there would be more like them who shared their goal was all they needed. The girl smiled happily, knowing she had found a way to make a much bigger ripple in that very large pond. And that girl’s smile got a whole lot bigger and a lil mischievous when she realized all the “you can’t” sayers they could prove wrong.

And so it began.

Once upon a time, Zebra Panel was born. And someday, it will make all kinds of things that haven’t happened, begin to happen.

To visit Zebra Panel online, click here.

To visit Zebra Panel on Facebook, click here.

To hang with Zebra Panel on Twitter, click here.

To visit some of the girl’s Partners in Change:

Her homie, The Bus Bandit, please to read is recent AMAZING blog post byclicking here.

Her soul sistah, Berni, click here.

Her Partner in Change and Crime, Carrie, click here.

Her sister from another mister and in dorkery, Sara, click here.

Her heart of gold havin’ BFF Stacy, click here.

Her newest partners and amazing group of people, Life After Hate, click here.

It amazes me how alike and yet how different my monkeys are. They are both undeniably my daughters in so very many ways. Personality-wise, there is almost nothing of their father in them. Trust me, that’s not a bad thing.

Both are strong and feisty in their own right. Lilest is my rebel, bold and proud of who she is and will defend herself and her sister in less than a heartbeat. Eldest monkey is equally proud of who she is, will womp an army if they even look at her sister cross-eyed, but will not stand up for herself. Both willing to bend, to change, to break for no one. Yet one remains silent when faced with someone who feels it is okay to diminish her feelings or bully her. She will merely stand silent and take it. I used to think she had inherited the trait from me. I will take a lot of shit from people before I finally say I’ve had enough and snap. Mess with someone I love though and it’s on like Donkey Kong. And over before you know it.

Yesterday, I realized I was wrong.

Eldest came home from school Monday and told me one of her classmates (I’m gonna refer to him as Eddie, cuz I swear he’s the bastard son of Eddie Haskel) pushed her at recess. Huge step for her. I asked to her tell me what happened. Turns out Eddie kept telling her to kiss another male classmate (Eldest’s BFF actually) and she refused to. So the little shit pushed her. Each time she said no to giving BFF a smooch, Eddie would push her down. When I asked her what she did, she replied “I just kept getting up.” When I asked her why she didn’t go get one of the teachers at recess, she said she didn’t want to be a “tattle tale.” Grrr… the guidance counselor had talked to them last week about “tattle tales.” One of the guidelines to when you should tell was only if someone was getting hurt. In Eldest’s head, she wasn’t physically hurt from the push, therefore she shouldn’t tell. Good job guidance counselor.

So we had a chat. I explained right off the bat that NO ONE has the right to hurt or to push her. That just because the push wasn’t physically hurting her, it still hurt her feelings and her feelings were even more important than her body to some extent. A scraped knee heals quicker sometimes.

We formulated a plan.

First push- she points at him and in the biggest voice she has says “NO! Eddie that is NOT OKAY! You do NOT have the right to push me!” Even if he stops, she tells her teacher what happened.

Second push- she goes to get a teacher.

If he tries to push her or stop her in any way from getting a teacher, I told her to push his ass back. That’s right. This is a point I would end up fighting with her teacher on. My point, bottom line- my children will know that if ANYONE tries to physically restrain them from getting help, they have the RIGHT to physically defend themselves. Period. Cuz one day it may not be lil Eddie. It may be someone bigger and far more dangerous. So, yeah, kick his lil ass monkey.

Tuesday she comes home. And yup, Eddie pushed her again. She stuck her finger out and she stated her case. Then he pushed her again. Then she forgot what number two was. So, we went over it again. I also made it clear that while I wanted her to address this with her teacher and would giver her the opportunity to do so, that I as going to step in if it happened again. On the way to school Wednesday, we went through the steps again. This time at recess she forgot all of them. So, yesterday morning I stepped in.

And then it hit me. It wasn’t that Eldest had inherited this trait from me. She had LEARNED it from me. It was all my fault.

