JOURNAL NO. 39
May 1986 - November 1986Age 29
"I spent my last night in the Kirkland House looking out the curtainless window,
at the trees and the night sky, remembering six years of love and heartache ..."
Thursday morning
May 15, 1986A brand-new journal ... how nice! One of my favorite things! I always get this feeling of "endless possibilities" whenever I begin a new journal ... as though anything could happen within these 120 pages ... the feeling that good things are ahead.
I'm 28 years old. I've just had a baby, a lovely son whom I adore. I've got two precious preschool age daughters as well, and a slightly-shabby-but-comfortable home that I love. My marriage is usually in a state of flux, but this is one of those days when I'm feeling optimistic. At the moment my life is very much centered around home and family. The past few days I've been struggling with a slight case of "postpartum let-down" ... nothing too serious ... just a reaction to the overwhelming events of the last month. (There is also the fact that I'm recovering from major surgery.) Having a newborn in the house again is exhilarating but exhausting. I can't predict from one moment to the next how I'll be feeling: bouncy and full of energy in the morning (like now) ... crabby and distracted at lunchtime ... weepy and tired by mid-afternoon ... totally foggy in the evening. Sometimes it goes like this, other times it's all reversed - I feel rotten in the morning, on top of things by afternoon. It's craziness. I'd forgotten how topsy-turvy an infant makes life for awhile. Still, at the outset of this journal, I am for the most part a happy person. I have my complaints and my disappointments. On occasion I feel like everything is caving in on me. I'm also extremely isolated here at home with the kids ... we have no phone, I don't have a car ... I have no close friends ... outside of family, neighbors and pen pals I have very little contact with other people. It can get very lonely at times. My kids are great - I've said this often - but they're not grown-ups, and sometimes I miss the company of other adults. But I've been a rather private, solitary sort of person anyway. Some days the isolation bothers me, other days I actually enjoy it. I know that eventually the time will come when my kids are grown and gone, and then there will be plenty of time and opportunity for me to get back into the world. For now, though, I am mostly content with the way things are, and I don't feel a lot of motivation to change anything. I'm not much of an adventurer. I like things safe, neat and predictable. Maybe this means I'm a coward, or that I'm missing out and don't even know it. Or maybe it just means that I've found my niche, and I'm comfortable with its small but significant rewards ...
I worry sometimes about what seems to be my distinct lack of ambition. I look back on my life and cannot pinpoint any time when I had clear goals in mind, at least as far as education or career were concerned. There was never anything I particularly wanted to "do" or "be," except maybe to have a home and family. Being married and having children and a house to take care of are the closest things to actual GOALS that I've ever had. (There is also a legitimate but largely ignored desire to express myself through writing and art ... but this is more of a hobby, at this point, than a career goal.) Maybe this makes me a throwback to another era. I don't know a lot of women who have actively sought out the sort of domestic life I've settled into. It just isn't the thing to do anymore. Women don't stay home and do babies and housework these days ... they've got careers and daycare and trendy lifestyles and active social lives...
... And here I sit, surrounded by diapers, laundry baskets, toys, dirty dishes, cookie crumbs ... wiping noses, adjusting pigtails, re-heating Spaghetti-O's, picking up toys. It isn't awfully glamorous, and it certainly isn't as challenging as some careers. The redundancy of it drives me nuts sometimes. I work & I work, and I give & I give, and still there is always MORE TO DO, usually the same thing I just finished doing two hours ago. It's annoying beyond belief; there is never a sense of having completed anything. Even on those rare occasions when I do manage to get the mess under control and the kids settled and things more or less in order, I can't count on it lasting more than ten minutes ...
... Still, as I have said, I am mostly happy - frustrations, inconveniences and loneliness aside. The rewards of raising children - of BEING here for them, day in and day out, and knowing that I'm giving them a fundamentally healthy start in life by doing so - the rewards of that are beyond measure, beyond description. It's like something I read in an article by Dr. Burton White the other day: he said, "I am totally convinced that the rewards (of staying home & actively raising your children) are as good as anything life can bring." I know that I have never felt better about what I'm doing.
With the little lights of my life.
May 1986
Friday 7 a.m.
May 16, 1986Just me - no kids up yet. Kyle had me up for a feeding an hour ago, but now he's back in his crib. (I don't expect it to last, though!) I can hear birds singing; it's going to be another pretty day.
Ray didn't come home last night at all. The same old song and dance. I have no idea where he is ... at work? passed out on someone's sofa? in jail? laying in a ditch? Furthermore, I don't care. Yesterday's "optimism" where my marriage is concerned has turned into today's pessimism. This is how it goes: one day I love him, the next day I am utterly disgusted with him. He sure doesn't make it easy to be consistent.
I was right ... Kylie started making noise and "asking" to get back up for awhile. I fed him, burped him, cuddled him, tickled the soles of his feet, whispered in his ear -- then he suddenly nodded off and I put him back to bed. (The contrary little PICKLE ... I'm not used to getting up at 6 a.. every morning, and I'm pooped!) Then Jamie came wandering out into the kitchen, while I was sterilizing nipples, and requested waffles for breakfast. I took a huge block of frozen Aunt Jemimas straight out of the freezer and handed them to her, uncooked, saying "Here you go." She burst into incredulous giggles. She's so much fun to tease. After I toasted her two waffles and got her settled at the table, Kacie suddenly exploded into the kitchen. "I CAN'T WALK!" she screamed, and then tottered dramatically across the kitchen and flung herself across a chair. A very theatrical entrance! Once she saw that waffles were being served, however, she perked right up. "Where's MY plate?" she demanded. "Where'd MY wopple go??"
And so it goes ... another morning has begun at the P. house. I just took a shower and got dressed, and have poured my first cup of coffee. I've sent the girls to pick out their own clothes: what will they come up with? (Kacie: light blue pants, no shirt .. sent her back .. OK, here comes the shirt - her red, white & blue sailor shirt. Not bad! Jamie: white & pink "Orcas Island" T-shirt, gray sweatpants. Nice choice. I'm proud of them both!)
Afternoon:
My father-in-law showed up unexpectedly around noon to visit the kids and I, and to see the baby. I was glad the house was semi-neat and that I'd had the presence of mind to brush my hair and put on a little makeup before he popped in. I realize how unimportant this stuff is, basically, but it just makes me feel better when he catches me on top of things, instead of wallowing in disorder ... !
Oops - interrupted by the mail. Good news and bad news. The good: a 27 page letter from my favorite pen pal, Deanne Vasiles, and KYLE'S HOSPITAL PICTURES!! The bad news: a warrant for Ray's arrest! Maybe that explains where he was last night.
I'll get back to my father-in-law story later. Right now I want to gaze at Kyle's picture (it's really cute) and worry about my jerk of a husband.
Saturday 10 a.m.
May 17, 1986Things are more or less OK. First of all, Ray knows about the warrant and has promised to have the matter taken care of by this evening. We all know how unreliable Ray's "promises" are, generally, but I am ever optimistic ... or am I merely foolish?? ... and I'm gonna trust him on this one. (He's working today, incidentally, so I'm alone here with the kids.) I'm still irked with him for not coming home on Thursday night - an error that he compounded last night by not coming home until midnight - I made him sleep on the sofa and took the girls into my bed with me, just to ensure that he stayed OUT of it. Just before we all fell asleep, around midnight, he came into the bedroom and apologized to me. The usual stuff. I was very cool. I neither forgave nor excused his behavior ... I just said "Whatever," and rolled over and went to sleep. He said he's been working "double shifts" again, which I'm beginning to suspect is a bunch of baloney. I think he's just been dodging the police until he could come up with the $250 bail money to stay out of jail. He said he'll be able to pay the bail this afternoon ("So I won't have to hide," he said) and that he'll be home "early" with groceries and things we need (I'm out of pads ... bottle liners ... stamps ... etc.)
By the way - for the sake of posterity, so you won't think my husband is a criminal - this whole warrant business stems from an ordinary traffic ticket he got in March. The problems stem from the fact that he didn't show up for his hearing. Hence the warrant.
