Tuesday, December 29, 2009

From a friend.

"We should not think of our past as definitely settled, for we are not a stone or a tree," wrote poet Czeslaw Milosz. "My past changes every minute according to the meaning given it now, in this moment.”

How fitting.

I had lunch with another good friend today. Two good days in a row at the office too. And my hubbie is making a no-bake cheesecake and had homemade chicken and dumplings on the stove when I got home from a late night at work. Who could ask for more?!

Master of Ignoring

I've become the master of ignoring my history. I think about how I present myself today and how I close myself off to what was. I wonder what people think of me and know that as much as I pretend I don't care what anyone else thinks of me... I really do care. Of course, I won't let that feeling of caring overwhelm me. I'm the master of ignoring. I'm the master of keeping my mind busy to crowd everything else out. I'm the master of sarcasm and laughter. I know I take the sarcasm too far and come off as a bitch sometimes (Okay most of the time, but not when it really matters), but if the worse you think about me is that I'm a bitch, then that's fine. It's better that way than if people could really see inside. I'd rather be a bitch than be exposed.

I got a phone call from one of my foster kids on my case load last night. I smiled as I listened to her ask me if I had a good Christmas. "I've been good this week Mrs. Babs. You'd be proud of me"! I can remember a time this child hated me. It was the best of Christmas presents! I really am proud of her. I know how easy it is to throw those shields up. I know what kind of work it takes to try something else. Good for her!

Monday, December 28, 2009


Okay so I spent all day yesterday blogging my story and got up to about eight years old. We all have a story and I always say "mine's not a secret, I just don't broadcast it". Why is that? Because it makes people uncomfortable. Hell, it makes me uncomfortable. I would rather people know me for who I am today, but where I came from made me who I am today. Anyway, I think I over immersed myself yesterday so I'll just blog about mundane things until I'm ready to continue. Nothing special going on. Froze my ass off doing some home visits, returned phone calls, checked emails... yada yada. Had lunch with my bestie. It was a good day :P

Sunday, December 27, 2009

The Farm

The Asshole left during my nap and I couldn't have been more content. My mom wasn't going to be a bitch around my Grandma and he was GONE. WOO. I played with Grandpa and cuddled with Grandma. The farm was about 30 acres and Grandma set about teaching me some country living.

The house had a front porch that was closed in with a concrete floor where Grandma kept all of the canning she'd done in small shelves lined along the walls on the left side of the door. The washer and dryer were on right side of the door. The next room was the kitchen. To the left was a round table with a vinyl table cloth, directly ahead was a wood burning stove and to the right was the cooking stove, the refrigerator and the sink and Cabinets. Passing through the table and woodstove was a living room and a bathroom and a set of stairs up to the attic bedrooms. One side of the living room had grandpa's hospital bed and the other side a couch. Grandpa wasn't sick, but he couldn't sleep with Grandma because of his "walking legs". Grandma slept upstairs and her room had the only air conditioner in the house.

I spent a wonderful summer with my Grandparents and often slept in the room that was Grandma's in a pallet on the floor. She would read her Agatha Christie books and I would listen to her breathe and the lull of the air conditioner. On Saturday nights we would run up to my mom and sister's room and watch The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. Their window was kept open because of the heat and I'd go to sleep listening to crickets and whippoorwills. We collected eggs from the chickens and traded them for milk at a nearby farm. Grandma taught me to shuck corn and make feed for the chickens and how to snap green beans. Every evening she would take me for a walk and showed me elderberries, beechnut trees and all the wonders of the farm. I did dishes every night after supper which would make my grandma mad. I was eight. Why was I doing dishes? I didn't care. I always did what would make mom happy and it was expected. Over the summer my mom bought a two bedroom trailer and moved it onto the farm. It was old as dirt and the cost of running electricity to the trailer tapped her out. We heated with coal and hauled water from the electric well in five gallon buckets in a wagon. My grandma would fuss when I came to fetch water saying I was too small to be hauling water. She'd make milkshakes and put raw eggs in them to try to fatten me up.