This week there has been a situation going on in my life that has echoed some things that have happened to me in the past. Wednesday night I had made the realization that I was allowing myself to react to them in a similar way as I had and it bothered me. I had made a plan to change that. While writing Eldest’s teacher, the realization beat me over the head that some of her earliest memories of me are what has caused her to be the way she is right now.

While Eldest monkey was only two and a half when I finally got the courage to end my marriage, she was a very smart two and a half. And she remembers it quite clearly. In fact, no one is allowed to use the word stupid around me because of that. You see I say my ex was an asshole of epic proportions. What I have yet to mention is that he was a huge bully and incredibly abusive. One of his favorite things to do was invent new ways to call me stupid. “What did you eat a big fucking bowl of stupid for breakfast?” Despite that fact that I worked full time and did literally everything around the house, “useless bitch” was one of his favorite pet names. He couldn’t even wake up for work on his own, I was his “alarm clock” and he was a mean man in the morning. If he was late, it was my fault. Everything was my fault. I will spare you all the gory details.

He was constantly yelling and screaming at me and in my defensive mode, I kept thinking “don’t fight back.” At the time, in my head, I didn’t want the girls to see us fighting. I thought if I just stood there and took it, it would end quicker. And it chipped away at me day by day. Little by little I began to lose who I was. Something I’d swore I’d never do. Then one day Eldest came into the kitchen and says “Mommy, what’s that noise?” I say “It’s daddy, he’s home and outside snowblowing the driveway.” She FREAKED. Eldest became hysterical and yelled “I DON’T WANT DADDY TO BE HOME!! I HATE IT WHEN HE’S HOME MOMMY!!” And that was it. It took a couple more weeks for me to formulate a safe “escape plan” and get him out of the house.
But in my attempt to shield them from giant, ugly and potentially very frightening , violent fights, I had taught Eldest that it was okay to take that. It was okay to allow someone to treat her that way. To bully her. To not stand up for herself.

And you have no idea how much it hurts to know I have done that.

So, I have a brand new plan. It is up to me to lead by example. To be the change. To end the cycle. To stand up for myself. To acknowledge when people are treating me in a way I do not deserve and to vocalize it and back it up with actions. To cut ties with those that feel it is okay to bully me. To diminish my feelings. Or use me as an ego boost when no one else is paying them attention. Those that are used to getting away with things because I allow them to.

One of our Monkey Family Rules is “If you’re having a bad day, you can still turn it around. You can take a deep breath, a step back and yell ‘FLIP IT!’ And start it over and do it right.”

I am using my “FLIP IT!”

They say in every career in health care you experience one major event. Something so messed up that it stretches way out of the norm. Of course, I like to throw off statistics. I have had a couple of them already. Each one, while Hell at the time, taught me so much. There is indeed a lesson in everything in life. The most recent of these taught me a couple of things. It cemented my belief that treating your staff with respect and nurturing a true team environment will allow you to accomplish anything. It reminded me that even when people make incredibly poor decisions (and are too dimwitted to hide the evidence of it), they can still rise above it and turn themselves around. It proved to me that there are people in this world that really do care about others more than they care about a paycheck. It showed me that the Milwaukee Police Department (specifically District 7) seriously leaves A LOT to be desired. And finally, you have not truly lived until you’ve had a one-legged schizophrenic over your shoulder at 3:30 in the morning.

I was running a 42 bed assisted living facility for those with chronic mental illness. Illness to the point where no one else would take them. When I first started I had a social worker I’d known for years be like “this place will take anyone.” At first I was offended. But, then I decided, damn right we will. EVERYONE deserves a home. We had 36 residents that made up quite the motley crew. But it worked. Damn well at that. The building was an old ass nursing home in a neighborhood most call a “ghetto.” The staff were just as diverse in personalities as the residents. When I began there, those that survived the lunatic bitch that ran the place before were emotionally beat. She was beyond hard on them and you could tell. Morale sucked, but they toughed it out because they loved the Hell outtta those residents. The owners hated the building, the residents and everything to do with it. We were the bastard stepchild. Like flaming red hair, missing digits, cross-eyed, had Tourrettes with a lisp kind of stepchild in their eyes. Not only were we the complete underdogs, but combine the owners’ refusal to put any kind of money in the place, the aforementioned crazy boss and yeah social workers, doctors and even State pretty much hated us when I got there. But, WE worked our asses to change all of that.

