Hey friends,
it's been a while, I know. I would love to update (the zero people who actually read this) about my life, but at the moment I just need to get some big feelings out, and this is the best way I know how. So, here goes.
Almost 5 years ago we lost our dog Cash. It was a nightmare beyond belief, and easily the most horrible time in my life. I had days where I was convinced I would never be genuinely happy again. And then I met Batman at a rescue event. The second I saw him, there was just this instant bond between us. He rode in my lap all the way home, and from that moment forward, he was mine.
We all noticed immediately that Batman preferred me over everyone else. He would growl when Rob came too close to me, or tried to get into bed when I was in there. Those cute little quirks kind of made me laugh at first. But, they evolved slightly over the months. We noticed that Batman really had an issue with Rob. Suddenly Rob and I could barely speak to one another without Batman getting upset, we had to stop letting him sleep in our bed because every time anyone tried to get into the bed Batman would snap at them if I was already in bed. We decided some basic training would be a good idea for Batman and for us. So, Rob and I worked with a trainer in not just basic obedience, but also in teaching us how to be leaders and Batman to look to us for guidance. We worked diligently with Batman and we were making some progress.
Batman had always been an anxious dog, he had very bad separation anxiety and couldn't be left alone because he would destroy the house. He was still figuring things out and I was more than happy to stick by him while he did that. I felt such a connection to this dog, I can't even explain it. I worked so hard, trying to help him become less anxious and trying to help him connect to the rest of the family.
In 2016 we moved. Now, we really didn't notice Batman behaving like he was any more anxious than he already was. At least, not at first. It started slowly. We noticed that he had a hard time relaxing. He would pace the floor, and when he did finally lie down, he would immediately get back up and pace some more. He really had an issue with most men. Rob's uncle was doing some renovations on our house and I came down the stairs with Batman and Rob's uncle had his back turned to us and Batman reacted immediately and bit him on the back of his leg. I was horrified. He had his issues, yes. But, I never thought he would bite anyone. This was when I first started defending my dog. He was still adjusting, we don't know what he went through before we found him, we don't know his parents and genetics, his breed is notorious for this...That weekend I called a trainer. An incredibly expensive, like $$$$ expensive trainer. She came out and did an initial assessment. She assured us he wasn't aggressive, just fearful. He felt like he had to protect me and I was not the confident leader I needed to be to lead him. He saw my weakness and felt like he had to be my bodyguard in a sense.
The trainer worked with him, as did we. We saw some progress, the tools that we were given were useful and we were doing the work, even having the trainer come back out for check ins. We felt like we were doing what we needed to do. But, things still weren't great. Batman had a real reaction whenever the boys were playing too loudly, or were roughhousing, or simply ran past Batman. I would spend a lot of my time correcting Batman and trying to have the boys playing outside or in their room with the door closed. 2 summers ago we were on vacation at my mother in law's cottage. The boys were playing inside and Joel just happened to run past Batman. Batman jumped up and bit Joel. It was so quick, we almost didn't even know what happened. It was bad. There were two bite holes in Joel's shirt and the bite was nasty. Not bad enough to need stitches, but it left a scar. Rob told me that second that he was done. We had done the work, but now Batman had bitten one of our children, unprovoked. He had to go. I sobbed uncontrollably. I was against giving him up. He was my dog, he didn't mean to hurt him. He was anxious and reacted out of fear, not aggression. But, Rob was firm. I emailed the rescue that we had gotten him from as it says in the contract that we were to return him to them if w couldn't keep him. Well, knowing his history and that he had bitten multiple people, one being a child, the rescue said "sorry". So, I told Rob I would contact every rescue from here to Ottawa. I would find someplace to take him.
Flash forward to this year. Batman has bitten Joel, unprovoked, 3 times. Every time Joel was either walking/running past, being too loud, or just generally being a kid. He has bitten Logan once, bitten Ciena twice. He has bitten Rob too many times to count. Probably 6 or 7. He has bitten Rob's uncle, he has bitten my mother in law. The only person close to him whom he hasn't bitten or ever attempted to bite is me. I finally reached the point where I can see what this is doing to my family, my children, my marriage. Rob wanted everything regarding the dog to be my decision. He told me that he didn't want to make the decision and have me resent him forever because of it. But, this issue has harmed my marriage. Rob would try to get through to me and tell me that as much as we all love this dog, it's not safe or responsible for us to have him around our kids, and I would fight him. I would tell him that it's not Batman's fault, which I still don't believe it is. I would tell him that I wasn't going to just give up on him. I would tell him any number of things until he finally relented and just gave up. I would watch my husband and children leave for week long vacations while I stayed home, because Batman was too anxious and unpredictable to board. If I left Batman home with Rob and went away for he night, or more, Rob would tell me that Batman layed by the door the whole time I was gone, not wanting anything to do with him. I love this dog so much, but in the end I knew I needed to do what was right for him, and us.
I honestly thought that I would be making an appt to have him put down. I was doing the humane thing. No rescues, no person wanted to take on a dog who had a bite history and I knew the humane society would just put him down anyway, and I didn't want him surrounded by strangers. But, then I received an offer from someone. She offered to take my dog on and work with him while she tried to find him a suitable foster home. I was blown away. She knew all the ugly details and she was still willing to give it a shot. I agreed, with the understanding that if it didn't work out, or she couldn't keep him for any reason, she would turn him back over to me.
So, this past weekend, a car pulled up and I walked my dog, my friend, my baby, out of our home, and unwillingly placed him into a strangers car and watched them drive away from us. Rob and I both just stood in the doorway and sobbed. I felt, and still feel immense guilt. I am worried he feels like I abandoned him, I'm worried he's sad and wondering when I'm coming back to get him. I'm worried that he's confused and wondering if he's being punished. I spend a lot of my alone time crying and wondering how long it will take to feel okay about this situation. I'm doing the right thing for him, but I am feeling so much pain and grief, it's insane. I just hope with everything I have that he can find happiness and peace that he wasn't able to find here with us. All I've ever wanted for him was peace, so I hope he's able to have that, even if it takes him a little while to adjust and start to feel comfortable. The decision to let him go was not a decision I made lightly. It literally took me years to get to this place, and I'm still not 100% at peace with my decision. At my lowest I thought about moving out with Batman and allowing everyone in my home to be able to relax. Although I know that my anxiety and depression played a part in that because never in a million years would I want to be apart from my kids, but my desperation to save this dog was at the forefront of my mind for a long time.