As wonderful as the summer was. It wouldn't last. Once we moved into the trailer, my mom was free to be herself and moved the Asshole right back in. As fall approached I started second grade. I made a few friends and was still pretty quiet unless I was with my grandparents. We spent days in an empty cornfield near the woods cutting trees for firewood. The Asshole was in full form and took every opportunity he had to punish me. This time he was braver than before because he had more opportunity. He was touching me everywhere and making me kiss his nastiness. My mom was often at the farmhouse with Grandma and left us girls with his grossness. One particular night he went out to "get more firewood" while I was playing with my sister who was three. He jumped up at the end of the trailer and mushed his ugly fucking face against the window roaring. He intended to terrify me and he did. I screamed at the monster in the window and began to bawl. He ran in the house saying how sorry he was laughing at his success. What an asshole. Since he had more opportunity, he began messing with my little sister. She was about the age I was when he started with me. What was I going to do? I didn't know.

A blow up or two.

We got a new used refrigerator. The old one got drug out onto the front porch. My mom had recently been bitten by a recluse spider and had been very sick. Spiders were everywhere in Missouri. I especially hated the big black tunnel spiders that covered the front yard. They didn't give a shit who you were, if you walked by their tunnel, they'd jump out at you. Mom said recluse spiders are very small. A hole was rotting out in her back and she needed IV antibiotics so she'd be staying in the hospital a few days. I prayed to go to the Auntie's because I didn't want to be left alone with the Asshole. I spent part of my time with both. My momma had a slow recovery. Her happiness began to slip and fade. I worried about her and about her moods.

One day it finally happened. Auntie and Momma had a bad mood on the same day. My cousin had been over when my Auntie came to get him. I don't know what the blow out was about, but I knew it was over us kids. Both of them were screaming what lousy mother's the other one was. My mom ordered my Aunt out of the house. As mom followed her out the door screaming and cussing, she decided that she'd just push that refrigerator off the porch over on top of Auntie. I drug my sister into my bedroom and closed the door. I watched out the window of my room as my cousin screamed. The refrigerator missed and rolled down the steep hill about half way. I though my Auntie was going to kill my mom. Asshole intervened and it wasn't long before his police buddies arrived. I didn't see Auntie or my cousin for a long time after that. We moved to a duplex across town and I started a new school. I was in the first grade, but I'd done two years of Kindergarten due to being a retarded dyslexic. I wasn't retarded. I was left handed. The bitches at that last school wouldn't let me use my left hand. I was probably a little dyslexic too, but I had come to the conclusion that all adults except my grandma were assholes and bitches.

The new duplex had a garage on each side of it and Asshole worked on cars in his garage. This would be his new place to punish my butt and even though I was used to it, I really couldn't take it when my mom was off the deep end because punishments were more frequent and more painful. My mom had allowed us to get a dog we named Honey. She was a golden retriever. I really liked her. I told her lots of secrets. She always listened. I can't express how important it is to have that kind of trust. It doesn't matter that it's an animal. It's a safe haven and She lived long enough for me to bond with her before getting hit by a car.

My mom decided to let me get a cat after that because I cried after that dog all the time. I named her Josephine. She was a grey and black striped tabby that loved to cuddle. She was even sweeter than Honey. Mom stayed in a bad mood now and things were not going well. She cleaned with bleach until her hands were cracked and I spent a lot of time in the garage. When I wasn't required to be in the garage, I played in my room. The duplex had very dry heat and I often picked my nose until it bled. My mother had a fit and taped socks over my hands day after day if she caught me picking my nose. The socks were embarrassing because the neighbors would see them. Mom would come up with new reasons to be mad at me. The toys weren't put away right or the bed wasn't made just so. She would often come into my room and dump out every belonging I had and scream at me to "start over". If mom got mad, Asshole got mad. The cycle was never ending and one day he got sick of hearing her scream and picked Josephine up and threw her across the room into the wall. She had a seizure and died. I hated him. He was evil and She was miserable. I knew what to do to get mom to be nice to me so I was excited when I fell off the bus and sprained my elbow. Asshole berated me for not tying my shoes, but you know my mom was just as sweet about it as maple syrup. It hurt like hell, but was so worth it.