And one night we proved every naysayer wrong. There’s not much I love to do more than prove people like that wrong.

It was roughly 3:00am on February 12, 2007 when my work cell rang. Calls at that time of night weren’t all that rare, but this one was way different.

Third shifter: “Umm..I think we’ve got a pipe burst up in the smoke room.”
Me: ”You think?!?”
Them: ”Yeah, there’s some water leaking down into the 1st floor living room.”
Me: ”Hmm….some??”
Them: ”Yeah, that’s what I said. Some.”
Me: “Like how much some?”
Them: “Like dripping some.”
Me: “Ok. Well, keep the residents out of the smoke room and I’ll get a plumber out there right away.”
Them: “Ok”

So, I call around until I find a plumber that can go out in the middle of the night and send them on their merry way over there. I call the staff back to let them know help is on the way. “Cool. Thanks.”

Roughly two minutes later (3:12am) my phone rings again.

“Hi, this is JT from the Milwaukee Fire Department. We’re going to need to shut the power off and you’re going to need to start getting these people out of here miss.”
Me: “WHAAAAAAAA?????”
“Miss, this building is flooding.”
(insert stream of cussing that would rival the dad in The Christmas Story)

It took me approximately 14 minutes to get dressed and haul the 12.9 miles to get to the building.

On my way, I called my boss in Chicago who told me she would “rally” the other buildings’ Administrators and have them grab their facilities’ vans (my facility wasn’t good enough for one) to come help. I then spent the rest of the ride on the phone with my building talking them through what to do. It was all of 12 degrees out that night, snow everywhere, ice lurking. When I pulled up to my building, my heart swelled sooo much with pride. EVERY staff person I had showed up. Most in their pajamas.

I will never forget walking into that building, a place we all called our second home. Water was halfway to my knees and raining down from the ceiling. The only light came from flashing emergency lights. One of my staff described it later as what she pictured the stairwells of the twin towers to be like that fateful day. I’m not sure that I would describe it as such, but the images will never leave me.

We immediately divided the residents up by medical needs. The ones with the most would go to our facility that had a nurse on staff. All charts, medications, treatments and cigarettes (trust me, they lived for smoke time) were grabbed, bagged by resident and ready to go. We assigned residents to each staff per vehicles (who could get in a car vs. needed a van) and started loading.

All of this was done before a single Administrator from another facility showed up.

Through every step of this, all of the residents (you know the ones “too crazy” to “belong” anywhere else) remained perfectly calm. Well, except for Mr. M. when he started some drama over not riding with me. But, he was a bit of comic relief “ If I can’t ride with baby girl, y’all can just leave my ass here to die!” So, I loaded him in his assigned car and gave him a smooch on the cheek. Rumor has it he cussed the whole way to his evacuation spot when he figured out it wasn’t my car.

As I sat worked on loading residents and walkers and wheelchairs and charts (oh my!) I kept noticing police car after police car just drive right on by. The officers would look, but just keep going. I admit after I got my one legged friend in my van and saw the sixth squad car roll by, I was pissed. They ended up stopped at the light right by our facility. Yeah, I admit it was unprofessional, but I couldn’t help it. I yelled “What do you think we’re going on a fucking field trip?” No response from him.

By the time the sun started rising, every resident and all of their necessities were safely relocated to their temporary home. I made the rounds visiting them and my staff that went with them to care for them and it was the only disheartening part of the whole experience. The staff at our “sister” facilities were rude to our residents and our staff. They were completely put out by us invading their space. Which I can honestly understand in some aspects. But knowing what they have been through and knowing the staff that understood them best was there to meet their needs, wouldn’t you have some ounce of compassion?? Had the tables been turned, I know we would have welcomed the newcomers with open arms and made sure they knew they were welcomed.