I'm sharing this mostly just to get it out and hopefully be able to start dealing with it. But, maybe also because I want people to know the whole story before judging. This was not the ending I wanted for Batman and I, but I hope it's a new beginning for him.
Tuesday, 3 December 2019
Saturday, 23 February 2019
Bitter? No, not me.
Hey, friends. Long time no see. School and well, life, are really kicking my ass right now. But, I had a lot of feelings this morning that I need to get out. So, here I am.
Anyone who knows me, knows that I am EXTREMELY close to my family. Family is the most important thing in my life. With that being said, like most people, I have some family that are not so great. People that are possibly toxic, or maybe they are narcissistic, or maybe they're a combination of all of those things. Or, maybe, like in my case, you're not even sure how to label them, because you don't know them at all. And the things you do know, aren't great.
The day I was born, my dad called his father to share the good news. Now, obviously, the birth of a baby, the first grandchild especially, is a really joyous occasion. But, this was even more than that. I was born on my paternal Grandfather's birthday. How amazing for my dad to be able to tell his father that he shared a birthday with his first grandchild! Well, the response that my father got was crushing. "You have your life and I have mine. You live your life and I'll live mine." My father was gutted. I mean, I was a newborn, so I didn't witness this, but I can imagine. That is where my relationship with my "Grandfather" begins and ends.
Growing up, my father didn't really see eye to eye with his father. I'm sure many of us can relate to that, myself included. But, the difference is, when my father was 17 years old, still a child, he left his father's home for good. I don't know all the details of what transpired before this, so I won't even speak on it, but I'm sure it hurt everyone involved. Eventually my dad's two brothers followed suit, and left as well. Now, I have two sons, and I also have a brother, and male cousins who I watched navigate the teenage years. It wasn't always pleasant, I do know that. Stolen vehicle, drunken shenanigans, screaming and breaking every rule imaginable. But through it all, these boys were loved. They were cared for, and knew they always had a place to go, with people who loved them.
The only time I have ever laid eyes on my "Grandfather" was at a funeral when I was 10. I watched my dad walk up to him, and look him in the eyes and say "Dad" and his father nodded his head and said "Rob" That's it! Could you imagine not seeing your child for over 10 years, and finally they are in front of you, and all you can manage is a nod of the head?! The rage I felt at 10 years old in that moment, has stayed with me for 25 years. And, if I'm being honest, it has only intensified since I started having children of my own. I can't imagine any situation...ever, that would result in me never talking to one, or more of my children for any length of time. And I certainly couldn't imagine holding a grudge and anger at them for something that they may have done as a teenager. That seems crazy to me. And really fucking sad.
I am admittedly an angry person. I carry anger for many things that happened to, and around me from the time I was a young child, up until 3 weeks ago. (sorrynotsorry) I go through spurts where things get into my head, and take up residence for extended periods of time. And, I'm shocked at the amount of hurt and anger I feel for a situation that didn't really involve me (until the day of my birth) for someone who I've never even met. I'm working on it, and my hope is that one day I won't feel it quite as deep. But, then I think about my Grandma Sharon. She is my dad's mom, and was married to his father. She struggled her entire married life. Struggled with addiction, struggled with mental illness, struggled with a husband who wasn't good to her. And she got the blow back for all of it. She was painted as a villain, someone who couldn't take care of her children, which at certain times was probably true. But, she didn't have any support, and she did her best with what she had at the time. And at the end of the day, she loved her children fiercely. I know that I'm biased because she was my favourite person and I loved her, and I don't know and have never known my father's dad. The thought that she isn't here, knowing how much she loved her children, and how much she would have enjoyed seeing her grandchildren and great grandchildren grow up, but can't. Knowing that there is a man out there who has and has had the ability and option to be a part of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren's lives, and has chosen not to. Yep. Anger. White hot.
Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I have no desire to see this man now, I have no desire for my children to know him. My kids have amazing grandparents who love them and always look forward to seeing them. And, it's very possible that a great portion of this is incoherent rambling. I apologize, I had to reschedule my therapist appt, so I'm getting it all out here, I guess.
I see how my dad is with my kids, and I know that through everything he has been through, he's not repeating any part of he and his dad's story. My father and I never got along when I was growing up, but my dad has never turned his back on me. My dad has been nothing but supportive and happy for my brother and I with any and all accomplishments. My dad loves his kids and his grand kids. I can't presume to know how my father feels about his father and the situation now. And it's possible he would tell me "Get over it." and I truly hope that one day I'm able to. But, today is not that day.
Anyone who knows me, knows that I am EXTREMELY close to my family. Family is the most important thing in my life. With that being said, like most people, I have some family that are not so great. People that are possibly toxic, or maybe they are narcissistic, or maybe they're a combination of all of those things. Or, maybe, like in my case, you're not even sure how to label them, because you don't know them at all. And the things you do know, aren't great.
The day I was born, my dad called his father to share the good news. Now, obviously, the birth of a baby, the first grandchild especially, is a really joyous occasion. But, this was even more than that. I was born on my paternal Grandfather's birthday. How amazing for my dad to be able to tell his father that he shared a birthday with his first grandchild! Well, the response that my father got was crushing. "You have your life and I have mine. You live your life and I'll live mine." My father was gutted. I mean, I was a newborn, so I didn't witness this, but I can imagine. That is where my relationship with my "Grandfather" begins and ends.
Growing up, my father didn't really see eye to eye with his father. I'm sure many of us can relate to that, myself included. But, the difference is, when my father was 17 years old, still a child, he left his father's home for good. I don't know all the details of what transpired before this, so I won't even speak on it, but I'm sure it hurt everyone involved. Eventually my dad's two brothers followed suit, and left as well. Now, I have two sons, and I also have a brother, and male cousins who I watched navigate the teenage years. It wasn't always pleasant, I do know that. Stolen vehicle, drunken shenanigans, screaming and breaking every rule imaginable. But through it all, these boys were loved. They were cared for, and knew they always had a place to go, with people who loved them.
The only time I have ever laid eyes on my "Grandfather" was at a funeral when I was 10. I watched my dad walk up to him, and look him in the eyes and say "Dad" and his father nodded his head and said "Rob" That's it! Could you imagine not seeing your child for over 10 years, and finally they are in front of you, and all you can manage is a nod of the head?! The rage I felt at 10 years old in that moment, has stayed with me for 25 years. And, if I'm being honest, it has only intensified since I started having children of my own. I can't imagine any situation...ever, that would result in me never talking to one, or more of my children for any length of time. And I certainly couldn't imagine holding a grudge and anger at them for something that they may have done as a teenager. That seems crazy to me. And really fucking sad.
I am admittedly an angry person. I carry anger for many things that happened to, and around me from the time I was a young child, up until 3 weeks ago. (sorrynotsorry) I go through spurts where things get into my head, and take up residence for extended periods of time. And, I'm shocked at the amount of hurt and anger I feel for a situation that didn't really involve me (until the day of my birth) for someone who I've never even met. I'm working on it, and my hope is that one day I won't feel it quite as deep. But, then I think about my Grandma Sharon. She is my dad's mom, and was married to his father. She struggled her entire married life. Struggled with addiction, struggled with mental illness, struggled with a husband who wasn't good to her. And she got the blow back for all of it. She was painted as a villain, someone who couldn't take care of her children, which at certain times was probably true. But, she didn't have any support, and she did her best with what she had at the time. And at the end of the day, she loved her children fiercely. I know that I'm biased because she was my favourite person and I loved her, and I don't know and have never known my father's dad. The thought that she isn't here, knowing how much she loved her children, and how much she would have enjoyed seeing her grandchildren and great grandchildren grow up, but can't. Knowing that there is a man out there who has and has had the ability and option to be a part of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren's lives, and has chosen not to. Yep. Anger. White hot.
Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I have no desire to see this man now, I have no desire for my children to know him. My kids have amazing grandparents who love them and always look forward to seeing them. And, it's very possible that a great portion of this is incoherent rambling. I apologize, I had to reschedule my therapist appt, so I'm getting it all out here, I guess.
I see how my dad is with my kids, and I know that through everything he has been through, he's not repeating any part of he and his dad's story. My father and I never got along when I was growing up, but my dad has never turned his back on me. My dad has been nothing but supportive and happy for my brother and I with any and all accomplishments. My dad loves his kids and his grand kids. I can't presume to know how my father feels about his father and the situation now. And it's possible he would tell me "Get over it." and I truly hope that one day I'm able to. But, today is not that day.
Saturday, 10 March 2018
This part is just hard
It has been almost 2 years since we moved. Moved away from my entire family, moved away from the only home my children had ever known, moved away from the community that we loved. And 2 years later, I still hate it. I hate it so much I want to scream and cry, and throw things. Every day is just one more day in a house/area/community that I just don't want to be in.
I have been in school since September of 2016, and I really, really love it. That is one decision I'll never regret. The friends I have made, and the experiences that I've had, can't compare. But, now, in my second year of school, my first year in the ECE program, I feel like I'm slipping away from everything and everyone. I am busy in school 2 days a week, and in placement in a preschool room the other 3. I'm busy. And that always sounds silly to me, because I still don't feel like I do anything, or that I am accomplishing anything, which rationally I know isn't the case. But, I feel silly saying I'm tired, or stressed, or busy. But, I am. I see my kids for 2 hours in the morning, and that time is mostly spent yelling at them to get dressed, or eat their breakfast. I get home after 6 every night, with just enough time to mindlessly eat dinner, and kiss them good night. I know this isn't forever, I know that right now it's just hard, but it still makes me sad. Logan's teachers probably think I'm neglectful, or something, considering I hardly ever have time to read with him, or practice his words, or I forget it's my turn to make play doh for the class. I ask myself all the time if I'm neglecting these kids. Are they resenting me not being here when they get off the bus? Are they sad that I'm not there to watch them at swimming lessons? I don't know. It's just something I think about a lot.
My family. I am used to talking to my mom multiple times a day, and seeing her almost as often. But, since we've moved, I just don't have the time. My weekends are filled with homework, so I'm lucky if I see her once every few weeks. I try really hard to get out to see my grandparents every Sunday, but sometimes (like this weekend) I just have way too much to do, and can't manage to get over there. I try to see my nephew as much as I can. so that he doesn't forget who I am. But, living an hour away from everyone I love just really sucks. I had all these plans before we moved, about how I would make sure to visit everyone regularly, without realizing how difficult it would be.
My best friends. I haven't seen them in months. And lately I feel like we're drifting further and further apart, and I know I'm to blame for that. I want to be able to spend time with them on weekends we all have free, but, until April 20, my weekends are also full of insane amounts of homework, and homework pretty much kills the good vibe of any get together. I miss the days when I could drive 10 minutes and see them any time I wanted to. I miss being able to plan for any Saturday at all, because I never had anything going on. I tried to tell them that me moving wouldn't change anything, and I was wrong.
I don't want anyone to think I'm just completely miserable, and hate my life. That's not true at all. I wake up every single morning, thankful that I have the opportunity to go to school, and learn, and work towards a job that I will love. I know that I'm incredibly lucky, and I don't take any of it for granted. I am happy. I am happy that my kids are happy and healthy, and doing well in school. I'm happy that I have a husband who I would die for, but who I also want to kill on any given day. I'm happy that I get to spend 3 days a week with the sweetest little humans, and I will truly be sad in a few weeks when my time at this placement is finished. I'm happy. I just wish so badly that we were living in our own house, in the area that we love. And as much as I wish that would be our reality sometime soon, I know that it will be probably at least another 5 years before we can even start thinking about that. By that time, Ciena will be almost ready to graduate high school, and even typing that makes me count again because I am convinced that can't be right. We'll have teenagers who will be in high school, and uprooting them probably won't be something that we'll even consider. And, maybe by then, I'll feel totally different. I'll be working, and the kids will be self sufficient, and things won't seem so hard. I can only hope that by that time I'll have found a good balance and I'll be able to maintain relationships with the most important people in my life.
I hope that everyone I've mentioned knows that, even if we don't talk regularly, if we don't see each other as much as we'd like, I still love you all so much, and I will make up for all of this. I promise.
I have been in school since September of 2016, and I really, really love it. That is one decision I'll never regret. The friends I have made, and the experiences that I've had, can't compare. But, now, in my second year of school, my first year in the ECE program, I feel like I'm slipping away from everything and everyone. I am busy in school 2 days a week, and in placement in a preschool room the other 3. I'm busy. And that always sounds silly to me, because I still don't feel like I do anything, or that I am accomplishing anything, which rationally I know isn't the case. But, I feel silly saying I'm tired, or stressed, or busy. But, I am. I see my kids for 2 hours in the morning, and that time is mostly spent yelling at them to get dressed, or eat their breakfast. I get home after 6 every night, with just enough time to mindlessly eat dinner, and kiss them good night. I know this isn't forever, I know that right now it's just hard, but it still makes me sad. Logan's teachers probably think I'm neglectful, or something, considering I hardly ever have time to read with him, or practice his words, or I forget it's my turn to make play doh for the class. I ask myself all the time if I'm neglecting these kids. Are they resenting me not being here when they get off the bus? Are they sad that I'm not there to watch them at swimming lessons? I don't know. It's just something I think about a lot.
My family. I am used to talking to my mom multiple times a day, and seeing her almost as often. But, since we've moved, I just don't have the time. My weekends are filled with homework, so I'm lucky if I see her once every few weeks. I try really hard to get out to see my grandparents every Sunday, but sometimes (like this weekend) I just have way too much to do, and can't manage to get over there. I try to see my nephew as much as I can. so that he doesn't forget who I am. But, living an hour away from everyone I love just really sucks. I had all these plans before we moved, about how I would make sure to visit everyone regularly, without realizing how difficult it would be.
My best friends. I haven't seen them in months. And lately I feel like we're drifting further and further apart, and I know I'm to blame for that. I want to be able to spend time with them on weekends we all have free, but, until April 20, my weekends are also full of insane amounts of homework, and homework pretty much kills the good vibe of any get together. I miss the days when I could drive 10 minutes and see them any time I wanted to. I miss being able to plan for any Saturday at all, because I never had anything going on. I tried to tell them that me moving wouldn't change anything, and I was wrong.
I don't want anyone to think I'm just completely miserable, and hate my life. That's not true at all. I wake up every single morning, thankful that I have the opportunity to go to school, and learn, and work towards a job that I will love. I know that I'm incredibly lucky, and I don't take any of it for granted. I am happy. I am happy that my kids are happy and healthy, and doing well in school. I'm happy that I have a husband who I would die for, but who I also want to kill on any given day. I'm happy that I get to spend 3 days a week with the sweetest little humans, and I will truly be sad in a few weeks when my time at this placement is finished. I'm happy. I just wish so badly that we were living in our own house, in the area that we love. And as much as I wish that would be our reality sometime soon, I know that it will be probably at least another 5 years before we can even start thinking about that. By that time, Ciena will be almost ready to graduate high school, and even typing that makes me count again because I am convinced that can't be right. We'll have teenagers who will be in high school, and uprooting them probably won't be something that we'll even consider. And, maybe by then, I'll feel totally different. I'll be working, and the kids will be self sufficient, and things won't seem so hard. I can only hope that by that time I'll have found a good balance and I'll be able to maintain relationships with the most important people in my life.
I hope that everyone I've mentioned knows that, even if we don't talk regularly, if we don't see each other as much as we'd like, I still love you all so much, and I will make up for all of this. I promise.
Sunday, 1 October 2017
Loving someone through the crazy
I've never been shy about talking about my struggle with mental illness. It's been such a huge part of my entire life, that ignoring it, or pretending it doesn't exist seems wrong. Almost like, I don't know who I am without it. Since I was 6 years old, I have struggled with feelings that I have never quite understood. Even after medication, education, and so much therapy I can't even remember all of my therapists names, I still don't really understand anything about this. Why I am the way I am, why I do the things I do, or say the things I say. I just don't get it.
I didn't have a name or a "label" for my thoughts and feelings until I was 12 and I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and her best friend depression. Up until that time, I just thought I was dramatic, or emotional, or moody. You know, the labels they give most teenage girls. I was dramatic, I was emotional, and I was certainly moody, but I was also sad. I was so sad that I sometimes couldn't get out of bed. I was also scared, so scared that walking down the hall at school with people looking at me, made my skin tingle and made me want to run and never return. I like to think I had supportive parents, but as supportive as they were, they didn't understand what was happening to me anymore than I did. And at that age, it's easy to blame it on hormones and ignore it as best you can. It wasn't until a very long weekend that involved me not physically being able to leave bed, and a very scary breakdown, that my parents knew they couldn't ignore it any longer.
Since that weekend, my thoughts and feelings have had a name, but that didn't make it any easier for myself or anyone in my life to really know how to help me, or even how to support me. I think that's really a common theme for people with any mental health issues. No matter how much the people in your life love you, they (mostly) don't really know how to support you. I remember some people in my life insisting to me that "people create their own depression" and tell me I just needed to "be happy" or "cheer up" Let me just clear this up right now. Saying those things to someone who is struggling with depression....pretty much the worst things you can say. Depression is an actual chemical imbalance in the brain, so we can't just cheer up. And blaming someone for their depression, well, I shouldn't have to point out how douchey that is. I had people in my life go behind my back and tell others that I attempted suicide "to get attention" That's a hell of a way to get attention. Mental illness isolates you, makes you feel different, and alone. It's hard to maintain friendships because sometimes you fall off the face of the Earth while you go through the cycles that depression puts you through. It's hard to maintain friendships because loving someone with a mental illness is fucking hard. I'll be the first to admit that.
My husband and I have been together for 14 years. And some days, we still struggle because of my anxiety and depression. I'm hotheaded, I'm irrational, and I have no impulse control. My husband is calm, laid back, and so level headed. On a bad day, it takes very little to set me off, and unfortunately, he is most often the recipient of my worst moods. He is amazing at not engaging, removing himself from the situation, and waiting until I am calm and myself once again before we talk. It always surprises me that he's able to just walk away. I have never been able to do that, I try my best to stay calm and rational, but my anger always gets the best of me. My anger is a new symptom. When I was younger, I carried around a black cloud of sadness every where I went. I was the depressed person that you picture when you hear the word depression. Sad, and hopeless. After I had my first son, I developed OCD, and anger as a new symptom of my depression. I have never considered myself to be an angry person, so this was new for me....and my husband.
I have been lucky enough in my life to have pretty amazing people in my corner, those who have experienced mental health issues, and those who haven't. And they've never turned their back on me, even at my worst. When you suffer from anxiety especially, there are so many limitations in your everyday life. I have a list about a mile long of things that I simply cannot do. But, I have people in my life who know what I'm dealing with, so they have found so many ways to support me in that respect. Like, my mom knows I have trouble talking on the phone, so, when possible (ordering food, cancelling appointments, etc) she does it for me, no questions asked. My husband knows I have major anxiety about driving downtown, so, if the need arises for me to go downtown, and he's not working, he drives me without batting an eye. My best friends know I have issues with confrontation, so in those situations they always have my back, and help me say what needs to be said, whether it's online or in person.
I know I write about my struggles with mental illness a lot. Every time I write one of these I think to myself "am I being annoying? Does anyone really care?" And honestly, I probably am being annoying, and I'm sure a ton of people don't care. But, writing is therapeutic to me, it helps me work through my feelings. And hopefully, the people who need to read this, will. Maybe it will make them feel just a little better, too. Anxiety and depression looks so different from person to person. And it's hard to understand, even if you're going through it. There are nights when I am able to write, or take deep breaths, centre myself, and just calm down and get through it. Then there are other night when I drink too much, and lose myself in memes, and internalize everything. Probably not quite as healthy as the first option, but what can I say? Sometimes I have unhealthy coping mechanisms. But, I do know one thing for sure. I have some people in my life that will drop everything they're doing, to listen to me, and talk to me, and help me in whatever way I need them to. And, that's the most important thing.
I didn't have a name or a "label" for my thoughts and feelings until I was 12 and I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and her best friend depression. Up until that time, I just thought I was dramatic, or emotional, or moody. You know, the labels they give most teenage girls. I was dramatic, I was emotional, and I was certainly moody, but I was also sad. I was so sad that I sometimes couldn't get out of bed. I was also scared, so scared that walking down the hall at school with people looking at me, made my skin tingle and made me want to run and never return. I like to think I had supportive parents, but as supportive as they were, they didn't understand what was happening to me anymore than I did. And at that age, it's easy to blame it on hormones and ignore it as best you can. It wasn't until a very long weekend that involved me not physically being able to leave bed, and a very scary breakdown, that my parents knew they couldn't ignore it any longer.
Since that weekend, my thoughts and feelings have had a name, but that didn't make it any easier for myself or anyone in my life to really know how to help me, or even how to support me. I think that's really a common theme for people with any mental health issues. No matter how much the people in your life love you, they (mostly) don't really know how to support you. I remember some people in my life insisting to me that "people create their own depression" and tell me I just needed to "be happy" or "cheer up" Let me just clear this up right now. Saying those things to someone who is struggling with depression....pretty much the worst things you can say. Depression is an actual chemical imbalance in the brain, so we can't just cheer up. And blaming someone for their depression, well, I shouldn't have to point out how douchey that is. I had people in my life go behind my back and tell others that I attempted suicide "to get attention" That's a hell of a way to get attention. Mental illness isolates you, makes you feel different, and alone. It's hard to maintain friendships because sometimes you fall off the face of the Earth while you go through the cycles that depression puts you through. It's hard to maintain friendships because loving someone with a mental illness is fucking hard. I'll be the first to admit that.
My husband and I have been together for 14 years. And some days, we still struggle because of my anxiety and depression. I'm hotheaded, I'm irrational, and I have no impulse control. My husband is calm, laid back, and so level headed. On a bad day, it takes very little to set me off, and unfortunately, he is most often the recipient of my worst moods. He is amazing at not engaging, removing himself from the situation, and waiting until I am calm and myself once again before we talk. It always surprises me that he's able to just walk away. I have never been able to do that, I try my best to stay calm and rational, but my anger always gets the best of me. My anger is a new symptom. When I was younger, I carried around a black cloud of sadness every where I went. I was the depressed person that you picture when you hear the word depression. Sad, and hopeless. After I had my first son, I developed OCD, and anger as a new symptom of my depression. I have never considered myself to be an angry person, so this was new for me....and my husband.
I have been lucky enough in my life to have pretty amazing people in my corner, those who have experienced mental health issues, and those who haven't. And they've never turned their back on me, even at my worst. When you suffer from anxiety especially, there are so many limitations in your everyday life. I have a list about a mile long of things that I simply cannot do. But, I have people in my life who know what I'm dealing with, so they have found so many ways to support me in that respect. Like, my mom knows I have trouble talking on the phone, so, when possible (ordering food, cancelling appointments, etc) she does it for me, no questions asked. My husband knows I have major anxiety about driving downtown, so, if the need arises for me to go downtown, and he's not working, he drives me without batting an eye. My best friends know I have issues with confrontation, so in those situations they always have my back, and help me say what needs to be said, whether it's online or in person.
I know I write about my struggles with mental illness a lot. Every time I write one of these I think to myself "am I being annoying? Does anyone really care?" And honestly, I probably am being annoying, and I'm sure a ton of people don't care. But, writing is therapeutic to me, it helps me work through my feelings. And hopefully, the people who need to read this, will. Maybe it will make them feel just a little better, too. Anxiety and depression looks so different from person to person. And it's hard to understand, even if you're going through it. There are nights when I am able to write, or take deep breaths, centre myself, and just calm down and get through it. Then there are other night when I drink too much, and lose myself in memes, and internalize everything. Probably not quite as healthy as the first option, but what can I say? Sometimes I have unhealthy coping mechanisms. But, I do know one thing for sure. I have some people in my life that will drop everything they're doing, to listen to me, and talk to me, and help me in whatever way I need them to. And, that's the most important thing.
Monday, 31 July 2017
10 Years is a long time and I don't know where the time went...
September is very quickly approaching. I know, how did that happen? And, that means a few things. It means that it's back to school for 4/5 of this house, it means that we're one month closer to bulky sweaters, but it also means that mine and my husband's wedding anniversary is just around the corner. Our 10th wedding anniversary. This feels like a big one to me. Not just because it's 10 years, but maybe because there were several moments within these 10 years that I wasn't sure we would last to this milestone. In fact, I would have bet good money that we wouldn't.
Our meeting and subsequent dating are kind of odd in our somewhat limited circle in that, we didn't know each other well before our first date. We actually had only really met once....and it was kind of a horrible first meeting. We weren't good friends, we didn't meet online. You get the idea. I was 20 when we met. 20! Just a baby! I was still a high school student, I know, it took me a little longer than others. I was a moody, dreamer who was in and out of heartbreak with whatever boy had wronged me in that moment. Aaah, memories. And here was this guy, a guy I'd seen before. A guy who had never spoken a word to me, but I remembered him as "the guy who wouldn't stop staring at me at that one bbq" Yeah, not really a glowing recollection. The first time we actually spoke was at 2am on January 1st 2004, and he was incredibly intoxicated, and inviting me to spend the night with him with my dad standing 2 feet away. I had no intention of talking to this guy again. Who knew, that 2.5 years later we'd be engaged with a child? Certainly not me!
I agreed to go out with him when he called me the following week, because I am incapable of saying no. And every single day I'm so happy that I agreed to that first date. From the second he showed up at my door with a bouquet of candy flowers, because the flower shops were closed, I knew he was special. We spent the next several hours just hanging out and talking, getting to know each other. 2 weeks later we were talking about moving in together. It was a whirlwind. We went from that meeting on January 1st, to moving into our very first apartment together in July of that same year.
We didn't do anything according to a proper timeline. Everyone around us told us we were moving too fast. Nobody, including Rob thought I'd be able to live away from my mom, and I'll admit, that was the hardest part. We both knew that we were in it for the long haul. We were immediately talking about starting a family. Nobody could convince us to slow down, we knew what we wanted.
In 2006 Ciena was born, and that's when we both started struggling with how drastically our lives had changed. We were so young, we didn't really think any decisions through, we just leapt. We were trying to find our new roles in this relationship, which was difficult. I was no longer working, and with that had to deal with not having an income of my own. Rob struggled with trying to understand what kind of toll being at home all day with an infant took on me, and my personality. There were fights, big ones. But, we managed to make it through. By 2012, we were married with 3 kids. After many, MANY disagreements, we understood each other....or pretended to.
I think of all the things that we went through together. Miscarriages, mental health issues, drinking, moving. Things that destroyed little parts of us and our relationship. Situations that we sometimes had to claw to get out of. We discussed divorce more than once. But through it all, one thing remained. We wanted to be together. That has always been the constant.
This man tries me every single day. Sometimes it amazes me that we ended up together in the first place. But, there are also a million reasons why I know he's the one for me. He once drove 30 minutes to bring me a spare key for my car when I locked my key inside. He has coffee waiting for me every Saturday morning. He spends the weekend with my dog (who hates him) while I'm at my mom's. He always lets me pick the movie. And he still tells me every single day how much he loves me and how beautiful he thinks I am. I know I am a difficult person to love. I have zero chill, I am always operating at a 10, and I am insanely argumentative. So, I have to remind myself sometimes, that no matter how shocked I am that I put up with this man, I should be equally shocked that he puts up with me.
Marriage is never easy, and sometimes things do fall apart, and that's okay. But, I am thankful that I have this man. I am thankful that he knows me so well, I am thankful that he is my children's father. But, most of all, I'm glad that we're both still willing to be here together.
Our meeting and subsequent dating are kind of odd in our somewhat limited circle in that, we didn't know each other well before our first date. We actually had only really met once....and it was kind of a horrible first meeting. We weren't good friends, we didn't meet online. You get the idea. I was 20 when we met. 20! Just a baby! I was still a high school student, I know, it took me a little longer than others. I was a moody, dreamer who was in and out of heartbreak with whatever boy had wronged me in that moment. Aaah, memories. And here was this guy, a guy I'd seen before. A guy who had never spoken a word to me, but I remembered him as "the guy who wouldn't stop staring at me at that one bbq" Yeah, not really a glowing recollection. The first time we actually spoke was at 2am on January 1st 2004, and he was incredibly intoxicated, and inviting me to spend the night with him with my dad standing 2 feet away. I had no intention of talking to this guy again. Who knew, that 2.5 years later we'd be engaged with a child? Certainly not me!
I agreed to go out with him when he called me the following week, because I am incapable of saying no. And every single day I'm so happy that I agreed to that first date. From the second he showed up at my door with a bouquet of candy flowers, because the flower shops were closed, I knew he was special. We spent the next several hours just hanging out and talking, getting to know each other. 2 weeks later we were talking about moving in together. It was a whirlwind. We went from that meeting on January 1st, to moving into our very first apartment together in July of that same year.
We didn't do anything according to a proper timeline. Everyone around us told us we were moving too fast. Nobody, including Rob thought I'd be able to live away from my mom, and I'll admit, that was the hardest part. We both knew that we were in it for the long haul. We were immediately talking about starting a family. Nobody could convince us to slow down, we knew what we wanted.
In 2006 Ciena was born, and that's when we both started struggling with how drastically our lives had changed. We were so young, we didn't really think any decisions through, we just leapt. We were trying to find our new roles in this relationship, which was difficult. I was no longer working, and with that had to deal with not having an income of my own. Rob struggled with trying to understand what kind of toll being at home all day with an infant took on me, and my personality. There were fights, big ones. But, we managed to make it through. By 2012, we were married with 3 kids. After many, MANY disagreements, we understood each other....or pretended to.
I think of all the things that we went through together. Miscarriages, mental health issues, drinking, moving. Things that destroyed little parts of us and our relationship. Situations that we sometimes had to claw to get out of. We discussed divorce more than once. But through it all, one thing remained. We wanted to be together. That has always been the constant.
This man tries me every single day. Sometimes it amazes me that we ended up together in the first place. But, there are also a million reasons why I know he's the one for me. He once drove 30 minutes to bring me a spare key for my car when I locked my key inside. He has coffee waiting for me every Saturday morning. He spends the weekend with my dog (who hates him) while I'm at my mom's. He always lets me pick the movie. And he still tells me every single day how much he loves me and how beautiful he thinks I am. I know I am a difficult person to love. I have zero chill, I am always operating at a 10, and I am insanely argumentative. So, I have to remind myself sometimes, that no matter how shocked I am that I put up with this man, I should be equally shocked that he puts up with me.
Marriage is never easy, and sometimes things do fall apart, and that's okay. But, I am thankful that I have this man. I am thankful that he knows me so well, I am thankful that he is my children's father. But, most of all, I'm glad that we're both still willing to be here together.
Sunday, 16 July 2017
My kids are animals, I don't get enough sleep, and I have unhealthy coping skills. A novel by me
Hey hey!
I always like to keep you guys wanting more, that's why I only do a blog post every 6 months. No, I'm kidding. I'm perpetually busy looking at memes, and folding clothes. But, I didn't forget about you!
It's summer! Yay! Lol. No. My kids have been on summer vacation for 3 weeks, and my sanity left 5 minutes after their vacation started. There's always a fight. And when I say that, I don't mean, that they only get along 80% of the time....or even 50% of the time. I literally mean there's ALWAYS a fight. Someone is punching someone else 24/7. I've stopped breaking them up, at this point it's every man for himself around here. I have a tween that spends a lot of time in her room away from her brothers who annoy her to no end, and sometimes I'm envious of her. Because when I try to sneak up to my room, I have at least 2 children and 2 animals following me. I couldn't hide even if I wanted to. I always have at least a million ideas for fun things that the kids and I can do when summer vacation finally arrives, and then I take all 3 somewhere...anywhere, and it ends with me dragging them home kicking and screaming so I can lay on the bathroom floor and cry until my throat is raw. As a child, I never remember seeing my mother cry out of sheer frustration and stress, my kids see me lose my shit at least twice a week.
This summer was supposed to be different for me. I was going to get organized, clean out closets, and declutter and destress. I was going to finally start taking better care of myself, eat better, drink less, read more books. But, here it is in the middle of July, and I'm an overweight stressed out woman who made sure to stock up at the liquor store 3 weeks ago because they were threatening to strike. Why is it so hard to put ourselves first? As parents, we do whatever we can to make sure our kids have everything they need, and want. We want so badly to make their summer wonderful by taking them here, and there, and making sure they have all kinds of adventures. When I was a kid, our summers were spent playing in the yard, or visiting our grandma. We maybe got a trip to McDonald's in there somewhere, but there was never the urgency to make it a memorable summer for us. And we didn't need anything more than just playing, or riding bikes, or eating ice cream.
My kids wake up every day expecting an adventure. "What are we doing today?!" They'll ask me with excitement every.single.morning. And I don't even know anymore. Well, let's see. We're going to read books on the porch! No, not interested in that. We're going to finally sort the legos! No, that's not fun. How about we put the pictures into frames! No way, huh. And you can't ask them what they want to do, because if you do, you'll just end up feeling bad when you have to say no when they say "Let's go to the zoo!" or "Can we please go to the beach where you'll be the only adult supervising 3 insane kids who don't listen?!" They tell me almost every day that I'm not fun. And it makes me sad that their behaviour has scared me out of wanting to take them anywhere in public on my own. It's their summer, and I wish I could be more fun. But, then I think to myself, you need to get your shit together inside and out, so you're healthy enough to do anything at all with these kids. You need to start making your health a priority. Throw out the shitty food, and drink less, and move your ass! Start journaling, or meditating, or anything to find your zen so you can chill the fuck out.
I would love for my kids to look back and not only remember how stressed and not fun mom was. I want them to remember that I tried, I want them to remember that even on my worst days, they were always my number one focus. I want them to always know how much I love them, even on the days when it's really hard to like them. Parenting is hard, but loving your kids is easy. I want them to always know that.
I always like to keep you guys wanting more, that's why I only do a blog post every 6 months. No, I'm kidding. I'm perpetually busy looking at memes, and folding clothes. But, I didn't forget about you!
It's summer! Yay! Lol. No. My kids have been on summer vacation for 3 weeks, and my sanity left 5 minutes after their vacation started. There's always a fight. And when I say that, I don't mean, that they only get along 80% of the time....or even 50% of the time. I literally mean there's ALWAYS a fight. Someone is punching someone else 24/7. I've stopped breaking them up, at this point it's every man for himself around here. I have a tween that spends a lot of time in her room away from her brothers who annoy her to no end, and sometimes I'm envious of her. Because when I try to sneak up to my room, I have at least 2 children and 2 animals following me. I couldn't hide even if I wanted to. I always have at least a million ideas for fun things that the kids and I can do when summer vacation finally arrives, and then I take all 3 somewhere...anywhere, and it ends with me dragging them home kicking and screaming so I can lay on the bathroom floor and cry until my throat is raw. As a child, I never remember seeing my mother cry out of sheer frustration and stress, my kids see me lose my shit at least twice a week.
This summer was supposed to be different for me. I was going to get organized, clean out closets, and declutter and destress. I was going to finally start taking better care of myself, eat better, drink less, read more books. But, here it is in the middle of July, and I'm an overweight stressed out woman who made sure to stock up at the liquor store 3 weeks ago because they were threatening to strike. Why is it so hard to put ourselves first? As parents, we do whatever we can to make sure our kids have everything they need, and want. We want so badly to make their summer wonderful by taking them here, and there, and making sure they have all kinds of adventures. When I was a kid, our summers were spent playing in the yard, or visiting our grandma. We maybe got a trip to McDonald's in there somewhere, but there was never the urgency to make it a memorable summer for us. And we didn't need anything more than just playing, or riding bikes, or eating ice cream.
My kids wake up every day expecting an adventure. "What are we doing today?!" They'll ask me with excitement every.single.morning. And I don't even know anymore. Well, let's see. We're going to read books on the porch! No, not interested in that. We're going to finally sort the legos! No, that's not fun. How about we put the pictures into frames! No way, huh. And you can't ask them what they want to do, because if you do, you'll just end up feeling bad when you have to say no when they say "Let's go to the zoo!" or "Can we please go to the beach where you'll be the only adult supervising 3 insane kids who don't listen?!" They tell me almost every day that I'm not fun. And it makes me sad that their behaviour has scared me out of wanting to take them anywhere in public on my own. It's their summer, and I wish I could be more fun. But, then I think to myself, you need to get your shit together inside and out, so you're healthy enough to do anything at all with these kids. You need to start making your health a priority. Throw out the shitty food, and drink less, and move your ass! Start journaling, or meditating, or anything to find your zen so you can chill the fuck out.
I would love for my kids to look back and not only remember how stressed and not fun mom was. I want them to remember that I tried, I want them to remember that even on my worst days, they were always my number one focus. I want them to always know how much I love them, even on the days when it's really hard to like them. Parenting is hard, but loving your kids is easy. I want them to always know that.
Saturday, 18 February 2017
Life isn't bad
When I'm home alone, and it's quiet (like now) it's easy to think about how much our lives have changed in the past year. And then I start to congratulate myself for not having a mental breakdown, because it's been a lot in a short time.
Last summer we left our wonderful big house in the country to move into the front apartment of my mother in law's house. Now, let me explain the situation here, because it's easy to misunderstand. We share a house, yes. But, we are in a separate dwelling. Essentially, it's like living in a duplex. And really, we don't have any less space than we did at our old house. We have three bedrooms (the boys share) we have a bathroom, and another room that will be converted into a second bathroom. The kids have a yard that is twice the size of our old yard, which was really huge. And they have Grandma right next door, which I know they love.
The transition was a pretty big mess in the beginning. We all had to figure out how to share a house with someone, the dog had to realize that this was home, and he wasn't being abandoned every time we left the house without him, the kids had to realize that a house doesn't make a home, the people sharing it do. It took a few blowouts between us and the mother in law in the first week, but we all made it through relatively unscathed.
I'm happy to say now, things are so much better than I thought they would be when we first moved in. My mother in law is an amazing support for us. She takes the kids whenever we need her to, she's able to get them on and off the bus if I have early or late classes, and she's constantly going above and beyond for us. And in a plot twist nobody would have predicted, I actually enjoy spending time with her. We're finally starting to have the kind of relationship I'd always hoped we'd have. I'm not about to start calling her mom or anything, but, it's a start.
Probably the biggest change for me was starting school. I had honestly thought about going to college for years. I toyed with the idea of night classes, or online degrees. But, when we decided to move, Rob and I talked about it and decided that if I was ever going to do it, now was the time. I applied for the HSF course last Spring, and was so excited when I got my letter of acceptance. This past 6 months have changed my life. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. I went into this course knowing that I wanted to work with people, but not really knowing in what capacity. I originally thought that social work would be the job for me. But, over the course of my first semester, completely changed my plans, and in December I applied for the ECE program and got accepted for September. That means another 2 years of school, but at the end I'll be going into a job that I'm so excited about! I have also made some really amazing friends. I am not a person who makes friends easily, but somehow these people found me, and I'm forever grateful they did. We are in one of the smaller programs, so going to class, it feels like a family. We're there for each other, we look forward to seeing each other, and we genuinely want each other to succeed. This program has been so eye opening for me. The things we're studying and the knowledge I'm gaining is so amazing.
There have been some drawbacks to this move. I miss my family. I never realized how much I took for granted being able to drive 7 minutes to see my mom, or 10 minutes to see my dad and my best friends, or 15 minutes to see my Grandparents. I don't see enough of anyone. I feel out of the loop. And, I know that I'm to blame for the disconnect too. I went from talking to my mom multiple times a day, to seeing her once a week, and generally not talking at all during the week. I miss my best friends. I know I don't message them enough, and homework has me occupied most weekends, but I need to start making time for the people I love. I feel so lonely, and far away from my people. An hour really isn't that far, until you're an hour away, and then you realize how far it really is. I miss my little County so much. I miss the small town feel, I miss the people, I miss the community.
I know this move was the right thing to do, not just because it was our only option. But, because it has put us in the position to maybe, some day not be financially strapped. It has given me a chance at a real career, which is something I've always wanted. It has given my kids a chance to grow up in a culturally diverse place, and it has given my mother in law so much more time with the kids, not to mention it has given Rob's 95 year old Grandmother a chance to spend whatever time she has left surrounded by her great-grandchildren.
Last summer we left our wonderful big house in the country to move into the front apartment of my mother in law's house. Now, let me explain the situation here, because it's easy to misunderstand. We share a house, yes. But, we are in a separate dwelling. Essentially, it's like living in a duplex. And really, we don't have any less space than we did at our old house. We have three bedrooms (the boys share) we have a bathroom, and another room that will be converted into a second bathroom. The kids have a yard that is twice the size of our old yard, which was really huge. And they have Grandma right next door, which I know they love.
The transition was a pretty big mess in the beginning. We all had to figure out how to share a house with someone, the dog had to realize that this was home, and he wasn't being abandoned every time we left the house without him, the kids had to realize that a house doesn't make a home, the people sharing it do. It took a few blowouts between us and the mother in law in the first week, but we all made it through relatively unscathed.
I'm happy to say now, things are so much better than I thought they would be when we first moved in. My mother in law is an amazing support for us. She takes the kids whenever we need her to, she's able to get them on and off the bus if I have early or late classes, and she's constantly going above and beyond for us. And in a plot twist nobody would have predicted, I actually enjoy spending time with her. We're finally starting to have the kind of relationship I'd always hoped we'd have. I'm not about to start calling her mom or anything, but, it's a start.
Probably the biggest change for me was starting school. I had honestly thought about going to college for years. I toyed with the idea of night classes, or online degrees. But, when we decided to move, Rob and I talked about it and decided that if I was ever going to do it, now was the time. I applied for the HSF course last Spring, and was so excited when I got my letter of acceptance. This past 6 months have changed my life. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. I went into this course knowing that I wanted to work with people, but not really knowing in what capacity. I originally thought that social work would be the job for me. But, over the course of my first semester, completely changed my plans, and in December I applied for the ECE program and got accepted for September. That means another 2 years of school, but at the end I'll be going into a job that I'm so excited about! I have also made some really amazing friends. I am not a person who makes friends easily, but somehow these people found me, and I'm forever grateful they did. We are in one of the smaller programs, so going to class, it feels like a family. We're there for each other, we look forward to seeing each other, and we genuinely want each other to succeed. This program has been so eye opening for me. The things we're studying and the knowledge I'm gaining is so amazing.
There have been some drawbacks to this move. I miss my family. I never realized how much I took for granted being able to drive 7 minutes to see my mom, or 10 minutes to see my dad and my best friends, or 15 minutes to see my Grandparents. I don't see enough of anyone. I feel out of the loop. And, I know that I'm to blame for the disconnect too. I went from talking to my mom multiple times a day, to seeing her once a week, and generally not talking at all during the week. I miss my best friends. I know I don't message them enough, and homework has me occupied most weekends, but I need to start making time for the people I love. I feel so lonely, and far away from my people. An hour really isn't that far, until you're an hour away, and then you realize how far it really is. I miss my little County so much. I miss the small town feel, I miss the people, I miss the community.
I know this move was the right thing to do, not just because it was our only option. But, because it has put us in the position to maybe, some day not be financially strapped. It has given me a chance at a real career, which is something I've always wanted. It has given my kids a chance to grow up in a culturally diverse place, and it has given my mother in law so much more time with the kids, not to mention it has given Rob's 95 year old Grandmother a chance to spend whatever time she has left surrounded by her great-grandchildren.
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