There were some nice older girls on the bus and I wanted to be just like them. I was beginning to recognize that not all people are "mean". I think those girls were probably nice when no one was looking which was not how things were with people in my family. Mom liked it when I was smart so I worked extra hard in school to learn to read and write. I could add numbers too. She really liked that and said I was so smart. It was one of the few ways I could please her. Momma got me another cat that looked similar to the first one and I named her Josephine II. I just pretended she was the first one and knew my mom would kill the Asshole if he even looked cross-eyed at this one. Everyone was afraid of my mom's wrath that really knew her. My mom said we were going to be moving to Kentucky to her mom's farm and that Grandma had moved there too. I was so happy I was going to be with my grandma again I didn't know what to do with myself.

We all piled into an old truck. My sister had to be in a carseat so I laid in the floorboard between my mom's feet with Josephine as we made the move. Of course, I got carsick and as usual, my mom was as loving as she could be. When we finally got to the farm I rushed into an old farm house with roof shingles for the siding and found my grandma making fried chicken. She was still fat and happy and smiling with her white hair and pink lipstick. She was wearing a moo-moo and smelled of talcum powder. I knew I was going to be okay now and her love and warmth washed over me. I told her I had been baptized recently on my eight birthday and she squeezed me tight and said that was wonderful. Grandma fed us and then the Asshole took me took me into the attic were two bedrooms were so I could take a nap. He said he wasn't staying on the farm with my mom and my sister and me and that he wanted me to know he was sorry for all the things he had done to me and that he'd never do it again. I just shook my head in acknowledgment and let tears roll down my face. I was relieved. Life was going to be okay.

Disney and the Garden of Eden

I slept on the top bunk. I wasn't allowed to sleep on the bottom bunk because Asshole couldn't reach me. It was very close to the ceiling and as summer wore on, it would be hotter and hotter up there. One night my mom came in and told me I could just sleep in my panties if I wanted because it was so hot. She must have been out of her fucking mind. Right... I wasn't taking my clothes off in that house without getting in the tub. I refused and wondered why she couldn't figure it out. By now I knew what was going on was wrong, but she was no refuge for me and I didn't know I could do anything about it.

Sometimes I played in the backyard. The neighbor had a dog who lived on a chain. We became friends and the dog jumped around excitedly when I would go out back to talk to him. The dog tripped me with his chain as he wound around my legs and I fell and hit a rock busting my chin. I ran into the house crying and my mom took me to get stitches. I didn't care. My mom was being nice and I'd happily cut my chin, my toe, or anything else to see that side of her. I thought my mom and I were making friends until she announced a few days later that she and Asshole were going to Disney World and I was going to stay with the Auntie. WTF. Why the fuck is she going to Disney without me. For the first time, I started to hate her. I was just nothing to her and I knew it. She said she'd bring me some Mickey Mouse ears, but really? Who gives a fuck about your Mickey Mouse ears.

I spent the week with Auntie who was also clearly pissed my mom didn't take me with her. She was nice enough to me. I was disappointed, but whatever. I played with my cousin and sister and knew no one was going to punish my butt that week.

When they came back I threw the Mickey Mouse ears in my closet and never EVER gave her the pleasure of seeing me wear them. I loved Mickey Mouse and Disney though and would secretly put them on in my closet and sing MIC-KEY M-O-U-S-E. I still love Disney and I'm certain one day I'll get off my ass and take myself there.

