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Archive for the ‘My Life’ Category

 

Sometimes I get my ideas for a post by using the search engine terms.  One of my friends pointed this part of the dashboard out to me when I first started blogging.  She said, “Look to see the search engine phrases people use to find your blog…”  I call these my FAQ’s – Frequently Asked Questions.

Deja vu:  I wrote this nearly three years ago and it describes so well the frequently asked question I receive at least once a week from people trying to understand the N in their life.  I’ve dug up this dinosaur and brought it into 2011. 

A pink spoon means one thing…Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors.  I’ve had my favorite flavors since childhood, & I have a drawer full of those pink spoons at home.  It’s not because we go out for ice cream very often, but because I save the spoons.  They are very useful.  I use them for all sorts of projects, rubber stamping, mixing paint, even for serving the cat’s dinner.  When at my wit’s end, I’ve even used them for getting that reluctant child to try some new kind of food…even a bite of some dreaded vegetable tastes good on a pink spoon.  (Don’t worry, it’s not the one I used for the cats.)

So – You might be asking yourself what does a pink spoon have to do with NPD?  A Narcissist views people as disposable; they are ‘pink spoons’.  To a N, people are things, not friends, family or lovers.  He will use people (aka his victims/targets) as long as they serve a purpose for him, as long as they make him look good, as long as they agree with him.

People provide the N with what is called “Narcissistic Supply”  (NS).  Relationships mean nothing to the N; he is incapable of loving anyone let alone even showing one iota of concern for someone.  He can NEVER be emotionally involved with another person.  A Narcissist will use someone for whatever reason, for whatever purpose, as long as they are a good source of NS for him.  Break his rules & suffer the consequences.  This ‘devaluing’ is repeated over and over again.

It’s not hard to break the N’s rules.  They are varied and change sometimes daily.  What makes him rage one day, might make him smirk another.  Question his decision?  Ask him to repeat what he just told you?  Chances are you will get so much ‘Word Salad’ that you will wish you ordered something else on the menu.  You quickly learn to be quiet.  You don’t question anything, especially his statements that deep down you know are lies.  Most importantly, you have to agree with everything he says.

One might think to themselves, what kind of pansy stays in this kind of a relationship?  Obviously, I asked my self that same question.  The only thing that I can tell you is that there was a pathology going on that I still do not understand.  I am trying to understand why I was a target for an individual like this.  (I can’t bring my self to call him a person, my cats have more humanity than he does.)

It was very grievous for me when I realized that I was just a ‘pink spoon’ to The N.  I was only a thing.  How could someone who was my friend suddenly stop, do an about face, and treat me like dog s**t on his shoe?  After having been idolized, I was consistently devalued over time, and then, finally, abruptly discarded.  I was dumbfounded.  I had no clue what my crime was that deserved this punishment  I was something that he threw in the trash along with the used Kleenex & dental floss, without a moment’s hesitation. (I was going to say condom, but I doubt that he could get past the “first courtesy date” to need one….)

While The N discards his NS when he is done with them, I appreciate the richness of quality that people bring to my life.  They are important; like pink plastic spoons, they are useful, they are valuable, they are worthy, not something to be used once and then cast aside.

 

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I don’t know when Sam went from calling me “Mom” to “Mooothher” complete with the eye roll.  Find myself often saying these days….”Your face is going to freeze that way…” 

Real Mothers don’t eat Quiche; they don’t have time to make it.
Real Mothers really do have eyes in the back of their heads. 
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox, the front yard, the back yard or the pool. 
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, dented pots and pans (from drumming) filthy ovens and happy kids.
Dirty ovens make the best chocolate chip cookies. 
Real Mothers know that dried play dough doesn’t come out of carpets.
(Really, it doesn’t.) 
Real Mothers don’t want to know what the vacuum just sucked up.
(That’s why vacuum manufacturers designed the crevice tool.) 
Real Mothers sometimes ask ‘Why me?’ and get their answer when a little voice says, “Because I love you.”
Real Mothers know that a child’s growth is not measured
by height, years, mustache or grade level…
It is marked by the progression from Mama to Mommy to Mom to Mother…

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God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change that I have too much stuff….

Courage to change the things I can to throw the stuff away

And the Wisdom to know the difference that this part of the journey is only a brief side trip.

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Hubby and I were sitting in the family room surrounded by packing boxes. 
We decided to take a break and Hubby was channel flipping…a favorite male past time it seems. 

There was a movie with a familiar black-haired man. 

