Marathon Memories

Today is almost over. It'll probably end before I post this. But still, here I am, on a day I'm sure I've posted about before.

It's Patriot Day in Massachusetts (not to be confused with Patriots Day, which is federal holiday, and something else entirely) and two other states. For me, this morning, that meant that I was very sad, because one more of my old traditions was missing.

On Patriot Day, the Boston Red Sox play an early day game, which lets out just in time for all of the fans to pour out of Fenway Park and go watch the end of the Boston Marathon, for Patriot Day is also Marathon Monday. This was the game that Daddy and I always went to (with one exception that I can remember, although possibly others). We would go, watch the game, watch the Sox kick some ass, and then we'd wander down to catch some marathon runners finishing. Of all the traditions I had with my father, this one I think I cherish the most. More than the boat show, more than father's day car show, more than the Beach Boys, summer cook outs, or going together the the BCF. Patriot Day is our day.

This morning, I posted this as my facebook status

 Today is Marathon Monday, which means I should be with my dad at Fenway Park. We used to go to this game every year and I miss it.

I watched the scores of the game on the MLB app on my phone while I was in class. I watched the Sox win, as they always do on Patriot Day. And then I came home. I turned on my computer to put on some music, and checked my facebook. When I heard the news, there was only one news website who had an article up, and it was only 3 or 4 sentences long. I was one of the first to hear about it. And I was instantly crying. Not sobbing just yet, for I thought it was some sort of accident and I didn't know anyone was hurt. I thought it just scared a bunch of people. So I was crying, and then I found out that people, dozens, were hurt, missing limbs, and I got scared.

My father doesn't break tradition. I couldn't call him. I needed to know if he was okay, but I couldn't call him. I didn't have the guts. What if he didn't answer? What if someone else answered and told me he was hurt. What would I do? I was shaking. It took me three minutes to write a very short text message, but I didn't have the guts to call him.

He was fine. He had broken tradition. Later, I found out cell phone service had been cut off, so if he had been there, he wouldn't have answered. Most of my friends in Boston were on facebook immediately, posting links, expressing fear and outrage and hope that everyone was fine. But one friend, I didn't see among the crowd. I had to go to work, and spent much of the night fighting off the fear and anxiety and the urge to vomit. I put on a good face of fake cheer. Customers probably thought I was just some ditzy girl, but my co-workers were concerned. They knew that my smile was fake, and that I didn't usually make the sort of mistakes I was making over and over and over.

Until finally, the last friend I was worried about posted on facebook about being stranded. And I laughed and laughed, and no one understood when I explained "oh, no, nothing is funny" because I was falling over in hysterical laughter.

But my heart is still breaking. I can't make it stop hurting. That's my home. And they broke it. I could have been there. If I weren't in Virginia, I would have been there, in that very plaza. And I have never been so scared.

End of an Era

The summer between third and fourth grade I discovered something amazing. I was taken to this brand new world, and when school started back up, I made new friends in that world. That world was Harry Potter, and the friends I made were with characters in the books, but also with people who I met in real life, who I might not ever have talked to otherwise. It was Harry Potter that introduced me to the two people who are the closest things to soul mates that exist. My best friend Chelsea, and my fiance Jeffrey. I've probably told this story a hundred times. I'm such a sap.

I met Chelsea in September when school started. Over the summer she had moved to my town. For my 10th birthday, in November, she gave me a copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. How did she know me so well, so soon? My sister spilled a cup of fruit punch on the table, turning the last 30 pages pink on the edges, and I was so angry. She spoiled my most important book. I got over it, and somehow, over the years, I lost that book. I still hate that I lost that book. I treasured it, and then it was gone. At some point, years ago, I managed to steal Chelsea's copy of it, and only recently mailed it back to her.

The first movie came out the day before my 11th birthday, and a trip to the movie theatre and for pizza afterwards was my party that year. Chelsea then spent the night at my house after. The second movie came out around my 12th birthday, and again I had a Harry Potter Movie birthday. Before the third movie came out, Chelsea and I were at her house, and decided to watch the trailer for the movie, which neither of us had seen. She had dial up and it took forever to load. We would watch a few seconds, and then when a few more had loaded, start back at the beginning and watch it again. It took a good hour, maybe more, but it was amazing. Chelsea and I wrote fan-fiction together and separately, and read our stories to each other over the phone. We also posted them online, but we always were reading ahead in each others stories. We went to the midnight releases of the 5th, 6th together at Barnes and Noble. For the 7th book, I managed to talk another friend into rescheduling her sweet sixteen, because I had already made plans with Chelsea to go to the midnight release. When the 7th movie (part one) came out, Chelsea and I were 800 miles apart, but that didn't prevent midnight phone calls, discussing mutual tears. The three of us, Chelsea, Harry and I, have been a unit for most of my life. The 8th movie, or the 7th part 2, comes out as soon as it turns into Friday.