Songs heard on the radio tonight that make me thing of Kyle: Cherish, Love Will Keep Us Together, You've Made Me So Very Happy ("I'm so glad you/Came into my life"), I Love You Just The Way You Are
Sunday afternoon
May 18, 1986Ray did pay his bail last night - Sheryl loaned him the money - so everything truly is OK. It's 1:30 in the afternoon now, and Kylie and his Daddy have been asleep together in our bed for two hours. Every once in a while I sneak in and take a peek at the two of them ... father and son, side by side, deep in sleep. They're quite a pair.
My father-in-law anecdote from the other day, which was interrupted, is basically a dull story without a point so I'll skip it, except to say that he ended up taking the girls down to feed the ducks at the Kirkland Marina, and then fruit shopping at Safeway. Also that he expressed his usual concern about Ray's drinking ("Do you think it would help if we all sat down and talked to him?" he said).
Jamie: "What's that sound I hear?"
Mom: "It's not the ice cream man, if that's what you're thinking."
Jamie: "What's a 'greem man'?"
Mom: "ICE CREAM man."
Jamie: "The ice cream man's comin'??"
Mom: "No ... I said it's NOT the ice cream man."
Jamie: "I didn't say it was the ice cream man."
Mom: "I KNOW you didn't ... I said, it's NOT the ice cream man!"
Jamie: "But I didn't say it WAS the ice cream man!"
Mom: "I KNOW YOU DIDN'T ... I DID!!!"
Jamie: "The ice cream man's comin' ??"
Tuesday 9 a.m.
May 20, 1986Rainy morning. The world outside is dark and clouded-over ... inside our home, things are warm and cozy ...
I sit, Indian-style, pajama clad, nestled in a corner of the sofa, drinking coffee from my new "Mother" mug. The house is very warm. In one corner of the living room, tucked into the white basket, the baby sleeps peacefully, oblivious to his sisters' bickering. ("Kacie - we SHARE! SHARE!") Laundry tumbles endlessly in the dryer; "Sesame Street," as always, is on the tube. Very typical morning in progress.
"Mr. P." (as I've been calling Kyle!) surprised me last night. I've been quite smugly bragging to everybody about his "wonderfully regular" schedule ... how he wakes up to be fed at the same predictable hours each night (11 p.m., 3 a.m., 6:30 a.m.) ... I made the comment to Ray that you could set your watch by our son. (I dimly recall saying the same thing about the girls.) So of course last night he juggled everything around. I was up at 1:30 a.m. and again at 5 a.m. Torture! I guess he just wanted to show me who's the boss!
Meet the new boss.
Spring 1986
The first middle-of-the-night feeding, the one that usually comes around 3 a.m., is never much of a problem. At that hour things are so drowsy and quiet, Kyle sucks his bottle right down (about four ounces' worth) and slips back to sleep immediately - and so do I. Actually, I sort of enjoy that feeding. It's nice to be completely alone with my son, listening to his sweet singsong noises as he drinks his formula, enjoying the comfort of holding a baby close ... it's lovely. The second feeding, on the other hand, is usually a killer, because he wants to stay up for an hour or two after he eats. If this feeding comes at 6:30 or 7:00 I can handle it, because it's time to get up anyway. But if it hits any earlier than that -- like it did this morning -- then it throws me out of whack for the rest of the day -- unless, by some miracle, I can persuade him to fall right back to sleep after he eats. Luckily I did manage to coax him back to sleep this morning. We got up again at 8 a.m.; I was awakened by the sound of his cry, and this ominous warning from Jamie to Kacie: "Put that back in him's room or Mama's going to be ANGRY!" (Never did figure out what that was all about.)
I've been up for ninety minutes, and this is what I've accomplished so far: changed Kyle, fed him two small bottles, put him down for a nap ... fixed breakfast for the girls and I (Frosted Flakes with sliced banana) ... made a pot of coffee ... put a load of clean wet laundry in the dryer, set some cloth diapers to soak ... dressed Kacie ... put bottles and nipples to soak in the sink ... drank two cups of coffee.
Now only 13 or so more hours to kill until bedtime.
Ray was drunk again last night when he got home at 7:30 (four hours at the tavern will do that to a person), but at least he was in a good mood and wasn't overly-silly. I did laundry all evening and Ray fixed dinner for the two us ... scrambled eggs, minute steaks, hash browns. And he spent a lot of time with the kids ... rough-housing with the girls on the living room floor, then laying on the bed "talking" to Kylie. He is totally enamored of that baby. I'll still having a hard time BELIEVING his reaction to Kyle. Ray showing such prolonged and unabashed sentimentality .. ? I've got to give the man credit: the connection between the two of them was immediate ... and lifelong. I wish I could count on him to be home by at least 6:30 every night, though, instead of never knowing what time he'll come crashing in. Some consistency here would be very welcome. He could still spend an hour or two with his friends at Dave's Place after work, and I would have some needed support at the most emotionally overloaded portion of my day. I plan to talk to him about it tonight. I'm going to ask him to please start coming home at more or less the same time every night, so I can have some help with the kids and so they can have some time with their Daddy. I don't know if it will do any good. He'll probably just say "OK" and then forget all about it. But it's worth a try.
I'm just trying to do too damned much by myself. Yesterday, for instance, I was dead-tired all day, and yet I still forced myself to do all of this basically unnecessary stuff -- vacuuming, tons of laundry, cleaning my room, etc. -- in addition to the usual kids, kids, kids. It's too much. I NEED SOME HELP. I haven't reached a crisis point yet, but I think I feel one coming. I'm afraid that one of these days I'm simply going to come apart at the seams unless I get some support and assistance from SOMEBODY ...
I've been sporadically awful with the girls this past week or so. It's like I'm being pulled in a hundred different directions at once. I finally get settled into the armchair with a ravenous, screaming Kyle and a warm bottle of formula, after ten minutes of frantic scurrying and hurrying to accommodate him ... and just at that moment, Jamie approaches me and plaintively requests help with the button on her pants. Then Kacie begins hopping up and down, screaming for an orange. Or else they innocently request a story or a cookie or a minute of my attention, but they catch me at an impossible moment: when I'm up to my elbows in dishwater, or heading off for a quick shower. Then I have to say, "Not now, honey" or "Maybe later." They're not used to being put off so frequently, and my explanations ("The baby just keeps me so darned busy right now!") or my attempts at reassurance ("It won't be like this forever") don't do a lot of good. All they know is that their Mama, once so approachable and available, is now too busy for them.
I find myself screeching at them over the most trivial things, and then Jamie is devastated and Kacie is hysterical and I feel like dirt. I always apologize right away, but by then the damage is done and the words are already out. I wish I could make them understand that my love for them hasn't diminished, even if I don't have as much time (or patience) right now as usual. Kyle's arrival hasn't taken away anything: it has enhanced the love I feel for my whole family. I'm just not sure the girls know that. All they get from me is a steady stream of dictums and denials ... "Quit running in the house while the baby is sleeping!" "No, you can't paint right now." "Pick up those Legs and quit jumping on the furniture!" "Don't touch the baby's bottle!" I open my mouth and this stuff just seems to pop out all by itself. Then the ugly words hang there in the air, echoing hatefully, and I wish I could take them back. But I can't. Words aren't retractable. The girls stare at me with huge, hurt eyes, and I then I think That's it, I've ruined them. Scarred their fragile little psyches beyond repair. As a mother I rank somewhere between Joan Crawford and The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe ...
Wednesday afternoon
May 21, 1986Good grief -- it's 1:00 in the afternoon and I'm still in my BATHROBE. The house is an incredible mess, the girls haven't had their hair brushed in two days, Kyle's unwashed bottles are strewn all over the place ... all I've done since I got up at 8 a.m. is feed and dress the kids, cuddle the baby and drink coffee. I haven't even had a shower. Now Kylie is down for his "long" afternoon nap (usually about 3 hours), and instead of grabbing the opportunity and running with it, I'm just sitting here in a total fog, eating Ritz crackers out of the box because I'm too tired to fix myself a real lunch ... wondering if I'll be dressed by the time Ray gets home tonight ...