Hubby:  Where have I seen that guy before? 
ES:  Well, he is a famous actor/singer from Broadway, movies and television.  His name is Mandy Patinkin. 
Hubby:  What have I seen him in? 
ES:  He plays in Criminal Minds…
Hubby:  No, I haven’t seen him in that. 
ES:  He was in the Princess Bride…”My name is…you killed my father…prepare to die…” 
Hubby:  No, we saw that a loooong time ago…it was something else…
ES:  Then…you may be remembering him as ‘Huxley’ in the movie Elmo In Grouchland
Hubby:  That’s it!  I knew I remembered him from somewhere!

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I stood in my kitchen this past Saturday morning, stirring my coffee and wondering where does one start when packing up 20 + years of life and memories? 
It was early, before 7 a.m. and as I looked down at the floor, I saw the shadow of Max walk by…even the shadow of his tail looked fluffy. “Hi buddy,” I said…and then I remembered. 
I smiled, something that I had not done for several days. 
You see, Max died on Saturday, January 2nd, between 4 and 6 am. 

Max stumbled when he walked in the door after sitting outside on the patio the morning of the 29th of December.  My husband and I exchanged worried looks of concern and immediately drove to the vet; Max was put on an IV, the vet felt a mass in Max’s belly that his technician was going to try and “tap” to determine what it was.   

Wednesday, the vet called to tell us that Max had cancer.  Our doctor wanted to know if we wanted to take Max home and spend some more time with him. 
Of course we did.  The first evening, Max ate a little bit and even sat on Sam’s Bakugan game board and tried to look interested in what Sam was saying.  Max tapped one of the balls with a paw. 

After that he slowed down more each day; he stopped eating and drinking. I started using an eye dropper to give him sips of water.  
How ironic. 
(When Max first arrived home with Hubby nearly 14 years ago, I had to feed Max with an eye dropper because he was so young, he still should have been nursing.) 

We prepared Sam for the fact that Max was not going to get better.  We all took turns holding Max and keeping him warm.  At night, I slept on the couch and kept my hand on him to make sure he knew I was there. 

By New Year’s Day, it was evident that we would be going to the vet’s office the next morning so that a shot could be administered.  The vet had assured us that Max was not in pain, but that death would not come without assistance.  By the evening of January 1st, Max could no longer walk, so I would change the thick towel we kept under him, since he could not get up to use the kitty box. 

Late that evening, he began to whimper every few minutes.  Finally sometime before 2 am, I was able to get him comfortable.  With my head pounding with a migraine, I gave him a kiss, told him we all loved him and I went to lay down in bed for awhile. 

At four in the morning, I went to check on him.  He was warm and he moved one of his cute little paws when I stroked his fur.  At 6:30 a.m. he was gone. 

I know that the phantom images of Max will not continue in our new place, so I am grateful for the vision I had early Saturday morning. 

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After more than 2 decades we are moving. 
I am cleaning out the backs of kitchen cupboards that have not seen the light of day in…..? 
In the recesses of one I found a punch bowl set, still in its box, 7 Rubbermaid containers, 6 vintage tins, a gingerbread house kit and an ice cream maker. 
I separated the items into piles…garage sale, discard, storage…
Hubby came into the kitchen in search of trash bags, looked down and said, “We had an ice cream maker?” 

In the light of the knowledge that there are members of our human family injured, awaiting rescue, water and food…the amount of materialism I am packing is truly obscene.

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Never before at Christmas time have I ever had the gifts wrapped before midnight on Christmas morning.   Often hubby and I  were both bleary-eyed when our three boys woke up to open presents.  Where is the coffee? 
This afternoon my youngest went out with one of his brothers and I had over six hours to my self.
 
I thought I could clean the tub and take a hot bath without expecting someone to come bursting to ask if I had seen this or that.  And then, I heard an angel chorus….I could get all the Christmas presents wrapped!  I could even use the big table and not have to hide in our bedroom.  I wouldn’t have to lean over the bed, wrapping on top of the comforter; having to be careful not to cut fabric when I cut the wrapping paper. 

After about 3 hours, Pete and Sam called to say they were on their way home…”Did I need anything?”  “Yes,” I shouted, “I need you to stay gone two more hours!”  Sam wanted to know if I was wrapping stuff for him…he wants a razor scooter…the kind that sparks.  “No,” I said, “I don’t think there’s anything here for you yet.” 
Five hours later, I had everything wrapped…including the skooter….buried behind the tree.  Stocking stuffers are in five separate bags, ready to go when my family is down for the night.  I have a  new bottle of cough syrup to go in my stocking.  The kitty treats and toys are in their own gift bags.  

When hubby got home from work and the boys returned from the movies we had bowls of Superbowl Soup (shameless plug for past post) and corn bread.  I still haven’t asked what movie they saw, (maybe I don’t want to know) while enjoyed two more hours of wrapping in peace. 

This evening I walked past the tree.  There, hiding underneath was AJ, with her face buried in her gift bag. 
Even she can’t wait for Christmas.

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