Tag: memories

Will You Remember Me? Don’t Let Your Life Pass You By, Weep Not For The Memories Remember The Good Times That We Had

She was set free14 Comments

Thanksgiving has come and gone here in Canada.

My parents came in for the weekend, flying in on Saturday and left on Monday. It was a short and sweet visit, made better by the fact that we managed to keep it a surprise from the kids until the very moment we spotted them at the airport.

I told Little E and Z we had to go pick up a “special package” and had them guessing the whole trip out to the airport. My Dad FaceTimed the kids while I was pulling up to the arrivals gate and Little E was chatting on the phone with him, telling him all about the package we were going to pick up from the airport when my Dad knocked on the car door. The look on the kids faces was priceless as they both called out his name. They were beyond happy and shocked as they jumped out and gave massive hugs all around. It was perfect.

From the airport I took my parents to two different winerys to do a few wine tastings, you know, since I live in wine country. While we were there I took some beautiful pictures of them with the kids since we don’t have these opportunities often. Once we finally got home, Z toured my Dad around our house since he’s not yet seen it in person, making sure to point out all the irrelevant things like the toaster and the dishwasher etc, as small children are prone to do as tour guides (eye roll). Then of course we went for a nice long walk on the beach which ended with the kids showing off all their stone throwing abilities. We finished out the Saturday with an easy supper, since I’m a crappy cook, and the kids went to sleep and my parents did their Netflix thing, and that was that. Fairly simple.

The stress of the fact that my parents were visiting didn’t set in until Sunday morning. When my mom started noticing, ‘politely’ of course if that’s possible, all the things I needed to do around my yard. So off we were on a trip to Canadian Tire to buy a Edger for the grass and work gloves to pull the weeds. I’m not an outdoor person. At all. So ok. Fine. Thank you. They even bought Little E a new hockey net for him to practice with in the yard, which in theory is nice. But for some reason, it’s the way my mom does it, that makes me feel…not good enough in some way? I don’t know how to explain it. Taking me to the kitchen section saying I need a new roasting pot and it’s her treat. And how “it’s so simple to use, just throw the whole chicken in there with some veggies and onions and potatoes etc and throw it in the oven”. Mom. Thank you, but first off, there is no way my kids and I could ever eat a whole chicken before it went bad. As it is, we share one chicken breast for dinner. Secondly, I do know how to roast a damn chicken. I was married. I did manage to keep all four of us alive with beautifully cooked meals every night. It’s not that I don’t think a roast chicken would be lovely and delicious, it’s just that for the three of us, two of the “us” being kids, it would be a waste. Thirdly, when I do want to roast anything, I do have perfectly good pans at home, they just don’t have lids, so that’s what good old tin foil is for. Just because it’s not the same set up you have in your kitchen, doesn’t mean it’s sub-par.

So fine, we left the store with no roasting pan, but instead she got me a new frying pan since mine was shit. No arguing, she was not stopping, so fine a pan it was. Next, we went to the grocery store, because my mom needed TWO things for her cabbage rolls that she was bringing for the Thanksgiving dinner that night. Ok. Two things. I had brought my small reusable bag and everything, planning to buy TWO THINGS.

Well instead we went up and down basically every aisle, because according to her, my fridge was empty and I had hardly anything in my house.

OKAYYYY. Just because I don’t keep every sauce and dressing imaginable stored in my fridge, doesn’t mean I don’t have food in my house. I buy meat in bulk, and then divide it into smaller portions and keep it in the freezer. I have a huge fruit bowl that I keep on the counter that’s full of fresh fruit all the time. All the snacks, breads, canned things are in the cupboards. And the veggies are in the fridge. I don’t really see what else you need that the fridge needs to be jam packed all the time?

But that didn’t stop her from buying cereal that we already had. Peanut butter in a massive jar, which we not only already had, but I will hardly be able to ever use since the kids can’t take it to school, and bulk peanut butter cookies and chips. As well as steaks. Ok the steaks I can totally get on board with. It was delicious to fry up a steak last night in my new pan.

But there’s still the feelings of judgement. Like C your not doing good enough, so here’s how you should be living.

Especially when we got home and the four of them spent between 30-45 minutes mowing and edging the lawn which I honestly thought was fine. Oh my mom even did look for the dead rat… no longer there. Not sure if that’s good or bad news, but it is what it is.

Anyways. Deep down I totally understand that they are just trying to help and be nice, but on the other side, they were here for vacation, for their Thanksgiving and I wanted them to enjoy it. Not spend all their money and time working. But I guess it just wasn’t my choice.

Sunday afternoon they took the kids to see the new movie Smallfoot, which they said was fun, while I monitored the cabbage rolls in the oven and had a shower, and then it was off to my uncles for dinner.