Chelsea will be in Ireland, I will be in the US. We don't have the money for international phone calls, and our midnights are at different times. Everything is all backwards and messed up and I miss my best friend. I'm sad. And yet, I can't be sad. She's going on an amazing trip - I'm supposed to be happy for her. And I am. But I can't help but wish this trip was at any other time. A part of me would rather have her here for this than even have her at my wedding. How stupid is that? She's my best friend. But this is the close, the end of an era, and while I know this really wont change anything between us, it is going to change everything.

I keep telling myself that it isn't the end - there is still Pottermore which hasn't even opened yet. And I try to tell myself that this is te same way that I felt when the final book was released. But when the 7th book was released I was with Chelsea. We started this journey together, and I wanted us to finish it together.

I think back to a time, in 6th grade, when Chelsea and I planned an impossible road trip, when a mutual friend said that we wouldn't be friends by the time we finished 8th grade, nevermind when we were old enough to drive. And I look back - it's been 6 years since we finished 8th grade and she's still my best friend. And we still can't drive.

And now I'm just babbling, but I feel better now. Still sad, still missing Chelsea, still upset that we wont be pottering together tomorrow night and in the wee hours of Friday, but its okay. We'll be okay. And Harry Potter will live on in my heart forever.

C is for..... everything!

C is for Crazy, which I am. C is also for the Classes I take, and C is for Chelsea, my best friend. C is for coffee and chocolate, and cream. It's for custody. For children. For College. For Creativity.

I don't know what to write about today. There are so MANY things I could write about. Of all those C words, Custody is the one that jumps out at me the most, but my feelings on it right now are so.... vague. So up in the air, that I don't know what to do.

Two and a half weeks ago, I was looking up what the requirements were for foster homes, and what the rules were about fostering a child from another state. I was contemplating my schedule, seeing what I could change and how it would work. I was re-writing budgets, and mentally re-arranging furniture to make room for my sister in my home.

Something vague happened and she ended up out of her foster home. She was sent to a temporary foster home for the night. That's normal-ish. She woke up the next day and was brought to the DCF office, to wait while they looked for a permanent foster home for her. Again, normal.

No one wanted her.

No foster family would take in a girl with several hospitalizations in the past year. So that night, she went to another temporary house, and the next day, back to the office. And again the day after. And the day after.

Our mother couldn't take her. Her father wouldn't take her. My aunt can't handle her. My father doesn't meet the requirements. Our grandparents can't. Who else does she have left? Just me. So here I was. 20 years old and trying to get temporary custody of a 13 year old.

I was trying to figure out how to squeeze her in between my classes, or how to fix my work schedule so I had time to help her. Or at least time to give her a good morning and good night hug. It just wasn't working. I couldn't figure it out. Every time I found a solution to a problem, another one cropped up.

Do I make enough money to feed her? Pay her electric bill? Do I have the space for her? Does a futon couch count as a bed for her? Is the living room a suitable sleeping arrangement? Can our closet hold her clothes? How will I get her to school? Or will DCF insist on her having her home schooled like she is now? Will she be okay home alone all day? Does she need a private tutor?

and the kicker: I'm 20 years old. Will I be able to make her look at me as a guardian, or just a sister? Do I know enough to do a decent job at steering her in the right direction, for now?

Before I managed to find a suitable answer to my questions, they found a foster home. I was relieved, in a way that I now feel guilty for. I don't think I'm ready to be a parent. I already don't know how I did it when I was at home. Certainly, 20 years old isn't old enough to parent a teenager. Her foster family don't speak much English, and its lonely with no one to talk to in the house. But she's somewhere at least. I can't imagine how much emotional pain she must have been in, and is still in, knowing that, at 13, no one wanted her. I know how much it hurt me when my mom kicked me out at 16. But I still had one other parent to take care of me. She had no one. And I was older. She's in that awful stage that is the beginning of being a teenager. God, I hated being 13.

My mother gets out of her thing (more on that lateR) in a few weeks, and will get my sister out of foster care. The other is still with the family who will adopt her. That's the plan right now.

Leap of Faith?

It's a long story, but if you don't want to read it, there's a tl;dr version on the bottom. Just scroll.