3 p.m.
Slightly better. I'm dressed, anyway (skipped the shower, though) and I've got the kitchen cleaned up and Kyle's bottles washed. I've even got some beef stew (canned, with a few extra potatoes and carrots added) going on the stove for dinner later. Battling the feeling that everything I do is a waste of time ... it just has to be done all over again tomorrow ...
Thursday noon
May 22, 1995Bits and pieces:
* Definite case of the doldrums developing. I am thrilled with my new baby, but not particularly thrilled with my life at the moment. This will pass.
* My father-in-law "popped in" again unexpectedly today -- this time he caught me in my robe, looking as unwashed and listless as I feel. So what. He brought each of the girls a Mickey Mouse hat from Disneyland, took Polaroids of them & of Kyle, then took the girls to feed the ducks again.
The girls in the Mickey Mouse hats their Grandpa brought them
May 1986
Friday
May 23, 1986Hard to find time to write ... every time I sit down with a pen and a cup of coffee, something interrupts me: Kyle wakes up hungry, Jamie asks me for help with her letters, somebody knocks on the door ...
For a while, therefore, I won't be able to waste time with preliminaries and rambling ... I'll have to get to the point QUICKLY.
Accomplished one teensy thing yesterday - cleaned out my desk! Finally. May not sound like much, but it makes me feel a notch more organized, and every little bit helps.
Ray bought us a new TV last night - a nice little 12" black and white portable, $40 at Silo. This is to replace the portable TV that I brought into the marriage, the one Terry Hunt and I got for our apartment, which gradually fell apart. Now he also wants to buy a small microwave oven.
I'm still crabbier with the girls than I mean to be, but the rational part of me realizes this is temporary ... more a result of sleep deprivation and biochemical changes than anything else. Not necessarily an indication of shoddy mothering. I am too hard on myself, I think.
A couple of days ago on Donahue, the topic was postpartum depression. Talk about excellent timing! I sat there for the whole hour and drank in every word. Would you believe that some women are so psychologically crippled by p.p.d. that they completely lose their minds? I mean, one lady flipped out totally and threw her one month old baby off a bridge. (She's in prison now.) Another lady started hearing voices and having anxiety attacks that lasted for six hours at a time. Some of these women were utterly unable to function. It was incredible. I felt sorry for them, but mostly I just felt relieved that my own p.p. symptoms haven't gone much beyond the occasional bout of tears, or maybe raising my voice to the girls. I'm feeling a little sad and blah and weary a lot of the time right now, but it doesn't feel insurmountable. Mainly I just need to get my little world into some kind of order, then establish some goals for myself -- some things to look forward to -- and I'll be fine.
I also need to stop trying to do everything by myself. It just can't be done. (Good help, however, is hard to find. Terry Solo promised to come over and clean up the girls' bedroom for me -- a job that I just haven't had the time or energy to do -- but then last night she came over to say she didn't "want" to do it, after all. I was furious. "That's fine," I snapped at her. "No one helps me around here anyway." "Neat," she said in her infuriatingly smug 14 yr. old tone of voice, and stomped out of the house.)
Where can I find reliable, responsible and CHEAP "mother's help"?? This is a priority.
The other night I sat on the sofa, giving Kyle his bottle and listening to music on my new tape player, through headphones. Earlier in the day I had taped a couple of songs off the radio, and as Kylie happily sucked away at his bottle, one of them began to play -- Pink Floyd's "Mother":
Hush now, baby baby don't you cry
Mama's gonna make all your nightmares come true
Mama's gonna put all her fears into you
Mama's gonna keep you here under her wing
She won't let you fly but she might let you sing
Mama's gonna keep Baby cozy and warm ...
... Hush, Mama's gonna help build the wall ...
All of a sudden, sitting there holding my tiny baby son - his blue eyes fastened to mine - the words of the song pierced my heart like a bullet. By the time the song was over, I was in tears. I stood by the living room window, rocking Kylie in my arms and weeping uncontrollably. It was just this incredibly poignant, private, touching moment ... I can't even explain it. It was as though I had just realized, for the first time, that I'm now the mother of a son, and that someday he'll grow up to be a man, and that I'm responsible for getting him there in one piece. I thought about all the women who have lost sons in war. Dear God, how do they ever survive the loss?? I thought about all the pain that lies ahead for my son, and for me. It terrifies me. It is so much responsibility. Can I handle it? Will Kyle be OK? Or will I indeed "put all of my fears into him"? Lord, please help me be a strong, responsible, good mother to the baby. He is so small and so dependent on me. Don't let me mess him up.I still can't listen to "Mother" (20 years later) without remembering that drowsy spring afternoon ...
4:30 p.m.A momentary lull. Kyle is sleeping, the girls are running around outside. Worrying that Ray won't come home tonight ... it's Friday, the day after payday, the beginning of a three-day Memorial Day weekend ... I have this hopeless gut feeling that he won't bother coming home.
Saturday 11:10 a.m.
May 24, 1986Well, unfortunately I called that one accurately. He didn't come home, and I am furious. He is such an unbelievable jerk.
Noon
Still no Ray. I refuse to sit here and simmer, though, so I'll write about something pleasant. Jamie and Kacie just brought me little bunches of wild clover ... I was properly appreciative, thanking them with hugs and oranges. They took their oranges out to the picnic table in the front yard, and I sat on the porch with my coffee and watched them. It's cloudy but warm: I showered half an hour ago and put on clean clothes, but already I feel damp and unclean. I got plenty of sleep last night (albeit interrupted sleep), which helps a little. It sent something like this:
10:30 p.m. Put Kylie to bed. Jamie and I slept in my big bed.
2:00 a.m. Quick easy 20 minute feeding, then back to bed.
5:30 a.m. Another 20 minute feeding, then back to bed for more sleep.
8:00 a.m. Kylie's awake; everybody's up.Kylie is getting so cute! The little red bumps ("stork bites") and the peeling on his face are clearing up, his left eye (which has been watery since birth) also is clearing up - his eyes are enormous, blue, pretty - and this morning the little "stump" finally fell off his belly button. He is such an alert baby, so interested in voices and faces. When he looks at me, I hold my breath: will this be the day he smiles at me? I can hardly wait!
Big Sister Jamie gets to know her new baby brother ...
There is an interesting and special "connection" already between Kyle and Jamie. His response to her presence near him is always one of alert fascination. He stops EVERYTHING to look at her. The feeling is mutual: Jamie is tenderly protective and affectionate towards her baby brother. "Can I hold him?" she asks me several times a day. She puts a big pillow on her lap and I lay the baby on top of it, and she coos and tickles him while he stares at her and waves his hands around in the air, making little noises in his throat and catching strands of her long hair in his fingers ...
... and so does Big Sister Kacie.
(She said "I godda bay-bee BRUDDER.")
May 1986
Kacie's love for Kyle is noisier, bumpier ... not as gentle but no less ardent. She grabs his head suddenly and plants a huge wet kiss on his mouth, leaving him startled and gasping for air. "I wanna hold him TOO!" she shouts, and runs to my bedroom, where she grabs a pillow from my bed and lugs it out to the living room. I place the baby on her lap and she gives him a look of pleasure, curiosity, slight distaste (especially if he has formula all over his mouth). "Oh, cute fingers?" she says. "Cute hands?" Above all else, his hands fascinate her.
Monday 10 a.m.