Mom decided that she was going to make it up to me and take me to the Garden of Eden. Mormon's believe that Adam and Eve came to existence in Missouri. Yep, I said Missouri. Really who gave a shit? If there was a God, maybe I'll meet him in the Garden. We traveled there with two young missionary boys who were very nice and proper. Everything was proper when other people were around. When we got to the "Garden", the adults went on and on about Adam and Eve and all that bullshit. From what I could see, we were just standing in the woods. I waited for the "spirit" to tell me it was true and that I was standing on "Holy Ground". I pulled a tick off my arm and just rolled my eyes. God wasn't here and neither was Mickey Mouse. Fuck this place.

Getting to know the Aunt

The next morning, my grandma told me I would be safe and that my mom and step-dad and sister would be moving to Missouri too. While they were moving, I'd stay with my Aunt and her family. Grandma had to go back to take care of grandpa. I would be without her. What was I going to do? She was my everything and now we wouldn't even be living in the same state. She would write to me and gave a jewelry box that played music. I recognized it off of her dresser and had rummaged through it so many times. An old friend to keep her letters in. There was an old strand of fake pearls and a broach still in the box. I would be brave because I trusted her. Trust wasn't easy to get from me.

The aunt spoke in a loud voice and she had a husband who drove a truck. Just as well. I didn't like husbands. She also drove a truck and we were going to ride in the truck to go clean the cab and go to the stockyard. While we were at the stockyard, I found a little baby goat that kept nibbling at my shirt. An old leathery man handed my a bottle and I began to feed the goat. My auntie asked if I liked that goat and I shook my head with enthusiasm. So she bought it for me. I could keep it in her back yard like a dog she said. Shut up. She really just bought me a goat?!!? We rented movies and went back to her home where we unloaded the goat into the back yard. I was still a little tentative. The goat would stay at her house when my parents came to get me, but it was still "my" goat. The auntie must like me.

When I was with my grandma, I chatted up a storm, but with other people I often stuttered so I kept pretty quiet. The auntie made a pallet in the living room floor. This was familiar to me. My new cousin and I waited while she put the movie and and soon she brought an enormous bowl of popcorn into us. I smiled and was in awe that we could eat in the living room. She left the room and we ate until we were sick. The movie was over and there was a LOT of popcorn left. My cousin started throwing his popcorn at me and bouncing all over the room. I hestitated, but quickly jumped in the excitement. I jumped up and down on the couch and he hopped from the couch to the chair to the floor. We threw popcorn at each other in a free for all and laughed and shouted. I was startled when I heared in a loud shrill voice "You kids quite that shit! Get the damn shop vac and clean this crap up. What the fuck are you doing"?!! My cousin scrambled just out of arms reach and I made myself as small as possible. I knew immediately she had her mean side and I wasn't going to get on it again. I knew what happened. I knew the drill.

For the rest of the week, I walked the line and kept quiet. I knew my cousin had his secrets too. I wondered what he did when the husband came home. He had a step-dad too and we all know what step-dads do to you when you're bad. I didn't ask him if he got stuff put in his butt, but I bet he didn't stay still like I did. My cousin was all over the place. I watched his face for signs that he wanted to talk about it, but he never did so I never did. I thought all children lived like I did. And while he went on to experience his mother's abuse, broken arms, etc. it would take me a few more years to realize that every child isn't punished in the butt.

It was only about a week before my mom came to get me. She drove me to the new house which was pink. I could see it as we drove up a big hill. We parked and walked up a gazillion steps to the front porch. The front door was old and heavy looking. It was painted brown. I walked in and looked at the old hardwood floors. Old painted shut windows. Off the living room was an old kitchen with an old white sink, a refridgerator and stove. To the left was my parents bedroom and to the right another bedroom and bathroom. I went into my room where there was a bunk bed. My sister would sleep in my parents room. I would finish up kindergarten in a new school. Every Sunday we went to the big Mormon Church. We sang "I am a Child of God" and learned about Joseph Smith and Jesus.