I started cheerleading when I was 8, for a local rec-football team. I loved it, but it was only a few months a year. Outside of cheer season, I'd constantly be talking about it, practicing old cheers, and trying to talk the neighbor kids into practicing stunting with me (which looking back on, I'm glad they refused, since they had no idea what they were doing and we were all kids with no supervision)

When I was 11, an All-Star team (competitive team, for those who don't know anthing about cheerleading) opened up nearby, and I joined it. It was 3 practices a week, year round. It became my everything (second only to my love of writing) We were good. Not great, but good. We had two teams, a junior and a senior team. I was on the Junior team. Our seniors won first place at their first competition. The first competition any of our teams had. They continued doing just as well at all the regional competitions, but always came in last at Nationals. That was okay, we figured. That's still better than a lot of other teams in the country. Our junior team wasn't as great, but we did well enough. We made it to Nationals, finally, in our third year, and everything fell apart. One girl called us just before our flight and said she changed her mind about coming. Another girl, our best tumbler, broke her wrist in the pool at the hotel. A third girl (and her mother) got food poisoning and couldn't compete because she couldn't stop puking. We had to re-arrange our routine, we all messed up at least once, and we came in last. That's fine. Our performance was really terrible.

None of us knew, at the time, that it would be our last competition. A month or so later, our coach sat us all down at the end of practice. She had lost the lease on our gym. She was having a hard time finding us a new practice space, because we needed it three times a week. She asked what we wanted to do. We wanted to stay together, even if that meant only one practice a week. We'd just practice more at home.

We tried. Our coach couldn't handle it.  Our team dissolved. There were no other All-Star teams in the area. I was starting high school, but my school didn't have a team. I had no other options. Cheerleading was over for me.

It's 6 years later, and I still miss the sport more than anything. I'm in college now, but there's no way I can cheer. For one, my school doesn't have cheerleaders, and more importantly, I'm out of practice, and out of shape. I doubt I can even do a decent cartwheel right now.

But since I'm in college, I just moved. And the town I'm in has an All-Star gym. I'm tempted to send them an email, saying..... I don't even know what. I can't cheer, I'm not certified to coach, I've never choreographed anything half-way decent, and I can't even answer phones for them, because talking on the phone sends me into a crazy anxiety attack in which I'm likely to throw up or pass out. And their team is internationally ranked. Mine was only barely nationally anything, and I was one of the least-skillful girls on the team. But I want, maybe need, to get back into my sport. I'd happily vacuum their spring floors (THEY HAVE 2! TWO COMPETITION SIZED SPRING FLOORS! HOW FREAKING AWESOME IS THAT!? ) for free. But how do I say that without seeming like a desperate wanna-be, or a total creeper?

But on the other hand, it would break my heart if they turned me away. I hurt enough for Cheerleading. I don't want to hurt more.

Irrelevant, but  we've set the date for our wedding. May 31, 2012.

WOAH! APPARENTLY MY BRAIN WORKS IN SLOW-MO

I'm really glad I never let ANY of my family members see this. If I let my sister see this post, she'd slaughter me.

For any of this to make sense, we need to go back in time about 11 years. My youngest sister was born and it turned out she had quite a handful of problems. One of her kidneys wasn't working, the other was underdeveloped. Her bladder had strange sacks in it, which caused issues with her peeing and pooping (I promise you, as much as you hate diaper changing, it's much better than having a baby who almost never uses her diapers) and then her uterus was also wrong. Back then, when she was an infant, the kidney and bladder issues were much more a priority than her uterus. She had tons of minor surgeries, and three majors (two bladder re-constructions, and the removal of her left kidney) The doctors said that as long as her uterus was fixed before she started to go through puberty, that things would be fine. If it wasn't fixed, she would never get her period, and therefore, never be capable of pregnancy and "motherhood" in the genetic sense. Even then, the surgery was no guarantee that she'd ever be able to carry a child to term

She didn't learn this herself until she was 8 years old. The doctor mentioned it at her yearly check up. My mom couldn't afford the surgery. Lauren was devastated. We had a long talk with her about adoption (yes. we had a serious conversation about how my 8 year old sister could adopt a child. It was rather strange) and although she decided that she would probably do that some day, she still felt that it wasn't fair. I didn't think it was fair either. Adoption is a GREAT thing, but it isn't fair that it's her only option if she wants to be a mother. I like options.

 We couldn't afford to give her the surgery She started puberty. We still couldn't afford it. We were running out of time. In true Boatkicker fashion, I was panicking.