May 26, 1986Memorial Day. Cloudy, rainy -- and muggy. I'm so damp from the humidity that my p.j.s are sticking to me like cellophane. Yesterday it was sunny and hot ... got up to 84º in the afternoon. Ray got out the wading pool, and the girls enjoyed their first "swim" of the year ... Kacie wound up with a lulu of a sunburn ... it was so hot that I didn't even put clothes on the baby, just a diaper and (when he napped) a light blanket. This morning the sun is hidden behind a filter of haze, but it is still uncomfortably warm already. The front door is wide open, and the girls are dressed in terry cloth sunsuits and nothing else. I will take a shower shortly, which will make me feel clean and cool temporarily, but I fully expect this to be another sweaty, grouchy day. Ray is home, of course, this being a holiday. He finally came home on Saturday afternoon with his lamest excuse to date: he says he "lost his car keys," so he wasn't able to come home Friday night. As usual, the moment he walked through the door, all the fight went out of me. I'd been planning to rant and rave, but by the time he finally got here I was so defeated emotionally (and so run-down physically) that I simply didn't have the internal resources to make a scene. Instead I've managed to maintain a sort of low-level anger all weekend. Ray has spent the past couple of days grocery-shopping ($200 worth) and cooking (chicken tacos Saturday night, T-bones last night, hamburgers tonight) in an obvious attempt to placate me. I've been minimally appreciative, distancing myself from him emotionally as much as possible. Whether this is intentional or not, I can't say. I suppose it is although it feels more like reflex. I'm just so damned tired of being hurt and ignored.
My anger with Ray is manifesting itself in headaches, a loss of appetite and unpredictable burst of temper directed at anyone who happens to be nearby. (I nearly bit Terry's head off last night, and now she's not speaking to me.) At night I have vivid, brutal dreams that I'm hitting Ray and screaming at him: I wake up afterwards feeling drained.
He is not making things any better. He made a huge stink yesterday when I was asked him for five dollars -- FIVE CRUMMY DOLLARS. I felt positively degraded, having to "beg" like that. He is already starting to badger me about sex, too, regardless of the fact that I loathe the idea of making love to him (or anyone) right now. The baby was just born a few weeks ago! He picks on the girls mercilessly ... as a parent he has all the finesse of Atilla The Hun. ("You FINISH YOUR PLATE. Eat EVERY BITE. Nobody's leavin' the table till you FINISH YOUR PLATE. OK then, dammit, go to BED.") And of course there is his drinking, which bothers me now more than it ever has in the six years we've been together. Perhaps it's because I've been abstaining myself. The past few months I've practically become a teetotaler, at first because I was pregnant (although I must admit to a lapse, here and there), and now because drinking makes it hard to function as a mother. Being sober allows me to see Ray's problem with more clarity and objectivity than usual, and what I see is appalling: the man lives and breathes beer. He cracks open can after can after can, from the moment he gets out of bed in the morning until he goes to bed at night. When the beer runs out, he hops into the car and he's off to the store for more. I have seen him literally take our last few pennies in the world and buy a can of beer with it. Our carport is filled to overflowing with hundreds, maybe thousands of empty cans and bottles. The car reeks of beer. That's the part that scares me the most, I think -- the way he blithely combines drinking and driving. We can't go anywhere without stopping at a store first so he can buy a couple of beers for the road, and then he drives along with an open can sitting between his knees, taking hefty swigs whenever no one is looking. When he's finished, he crumples the empty can with his fist and stashes it under his car seat with the rest of the empties. He doesn't see anything wrong with this, even when the kids are in the car with us. He truly believes that his driving ability remains unimpaired, even after a full day and evening of drinking. I'm at the point now where the idea of getting into a car with him -- especially our car, with its crappy brakes -- terrifies me. I'm afraid that one of these days he's going to kill us.
Tuesday morning
May 27, 1986("You wanna piece-selt? Come get your piece-selt." Kacie, talking about seat belts.)
The three day weekend is over and Ray has returned to work ... life around here can get back to normal. I have recently realized something odd: when Ray isn't home, I bitch and complain ... but the fact is that my life is much more comfortable and relaxed when he's at work!! When my husband is underfoot I get no work done, the kids' routines are disrupted, thing just sort of fall apart temporarily, and I can't wait for him to GO BACK TO WORK ...
The problems arise when I don't know where he is, or when he leaves me stranded here without groceries ... and, of course, when he stays away for days at a time. As long as I know he's at work, it's OK. I relax, I don't mind him being gone, I can enjoy my solitude. It's when he's out drinking and running around that I start to worry and get angry. He leaves us sitting here without milk or diapers or even a couple of dollars ... I wind up borrowing from the neighbors, AGAIN ... and all of a sudden solitude begins to feel more like imprisonment ...
But that's enough complaining about Ray. Next week he takes five days of vacation (yikes) so I'd better enjoy my week of calm and routine while I can.
Yesterday was another uncomfortably warm, humid day, in spite of the clouds and occasional sprinkles. At one point our freezer konked out, and Ray spent a frantic afternoon trying to repair it and salvage $100 worth of frozen food. (He appears to have been successful: it's running OK this morning.) In the evening he grilled some hot dogs on the Webber. Jamie fell asleep on the sofa and wouldn't wake up for dinner, so we just put her to bed; Kacie sat at the kitchen table with her Daddy and ate dinner with him while he watched a Chuck Norris movie. When they finished eating, the two of them went into our bedroom to lay in bed and watch TV ... I could hear them laughing and giggling. Kacie enjoyed the attention, and I was glad to see Ray treating her with gentleness and affection, rather than hollering at her to finish her dinner ...
Kyle had his first colic attack last night ... at least, that's what I think it was. He cried from 7:30 until 10:30, off and on, and would not be comforted. I swaddled him, rocked him, burped him, offered him endless bottles, sang to him. Nothing worked. Ray held him for five minute while I choked down a quick hot dog, but then he began wailing again and it was back to Mama. I remained relatively calm, but it bothered me to see him so unhappy. He's been such a content baby until now: I hated his discomfort. Shortly after 10 p.m. he had a brief bout of diarrhea and let out a couple of massive burps, and that seemed to be the end of the problem. I cleaned him up and tucked him into his crib, and he slept for six straight heavenly hours. At 4:30 a.m. he woke up again. Jamie heard the commotion and wandered out to the living room, where I was feeding him. She'd skipped dinner and was hungry, so while I fed Kyle, she sat next to us on the sofa, munching on Ritz Crackers and drinking Hi-C. We watched the sun come up and listened to the birds chirping ... Ray got up and left for work: he kissed the three of us goodbye ... when Kylie was finished, I put him to bed again, and then Jamie and I hopped into my bed, where we slept until 9 a.m.
Peg and Barbara stopped in unexpectedly yesterday afternoon, incidentally, to see the kids and pick up the rent money. Peg has just returned from Arizona, and she brought some pictures of Patty and John's new baby, Emily, who was born two weeks after Kyle on May 19.
Today is another slightly overcast, warmish morning. I'm just out of the shower, feeling fresh and ready for another day of Mommyhood. Kyle is asleep in his basket, across the room from me; the girls, in shorts, T-shirts and bare feet, are running around in the front yard. The door is open ... "Divorce Court" on TV ... my coffee is thick and black as tar. I'm feeling pretty darned good today, come to think of it. Emotionally and physically.
Kyle
Spring 1986
Saturday afternoon
May 31, 1986I seem to have developed a neat little pelvic infection. Dr. Bell has put me on doxycycline, but so far it hasn't done much to lessen the tenderness in my abdomen. I feel AWFUL. Another extremely hot day ... we've had a string of them this week. Even my pen is melting.
Technically this is the first day of Ray's vacation. He's gone down to the tavern to watch the fights, but has promised to be home shortly. (I'll believe it when I see it.) The girls are next door swimming at Charlie's, and Kyle has just gone down for a nap. So I'm ALONE! Temporarily.
Tuesday morning
June 3, 1986Ray's vacation is now in full swing. So far it hasn't been too bad ... he mowed the front yard yesterday with a borrowed lawnmower (and had his usual awful allergic reaction afterwards) ... today he plans to tackle the backyard, where the grass is four feet high in some places. So there'll be lots more sneezing and grumpiness. Tomorrow he's taking me to see my doctor (my infection appears to be clearing up, finally, after several days of mild pain) and the day after that we take Kyle to see his doctor. So we're keeping him busy. I'm sure he would prefer to sit around the tavern all week, drinking beer -- maybe by the end of the week it will have deteriorated into precisely that -- but right now, having him "under foot" is only mildly inconvenient (he just hopped into the shower: now I'll have to wait another hour to take mine) and I'm enjoying the luxury of knowing where he is, for a change.