Dinner was actually one of the most enjoyable family holiday dinners I can ever remember having. It was chill and relaxed and my uncle played baseball with Little E in the yard for a good half hour and Z got to help in the kitchen, which is her favorite thing to do, help. Dinner was delicious, and company was good, my kids were well behaved which always takes the stress off me. Even my Grandpa was fine. Although there were moments I felt bad for him. Yes, me. I felt sorry for my Grandpa. I just felt like at times no one was listening to him. Yes he’s getting old and maybe his stories are a little irrelevant, dosen’t mean he should be ignored. So I made a point to take some time to sit and talk with him (on the opposite side of the room). Even though I really no longer like him, I just felt like everyone deserves to be heard. Despite everything. Besides, I still can’t quite figure out if he remembers what happened or not. Either way, I keep my distance, and always monitor my kids closely around him.

After the meal, we were back at my house by maybe 8:30 and my parents watched a bit of tv while I went to bed, since I hadn’t slept well the night before. I gave my parents my room/bed and I was using Z’s, which was sooooo uncomfortable. Correction, it’s a really comfortable mattress, but I’m used to my super soft one, which is probably awful for my back, but it’s what I’m used to. Z on the other hand is 50 lbs and has hardly made a dent on hers so it was very firm, not my favorite.

Then just like that, Monday morning came and we had to leave by 10am to get to the airport in time. Let’s just say there were more than a few tears shed on Z’s behalf. I had to physically grab her off of my Mom and put her in the car while she acted like a limp rag doll, yet simultaneously crying her head off, impressive to say the least.  I just hoped no one thought I was kidnapping a child from the airport. I’ve had to many experiences with people questioning if my kids are mine or not, so I was not interested in dealing with that again. Once the kids were in the car and my parents had made their quick getaway, I noticed the tears rolling down Little E’s cheeks as well. So I knew I would need a distraction or the whole ride home I would be dealing with a hysterical Z as well as Little E crying. I pulled into the closest Timmy’s and got a few timbits for the kids and we discussed how it’s ok to be sad and have those emotions, but we also have to know how to also calm ourselves down. I reassured them that we can call Nanna and Nonno whenever we like, same as before as well as the fact that we will be going to visit them at Christmas. At least this way, we have the memories of their visit to reflect upon.

And good memories are better than none at all.

-Sarah McLachlan/I Will Remember You-

Have Old Friends And Know Our Enemies Now I-, I’m thinking Back To When I Was Young Back To The Day When I Was Falling In Love

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So I got a call from prison this week. Not the prison officials themselves, but a guy on the inside.

My obvious first instinct when I heard the recording “An inmate from so and so is trying to call you press 1 to accept the call” was that it was K, and that something had happened and he was locked up again.

So I pressed 1.

Me: Hello?

Them: Hello, this is J, is this Beyonce?

Me: What? No.

Them: Oh my friend gave me this number to call to talk to Beyonce, is that you?

Now, I’m actually concerned that K is back in prison and is in bigger trouble than I first thought because he can’t even make his own phone calls, and has to somehow send some other guy to call me using the stupid nicknames that they always use.

Me: Is he OK?

Them: Yeah, yeah, he’s getting out next week. What’s your name?

Me: You’re the one who called me. What do you want? Whats your name again?

And then the call got weird, he kept asking me to describe the friend who sent him, or give my name, and I was high and didn’t want to give away anything that might possible harm K in any way especially if for some reason he couldn’t call me himself. Like why was he sending some random guy to call? Was he tryna let me know something? Anyways, the guy who by the end of the phone call had given me a second name (what is it with criminals and multiple names?) assured me the friend who gave him my number was good and was getting out next week. And then we hung up.

I was left with far more questions than answers.

Is this why K hadn’t called? What stupid thing had he done that had sent him back? Why didn’t he call me himself? Was he in seg? Did he just get in? How could he be getting out next week? If he was ok, why didn’t he call himself instead of giving my number to someone else? Why do I still care so much? Ok that one wasn’t really a question because I know I still love him, but I’m trying to move on. But all the other ones were legitimately boggling my mind.

The next day, Thursday, I got another call from the prison that helped clear things up… unfortunately.

It was the friend who had sent the first caller. And it was not K.

Most of me was instantly relieved that K was not back in. But also, I was heartbroken that K had still not reached out to me in any capacity. Pissed and emotional to be more precise.

All I could think were what are the odds that anyone else would call me from the SAME lock up that K used to be in? Once the guy on the phone tried to explain to me what happened, which apparently my number and the girl they were trying to reach… Our phone numbers were 1 digit off, and the original caller had misread 2 for 3 or something like that.

Anyways, it fucked with me.