But it didn't matter. Two weeks ago MY SISTER GOT HER PERIOD!!!! (see? that's why she'd kill me. She didn't even want to tell my mom, never mind the entire internet. haha)

I didn't realize until today what that really meant. So lets all cross our fingers that someday, if she wants to, she will be able to get pregnant. (and lets also hope that day is in a very long time, since she's only 11 right now. haha)

Hips and Hopping

Okay that was a pretty lame pun, but it's pretty accurate to describe me the past few days. I somehow managed to screw up my right hip Saturday while I was getting into bed. At first it was just a little sore, enough to keep me up, but not to really bother me. Sunday morning it was still a little sore, sunday evening it was even sore-er.


By Monday, I could hardly walk. Stairs made me cry. Transitioning from standing to sitting was hard, and getting back up again was even worse. You know what I realized? It's the same sort of pain as my knees get, when I let them get bad. Unfortunately, no doctor has ever been able to tell me what's wrong with my knees. Just that they are swollen and they hurt, as if I didn't notice all that stuff on my own. I don't think my hip was swollen, but I have a feeling that whatever it is, has a similar cause. Now if only I could figure out what.

Eh. It's Wednesday now, and I feel a lot better. Its back to where I was on Sunday morning. A little sore, but I can walk. I still have trouble on the stairs (I am hopping up and down them, it hurts less) and standing up from sitting is still SUPER painful. But I'm functional. I'm not crying.

But the last time I had a GOOD nights sleep was Friday and I'm a little loopy. I'm not totally nuts from lack of sleep, but at least 5 times tonight I've caught myself saying or doing really stupid things. Earlier I couldn't even think of the word "bad" in conversation. I think I replaced it with "un-good." I guess I'm going in and out. A little normal, a little totally wacky, then normal again.

If I've said anything strange to you tonight, forgive me. If I haven't, then that's awesome.

However my lack of total-functionality has given me a new word. I'm totally going to get "unfavorite" into the dictionary. I like it a lot.

Happy Baseball Season

I do not like Easter. I have had quite a few bad experiences on Easter, and the one good Easter memory I have is more of a "springtime" memory than anything. It could have happened on any day. So instead I'll talk about the reason that today is a special day for me anyways.

It is the first day of Regular Season Baseball. I refuse to watch, listen to, or follow spring training, so this is really my first baseball day! I've been a Red Sox fan since I was a little girl. I went to my first game at 3 years old. Since then, my dad has taken me to at least one game a season. It has always been the Patriots Day game, which is also Marathon Monday. A lot of the time, my Dad and I will go to a second game later in the season. Once or twice we've even been to three games in a season.

He and I have never been to a losing game together. Not once. I remember one year, 2007 I think, when we were sitting behind (okay WAY behind) home plate. We were down in the 9th, but only by one run. We already had two outs. The guy sitting next to us was talking about rally caps, and how we need the luck to win. My Dad pointed to me and said "You see this girl? She's never been to a losing game. Today wont break that pattern." I don't remember who was coming up to bat, or what sign my dad pointed to, but he told the man that the first two pitches would be strikes and that on the third, he'd hit a home run, aimed right at that sign.

Strike.
Strike.
And then suddenly the ball was soaring, going far away right towards the sign my dad had pointed at. We had a man on second, and he got home. Our batter was still running. He made it. And we won by a run. The man sitting next to us told us we had to get season tickets.

This year, we wont be going to the Patriots Day game. Patriots Day is only recognized in New England, I'm told, so for those of you who don't know, it's the 3rd Monday in April. I will be in Virginia and my father will be in Florida. It's really sad for me to break this tradition. This is my absolute favorite. My father and I have a lot of traditions, and this past year I've broken them. This one is the one that I might just cry over. My Dad, The Sox, and heading out after to watch part of the Boston Marathon. Stopping on the way home (sometimes more than once) at Dunkin Donuts for drinks, and maybe a snack.

Woops, I got caught up in memory lane. I could go on but I'm sure you don't care to hear about every Sox game I went to.

Today is the first game of Regular Season Baseball. The only regular season game today is the Sox Home Opener. It's a Yankees game. The date today is 4/4. My lucky number is 4. I'm taking that as a really good omen, both for the game tonight, and for the season as a whole. I can't wait. I'm pumped. And good luck to all the Non-Red Sox teams this season too.

So Happy Easter, for those of you who don't hate the holiday. And Happy Baseball Season, to anyone who cares about baseball.

Ghosts

I need to learn to let go. The past has haunted me, is haunting me, and will continue to follow me. I need to get rid of it. What kind of person sits in the mall, and then suddenly starts crying about something that happened almost 3 years ago?

Me. I need to learn to forgive. I need to learn to forget. I need to get rid of it all. There is a shadow over my head all the time. Successful people don’t let their pasts hold them back. I want so much to be successful.