Summer is definitely here. We've had a string of hot, sunny days. The girls play outside from early morning until early evening: for the first time in their little lives, they are part of a "gang" of kids -- the Harlan and Inman kids, and Brian & Andrea from next door -- and they've discovered the joys of running with the pack. Jamie, especially, is thrilled with her newfound social life ... her "friends" are everything to her. It's exciting to watch her world expanding beyond the parameters of this house, even though my heart tells me that this is the beginning of her breaking away from me ... my babies are growing up ...
The girls LOVED running around the neighborhood with their gang of friends;
here they're having a 'parade' down 10th Avenue
Spring/Summer 1986
They play SO HARD all day long, and at night they sleep just as hard. I tiptoe into their bedroom in the middle of the night, and they are so deeply asleep ... I cover them with the blankets they've kicked off, kiss them on their foreheads, whisper "I love you sweetheart" ... and they never stir. I wish I could sleep like that.
By the way, Kyle slept from 9:30 p.m. until 5 a.m. last night - wow! - and then from 5:30 a.m. till 8 a.m.! When I put him down last night at 9:30, I hurriedly ran to bed myself, fearing that he'd be awake in an hour and wanting to grab as much sleep as I could. Ray hates it when I go to bed early. He grumbled and complained, but I just tuned him out and fell asleep. He's so insensitive! I woke up around 4:30 a.m. and immediately thought "Something's wrong." Why wasn't the baby awake? Why hadn't he woken up before this? I went in to check on him and he was just beginning to stir. (We are very much attuned to each other, incidentally. I intuitively know when he's about to wake, even before he utters a sound. I love this feeling of being "in synch" with him.) I doubt that he'll be sleeping through the night consistently for a while yet -- it's too soon -- but it sure was a nice break last night.
Kylie will be one month old tomorrow. Sometimes when he's gazing at me, his eyes seem to "smile" a little bit -- they take on an amused look -- and a dimple appears above his upper lip. It looks for all the world as though he's trying to break into a smile!
Other things about him:
* He "sings" while he drinks his bottle
* He squeaks in indignation when left alone for too long
* I think his eyes will remain blue
Phil Donahue: "I can't think of a better start in life than being a male with two older sisters." (Honest to God! He just said that!!)
Wednesday 8 a.m.
June 4, 1986Kyle is one month old today. To celebrate this momentous occasion, he smiled at me for the first time this morning!! I was delighted! :)
Yesterday I finally finished putting together the nursery. I can't believe it took this long - initially I hoped it would be done before Kyle was born - but now that it's finished, I'm very pleased. It's lovely. The "electric blue" that Ray painted the walls while I was in the hospital has gradually grown on me. It took some getting used to. You walk into that room and the color knocks your socks off!! My tactful way of saying I hated it. But over the past few weeks I've grown to enjoy how vivid and lively Kyle's blue room looks, especially in the morning with the sun streaming through the window. And I added a few touches of my own that helped tone down the blue and balance things out a bit. Last Sunday, Mom and the girls and I went shopping at Drug Emporium, where I bought a roll of white contact paper. When I got home I cut the paper into big "cloud" shapes, and put them on the wall above the crib. That changed the look of the room immediately. Then I took Jamie's old balloon wall hanging and centered it on the wall amid the "clouds," to give the appearance of balloons floating in the sky. Even Ray, who had been skeptical about me putting anything on the walls, had to admit that it looked really great. Then yesterday I finally put up the shelves, on the opposite side of the room, and filled them with stuffed animals and knickknacks. Finally, I picked up clothes and junk that had been strewn around the room and put everything away. When I was done, the bedroom looked so beautiful, it took my breath away! I love it.
Today I have a 3:30 appt. with Dr. Bell ... probably the last time I'll be seeing him for a long time, if ever. Feeling sad at the thought. Of all the o.b.'s and gynecologists I've dealt with, he was the nicest. I will miss him.
Cloudier and cooler this morning than it's been in some time ... it feels delicious. Kyle woke the girls and I up shortly before 7 a.m. this morning, so our day got off to an earlier start than any of us would have liked. (Ray, of course, is in bed right now, happily snoozing the day away. It must be nice to have a real vacation.)
Kyle smiled at me while he was taking a break in his feeding. I had him sitting on my leg, facing me, when all of a sudden his eyes crinkled and his mouth popped open and he broke into an adorable smile, looking straight at me. At first I thought it was just another normal facial contortion, the uncontrollable kind that newborns are always making. But he held the expression for a second or two, and suddenly I knew that this was it. He was SMILING AT MAMA!! THRILLS!!
I was right about him not sleeping through the night again, by the way. Last night he went to sleep at 9:30 (as he'd done the night before) but then he woke at 2:30 for a quick feeding, and then again at 7:00, as I said before, for a more leisurely bottle. Now he's back in bed.
Monday morning
June 9, 1986Several days later. I don't write much when Ray is around ... his presence is too distracting. Things have been OK, though. He went back to work this morning after nine days, and - I'm amazed to hear myself saying this! - I'm sorry to see him go. It was nice having him around! He was in a generally cheerful mood (he drank a lot, but at least he did it right here at home), and he did a lot of work around the place ... also some "special favors" for me, like having my film developed (nine rolls, dating back to 4/85), buying scrapbooks for Kyle and I, fixing the turntable on the stereo so we can play records again.
Tony R. was here for most of the weekend. He came home with Ray on Saturday night and slept on our sofa, and then yesterday afternoon he mowed the backyard for us (to pay off the $50 he owed Ray).
Today is the first day that I've had the house "to myself" (kids don't count - they're outside all day anyway).
June 11, 1986
9:30 a.m.Kyle just "met" Sister Belle for the first time! Now all three of my children have enjoyed my old dolly with the big smiling face.
Kyle had his first appointment with Dr. Watts yesterday. Most of the news is good: he is in marvelously good health, gaining weight steadily (he's gained 3 lbs., 5 oz. since he was born: he's now up to 11 pounds) and inches (21 inches now - that's 1-1/4" since he was born). He gurgled and smiled at the little Garfield toy in the examining room, peed on me twice while he was laying on the table waiting for the doctor, and really seemed to be enjoying the novelty of the situation ... UNTIL the nurse had to poke him in both heels to draw blood (for the PKU test)! That was the bad news. He screamed for 15 minutes, and all attempts to comfort him failed. I felt like my heart was breaking. Poor little guy. Fortunately, this came at the tail end of the appointment so we could leave immediately, and the drive home (in Grandpa P.'s air conditioned car) finally seemed to soothe him.
I like Dr. Watts, by the way. She is the third pediatrician we've had since Jamie was born, and she is far and away the best. Talking to her was like talking to a kindly older aunt. She patted me on the arm from time to time and complimented me on Kyle's good health, and I felt really comfortable with her, charmed by her lilting Southern accent and cheerfully disheveled appearance, pleased with her calm and her confidence. I feel as though we've finally found the right doctor for our kids.
Kyle is wonderful. I am so delighted with this baby! It's just amazing to me how quickly he has become an established member of this family. It's like he's always been here. I can't imagine life without him: he was meant to be!
In the five short weeks since his birth, noticeable changes have taken place. For one thing, he's bigger! Plumper, fleshier, heavier ... I can feel the new weightiness of him when I hold him. And he's more alert and aware of things around him now, especially his family. He gazes intently at our faces and turns his head to follow our voices. When he looks at me, particularly at mealtime, he squirms and coos and sticks out his tongue and bats wildly at his left ear -- his way of telling me he's hungry. He watches me while he eats, with enormous, unblinking blue eyes ... the same drooping-slightly-at-the-corners, sad-looking-even-when-he's-happy eyes that Ray and the girls have. "P. eyes," I guess. They all have the same basic eye shape, although in differing colors: Ray and Jamie have brown eyes, Kacie's are blue, and now I think Kyle's may be blue, too. Funny how that worked out. Secretly I am delighted by how much my children resemble each other ... I love that thread of continuity, the similarities they share. Just what I always wanted: a complete set of matching children. How nice! :):):)
A lazy Saturday morning, hanging out in front of the TV
May 1986
Kyle smiles three or four times a day now. Sometimes he smiles at me, but more often than not I catch him smiling at a sunbeam on the wall, or (like yesterday at the doctor's office) a toy with a funny face ... anything that catches his fancy.