All the chances of all this happening? The second guy, T, kept trying to dig around on the call, figure out my name and what had happened on the first call. I was just so overwhelmed with disappointment that at one point on the call I started to tear up, because I couldn’t help myself. I had imagined in my head that K had finally called. That he had finally reached out to me. That he finally cared again. Near the end of the call I used K’s prison name”G” and asked if he was in prison. Just in case. And T was like OHHH G?  I know him! I just talked to him last week! Yeah I was on the phone with my friend on the outside and G hopped on and was saying things like how he got off parole in March etc. I was like yeah I know, you don’t have to tell me. Then T goes on to describe K/G.  “He’s a black guy? Stocky, bald, chest tattoo?” And I’m like trust me you don’t need to describe him to me. At that time I’m just angry. Angry that some fucking train hasn’t run him over. Angry that he’s calling everyone but me. Angry he’s chatting up people on the phone who barely know him, but not calling me. Pissed off that his words to me mean nothing to him. Frustrated that I can’t trust anything he’s said, even though those words were all that I’ve been holding onto for months now. Which means I have nothing left.

And that’s when I started getting emotional on the phone. It’s also when the time on our call was up.

But T called back. He wanted to make sure I was ok. I explained that I had just gotten my hopes up based on how the first call yesterday went.  T was saying that if G called again he could let him know about this, and I’m like PLEASE NO! He doesn’t need to know. He has my number, I have his. We’re well acquainted. If K/G had wanted to call, he would’ve. So then T is like well do you mind if I call sometimes? This has been one of the best, most real conversations I’ve had while locked up, and you seem like a chill girl, I’d like to get to know you more.

We had talked about his girl who has a new man and he wanted to win her back, I told him to move on, since she obviously had, and she wasn’t worth it. I told him to not fuck up his next chance once he got out etc. I literally have no clue who this dude is, but he’s getting out of prison next week and sounded like he wanted a chat, and I had nothing to do at the moment, so why not. We talked about what he was in for and his plans for the future. We talked about a lot of things.

In fact to be honest, I haven’t had a half decent chat like that since K and I used to talk every night. So I told him I wouldn’t mind if he called sometimes. But at the moment I just needed to end the call because I needed to cry. A lot. He tried to talk to me and say I seemed like a really cool girl, and whatever was going on I don’t deserve. I told him that it wasn’t his issue to try to solve, and he was saying I know, but when a woman cries a man should be there for her. Which just made me feel even more emotional. So I told him thanks for the call. Don’t fuck up when you get out. And I had to hang up.

Because a man should be there for a woman when she cries. At the very least he shouldn’t be the only reason she continually cries.

What are the odds that my world continually throws K back in my face, without actually letting my face see K?

-Benny Blanco Ft. Halsey and Khalid/Eastside-

Happy Birthday To You Happy Birthday Dear Little E, Happy Birthday To You.

She was set free1 Comment

Today is Little E’s 7th birthday. And I have so many things I’ve been wanting to post about, but decided to write about the day he was born. Because that’s a story of its own!

My pregnancy with Little E went great. Absolutely no morning sickness, none of the uncomfortable sleeping at night, just a tiny bit of heartburn near the end which I’m pretty sure can be attributed to all the hair he was born with. I’m very lucky to have had such a good pregnancy because E was no support. Throughout the 9 months, he would often suggest that the baby was in fact not his, and that the night of my failed housewarming ( https://shewassetfree.wordpress.com/2017/04/12/house-warming-it-was-cold-as-fuck/) I had slept with S, and therefore who knows how many other men. As you can imagine this was difficult to deal with while pregnant, and I didn’t feel very supported, so it was nice to at least feel like the baby was working with me.

The only thing that really changed for me was that I craved steak like nobody’s business. I could eat steak for breakfast, lunch, dinner and still want more, until some blood work revealed that it was amazing I was still up and walking since my iron was SO depleted. Once I got on some iron supplements, the cravings slowed and then the only that bothered me was smell.

EVERYTHING stunk to me. Especially E. He would get home from work, I’d have to ask him to shower. He’d come home from rugby practice, where he just showered, and I’d make him do it again. Before we left anywhere, I’d ask him to reapply deodorant, or shower. I know he didn’t actually stink anymore than before, but to me? Oh god the smell was awful. At one point we went to my parents for supper and I actually apologized to my mom for how E smelled and she’s like ‘honey, he doesn’t smell, it’s your nose/hormones’ … didn’t matter to me, I still needed him to shower 3x a day if not more.

So, anyways as we neared, and then passed Little E’s due date, I found myself doing all the preparations for the baby. E didn’t put together one baby item. He didn’t purchase one particle of clothing for our first child. He was barely interested in conversations about the name even. Except of course to throw in the lies about the middle name “tradition” and confuse the shit outta everything. But as far as first names go, it was basically up to me, which I’m so grateful for! At least now I don’t have to say my kids names every day and have regrets about them. I picked them both out and love them thoroughly.