The company felt no need to move the residents from their evacuation areas. “They can just double up with the residents there for a bit, they’ll be fine.” They were far from fine. They were miserable. Tossed in a new location was hard enough. Yanked from their regular routines was beyond hazardous to triggering behaviors they fought to control. Most importantly, they had bonded with each other and the staff in a manner where we really were a family. One that truly put the fun in dysfunctional. And, we were they only family most of them had. So, I pulled out the big guns. I went through the HFS 83 State codes we were governed by and pulled out every single potential violation we could be sited for. The company HATED me. I was proud. By the end of the day, our entire facility, med cart and all, was moved into our own floor of a hotel.

It took the restoration company an entire month to repair all the damage that had been done and bring the building back up to code. It proved to be one of the longest months of my life. I worked literally every single day. The smell of mold will forever bring back a nauseating feeling. I also know much more about abatement and dealing with contractors than I ever thought I would.

During this whole time, the initial conversation I had that night with third shift bugged me incessantly. Coupled with the fact that the two who were on duty that night were magically transformed into amazing employees, picking up shifts they never would have before and actually charting in a manner they never had and yeah, something stunk in Denmark. Yet, neither would spill. I had investigated to the point where I knew, without a doubt, that they could not have prevented what occurred in any way. There was no way I would tell them that though. But “some” water versus a veritable waterfall weighed on me.

Then one day I was cleaning at the facility, getting it ready for our family to come home, and I just happened to check the DVD player in the first floor living room. The very living room that lay directly under the smoke room. I could have smacked myself for not thinking to do so earlier. In it was a bootleg copy of Hustle and Flow. Oh the irony.

I’ve gotten a lot closer lately to someone in my life. We’re bonded by the understanding of similar relationship types. There are so many other awesome things in common, but emotional understanding is a unique one. Just knowing that someone knows what you are going through or have gone through sometimes makes all the difference. Especially when one is male, the other female.

We were checking in with each other for the day and the ole emotional roller coaster came up. You know the one. One minute they love you and it feels amazing, the next they tell you how replaceable you are or just appear to completely bail. Yup, those.

And then I remembered. I remembered a time when the mention of a roller coaster brought a ridiculously huge smile to my face, instead of a sinking feeling in my stomach. The bad “this is gonna hurt” kind of sinking feeling that is, not the “look mom no hands” kind. Anyway, you know what I mean. Some of my way early blog posts touch a little bit about a time when I ran a group home for Autistic children in California. In many ways that home, that time, will always feel like home to me.

One of the oldest residents, J, was 16 and had Asperger’s. He was obsessed with weather and all his emotions were given as a weather report. “How was school today J?” “Sunny in the morning turning cloudy and windy shortly after lunch.” In his eyes, I was one of the coolest people ever because I had seen a tornado “live.” When he started to fly off the handle, me telling him of the times I would stand at the end of the driveway watching the tornado come then running in the house and down into the basement for safety, would calm him down.

Being the 2nd oldest in the house and having the least communication impairment was hard on J. Even harder was the fact that his parents were complete fuck ups. What saved them from epic level was the fact they finally had the sense to put him in the group home. Though, I suspect Social Services had more to do with it than they did. Every couple of months I would get a call they were visiting and J needed me. Standing there looking at them, knowing where every scar came from, emotional and physical on J’s body SUCKED. What made it even worse was knowing all he wanted was for them to love him, to accept him and he was met with cold expressions. It was the only time J actually wanted to be touched. Just my hand on his arm. Like I was anchoring the tornado. Or I was standing there watching it with him and my hand would tell him when to run to the basement for safety. Or maybe my hand was the basement. There were so many times as they sat there coldly uttering some sort of resemblance of idle chit chat that in my head I would literally picture screaming at them. Telling them everything I thought of them. It went against everything in me to not actually do it. But, I knew if I did, they wouldn’t come back. While not coming back may be a really good thing for J, it wasn’t my decision to make for him and I guess the sappy me still had hope.