Bits and pieces of his personality are beginning to emerge. A lot of the time - MOST of the time - he's this incredibly placid, good natured little fella. He's easy to please, amicable, content. But more and more often lately I'm seeing flashes of the temper that lies ahead! If he's been left alone for too long, or if that bottle is delayed a minute or two ... or, if I'm holding him and he doesn't feel like being held ... he squirms, bonks me with his head, farts in annoyance, squeaks, pummels with his fists ... then he ROARS indignantly ...
7:00 p.m.
Absolutely perfect summer evening ... warm but not oppressive, lovely breeze ... I've just bathed all three of my children, and the house smells of soap and baby powder. Kyle's first bath. I bathed him in a little dishpan on top of the clothes dryer, while the girls took their bubble bath behind us. He liked it, I think -- his eyes were big as Frisbees, and he made little chirping noises in his throat. Now his hair, as he snoozes across the room from me in his basket, is soft and fluffy as the feathers on a baby bird. I am drowsy, comfortable and content.
7:20 p.m.
So much for "the perfect summer evening." We were interrupted by a major tragedy: Jamie discovered that her goldfish is gone. Vanished! Right out of the fishbowl in her bedroom. We think the kitties must have gotten him. Poor old Cornflake. Jamie is absolutely heartbroken ... SHIT.
Friday 9 a.m.
June 13, 1986Jamie's heartbreak has dissipated a bit. I quietly put away the now-empty fishbowl and all the paraphernalia, and Ray has promised to replace Cornflake with two new goldfish next payday. Once in awhile she pauses in her play, and a mournful look steals over her face ... she is such a tender-hearted little girl, so easily moved to tears ... I comfort her as best I can, but this is something she has to deal with on her own and there isn't anything I can do to make the hurt any less painful. Still, I see a lessening of her grief today, and I think she's going to be fine. Summer is here, and Jamie is in her element! She and Kacie spent the entire day yesterday playing in their swimming pool - already she's beautifully tanned - and I expect today to be more of the same. Jamie is at an exciting period in her life, what with all her neighborhood friends and the new baby and the pleasures of summer ... there just isn't a lot of time to mourn the death of a goldfish.
Kacie is still driving me batty with her foul moods and annoying contrariness. No dissipation there. I don't mean to imply that she's a pill 24 hours a day. There are still plenty of sunny moments, interspersed amidst all the unpleasantness. Sometimes she is pure delight. It's just that I can't predict when she'll suddenly go from sunny to stormy ... bouncy to balky ... it comes without warning. I'm trying my darndest to keep it all in perspective (she's in the middle, there's a new baby in the house, she has always required more love & attention), but I can't help feeling irritated when she pouts and whines and refuses to cooperate, ESPECIALLY when I'm bending over backwards to acknowledge her emotional needs and she's still demanding MORE ... is she testing me? Or is she genuinely that unsure of her place in my heart?? Oh Kacie ... don't you know how dear you are to me?? I love you more than words can say. I know it can't be easy being in the middle ... lodged uncomfortably between the privileged firstborn and the pampered baby ... you might wonder where a freckle-faced little girl fits into the family hierarchy. I'll tell you where you fit: right in the space marked "KACIE," a space that no one but you could ever possibly fill. You needn't feel insecure or threatened. You place in this family - and in my life, and in Daddy's - is safe, secure and forever ...
Kacie, age 3
Listening to Mom's new Walkman/wearing Mom's new shoes
Spring 1986
In the meantime, however - until Kacie is old enough for verbal assurances - I will probably find my limits tested every day. Even as I'm writing this, she is throwing another ear-splitting tantrum because I won't let her go to Charlie's house. She's standing in the middle of the front yard, sobbing "I WANNA GO TO CHAR-LEE'S HOUSE!!!" This is the fourth or fifth clash of wills we've endured already this morning, and we've only been up a couple of hours ... !
On a personal front, I am beginning to feel very depressed about the way I look. I am so heavy. For a few weeks after Kyle was born I was able to delude myself into thinking I looked OK ... I felt so much slimmer and lighter, with the baby out of my body ... but now the truth is finally sinking in. I am FAT.
Wednesday 11 a.m.
June 18, 1986The days of my life continue to roll past.
Our hot summer weather, this week, has disappeared: for the past several days it has been cool, cloudy and occasionally rainy. I view it as a reprieve, but the girls are put out because they have to wear shoes and socks when they play outside. (I hold Kyle up to the dining room window, and he catches sight of his sisters, sitting outdoors at the picnic table eating bananas. His eyes widen and he is very still, watching them. Jamie sees us, and she runs over to the window. "Hi Kyle!" she shouts merrily, and jumps frenetically up and down for her brother's amusement. He is still absolutely motionless, but now he is making excited little noises in his throat ... he sees his Jamie! Why does she always evoke such a huge response in him? It's been like that ever since he was born: she is "it" as far as he is concerned.)
Our car is now officially dead. It's been parked down at the QFC store for several days. At the moment this is a source of great concern for me ... I feel even more "stranded" than usual. As a matter of fact I had to cancel an appointment with Dr. Bell today because I have no way to get there. We are in desperate need of a decent car, but I don't know how we can possibly afford it.
The depressing thing is that even when the Impala is running, there aren't enough seat belts for all five of us, unless one of the girls squeezes up front between Ray and me ...
Friday morning
June 20, 1986The first "official" day of summer (the neighborhood kids got out of school Wednesday afternoon). Still cloudy and cool, though, which makes it tolerable. I'm not looking forward to the hot weather very much. Wish I had some decent summer clothes.
Kacie has appointed herself my official "powder girl." Whenever I'm changing Kyle's diapers, Kacie automatically appears at my side, ready to sprinkle the powder on her little brother's bottom. (And Heaven help anyone who dares try and usurp her position! Jamie innocently asked if she could have a turn being the "Powder Girl" and Kacie nearly walloped her!!) I think Kacie is trying to resolve some of her resentment of the new baby by doing something "important" for him, something no one else can do. At first I made a big deal out of what a GOOD HELPER she is, and how much "Kyle" and I APPRECIATE her help, blah blah blah. But Kacie seems to instinctively back off from that kind of gratuitous, overblown praise. So now I'm very low-key about the whole thing. She sprinkles the powder on his bottom, and I say "Good job," and she walks away beaming.
Kyle is sleeping extremely well this week. Night before last, he slept from midnight to 9 a.m., his best night so far. Last night it was 11 p.m. to 6 a.m., which ain't bad either! (He went back to sleep at 6:30 a.m. and is still asleep now at 9:50 a.m.) When he's awake, he is either pure delight (he smiles constantly now, at anyone who will stand still for two minutes -- long enough for him to focus) or else he's colicky, restless and unhappy. Evenings are especially difficult for him. We usually end up going back and forth between Mama and Daddy ... from the couch, to the basket, to the floor, to the rocking chair ... nothing keeps him happy for very long when he's in one of his colicky states. Eventually he ends the evening by filling his diaper with one mighty blast, emitting two or three massive burps and falling asleep in my arms.
Wednesday afternoon
June 26, 1986Warm, stuffy, sleepy afternoon. Vaguely depressed by the thought of three more months of summer ...
Kyle rolled over for the first time last weekend, tummy to back. When I lay him on the floor, on his tummy, he holds his head right up and looks around him a little bit. He likes my Sister Belle doll and the Happy Apple toy, the same toys his sisters liked at this age. Now I'm starting to wish we had a playpen for him ... I'll really need one by the end of the summer.
Making fried rice and BBQ'd chicken drumsticks for dinner.
Thursday 10 a.m.