My sister was beginning to walk in a walker and was so cute. My Mom gave her a lot of attention and our new life was beginning. The school was not very far from my house. I went there for several months. I don't remember having friends there or the teachers. I only remember the playground. At recess I would get on the merry-go-round with the other kids and just spin my recess away. A watch came in the mail from my dad's parents. I was surprised my mom gave it to me, but she did. I wore the watch every day. One grey day I fell off of the merry-go-round and was on the inside on the ground where all the children's feet where. I was screaming and crying for them to stop, but foot after foot kicked my fore-arm until it bled. I had a big nasty wound that was bleeding from being kicked over and over. The teacher came out to get me and my watch was broken. No one cared about that watch or me. I knew no one really cared.

Day to day life went on. I would try to get my mom to like me by offering to entertain the baby or by pushing a chair up to the sink to wash up dishes. I liked washing the dishes and all of the soapy bubbles were fun to play in. I spent a lot of time in my room. I tried to stay out of the way. Winter turned into spring and then summer. I sat in my room one night and took my hand and pushed all the dirt and dust in the floor to the center of the room. My room was uncluttered with the minimal of things to do. When I finished I ran out to get my mom and show her what I'd done. "Look Momma!! Come see". My mother was very impressed and thanked me for being so helpful without being asked. I got my second hug and kiss that day. I finally knew how to make my mom like me. I was seven now and I had figured it out. Mom seemed happier and we continued to go to church.

My step-dad got a job as a police officer and became a deacon at our church. I was glad because he used to be a mechanic and always stunk of oil and grease. My mom spent a lot of time with her sister and one day she left to go shopping with her. She'd been gone quite a long time when my step-dad called me to come to him. I went over and laid across his lap. We were sitting in the floor. I wimpered as I knew what was coming. This time he repeatedly stuck a safety pin in my butt cheeks over and over. This was a new game. My mom walked in and caught him. I was crying and didn't even move to pull my pants up. She asked him what the fuck he was doing. He said that I had been scooting across the floor and had gotten a splinter. I went to my room and hid. She believed him and never even asked me if that was true. I probably would have lied to her anyway, so it really doesn't even matter. I stayed in my room and hoped I'd get a letter soon from my grandma. She sent them, but they didn't come often enough. I could never write her anything of meaning, but I tried to send mental vibes to her that I needed her really bad. I'd whisper in my mind over and over to her to come and get me. I'd whisper every night.

Road Trip

One day my grandma came to get me. I loved spending time with her. Everything with her was easy. And an adventure. She said we were taking a road trip. The back seat was going to be my kingdom. I had a pillow and an afghan she had crocheted in the back. There was a jar of peanut butter in the back window and Ritz crackers. I had little bottles of juice. There were cards, coloring books and crayons for entertainment. I knew we were about to have a good time. I smiled and climbed into my kingdom and off we went. It was snowing and I loved the snow. It danced on the windows of my Grandma's big old green car. The seats had plastic bubble stuff on them to protect the seats that were aged and stained brown from Grandma's cigarette smoke. I spread the blanket up and cocooned with my pillow while Grandma told me the story of the princess and the pea. I was a princess and that's why I could feel those bubbles. I pressed some of the bubbles in and watched them fill back up with air. I watched snow hit the back window and drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up I was hungry and started making peanut butter crackers with my little plastic butter knife. The peanut butter was soft from the heater and spread so easily across the crackers. I'd make grandma a cracker and pass it up to her listening for her thank you at every cracker. Then I'd spread gobs of peanut butter on another one and gobble it up. You would have thought I was eating caviar. The snow was coming down heavily and Grandma was driving very slowly down the interstate. She said we were going to stay in a hotel and it would be great fun! The roads were too bad to continue our trip. I happily took her hand and looked at my new found world as we checked into a super 8. I was sooooo excited. The hotel room was large and had two big beds in it. There was a bathroom and a desk. I explored everything in the room quickly and felt very grown up on my trip with Grandma. We ate across the street at a Shoney's and then came back to the room. Walking carefully across the ice, I asked Grandma where we were going. As we got into the room, Grandma looked tired as she smiled and answered me. Grandma never lied to me and that was very important between us. She explained that my other grandmother was trying to take me away from my mom so we we're leaving so I'd be safe. I could tell my grandma didn't like my dad's mom, but to her credit, she never said a bad word about them. We were leaving the state and going to Missouri where my mom's sister lived.