Since apparently my womb is so comfortable, Little E stayed 10 days past his due date and I had to have an appointment to be induced. E decided he didn’t want to come with me, so I drove myself to the hospital. He basically said let him know how it goes and if anything happens, he would come later.

So I was on my own. 22 years old. About to give birth to my first child. And my husband chose work over supporting me.

I went through the process and stayed for about an hour when the nurse came to check me out and said there was no signs of labor so I could head home for now, but to come back if anything changes. So I drove myself home. I had some slight back pain but since this was my first time, I kept waiting for ‘contractions’ and yet had no idea what they would feel like. My back pain kept getting worse and I had no way of relieving it, so I took a shower. E was home from work by the time I got out of the shower but my back was in so much pain all I could do was sit on my towel on my bed. This ended up being probably the best thing for me, since while I was still on the towel, my water broke and I finally clued in that my back pain was actually contractions. #idiot
I told E we had to go now, and his response was that I had to wait since he needed to eat since he just got him from work and was hungry. So while E did whatever he did in the kitchen, I got myself dressed and hauled my hospital bag out to the car, all while in the beginning stages of labor.
E finally moseyed his way to the car and we went to the hospital where I was admitted ASAP.

My mom met us at the hospital since at this point I knew E was going to be probably not too much help and to be honest I was scared and needed someone to actually be there as a support. Most women have their husbands for support, but well, I had E soooo, mom was like my plus one.

My mom came into the room and then E left! I was like what the? And he told us that he didn’t think he was going to stay in the room because where he’s from the men don’t stay, it’s more of a woman’s thing. I was like you get your ass in this room right now! You got me into this! You are going to help me through it! I don’t care if you just stand there silently or even faint! You stay!
So he did, although he just stood there quietly, he stayed in the room.

Meanwhile, because everything was happening so quickly, my room was buzzing with people. My maid of honor from my wedding is actually a labour and delivery nurse and was working that night, which was the only thing keeping me sane. She tried to make sure I had the best Dr. and nurses and when the actual delivery came she was right there helping out too.

I didn’t have a big ‘delivery plan’. I never went to prenatal/Lamaze classes  I knew I was all for the drugs though. I mean if I can do this pain-free, then load me up. So they started with the laughing gas (which did nothing to help) while my MOH/nurse tracked down an anesthesiologist. The anesthesiologist came and did his poke, but for some reason, the epidural didn’t work either, and this baby was coming NOW.

I remember the Dr doing that dumb counting thing, like for your breathing, and everyone’s saying oh you’re doing great, good job, keep going, and I just snapped. I yelled ‘SHUT UP’ at everyone. In my mind I just wanted quite so I could focus on my own thought in peace, plus their words were doing nothing to help so I just wanted silence. After I yelled though I felt bad so I kept apologizing, and trying to explain how I just needed quite, and everyone’s like no it’s ok, you can yell all you want.

So, the pushing is going on and there’s so much happening in my room with me and E and my mom and about 6-8 staff (I don’t even know for sure) because something is going wrong…. as I’m pushing, the baby gets stuck. So my MOH/nurse gets a stepping stool and stands on it, holds her arms out like she’s about to perform CPR and then literally JUMPS off the stool and pushes onto my belly to push Little E out. Who let me tell you, WAS NOT LITTLE!

Little E was 9lbs 7ozs and a short little sucker. He looked like a sumo wrestler no lie. A cute sumo wrestler. The Dr who delivered him felt the need to comment saying ‘Oh if I had known he was this big, I would’ve done a C-section’. Oh thank you for that. Thanks for saying that NOW! When there’s no going back. Thanks for talking about the huge new life I just pushed through my vagina while you use a dozen plus stitches to close me up. Yeah, thanks. Real professional.

But, aside from having my genitalia ripped open, the drugs not working, and E not being interested at all in being there…

It was the most beautiful day of my life. No I didn’t cry. But that’s because I was very broken at the time. I did cherish it though. I remember Little E had no problem starting to nurse and the feeling of having a new life, a human, so small yet fully functioning, look into your eyes while feeding off of the life you bring it? Priceless.

I stayed up all night just watching him. Making sure he was ok. Changing diapers that didn’t need to be changed, but just to do it. Waking up E so he could bring me the baby in my bed. Holding him. Touching him. Stroking his hair. Looking into his eyes. Singing to him. Just loving him. And I would do it all again.
Everything I’ve been through with E, I would do again just to have the amazing experience of Little E’s life it has brought me.

7 years ago today.

-Patty Hill&Mildred Hill/Happy Birthday-