June 27, 1986Just put Kyle down for what I hope will be a fairly lengthy morning nap. I need a shower - I'm still in my nightgown - and I owe several letters, including one long-overdue letter to my mother. (Jamie is "posing" Kacie in the armchair with an assortment of dolls, pretending to take her picture with the Sesame Street toy camera. "Lookin' good!" Jamie mutters, snapping the camera with brisk efficiency.) There are hundreds of unfinished projects laying around this house at the moment, mostly things like scrapbooks and recipes that need filing and other "paper projects," and what I would really love would be one whole, uninterrupted day in which to finish them all. No kids demanding Kool Aid and Band Aids, no dishes to wash, no laundry to fold ... and NO BABY! An entire lovely day to do anything I please. It sounds heavenly. Of course, I know that I would probably end up sleeping half of it away, then spend the other half pining for my baby and my kids! But it's fun to dream about it.
Speaking of dreams ...
... oh, never mind. It's not worth recounting, really ... just another of the old Scott W. "love-me- and-leave-me dreams, where he invited me to move back into the apartment and then kicks me out again. I always wake up from these damned things feeling terrible. I had another one of them this morning.
Life around here goes on. We're still without a car ... the other day Ray had the Impala towed to our house from QFC, and now it's parked in front of the house, a useless pile of junk. Ray rides to and from work with Ward W. or Mike Paynter, but getting to a grocery store is more of a problem ... Ray either has to walk (which means he can only buy a small bag of essentials, since the walk home is uphill) or else hitch a ride with neighbors. When will we have a decent car again??
An update on the Kacie situation (re: her "perpetual crabbiness"). I've been spending a little more time lately just listening to her and talking to her, and it seems to be making a difference. Underneath it all she is a very sweet, friendly little girl with a wicked sense of humor and a deep need for my attention and approval. I'm purposely making sure that our middle child doesn't get lost in the shuffle.
Jamie, on the other hand, is becoming increasingly bossy and impertinent. Typical for four yr. olds, I guess. Her first words to me yesterday morning when I got up were, "Hey - you forgot to get up and fix my breakfast."
* Kyle's eyelashes and eyebrows have finally appeared
* The blocked tear duct has cleared up
* He's got a whopping case of "cradle cap"
* He's out of the "newborn" diapers and into the "medium" size
Monday noon
June 30, 1986Exhausted from an interesting and busy weekend. The house is a horrible mess but I just don't have the energy to get started on my work. Jamie is mad at me because I won't let her go next door to Charlie's. "Then you don't get your ten kisses," she said angrily, her nose in the air. Kyle is sleeping. For the past two or three nights he has slept at solid, eight hour intervals ... 10:30 to 6:30, usually. In addition, he takes at least one long nap each day. I wouldn't go so far as to say we've finally settled into a regular "schedule," but things are a great deal more predictable these days: I can assume, with some degree of certainty, that I will have three hours in the morning for a shower and some housework ... that the afternoons will be spend holding and feeding Kyle and watching the afternoon TV shows I like ("Santa Barbara," re-runs of "Knots Landing," "Donahue") ... that Kyle will probably be fussy and unhappy for awhile the evening, and will require some rocking chair time. A pattern is developing. We still have interruptions and variations ... "off days" and unexpectedly peaceful evenings ... Kyle keeps me on my toes! But I do feel as though the dust is settling a little.
I loved to sit in front of the open living room door on warm summer nights,
in Grandma's rocking chair, and rock my sweet baby boy.
Summer 1986Our weekends lately have all been pretty much the same: Tony R. comes home with Ray on Friday or Saturday night, and the three of us stay up late, partying and talking. Tony sleeps on our couch and hangs around the house Sunday, taking a bus home Sunday night. We all like Tony very much. Some of us more than others. Yesterday he and Ray took the girls to the Kirkland Fair and let them go on the kiddie rides. Jamie and Kacie treat Tony like a favorite uncle ... he is practically a member of the family.
Things I Worry About
(In no particular order)* The major earthquake scientists predict we'll experience "soon"
* AIDS
* Our house catching on fire
* The cyst on my left hand, which developed shortly after Kyle's birth
* Being fat and unattractive for the rest of my life
* Cocaine-related deaths
* Our eroding ozone layer
* Random capsule poisonings
* Terrorism
* "Dallas" and "Miami Vice" being on at the same time this fall
* Child abduction
* Inherited alcoholism
* Shampoo residue build-up
Tuesday
July 8, 1986Over a week later. Hot, muggy afternoon ... Kyle is laying here on my lap with a bottle hanging out of his mouth, watching me with huge blue eyes ... there are a million small children swarming around in my front yard, with Jamie The Charming Hostess standing in the middle of them, shouting "I'm gonna tell my MOM!" ... a "Knots Landing" episode on the tube, laundry humming in the bathroom, a ton of things on my mind ... life goes on.
My diet finally begins today. At this point I am calm and optimistic about it: I think I can do it this time. I've got my SlimFast powder and my Acutrim and a ton of willpower. I've also got some special incentives: breast-reduction surgery after I've lost 40 pounds (Ray agrees that somehow we will find a way to finance it).
Kyle saw his doctor again last Monday morning, and once again Dr. Watts seemed delighted with his progress. She was particularly impressed to hear that he was rolling over at seven weeks, and pleased with his weight gain. He weighs 13 lbs., 11 oz. now -- that's a gain of about three pounds a month since he was born. She advised me to mix his formula myself instead of using the ready-to-feed, so he can get some of the fluoride from our tap water. She also told me to use regular dandruff shampoo on his head, to get rid of the cradle cap. I really like Dr. Watts' common-sense approach. Then Kylie received his oral polio & his first DPT (ouch).
Mom was here on Monday to take us to Kylie's doctor. After his appointment, we went for a long drive out in the Woodinville area, then went shopping at Drug Emporium (my favorite store: I bought a ton of stuff) and lunch at Burger King. Immediately after eating their lunch the girls went outdoors and played on the Burger King playground equipment - slides and merry-go-rounds and such. This proved to be a mistake. During the drive home Kacie, overcome by the heat and the food and the merry-go-round, threw up her lunch all over the backseat of her Grandma's car. Oops!
This is where everything began to change.
Thursday
July 10, 1986Ray was fired from his job yesterday. I think I must be in shock, because it doesn't seem to have sunk in yet. I just feel numb.
(I'll write) more later.
Later (8 p.m.):The numb feeling wore off midway through the afternoon, and I immediately sank into a profound depression. Ray and I have been very careful today not to talk about his being fired ... the subject seems to be out of bounds.
More later (9 p.m.):I finally cracked. Standing at the stove stirring the stew, I began to cry. Right away Ray started promising that everything will be OK, that he's going to file a grievance with the union, that he's "sure" he'll get his job back ... etc. etc. etc. He said, "Please don't look so down - it'll just make it worse for me." I wasn't able to completely camouflage my fear, but I put on a semi-normal face and tried to go about life per usual, in order to boost Ray's flagging spirits. Inside, though, I am in turmoil. Ray's being fired isn't the only crisis I'm dealing with at the moment: only the most recent. My entire life is presently in a state of chaos.
July 14, 1986
MondayA few days later. So much to say. All the petty little depressions and emotional ups and downs of the past few years seem like nothing now, in the face of what I'm feeling today ... this is "the big one, I guess." It's funny: for months I've been marveling at how smoothly things seemed to be going, and how lucky we were to have so few real problems -- there was the shitty state of my marriage, of course, but that's been a constant almost from Day One and I'd learned to ignore it -- otherwise everything seemed to pretty much be going my way. Three months ago -- good grief, was it really only THREE MONTHS AGO?? -- I was serene and unruffled, pacified, content, waiting for the baby to be born, insulated, unencumbered ... I think I might have actually been happy, even. And yet the whole time, in the back of my heart, I fought the nagging feeling that something was coming. Sooner or later, something was going to blow. Fate would point a finger in my direction and say, "Your turn!" ... and that's when the bomb would drop on my house.
It just didn't seem natural for things to remain so peacefully uneventful, so consistently ... the fatalist in me knew it wasn't going to last. And I was right.