The next evening we arrived at my mom's sister's house. She had a son who was six months younger than me. We became fast friends and I slept in a fold out bed in his room that night. I was nervous because I didn't really know my Aunt or her family. As usual when I was uncomfortable, I stuck close to grandma's side until it was time to sleep. That night I dreamed I was in my kindergarden class and the classroom had a bathroom in it. All of the children were lined up to use the bathroom one at a time and would come out and wash their hands in the crafts sink and go back to their seat. Just my luck to be at the end of the line. I had to go really bad and couldn't hold it. When there were only about three kids left I dreamed I peed my pants. I was soooo humiliated. I woke up to discover I had peed in the bed. I never wet the bed and cold fear shot up my spine. I panicked and wondered what I was going to do. I laid in the pee until it turned cold and then I laid there some more. When my new friend/cousin woke up I shared my secret with him. He said it was no big deal and busted out of the bedroom door to announce my shame. My Aunt came into the room followed by my grandma. Grandma swooped me up and put me in the tub and put clean clothes on me while my Auntie changed the bed. I never smelled bleach. No one said anything. No one yelled. No one hit me. No one pulled my pants off. Okay, so what's going on here?

The baby

When I was five years and one month old, my mom and step-dad dropped me off at my grandmother's. The baby was coming!! I was there the entire weekend. While I was having fun at Grandma's, I was anxious to see the baby. I was very excited when they came to get me. June 25th, 1975 would change my life. I now had a purpose. I had a little sister!!! She was very cute. As she got a little older, I would put socks on my hands to hold her cold bottle for her... looking back, if she wasn't old enough to hold her own bottle, it should have been warmed milk, but I didn't know that at the time so whatever. I was a big sister and I was important!

My mom became more and more involved with the church and soon we moved to a one bedroom run-down house. We all slept in the same room. There was an attic bedroom, but I was afraid to go upstairs. Babies are expensive and moving was fine with me. I didn't want to be around Della anymore anyway. Besides, we had to hide from my dad's parents who knew my mother was a complete psycho bitch. Then again, they had high standards and how things "looked" was very important to them. I never thought of my mom as crazy, I felt I had to be on her side. I couldn't betray her. She was my mom. If you didn't make her mad, she would ignore you. I don't really know what was worse... being ignored when I so desperately wanted her to be proud of me or being hit and screamed at.

My sister was a very sick baby and my mom was always nice to sick people. I began staying with my mom's parents more and more while my sister spent a lot of time in the hospital. She had "Aunt Flacktic Shock". This was serious and my sister was in and out of the hospital all the time. She was allergic to everything coming and going. The bleach would get stronger and stronger in the house to prevent any further episodes of the anti-phylactic shock. I would try to make my sister smile when I was with her because my mom was more and more stressed out. Stressed out was never good for me. If mom got stressed out, that was one thing, but if she pissed Mr. Asshole off, that was another.

I was glad we slept in the same room because it was less opportunity for him to touch me. But I lived in fear all of the time. One night I slid my hand between my bed and the wall. The wall was cool to my touch and I was very hot from the kerosine heater. My mom constantly bitched that kerosine wasn't good for the baby. Asshole asked my mom what that noise was and I listened as they began arguing over it. My mom knew it was me and said so, but he said it wasn't. I was afraid to speak up because one of them was going to "punish" me. I finally said it was me and waited for some smart remark to come. Nothing else was said, but I lay there wondering if he would find an opportunity to punish me when mom went to the grocery or something. It was very hard for him to find times alone with me in that house, but it was also a hard house to hide in. I learned to watch their faces for signs of what was to come and prayed several times a day. God was important in our house now. We were Mormons. Mormons with a few secrets.