We had a routine. They would leave, J would go directly to his room. I would give him some time while I charted the visit, then go check on him before he left. See what the weather report was. After one of these visits, I walked in and my eyes locked on the posters of roller coasters he had next to all his meteorology ones. J’s second favorite thing was roller coasters. But, J had never actually been on one. When I got in my car that day, it occurred to me that we lived maybe 15 minutes from Great America. So, I took a detour on my way home. After an hour with the manager of the place and the low price of $100, J and I became season pass holders. And J had his own “front of the line pass.” The next morning I walked into the home, told J to get dressed that I had a surprise for him and our new ritual began.

From that weekend on, every Saturday morning, J and I had a date. We’d get there right when Great America opened and ride all the roller coasters he wanted to. You could pack a lot in when you got to walk to the front of the line every time. Watching him close his eyes and just scream and let it all out was well it was its own lil roller coaster of emotion. Proud he was letting it all out. Relieved I’d found a way for him to do so. Happy because he would walk around that park with the biggest grin on his face. Yet, still so sad that it wasn’t just a kid having fun getting that rush from rides, but therapy. I’d wished so much it could just be fun for him. When J had enough, he would stop, look at me and say “I’m done Lolli, let’s go home.” (Lolli was what one of his house brothers called me because he couldn’t say “Natali.” J thought it fit me pretty good.) Like every good date, well great date in this case, the ending is key. Each time I pulled up to the house to drop him off, I got a hug. You’d have to know J to know how much it means. To me, it meant the world.

One of my favorite movies is Parenthood. There is a scene where the sweet, yet senile, lil ole grandma talks about a date. On a roller coaster. She compares it to the merry go round and life. Like life, some people prefer the merry go rounds, they are safe, they are predictable. But roller coasters, though they are scary, offer so much more. Me, I’ll forever take the roller coasters.

And thanks to wise advice from my wonderful new friend, I will always remember to raise my arms at the top of the hill.

You can watch my favorite clip of Parenthood here.

All below text was from an email I received from Loop. There was no way to post a link, so I’m passing it along this way. Knitting takes balls and heart. Spread the love. 🙂

KNIT A LOOP OF LOVE AROUND HAITI

Calling all who knit and crochet and who want to make a difference in the immediate medical needs of Haitians injured during the earthquake.

Join children and teachers who knit and crochet at the UWM Children’s Center in a knit-a-thon!

Do quick knit/crochet projects for children, adults, and college students (e.g., hats, gloves, scarves, shawls, toys, etc.) to be sold to raise money for much needed medical supplies.

These projects will be sold in a fundraiser organized by the children of UWM on Feb. 12th to support the Haitian Community Hospital (L’Hôpital de la Communauté Haïtienne), located in Petionville, Haiti (www.haitihosp.org). Drop off your donated projects at the Loop Yarn Shop (2963 N. Humboldt, 265-2312, next to Alterra) between Jan. 21 and Feb. 8th. For information or questions, contact Liz Drame at liz.drame@gmail.com .

So, I had me a lil moment on Twitter Friday morning. Ok, it was more like a Falling Down moment. I was Michael Douglas and I’d had enough. Now I know #twitterisalotlikehighschool, but my faith in humanity felt like it was being flipped off. And I snapped… just a touch.

You see, I logged in that morning and the number two trending topic was #getwellgaga. #Haiti was barely clinging to the bottom of the list. Admittedly, that was enough to bother me. Then I pulled up my faithful buddy Google to find out what exactly the well wishes were for. For a number two slot, I expected to find a diagnosis of cancer or, at the very least, a car accident or shot by a crazy stalker fan. I’d have MAYBE settled for a trip to rehab. Not that I’m wishing any of these on her. Instead I read “Lady Gaga cancels performance due to exhaustion.” You’re kidding me- right? Exhausted from cancer treatments? Exhausted from running from crazy knife/gun-wielding stalker fan? Exhausted from saving the world from certain doom? Jeebus give me something here!! Nope, just “exhausted.”

Over 3 MILLION people have just been severely affected in a nation that was already struggling with some pretty serious issues and people are more focused on sending get well wishes (that she’s never even going to see, let alone respond to!) to some goofy bitch that just needs to eat a sandwich and take a night off from partying?? Yeah, I went from bothered, squealed right on past pissed and landed firmly in Superfly TNT.