And I want to forgive my mother. I love her, and for her I have to try. I can’t keep beating myself up over the jobs I couldn’t find. I cant keep being angry over our Christmas fight. I can’t keep feeling guilty for not calling her that year on her birthday.

And I need to forgive myself. I can’t keep hating myself for not being able to get her to stop drinking. I can’t keep blaming myself for not taking care of my sisters. I can’t keep crying over the fact that her house was a mess.

My heart shouldn’t race in fear whenever I see someone who looks mildly like my sister’s father.

The ghosts of my past are following me. It’s not healthy, and I know that. And lately I’ve been all about healthy. I’ve been exercising, eating better, cutting out a lot of my contact with the people who tend to bring me down and getting back in touch with people who are good for me. I’ve been planning more and been organizing more to hopefully reduce the number and frequency of my anxiety attacks.

Mostly, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. Everyone has problems, and I make too much of a big deal out of mine. I need to stop that. How can I help other people if I'm feeling bad about myself?

I’ll end this with a quote from a song which sums it all up pretty well.

I don't believe in ghosts but I'm afraid of 'em

_______________________________
Song Credit: Ghosts by Skye Sweetnam

I'm just a kid

Me, when I was little

Sometimes it hits me hard, like a truck: I’m still just a kid.

I’m dwelling on this custody thing? Did I mention it in one of the other blogs that I tend to dwell on things? If not, now you know. I am a dweller, and I’m dwelling (I really love the word dwell!)

Back to the point: I’m just a kid. Sometimes I forget it. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be grown up. Trying to take care of people. Trying to be independent. I don’t like asking for help. A part of me, not the rational part, thinks it weak, and immature. The rational part of me knows that everyone needs help sometimes.

My sister’s future potentially rests in my hands. That’s way more than any 19 year old wants to hear. I have a person depending on me? What? But.... but... but... I’m not old enough for that kind of responsibility. Yeah right. Life doesn’t work that way. And in a way, it’s not any more than I ever have had to do. I’ve always been the one taking care of my sisters. I’ve always been the one taking care of my mom. So why is it so hard to make a decision, this time?

That’s exactly why. Because it’s a decision. I never had to think about it before. Sisters are hungry? Make dinner. Mom needs to be brought back in (she used to sleep walk)? Go get her and hide the car keys so she doesn’t try to sleep-drive. Sister is sick? Send her back to bed, and bring her juice, or tea, or read to her. Mom is drunk? Direct her anger at me instead of the girls.

It was all automatic, because nothing that was good for one was ever bad for the other. This is different. We can’t all win. I think this is the hardest of the situations. Sure, it sucked when they got taken away. It sucked when I couldn’t call them. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it. At the time I probably said that I hated feeling useless. Now, I wish there wasn’t anything I could do.

Inaction, that horrible waiting, unsure but unable to do anything about it. That hurts.

But action, and potentially making the wrong decision? That hurts more. I can’t handle guilt. I’ve had issues handling guilt my whole life. It’s one of the emotions that totally can tear me apart. When I’m angry, I can remain composed. When someone hurts or betrays me, I can suffer in silence, with a smile on my face. But guilt? Nope. I’ll end up sitting in a puddle of my own tears and tissues. Sometimes, it even makes me nauseated. A guilty Boat isn’t a pretty Boat.

But I think this time, inaction would cause just as much guilt as the wrong action would. So maybe I will speak at the hearing, but if I do, I’m not going to lie. I’ve written myself a speech. I’m sure when the time comes, I won’t actually make the speech. I’ll say something shorter, and less emotional, less messy, but here it is, anyways.

My mom has had a lot of ups and downs. When she’s up, when she’s sober, she’s super mom. Right now, she’s up. In a big way, I want Lauren to experience that. Some of my best memories are of me and my mom, when she was sober. But I’m scared. Because every up is followed by a down. And I can’t imagine putting Lauren through that any more. I was there. I saw what happened to all of us. We were a mess. I don’t want to take that risk with her. I was a pretty screwed up kid, emotionally. I was never happy. I’m scared for her. And I think it’s best for her to stay where she is. But then again, what if my mom stays sober? There’s no way to see into the future, and what that was the last ‘down’ she’ll ever go through? What if she doesn’t drink again, but Lauren wasn’t there to see how great of a mother she was when she was sober? I don’t know what’s best. I side with Lauren, whatever she wants to do. She’s a smart kid. I think she knows what’s best for her.

So that’s what I’ll say, or at least, the idea behind it. I will go along with whatever an 11 year old tells me.

But I’m terrified. I’m just a kid. Kid’s shouldn’t control other people’s lives.

Also, the speakers on my laptop are not working properly. It’s REALLY irritating.