I began spending more time with my mother after the police incident. I was happy to be with her, but always cautious. I loved to paint in those paint by water books. I was in her small, clean apartment and asked for a glass of water to paint with. She snapped that she wasn't getting up to get me any water and told me to get the fuck out of her face. A few hours later, she brought me a cup of water. I'd already forgotten I wanted to paint and said thank you and drank the water. I hadn't had anything to drink or eat and was so thirsty. My mom then said let me know that was water to paint with and now I wouldn't get to paint because I drank the water. I knew she could give me more water if she wanted to, but that was her game. She was only 15 when she had me and I was nothing but pain in her ass.

By now my mom was probably 18 or 19 years old. She started dating someone new which was fine with me. My mom was much nicer when other people were around than when we were alone. I never held any delusions that my mom and dad would get back together and never really knew my dad. One thing I had learned with my mom though was that if you got hurt or sick she had a soft side. I was running through her apartment one day and got scraped just under my little boobie by a staple sticking out of the back of the recliner. I still have the scar now as a reminder that my mom could be nice on occasion. She cleaned the cut up and put a band-aid on it. Then she gave me a kiss and a banana. That was probably the first time I remember being kissed by my un-affectionate mother.

Anyway, as I said, my mother started dating a man who would become my sister's father. He seemed okay. He made my mom laugh and I knew as long as she was laughing she wasn't hitting. We soon moved to an apartment complex with him. My mom and he married and she got pregnant. During this time my mom started babysitting a little girl who lived in a nearby apartment. We'll call her Della. My mom started taking lessons from the Mormon Missionaries and they were nice enough when they came over. Our house was always spotless and smelled of bleach. Bleach fumed our house daily and burned my nose. It made my head hurt really badly. Della's mom worked at night so she would stay over at our house and slept in my bed with me. I really loved playing with Della, but Della peed in the bed which would horrify my mother.

No one wanted my mother to be on the war path and her new husband was no exception. After Della left one morning, my mother began bleaching down my bedroom. She was cussing and ranting and I just wanted to hide. Her husband took me into the bathroom and sat on the toilet fully clothed. He told me to bend over his lap and I asked why. He said he was going to punish me for wetting the bed. I told him I didn't wet the bed. He said that I was going to be punished worse now for lying. I laid myself over his lap to get my spanking. He pulled my pants down and I knew I was going to get a bare spanking .... or so I thought. I was tense and scared. But I didn't get a spanking that day. Mr. I-like-to-fuck-kids stuck a bar of soap up my ass. I had never felt pain like that and his other sweaty hand was over my mouth. "SSHHHH. Don't let your mother hear you". It seemed to go on forever, but in reality was only a few minutes. I never saw it coming, but KNEW I'd better never tell or he'd do it again. I also knew I'd better sleep in the floor when Della stayed over so I wouldn't get in trouble again. I knew this was a secret. Things were going to get dark. I wished I could go to my grandma's house, but I also knew better than to ask. I now blamed Della for my problems and began to hate her guts. This was her fault.

Dad's parents

Things were a little different at my dad's parents house. More formal. They had money. You didn't rummage through their things and you definitely didn't run in their house. They lived in a three-story home with collections everywhere. My favorite was the coo-coo clocks, which my grandpa would wind every night. I knew my dad's parents hated my mom. I can remember sneaking to try to call her when I was with them. I often stayed several days with them at a time on the weekends or during the summer. I rarely saw my dad, but every now and then he would come over to say hi. I was either in Pre-K or K at this time. I'd spend a lot of time during the week with my mom's parents and the weekends with my dad's parents. I don't remember spending a lot of time with my mom or dad, but I wanted to be with my mom very badly.

My dad's parents had a finished basement with two sides. In one room there were walls and walls of unpainted ceramics that my grandparents would paint while I played on the other side. I had a small record player there and an old school desk. I would play records as much as I could while I was there and learned to love to sing while I was with them. I would sing to their little Yorkie every night before supper. I really liked my grandpa, but knew my grandmother was a judgmental person. I can remember singing old George Jones songs with grandpa in the car after church. My father's side was Catholic and very devout. You never ate ravioli's at their house, but they did make the best buttermilk dressing. I was dressed in the best while I was with them and taught to be still and behave. I remember the police coming to their house during dinner one evening. My mother was with them and saying that my grandparents wouldn't let her have me. Apparently my grandmother was trying to get custody of me. She had a detective following my mother who "was the kind of dirty soap wouldn't wash off". I really loved my mom. That was the beginning of the end of my relationship with my father's family. Things were about to get ugly.


