a VCR and a candy bar

When I was ten and a half years old, the summer my dad didn't come home, we rented a VCR. He had been growing worse in his addiction, huffing and who-knows-what other substances he chosen to kill more brain cells with, and one night he never came home. Then another. I had come to be my mom's support to lean on over the year or so leading up to this point. At the house we had lived at prior to that one, before I knew what was going on, I remember waking up in the middle of the night hearing my mom sobbing in her room. I got up to see what was wrong and through tears, she did her best to explain to my nine-year-old self, the substance my dad was inhaling. Somehow, I got it even though I hadn't been exposed to substance abuse other than alcohol and pot(unbeknownst to me). I stood in front of her and wrapped my little girl arms around my mom and told her it was okay as my mom's tears soaked my nightie. That was when I felt called to the role I was to assign to myself for the rest of my life; to do whatever I could to comfort her, be the one she needed other nights like this, and make sure she didn't hurt or ever worry.

It was probably the second night or so that he hadn't come home. I think we(my expectant mom, 7-year-old little brother and I) all needed a distraction so my mom scrounged up some money and we went to Blockbuster to rent a VCR and a movie. We didn't have much money at all, put food in our mouths thanks to foodstamps, and rarely could afford treats like even a McDonald's happy meal, so owning a VCR was a luxury we could only envy although by this time they were commonplace in most homes.

I remember how excited and giddy I felt while we were at the store and my mom was filling out the rental form. To add to the excitement of the evening, my mother even gave my brother and I each a one dollar foodstamp to run in the Homeland across the street from our house to buy a candy bar. A movie at our house AND a candy bar. Surely, life doesn't get much better than this. 

We got home, figured out how to hook the VCR up to our TV, popped in the video cassette and there we were, actually watching a movie when we wanted to in our own house. It was like a dream, and to me as good as being at the movies and far better than the seven basic TV channels we were used to seeing on that screen. There was even a remote. 

That summer evening, with the pleasant breeze blowing through the open windows, the three of us escaped from what the unknown future might hold for us and pretended that everything was better than it was for a while. I don't even remember the movie we rented but I do remember getting to smile and laugh that night. And a candy bar never tasted so sweet.

earthly parents, imperfectly perfect

I don't think we ever outgrow the need for parents. I saw my mom on Friday after not having seen her since well before Christmas. My mother is a recovering drug(meth)/alcohol addict. She's been clean and sober for about 4 years I think, yet she remains at a standstill in her recovery and at this point has no job, no phone, no car, and barely has not much more than what I call a lean-to for a house. I have no way of getting ahold of her. When I feel really alone in a tough situation, like I have recently with my extended family (her siblings), I get an overwhelming yearning for my mom. I'm 30 years old and in times like that I suddenly regress to feeling like a little kid who wants my mommy.

During the last 8 years or so since she began drinking and using and then during and after treatment, she has been a far-removed figure in my life. Not always by my choosing...she distanced herself when she was using and now does the same when she thinks I disapprove of her or feels that she is not worthy to be in my life. At other times during these years, I have had to distance myself and exhibit "tough love" when she wasn't holding true to her promises or I just had to distance myself in my heart for self-protection. I tried to not love her and not care and just tell myself, "that's just the way it is and I don't need her. I'm fine." But I'm not.


I think no matter how old we get we still need that nurturing from a parent. Maybe I feel that desire more than most because I lived without feeling that I had any parents for most of my life. My mom married my dad when I was two and he was my "real" dad, not having ever known my biological "sperm donor". However, he began huffing and then drinking around the time I was nine or so and then the summer I was to turn 11, he left. He left me, my little seven and a half-year-old brother and my pregnant mom. He knew his addiction was stronger than his desire to be a husband and father. I so wanted my dad to come back for years. I prayed and prayed and dreamed of him returning, picking me up and swinging me around having had missed me so much.

After that I, at the age of 11, became my mom's "husband". I was her coach in her childbirth classes. I was my mom's emotional support for dealing with losing a husband and having three children to raise on her own. I held a mighty weight on small shoulders. I didn't know it at the time, but my mother had undiagnosed mental disorders and I think I gradually became the "mom" to my mom. As she became more and more irresponsible, I tried my best to take it on, though in my teen years I failed miserably at that. I think I wanted to have a childhood that I missed early on, with no responsibilities (which had it's own consequences to accompany that "freedom").

My mother didn't teach me how to be a mom, but something that has always stuck that she modeled was her having a quiet time with the Lord. In my pre-adolescent years, she did that faithfully every morning. That's something I am still trying to emulate now. I also know now, that God has always been my heavenly parent, but that "freedom" kept me from seeing it. It took me until very recently to call God "Father" in my prayer. Until one day just a few weeks ago, I would try to say it, but I couldn't really choke it out. I think I have a peace about the earthly father I had, him having passed away this last summer. I also can love my mom freely for who she is right this moment. Friday, after I took my Grandma to the dentist, I turned right instead of left. I just needed a mom right then. I knocked on the door and when she opened it, it was so good to see her, messed up hair, missing teeth and all. I hugged her when we were leaving and said, "I just really wanted to see you."

New blog

i have been debating for some time as to whether i wanted to post non-crafty, personal things on my other blog and here is what i decided. i don't know if anyone will read it, but i wanted to chronicle my thoughts and typing is much better than writing by hand!
as for the title, it is really tongue-in-cheek. my brother, sister, and i joke (because of our childhood, which i'll delve into later), that we have "white trash roots". but really, i know that's not true because i am royalty. a real princess. the daughter of a King.