What is hardest for me to explain is how ALIVE I suddenly feel as a result of this. For months, for years even, I've been coasting emotionally. No peaks or valleys. It was as though I put my heart in neutral and let it idle for the past six years. The closest thing to real depth of feeling I've experienced during this time has been love for my children: otherwise, I've been emotionally dead. That part of me that feels curiosity and excitement and pleasure and passion -- the ALIVE part of me -- disappeared. And the worst part of it is that I allowed it to disappear without a fight. Monotony is seductive. I got so accustomed to feeling nothing that I stopped doing anything about it. I stopped missing it, even.
The past few weeks, though, I've been waking up again, little by little. I don't know why, although I suspect that Kyle's birth may have been the catalyst. The birth of my last child. With his birth, a chapter of my life is finished, but - amazingly - rather than feeling mournful about it, as I feared I would, I just feel relieved. So much of my identity the past five or six years has been tied up in childbearing, and now that I've finished having my children, it's time to move on to something else ... to find out who I really am. I'm Jamie and Kacie and Kyle's mother ... but I'm more than that. Aren't I?
So far, I realize, this all sounds incredibly patented. I give birth to the last of my children and plunge immediately into a full-scale (ugh) "identity crisis." A classic textbook case. It's embarrassing even writing about it because it sounds so trite. The next thing you know, I'll be packing my bags and moving to California to "find myself"!
But wait. There's more. As I mentioned last week, Ray's being fired isn't the only thing I'm dealing with at the moment. In fact, it isn't even the most important thing I'm dealing with. His being fired has made me feel frightened and furious and unsettled -- powerful emotions, things I haven't felt in ages -- but an even more powerful emotion has risen up inside of me this summer, one that supersedes all the others. It has caught me completely by surprise, but now that it has happened I don't seem to be able to do anything about it ... and if I could, I'm not sure I would.
To put it as succinctly as possible, I have come to care very deeply for Tony R. We're not having an affair, exactly, but there is definitely something between us. At least ... it feels like there's something there. (In more rational moments I am terrified that he is mostly humoring me. Why would someone like him be interested in someone like me? My self-esteem is very low these days. It's hard to imagine anyone finding value in me.) My feelings for Tony caught me off guard, and at first I thought it would pass in a day or two, like the flu ... take two aspirin and feel normal again in the morning ... I've been waiting for it to level off but it hasn't. Every day there's a little more there. I think about him all the time. When he isn't here, I feel unsettled and out of balance, as though I'm walking around wearing one high heel ... like things are out of synch. When he is here, I feel joy, life, fear, balance. The emotional paraplegic gets out of her wheelchair and walks again. It's wonderful and terrible and totally beyond my control.
I despise the furtiveness of our time together, and I occasionally feel a wave of despair over the hopelessness of the situation ... but so far the good is outweighing the bad, at least in my heart. For six years I've endured a marriage without conversation or passion or connection, no shared interests, no communication. No one to blame for that but myself, of course, although I've tried like hell to rectify the situation. I've spent six years giving Ray everything, in an attempt to build something, ANYTHING between us, but it's been like beating a dead horse: he has resisted all my efforts. He doesn't understand anything I have to say, and furthermore he doesn't appear to care. But then I meet Tony, who not only listens to me but actually HEARS what I have to say. There's a difference! The attraction began for me on that level. Just being listened to ... what a rare and unexpectedly wonderful thing! I thought, "I deserve this." That's how it started. After that, it was the energy and the fun and the life in Tony that drew me, and which holds me now. He is possibly the most vibrantly alive man I've ever known, and I am impossibly drawn to that. The rhythm of living beats in this man, and he celebrates every day.
He said to me, "Do you think I go away and don't think about this?" and I said, "I don't know." I don't know. I'm not naive enough to believe I'm on his mind 24 hours a day. In my moments of deepest despair, I realize that it probably means very little to him. There's a pathetic quality about all of this that is mortifying. I agonize over it. What if - God - it's merely the convenience of my availability? The flattering susceptibility of the "neglected wife"? What if he finds the whole business amusing? The possibilities haunt me. But still - in spite of my insecurities and doubts - I can't help but think he might be sincere. That it isn't my imagination. That maybe there is some genuine reciprocation there. It's hard to let myself believe it, but I want to ... I really want to ...
Just before Ray was fired last week, I'd reached a conclusion: my marriage to Ray is not going to last. Furthermore, I have quit hoping that it will. I have reached a place of resignation about it, a firmness of heart. A week ago I said to myself, "In six months I'll either be out of this marriage - or I'll be dead." I just didn't feel I could take a lifetime of the kind of emotional neglect I've endured for six years, and that I deserve something better. I still feel that way. Tony has something to do with it, of course, but mostly it's something in myself ... a selfishness, maybe, but there it is. Life is too brief and precious to squander, and if I give up and stay where I don't want to be, I'm going to find myself back in the emotional wheelchair again ... incapable of feeling anything. That scares me more than anything I can imagine.
With Ray suddenly out of work, though, I've been thrown a curve. I may be selfish, but I'm not heartless: you don't kick a man when he's down. As dissatisfied as I may be with our marriage, I still feel a certain loyalty. I feel I ought to set aside my own desires (as usual) and stick things out until he is back on his feet ... and yet it seems murderously unfair that once again my life gets put on the back burner. For once in my life, I wish I could move forward instead of backward.
In the meantime, though, there is this sweet feeling for Tony in my heart ... a reminder, maybe, that there is life after housewifehood. It may not be much, but right now it's all I've got. I can't help it ... I can't explain it ... it's just there.
(Here. I'll give you an example of what my marriage is like. Ray sleeps until 4:30 in the afternoon ... gets out of bed, showers, hops in the car at 5:00. "Where are you going?" I ask, dismayed. "To watch the game at Dave's Place," he says, and blithely drives off without a kiss, a "goodbye," a wave. Last night he left here at 5 p.m. to "go to the store" ... it was past midnight before he got home. I am always always always alone.)
Wednesday
July 18, 1986Things between Ray and I are hitting new lows. It's now been a week since he lost his job, and he hasn't done anything about filing a grievance, applying for unemployment, looking for a new job ... all he's been doing is sleeping until mid-afternoon every day, drinking can after can of beer, and running to the tavern every night. I am furious and disgusted. He's pushing me for sex all the time, too, but frankly the thought I making love to him turns my stomach, and I've been coming up with all kinds of excuses to avoid it.
At the moment we seem to be OK for money (I never really know for sure: Ray and I never discuss finances) but I'm starting to feel a little afraid. He's been buying a lot of frivolous stuff, doughnuts and pizza and fast food, and I'm afraid the money is all going to be frittered away before too long. We're behind on our utility payments again - Puget Power just dropped off a $170 disconnection notice - and the rent will be due pretty soon. I feel a low-level panic beginning to build inside of me.
Tony has been around a lot this week ... he spent the entire weekend here, and then he slept on our couch Monday and Tuesday nights as well. He didn't feel good last night, and he was more distant than I've ever seen him before. I tried to maintain some dignity (some "mystique," maybe?) by going to bed first and leaving him and Ray alone in the living room, watching an old horror movie and smoking pot. At one point before I went to bed he said to me in a low voice, "What are you thinking?" and I said quietly, "I don't want to tell you."
(They just shut off our water.)
Evening:
... A rainy, cold evening ... a horror movie on TV ("Prom Night") ... the entire family assembled here in the living room. I even made popcorn. Jamie looked around a few minutes ago and said, "Our whole FAMBLY is here!" and I nodded and put on a big phony smile and said, "Isn't it nice?" No sense in letting my children know how desperately unhappy Mommy really is.
July 22, 1986
Tuesday morningA week later. Nothing has changed ... and everything has.
Ray is still treating his joblessness like an unexpected vacation, and the money continues dribbling through his fingers like sand. (Although he has paid our rent for the next two months. That's something.) We have pretty much stopped talking to each other -- at least, about anything other than kids and meals. He sleeps until late in the day and then goes off in the car, "running errands," while I stay at home trying to hold everything together.
Late last week I slipped again into profound depression. I tried several times to sit down with this journal and write something of value, but I ended up tearing out pages before the ink was barely dry ... the things I wrote sounded so inane. How many different ways can you say your life stinks? As upset as I was about Ray being out of work, and about the lousy condition of my marriage - the staple worries of my life at th