As I’d already blipped my morning love song to my coffee my second tweet of the day was:

“What the fuck kind of world do we live in that get well wishes for some obnoxious wannabe who is merely ‘exhausted’ out trends #haiti?!!??”

Followed by:

“Seriously. You know who is EXHAUSTED? The 3MILLION people affected by Tuesday’s quake and all the volunteers in #haiti trying to help.”

And I hit the ground running from there. I also refused to call Lady Gaga by her name as to avoid adding anything to the already trending hash tag. Then I went after the number one hash tag #OMGfacts. I kept it there so any of the people looking for their tweets may actually end up receiving a bit of education. I tweeted several facts regarding the issues facing those in Haiti. I am happy to report that MANY of my tweeps backed me. With comments, with RT’s, with DM’s, they supported my anger. My disappointment. My sadness.

I think people’s obsession with celebrity worship is disgusting. Believe me, I’ve met more than my fair share of celebrities and they are assholes just like the rest of us. In many cases, even worse. What have they truly done to earn such admiration and blind lust? What value does that worship truly add to one’s life? Actors and actresses may have done a performance that moved you. Ok, but that performance was written by someone else. That character is not THEM nor their creation. Furthermore, most of the time, that character isn’t even REAL. Musicians may be talented, but their music often isn’t written by them and they aren’t singing that song to you. Really, I hate to break it to you, but they aren’t. There are hundreds of thousands of wonderful, highly musically talented people in this world that will never be noticed. Are they just as worthy? Is it for the sole purpose of looks? There are beautiful people everywhere on this planet. Most of which are beautiful INSIDE AND out. Do they not beckon the same then? Don’t even get me started on the Paris Hiltons of this world. I think you’re getting my point.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not shunning all you fanboy and fangirls out there. I get digging a show, a character, a game, a movie and collecting stuff that goes along with it. Hell here in monkeyland we have a tank with a fish named Wonder Woman, a frog named Princess Leia and a snail named Chauncey The Wonder Snail. I’m not picking on you. Not at all my dearies. It’s the chicks that get the vapors and bawl for weeks on end because their favorite so and so is engaged. It’s the guys that wallpaper their room with posters of their favorite so and so and name their designated self love hand after them. It’s the people that all went suicidal when Michael Jackson died. It’s the people that take it to that whole other level. Like sending get well wishes to Lady freakin’ Googoo on Twitter.

< / rant>

Just like life, Twitter doth take away and it doth also give. While it flipped off my sense of humanity on Friday, this week it gave it a big ole wet smoochie. And it did so in #geekswithheart. Power to my geeks! Two of my absolute favoritest sexy ass sisters in geekhood @GeekGirls and @GeekyClean have come together to form Geeks With Heart, a fundraising effort to help Haiti. And yup, I just wanna hug ‘em.

All proceeds raised go to Mercy Corps. Mercy Corps mission: “Mercy Corps exists to alleviate suffering, poverty and oppression by helping people build secure, productive and just communities.” Their motto: “Be The Change.” I LOVE that! Just some of their efforts to help survivors in Haiti to recover include “ ‘Comfort for Kids,’ a trauma-counseling methodology for children that (they) co-developed and deployed after 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the Sichuan Earthquake and other disasters.” Currently, they are “focused on immediate humanitarian needs: water and sanitation, trauma support and job creation.”

For those in doubt, while Geeks With Heart is small (for now!), Mercy Corps is big. This is what they do and they are good at it. They will know how to properly handle and disperse all funds raised to assure that they meet the greatest needs first. They’re pros y’all.

So, please, show some support. Show some geek love. Show some nongeek love. Just show the love. To do so…

Visit Geeks With Heart here.

Visit The Geek Girls Network here.

Visit Geeky Clean here.

Follow @geekgirls

Follow @geekyclean

Add a Twibbon here

Do me proud folks! This is the kind of moment I LIKE having!

I have failed as a mom.