Mom's parents

I loved going to my grandma's house. Especially when I was sick. My grandma adored me. I always felt safe at her house. I loved that she would make Chef Boyardee ravioli anytime I wanted it, even for breakfast. If I was sick, she'd make a special pallet on the floor and make sure there were Kleenex and Sprite within reach. I always felt and knew her love. She never yelled. She never hit. My grandpa was also very doting. I loved to bang on the piano while he played his harmonica. I got off and on the school bus from their house for preschool. My mom would pick me up after school. Sometimes she'd find me rummaging through Grandma's old jewelry or playing in the flower garden in the back yard. I hated leaving their house, but every chance with my mom was a chance to get her to like me. I just needed to stay quiet when I was with her. When I was with my grandparents, I could be loud, run, laugh, and be myself.

This is my sister banging on the piano... 

I would never bother my mom with growing pains because it was just an opportunity for her to tell me how I deserved it. I didn't define it that way then, I just knew I couldn't share things with my mom. I can remember getting off the bus one day when some neighborhood children started chanting "You drink pee! You eat poop!" at me. I was really devestated. I didn't understand why they were being mean, but I ran into grandma's house crying that day. I told her those kids were being mean to me. Grandma cuddled me and said, "Do you drink pee and eat poop"? "No", I blubbered. "Your family is all that matters. Don't ever forget that", she said. This would only be the beginning of me running to grandma crying and her giving me tidbits of advice. I just want to say that it only takes one person to love a child unconditionally in order for them to "make it" ... just one.


Okay, so I've decided to write this story being as real as possible. I'm not doing this for other people, but I think I just need to do it. That being said, this story probably isn't going to be for everyone (kids) etc. I don't really want to self-edit... I self -edit enough at work. This isn't going to be from my "professional standpoint", but there are plenty of blogs like that out there if that's what you're looking for.

Anyway, I learned what a bitch my mom was from a very early age. I really loved my mom as a child. She meant everything to me and I always wanted to please her. I hated to ever see her cry or be pissed off. I received my first lesson in sarcasm when my dad left my mom. I was watching an old black and white Cheerios commercial the night my dad left. I know that's not significant, but I still can't watch Cheerios commercials to this day. I heard the door slam and listened to my mom screaming what a fucking bastard he was. She was crying so hard. I waited for her to calm down a little bit. We lived in a small, but clean basement apartment and I could see my dad's feet as they walked down the sidewalk. I instinctively knew he wouldn't be back. After my mom calmed down a little bit, I found her in the living room and asked her why she was crying. She looked at me and sneered "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they are really happy". I couldn't have been more than three and a half years old, but this is one of my first memories. I learned to that my mom would lie to me that day. For the first time I felt nervous to be around her. She was off the deep end. I made myself scarce for the rest of the day.

Two weeks old...

Kids having kids.

                      Gotta love the 70's!!


Wow! I can't believe I finally created a blog. I've been thinking about it for quite some time :) I couldn't decide if this would be an anonymous blog or not, but for now I've decided to ease into this slowly and keep my identifying information low key. We'll see how it goes :)

I am a CPS Social Worker. I mainly work with children and families who have children in foster care. I've lived a blessed adulthood and have two beautiful children and a loving husband of 20 years. This blog will be a mix of the journey that led me to social work and daily life as a CPS social worker. I don't know what I hope to get out of blogging, but maybe sharing will ease the daily stress of social work and hopefully we'll have some laughs along the way. I'd also like to chronicle my journey to becoming a social worker which isn't pretty, but is what it is. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated!