Memoir Pitch

The prompt this week for RemembeRED from Write on Edge was to write a 200 word pitch for your memoir.

An idyllic childhood turns sour when a young girl makes the mistake of angering her friends, leading to her ostracization.  Compounding the problem are her family issues, which lead to her withdrawing into herself.

After being bullied for years, she is broken and feels like she has nothing to live for.  Her self-mutilation and cries for help go unanswered until she meets the man who will change her world.

He is everything she thought she wanted, but the fairytale doesn't last long.  She gets drawn into a dark underworld of abuse, drug addiction, and lies, where, in desperation, she sinks to unfathomable lows.

Although she finally gains the courage to break free of the relationship, she can't kick the drugs and manages to drag everyone around her down as well.

An unexpected pregnancy gives her the strength she needs to turn her life around.  Motherhood proves to be a fulfilling experience, and she finally finds the happiness that  has escaped her for so long.

The Real Me

This is my favorite picture ever of me.  It was taken on the teacup ride in Disney World in January of 2007.

My mom took me on that trip after my fiance and I broke up after a 4 1/2 year relationship.  When it happened, I thought it would be really sad, but instead, I was so relieved.  I finally had my life back, and I really enjoyed it.

I love how happy I look in the picture.  I was so miserable for so long, I forgot what it was like to be happy, but it was still there.  In that vacation week with my mom, I regained everything I lost of myself, and became the person I used to be.

5 years later, I am still that person.  I learned that I can be me and be happy in a relationship-there's no reason to give up me to make someone else happy.  I think, if anything, I've become an even more joyful person because of my kids.  There's something to be said about how becoming a mother changes you for the better as a person.

I wrote this in response to one of this week's prompts from Mama Kat's.  4.) Share a photo that was taken of you, that you think really captures who you are.

Popping the Question

This week, one of the prompts from Mama Kat's caught  my eye.  3.) Married? Tell us the story of how the question was popped.  Let me start by saying, I have never been married, and I am not even engaged to the boyfriend, though it's been 4 1/2 pretty incredible years and 3 amazing children.  

However, I was engaged in my previous relationship, which lasted a little over 4 years and was broken off less than 6 months before the wedding.  And the proposal was pretty awesome.

We were on vacation at Disney World, which is quite possibly my favorite place ever (and I can't wait until I can take my kids there, so I don't have to be embarrassed about wanting to go on the Dumbo ride).  I thought we were just going on a week-long vacation because it was winter break from college, and one of my friends worked at the Magic Kingdom at the time.  She and I met when I was 4 years old and she was working at the now non-existent hotel (The Disney Inn) that my parents and I were staying at.

Anyway, we were staying in the concierge suites at the Grand Floridian (my ex's family had a lot of money-I never stayed in fancy-schmancy hotels like that before or since).   I was completely focused on going to all the theme parks and going on the rides (the ex wasn't since he was in a wheelchair and couldn't go on any rides-I was 19 and kind of selfish and ignored him most of the time).

He surprised me with a private dinner.  We were alone on a beautiful balcony with our own personal waiter.  I can't remember what we ate, but as it got dark, the fireworks over the Magic Kingdom started.  We had an incredible view.  All of a sudden, there was a plate with a slice of key lime pie in front of me.  When I finally looked at it (the fireworks were distracting), there was a crystal Cinderella slipper on the plate with the ring in it.

I cried.  A lot.  It was pretty awesome.  So was the ring.  It was a tension ring that I had been looking at with his grandmother's blue diamond set in it.

This is what it looked like

It was really romantic and wonderful.  Even though the relationship didn't work out (which was definitely a good thing-we were not compatible at all).  I did give the ring back when we broke up, only because the diamond had sentimental value and when you get a tension ring, it is set for that diamond only.  A little part of me wishes I kept it, but I know that would have been wrong.

I know eventually I will get engaged again, but right now paying for things for the kids far outweighs getting a ring or having a wedding.  When it does happen, though, I will be picking out the same setting because I really do love it.  Until then, I'm thankful I am in a relationship with someone who I am compatible with and that we made 3 amazing kids together.

The Last Solo Bar Trip

The door slammed with a thud. "Get out here!" she screamed, "I want my daughter now!"

Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he staggered out of the bedroom. "What is your problem?"

"I am not the one with the problem!  Give me my damn daughter, I am taking her away from you!"

"No, it's 4am and she's my daughter too."

"But I didn't go out and cheat on you! And stay out all night!  And not even answer one goddamn phone call!"

"What the fuck! I didn't cheat on you, and I didn't hear my phone because I was beatboxing with the band."

"You were out with a girl! At a bar! While I was sitting home, 7 months pregnant with your third baby!" Her screams dissolved into sobs.  "I hate you!"

"I was not!"

"Don't lie! My sister texted me that the stupid horse bitch you were out with texted her that you two were going to the bar!"

"And you're going to believe your sister why? She likes to start drama."

"I had a friend go to the bar to make sure!  I wanted to believe you were out with your friend from Queens!  But you lied!  He saw you together, and people have been telling me shit about you all  night!  And then you don't answer the phone? Fuck you!"

"You had someone spy on me?" he stared at her, incredulous.

"You think you can go to my fucking town and people won't tell me what's going on?  All those guys you think are your friends, they would give you up in a second to me.  They have my back, not like you.  If I wanted, I could have had someone beat the shit out of you as soon as you stepped outside that bar! I want my daughter, asshole!"

The slap to his face resounded throughout the now silent room. Grabbing the sleepy toddler, she slammed the door as hard as possible, burying her tears in the child's pajamas.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. Recreate a pivotal conversation with us this week. Remember, this is memoir. You can only record what was actually said. Save the bon mots and imagined snappy retorts for fiction.

The SIL From Hell

"Why does she have a key and I don't?" I ranted to the boyfriend.  "I live here!  She doesn't.  I want her key."

The 'she' in question was the boyfriend's sister.  I discovered she had let herself into our house while I was still asleep, and I was beyond shocked to find someone sitting at the computer when I went to get a bowl of cereal.

She looked me over, said nothing, and turned back to the screen.  I went upstairs and raised hell.  It made me uncomfortable that she could just walk into our house at any time, whether we were here or not, and do whatever she wanted.  I'm sure the fact that I was 6 months pregnant and trying to take care of a 9 month old baby didn't help either.

Eventually, I brought the baby downstairs to see her.  I thought that maybe I was overreacting to her, and I would give her another chance.  I put him in his bouncy swing-the kind that hangs from the doorway. 

"Why is he so chubby?  Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Excuse me?  You've never met me or your nephew before and those are the first words out of your mouth?  I was seriously thisclose to yanking a cleaver out of the knife block and stabbing a bitch.

You're barely 21, married your military boyfriend so you would get money (and promptly got divorced once he left active service), and don't have or want kids (just yappy, poorly behaved dogs), and you have the nerve to criticize me?  And my infant?  When this is the first time we've met and you didn't even have the decency to introduce yourself?  Who the hell do you think you are?

That was the moment I knew it would never work out.  She and I would never be friends, and we have, in fact, become enemies.  She is no longer allowed to see my kids after many more unpleasant incidents.  As far as I'm concerned, the only aunts my children have are my sister and my best friend from college.

I know the boyfriend wishes I could pretend to like her, but I don't have it in me.  I put up with her crap so many times.  I'm not going to sit there and take insults about my kids, or veiled nastiness.  It would be different if she was nice to my kids-she's not.  She won't even pick them up.  So the only one losing out is her.  Maybe one day she'll either drink herself to death or get over herself.   Until then, she is dead to me and my babies.

This post was written in response to this week's remembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. This week, we asked you to write about a relationship you knew was doomed from the start. It could be your own relationship or one of a close friend or family member. The only thing we required was that it not be fiction.

The Best Friend I Ever Had

Erin and I met on the first day of preschool.  We became best friends, and spent all of our time together.  When we were 5, Erin was diagnosed with leukemia.

I can't imagine how hard it was for her, but it was also rough for me.  I couldn't really understand everything that was going on.  Erin was in the hospital and there was nothing I could do but visit her.

When she came home, I went over to her house as often as I could.  She couldn't go anywhere because it could make her sick.  We played Barbies and American Girl.  She had a Nintendo with Zelda.  I was jealous that she had 9 stuffed golden retrievers, 2 of which were bigger than us.

Whenever I came over, the first thing I did was put on a mask and wash my hands.  We both knew I hated the mask.  It was stifling and made me feel like I couldn't breathe.  Every time Erin left the room, I ripped it off and gulped all the fresh, cool air I could before she came back.

Dress up may have been our favorite thing of all.  She had a huge bin of clothes, and I brought some of mine over too.  I always wore my mom's pastel green, floral bridesmaid dress.  Erin always dolled up in dresses, boas, and hats.  She always went to the bathroom to change.

One day, we wrestled in our dress up clothes.  We were laughing and squealing.  I tackled Erin and her hair fell off. Time stopped.  I was sure I made all her hair fall out.  She was embarassed.  We both cried.  That incident made our bond even stronger.

Erin relapsed.  We went to the hospital together.  I came with her to her doctor appointments and physical therapy when her legs atrophied and she could only walk on her toes.  We watched the Sound of Music while she got weighted casts on her legs (I can't watch this movie now because of all the memories it brings back).  We were together through every step of her illness.  Although she was the one physically experiencing it, I was affected too.

She came back to school when we were 9.  Everything changed.  We drifted apart.  She had other friends and I was no longer needed.  By high school, we spent no time together.  I haven't seen her in 10 years.

My memories of childhood are bittersweet.  I love how close we were, but I'm sorry it was because Erin was sick.  I'm sorry no one else wanted to hang out with the girl who had cancer.  We had so much fun together, but much of the time we were both uncomfortable.  She had to deal with chemo, and medicine, and countless other things.  And that mask still haunts me to this day.  I can't wear a scarf or a turtleneck because I get the same stifling feeling of the mask.

The experience made me a better person.  I learned the world was bigger than me, and that bad things happen to good people.   I had an amazing friend, and our bond was incredibly close.  I  learned compassion and empathy.  I learned that other kids can be selfish and mean because they don't understand something.  When we grew apart, I learned what it felt like to have my heart broken.  Not even my broken engagement 5 months before the wedding hurt as much as my lost friendship with Erin.  But if I could do the whole thing over again, I would.

My First Heartbreak

I liked him from the moment I met him. I was in 9th grade and he was in 8th. I was trying to join the varsity ice hockey team and was the first girl to do so. I was getting a lot of crap from everyone, including the athletic director at school. The whole school knew I had to take the fitness test that afternoon and pass to be allowed to try out. I was going to do it if it killed me, just to make a point. It was lunchtime and he wished me good luck in the cafeteria.

After school, a bunch of guys came down to the track to hassle me as I was taking the test. I was a chunky kid, and everyone knew I couldn't run a mile and a half in 11 minutes-I couldn't even run a mile in 11 minutes. As I ran, tears streaming down my face from the harassment, I heard him cheering me on in the bleachers. I never would have finished if it weren't for him.

After all was said and done, I didn't meet the boys requirements, but I did meet the girls, so the school had no choice but to let me try out. Did I mention I had taught myself to ice skate 4 months before the season started? I wasn't good at all. Most of the guys had been playing hockey for 10 years. It turns out he was one of the best players on the team, even though he was only an eighth-grader (he was assistant captain by 9th grade). He helped me a lot that first season. My playing improved 200%, even though I never even dressed for a game (I sat and took stats until my junior year, when I was allowed to dress for games-in 4 years, I actually played in 6 games, for a total of less than 10 minutes).

Everything was great until one of the seniors realized I liked him. It spread like wildfire through the team, and everyone started treating me differently. Most of the guys stopped talking to me. He refused to help me at practice. I got made fun of when I couldn't do something or missed a pass. I took a slapshot to the back of my knee (that a guy did on purpose) and I had a bruise for 6 months. It was humiliating, but I refused to give up. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

So I played for 4 years. I took crap from everyone, in school and out. I vividly remember him and his friend shoving me into a locker one day at school. I kept thinking that maybe it would all blow over and he would be nice to me again. It never happened. My pride was the only thing that kept me from slinking home and never going to another practice. I cried in the dressing room (or bathroom, depending on where practice or the game was) every single day.

He never liked me back. He never talked to me again. And it hurt. My only consolation was when we played the top-ranked team in the league finals and one guy checked me-hard. There was a bench emptying brawl after that. It made me feel like he still cared. Like my whole team actually cared. All the heartbreak and tears made me a stronger woman. I eventually found someone who loved me for me, and that is what matters. But I have never forgotten him, and I think he will always hold a place in my heart.

This was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge. Since my story encompassed 4 years, I couldn't write it in the moment, so I hope that's alright. I just wanted to tell the story of the first boy who broke my heart.

Too Big, Too Soon

My kids are growing up too fast.  Especially T.  He is starting preschool on Wednesday, and it's at the point where I can no longer deny it.  My anxiety has been through the roof this past week, partly due to family problems, and partly due to feeling like my oldest is going to leave me.

I know he's only going to preschool for a few hours a day, and I know he needs it, and he will still need me, but I'm still fighting the feeling of abandonment.  I've struggled with anxiety problems for the past 13 years, and I also have Borderline Personality Disorder, which I know contributes a lot to me feeling like this.

I know he will love preschool.  He went to speech camp for a month this summer and had a great time.  It also helped him be more vocal, which is great.  It is still pretty much impossible to understand most of what he says, though, due to the speech apraxia.  I'm just happy he's even trying to talk.  He had no words at all until after he was 3.

We had to fight tooth and nail to get him into this special preschool.  We still have to fight to get him OT so someone will help him with the behavioral side of things, but it's a start.  I will miss him so much while he is gone.  It just feels different than if he were to go visit his grandparents for a few hours. 

He's old enough to go to school.  He's not my little baby anymore.  I can't remember him as a baby.  At all.  I see pictures and I know he was that little, but I can't specifically remember anything of him as a baby besides giving birth to him.  The next memories I have are when he was close to a year old.  I feel like the time is flying by too fast, and I just want to slow it down to savor every moment.

At the same time, I want him to learn and be able to talk like the other kids.  I want him to make friends and be normal.  He's never had a playdate.  He's met kids at the playground and, since he's big for his age, the older kids wonder why he doesn't talk and won't play with him.  The younger kids won't play with him either because he is always too close to them and doesn't respect their personal space.  He cannot grasp the concept, and, although the other parents understand when I explain, the kids are uncomfortable around him.

I want him to be normal, or at least be around other kids who have similar issues, or who aren't bothered by his.  I want this school to improve his speech to the point where he can go to regular kindergarten.  I've thought about holding him back from kindergarten a year so he and his sister can be in the same grade because she understands him.

I want him to grow up and go out into the world, but I want to protect him.  I'm afraid kids will be mean to him like they were to me growing up.  I'm afraid he won't fit in.  I'm afraid I won't know how to handle anything going wrong with him because I'm such an emotional person, and when I'm upset, I know I'm not at all rational.

But I don't want my fears to affect him.  He doesn't see me crying at night because I feel like I'm going to lose him as he grows up.  He can't see my anxiety behind my forced cheer when I tell him about school.  So, on Wednesday, I'm going to dress him in his new school clothes, with his pirate backpack, and drive him to school.  I'm going to walk him in like all the other parents, give him a kiss, and wish him good luck.  And hopefully, I will make it back to my car before I burst into tears in front of all the other parents.

My Oma's Story-Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

My Oma (that is German for Grandma) played a huge role in my life.  My first memories are of her and her dog, Heidi, who was a German Shepherd/Husky mix.  I loved that dog.

My Oma was born in 1920 in Germany.  She was the oldest of 9 children, and was responsible for most of her siblings' care.  When she was 17, right before the beginning of WWII, she left Germany for the United States.  She was the only one of her family to come.  She and a friend traveled together.

Once in the States, my Oma settled in New York.  She lived in Queens and worked as a babysitter/nanny.  My Oma married an Austrian butcher, who died of cancer 2 years before I was born.  I hate to say it, but I do not even know his first name.  She had my father in 1944, and my uncle 5 years later.

The family eventually moved to Wallkill, NY.  I remember going to my Oma's house here from the time I was a little girl.  I loved it there.  Her yard was full of flowers, fruit trees, and currant bushes.  In her windows were African violets and aloe plants, protected by green plastic, which she said made them grow better and gave part of her living room a green glow.

Whenever we visited, there was always great food waiting for us.  Goulash with mashed potatoes, liverwurst sandwiches, linzer cookies, fruit tarts, and apple strudel in abundance.  One of my biggest regrets is not learning how to make her strudel before she died.  I tried it a couple times and could never get a hang of stretching the dough thin enough without ripping it, so I gave up.  Since she knew the recipe by heart, I have no written record of it.  Her chocolate chip cookies were amazing also.  They were shaped like Hershey Kisses and were super crunchy  Although I do have this recipe, they never taste the way hers did.  She always put so much love in her food.

Oma also had a house in the Catskills.  Every summer, my dad, my sister, and I went to the cabin all summer long.  It is still one of  my favorite places to be.  Oma took us to the flea market every weekend.  We went to Church on Sudays and stopped at the grocery store on the way home for Entemann's Crumb Donuts.

I remember when Jurassic Park came out.  I begged my Oma to take me to see it at the giant multiplex near her house.  She had no idea what it was about, and agreed.  I was 9 years old.  It is one of my favorite movies ever, and I still watch it whenever it is on TV.  When we saw the T-Rex for the first time, my Oma peed her pants.  Thinking about it still makes me laugh.

When I was in middle school, my Oma had a heart attack and needed triple-bypass surgery.  Once she was released from the hospital, she stayed with us for a few months.   The surgery never even slowed her down.  She used to joke that "they cut me open like a chicken."

My Oma was always feisty and a spitfire, no matter how old she got.  Even when her body was slowing down, her mind was as sharp as ever. 

She always had her German sayings for everything.  They usually made me laugh.  As a child, I was fluent in German, although I have pretty much lost my understanding of it (well, when I hear it and people speak slowly, I can usually understand, but I can't read it or write it at all).  My favorite saying was "mit gegangen, mit gefangen, mit gehangen" (this may be spelled wrong).  A rough translation is "you go with them, you get caught with them, you hang with them." 

She and I went out to California together to visit my uncle.   The airport was a disaster.  My uncle bought the tickets, and we had so much trouble getting them because he was not there with us (and this was pre-9/11).  They eventually called him to straighten it out, even though it was only 4am where he was.  Then a man who was rushing to catch his flight ran into my Oma and knocked her down.  I was furious, but thankfully she was okay.  Then she got searched by security and gave the man such a hard time for making her take off her shoes (again, this was before these things happened regularly at the airport).  Once we finally got to California, though, it was a great trip.

She was so happy when T was born.  I wanted him to know and love his great-grandmother like I did.  However, it was not to be.  I got a call at work that she was being airlifted to a trauma center.  She had gone to the church rectory to get a mass card for her friend (the one she came to the States with) who recently died.  On her way out, she supposedly fell and hit her head on the stone steps.  No one knows how long she was laying there before the priest found her.

I say supposedly because there was an entire lawn and sidewalk between where she fell and where they found her keys (under a car on the street).  I truly believe someone hit her and tried to steal her car (Newburgh is a rough place, and there are a few reasons I think this).  However, I can't prove it and the police say it was just an accident.

She had a brain hemorrhage and fractured skull that was too bad to be operated on. My Oma was on life support at the hospital for 3 days, until my dad and uncle decided it was time.  She was buried next to her husband, in 2008.

I have so many wonderful memories of my Oma.  She was such an amazing woman.  I know I would never have had the courage to move overseas, away from my family, at age 17.  I love cooking and baking because of her.  She gave me a love of nature, although I do not have a green thumb and kill every plant come in contact with, except one of her African violets.  My Oma was such a huge influence on my life, and I still think of her every day.

This was written in response to a prompt for Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  The prompt was: tell your grandmother's story.

How the Hurricane Ruined my Day

Here on the east coast, we are preparing for Hurricane Irene.  She is supposed to cause lots of flooding and maybe a loss of power where I live.  This hurricane ruined my day, and quite possibly, my relationship.

Quite frankly, today really sucked.  I found out on Facebook that the boyfriend's sister was staying out the hurricane at our house.  With her 2 little, yappy, disgusting, fleabag dogs.  I can't stand small dogs.  I have never had a good experience with them.  I am a cat person, and I tolerate large dogs-the bigger, the better.  Princess is also terrified of dogs, which I found out when I brought her to my therapist's house last week.  She screamed the whole session.

I also can't stand my future sister-in-law.  She is fake, a drunk, and everything she says has a nasty undertone to it.  Whenever she is in my house, I stay in my room.  I keep the kids shut in my room with me.  This is so I can avoid drama.  I do not want to snap on people in front of my kids.

I told the boyfriend to tell his mom she and her dogs could not stay at our house.  She has other friends, or she could have stayed in a hotel or hurricane shelter if she was worried her place would flood.  He refused to talk to his mom, so I confronted her.  I pay rent, and I should have at least been consulted.

I got my period last night, 8 days early.  I am moody, bitchy, and probably could have been nicer, but I wasn't.  I went off on her.  She told me her daughter is her blood, which apparently makes her more important than me.  I threatened to leave with the kids for good. 

She countered by telling me that come Sept. 1, our lease is not being renewed.  We will have a month-to-month lease so the landlord's son can move in.  I think I should have been informed about this as soon as she found out.  I am on the lease, and I pay rent.  It was disrespectful of her not to tell me something this important.

At this point, I was so furious, I couldn't breathe.  I screamed at her to F-off, went upstairs, and got sick.  Then I started packing enough clothes for me and the kids for a few days.  I can't even remember the last time I was this angry.

The boyfriend took his mom's side and accused me of attacking her.  Last time I checked, you can't attack someone just by yelling at them.  I don't like being treated like a 10 year-old and kept in the dark about things that affect me and my kids.

I brought some bags downstairs.  The dogs had been dropped off while I was packing. T was playing with them.  The boyfriend's mom was trying to get Princess to pet them; she was crying.  This set me off again.  I hate yelling in front of my kids, but I did.  I threatened the dogs.  I demanded an apology for being disrespected, but instead got a lecture on not yelling at my kids.

I called my mom.  She took T in her car.  I took Princess, Goober, and my cat Misty.  The boyfriend was mad I took the kids.  I told him I refused to keep our daughter near those flea-bitten, giant rats they were calling dogs.  Oh, and his sister, and mom until she apologized.  He was welcome to come to my parents' house (It is literally only 3 blocks away).

Once we were settled in at my parents', I realized I forgot my cat's food and litter.  I had to go home for it.  One of the dogs tried to bite my leg on the stairs.  I kicked it.  The boyfriend was really upset with me for yelling at his mom.  He also doesn't understand why I don't like his sister, even though he doesn't like her either. 

We argued.  A lot.  He threatened to leave me because I'm mean to him and his family.  I have never yelled at his mom before, but she deserved it.  And, as a rule, I try to avoid his sister so I don't yell at her.  I do yell at him all the time, but 9 times out of 10 it is to pick his garbage up off the floor or take out the stinky garbage.  I don't think that is even really yelling.  It's more like nagging. 

I left again, and it was all worse than before.  I hope he is less pissed off in the morning.  Because today wasn't about him.  It was about me being disrespected and not consulted about important things.   He couldn't see past me yelling at his mom.  I think he should have been on my side.  So that is where things stand.  I just hope Hurricane Irene didn't kill my relationship.