As a mother, it is my job to protect my monkeys from getting their feelings hurt as best as possible. This is one of the reasons why I am so very careful about who I bring into their lives and under what circumstances. Well I thought I was. But, people aren’t always what they seem to be. It’s hard enough as an adult to make sense out of the 180’s people sometimes do. No matter who you are, the mask eventually falls off. To Thine Own Self Be True is one of my mantras not only for the beauty of its wisdom, but for the warning that lies within. Try to be someone other than you and at some point it all comes to light. What is all that negative energy and time spent being someone you’re not really going to get you? I avoid masks completely. You’re lucky if you even see me in make up. While my personality and genuine interests are all kinds of quirky, which allows me to relate and get along with a huge variety of people, I am no one’s chameleon. What you see is what you get with me. Whether you experience me in 2D, 3D, hell even 38DD, I am me.

So what do I say to my monkeys when they want to know why we haven’t heard from people they feel are their friends, their lil buddies? “They’re just really busy right now babies” is my general excuse. In some cases I know I’m being honest, in others not so much. It sucks. Hard.

I have failed as a mom.

I have created and instilled the Monkey Family Motto- We’re All About The Love. They have personified it in every way. Yet I have failed to give them the tools to know that sometimes when you give big love, it’s not always honestly returned. Oh they know that when they smile and say hello to strangers, they may not get a smile and a hello back. Some people are shy, some people are grumpy, some people are so jaded they simply get confused when a stranger in our all too cynical society extends random kindness to them. They know that friends they meet and play with at a park, a playland, heck even a Target (cuz that’s how we roll) may just be that for a moment or a day. A great memory to carry on. They know not to take it personally.

I guess I didn’t think that at 4 and 5 I would have to start teaching and preparing them for the harsher realities in life. They’ve already had to experience enough of them on their own. I guess I thought that I had until Middle School before I had to teach them the ugly truth about playground warfare and the dreaded popularity contest. About fake smiles and “I love you’s” and hugs to your face as their eyes roll at your back while you walk away. People that will claim to be your friend, but ditch you when a better offer comes along. About fake sincerity, expendability and yup, masks. If it weren’t for my choices on who I allow in their life, I very well may have had until then.

I have failed as a mom.

I give honestly, embrace all and never treat people as though they are stepping-stones to some kind of bigger goal. When you get a smile, an “I love you” or a hug from me, that stuff is all kinds of sincere. Which is what I’ve taught the monkeys to be like. I try my best to lead my life by example. They see that sincerity. They see me around many different types of people in many different types of situations and they always see me. So, how do I continue to instill this in them and protect them from getting further hurt?

I have failed as a mom.

I’m not sure there is any real, feasible answer to this. The best that I have come up with is the need to guard myself better so that I may better guard them. The popularity contests and fake bullshit clearly don’t end in high school. It actually becomes worse in adulthood. I have seen people who were the odd one out growing up turn around and be the worst social ladder climbers out there. Where the hell does that ladder lead anyway? What does being the most popular person in the neighborhood or at work get you? What does Twitter or Facebook “cred” actually get you? Especially when all those people are rolling their eyes to your back as well? Life can be like the first half an hour of The Breakfast Club. If only everyone got the ending.

I can not and will not allow my monkeys’ feelings to be hurt again by people that I have brought or allowed into their lives. It is up to me to learn from this and make sure that I now focus on putting my energy into cultivating and continuing the relationships in my life that matter. That are REAL. That the people I surround myself with, in all aspects, whether they have ever or will ever meet my monkeys are REAL. No disrespect my dear Ministry, but everyday is NOT Halloween. Not in our lives anymore. Mask wearers need not apply.

So, for my monkeys and for me my focus is going to be on nurturing QUALITY friendships/relationships. QUANTITY means nothing. Give me 3 friends I know would walk through hell and back again with me versus 100 acquaintances that say they care but disappear or worse. This new year is going to be one that breathes in the good, the real, the sincere…. And out with the bad, the two-faced, the dishonest, the fake. We are all about the love, if you’re not- exit is to your left. I already have the Barbie myth to contend with in their lives. That’s the only fake bitch allowed. For now, she’s next.