Thursday, December 02, 2004
Breathing is Good
Breathing is good.
I remind myself of that because sometimes I forget to breathe.
I know, it’s supposed to be an autonomic response kinda thing. Breathing I mean.
But when I’m really stressed, or really happy, or really anything I just stop breathing. Like awake apnea instead of sleep apnea.
Lately I’ve had to remind myself to breath a lot.
If you’ve been reading this bloggin’ story right along you already know there are two major plot lines. Just in case you’re a newbie to the site and you’re confused because you’re reading from the top instead of reading the oldest post first (check the archives sweetie, they’re listed by date) here are the plot lines:
1. Will Q and Eyvonne survive as a couple?
Subplot: Does anyone survive raising kids?
2. How will Q resolve the challenge of India?
Subplot: Can Shel really handle being anybody’s hero?
OK, now that you’re up to speed, Eyvonne took a cue (no pun intended) from India and left a file in our blog folder wherein her own strange and esoteric way she succinctly summarized what’s been going on with her over the past three weeks while I’ve been obsessed with writing 50,000+ words for Nanowrimo.
Eyvonne -
On Life in general:
I feel like crying lots, overwhelmed, underwhelmed, overworked (not by vacuuming), underpaid and completely stressed.
On Being an End Zone Instant Parent:
Is she 18 or 4? I remember it being easier when I could say, “Don’t put peanut butter up your nose.” Rather than suggesting in a moderated tone that it may be difficult to breathe if you continue to stuff your nostrils darling, so how about maybe you don’t anymore.
On what’s up with her:
When I’m not stewing over one thing in my head, it’s another and another and another. And mostly none of it has anything to do with any of you.
On Our Relationship:
So I’m sorry for snippy, stupid, rude, tearful, ignorant, snotty. So maybe it sucks to be safe, safe to yell at, take things out on…and it’s not fair. I am sorry.
And you’re right breathing is good…together.
Damn. Am I in heaven or what? The woman loves me. HA.
I figured out a couple years ago that when she pushes all my triggers it’s because she’s really hurting, not because she is sick of me, hates me, want so leave me or has discovered I generate so much stupidguystuff it isn’t worth it any more.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not glad she’s stressed, feeling insecure and unhappy.
I can deal with that. I understand stress. I know insecure big time, I invented insecure. I’ve mastered more stress and insecurity than you want to know about. I’ve got some pretty good tools to share. I ought to be able to help her discover ways to be less stressed and feel more secure, which will naturally lead to being happier. It’s an upward spiral from here. I have the answer and it is MANGO CHICKEN.
Well, not really. But close.
Right now I’m as happy as a frog in a rainstorm.
Because I know what Eyvonne needs. I mean besides my broad shoulders to throw crap at because she knows I won’t retaliate no matter how awful she is. This is a sign of true love you know. Watch a toddler and see if I’m not right. They pitch the worst fit they can just to see if their parents love them anyway. A truly great parent calmly observes the tantrum and says, “When you’re done I’ll be over here waiting to give you a hug.”
John Lennon was right again. All she needs is love.
You can bet your last Euro that supper will be ready when she comes in the door tonight. There will be candles on the table. I will sit with her while she eats. And I will listen.
Listening is after all the greatest gift and the surest sign of love.
As to the second plot, I can’t fathom its resolution at this point.
I was more than highly annoyed to discover India posted to the blog without letting me read what he had to say first. It’s one thing to talk through the computer, it’s quite another to have our first conversations in a public forum.
So. Anyway. Segue to his recent post:
India, I am sincerely touched by what you said about me. I believe with all my heart another theme of Ghandi’s - I’m paraphrasing from a book in el’s library here - A small group of people with enough faith can change history.
In some small way I know we did change at least a few things about our small corner of the world.
There are people who didn’t believe in multiples before they read something we wrote, or met us in person. Some of them are more effective intercessors, artists, nurses, writers, editors, counselors, ministers, teachers and cops because of what we taught them. Others are more aware and sensitive to their own journey through life. Most are more open to the myriad possibilities of Creator’s mind, one of those possibilities being us.
If nothing else we’ve opened the door to the concept that not all abused children grow up to become abusers. We spoke at a victims’ rights rally a few years ago following a minister who admitted he’d done research on the Internet. His premise was that the abused child grows up to become an abuser.
We had this whole really great speech memorized that we just trashed on the spot.
“With all due respect to Reverend Whatshisname, I stand before you today to assure you that is not always the case. In fact a lot of abused kids grow up to be upstanding, forthright, hard working citizens. They cherish their own kids because they know firsthand what it’s like to go to bed hungry, or crying with no understanding why,” I said.
We ended our speech by reading a poem we’d been asked to write for a state anthology written by victims of violent crimes. Eyvonne read her poem from the same anthology.
Afterward a woman came to me in tears, thanking me for what I’d said.
“I was horrified when Reverend Whatshisname said those things,” she said. “I thought, ‘what must my children, my neighbors be thinking?’ Knowing I was abused as a child, I thought they would think I must be an abuser in some way too.”
We cried together.
It ain’t easy being green.
To answer some of your questions India, I have no idea how el does that weather thing. He’s right about the weather 99 percent of the time, and he can tell you what time it is within 15 minutes with about the same accuracy. Rainman syndrome.
As to noises, I can’t deny they bug me too. But the safer I feel, the less they bug me.
As to issues about our parents, you’re right. It’s ancient history. No answers there. But it can’t hurt us anymore unless we let it. Not me, you, Taya, el, ‘rion, Trekker, Keeper, Baby, Ian, Gwen or any of us. We’re safe now. Trust me on this one OK?
It doesn’t matter anymore why this happened to us, except as a lesson or a warning beacon for other people to learn from, to recognize, the way you’d want to recognize any dangerous person, pattern or situation.
And the mantle of heroism doesn’t feel quite comfortable on my shoulders. Not when placed there by community members, or family or even Qs. But thank you India. I know how you feel. Not so long ago I felt that way about el.
If there’s a real Q hero it’s him. el gave up everything he wanted as a young man and stayed mostly inside for thirty years to keep us sane and moving forward.
I haven’t forgotten India that you and Ian and so many others hid just as long or longer, doing your own jobs.
The war is over guys. It’s time to come in.
It’s time to live, love, laugh. Be a frog in a rainstorm. Enjoy being green. Who the hell cares if it’s not easy, at least it’s us.
Oh, and by the way, remember to breath OK?
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
I remind myself of that because sometimes I forget to breathe.
I know, it’s supposed to be an autonomic response kinda thing. Breathing I mean.
But when I’m really stressed, or really happy, or really anything I just stop breathing. Like awake apnea instead of sleep apnea.
Lately I’ve had to remind myself to breath a lot.
If you’ve been reading this bloggin’ story right along you already know there are two major plot lines. Just in case you’re a newbie to the site and you’re confused because you’re reading from the top instead of reading the oldest post first (check the archives sweetie, they’re listed by date) here are the plot lines:
1. Will Q and Eyvonne survive as a couple?
Subplot: Does anyone survive raising kids?
2. How will Q resolve the challenge of India?
Subplot: Can Shel really handle being anybody’s hero?
OK, now that you’re up to speed, Eyvonne took a cue (no pun intended) from India and left a file in our blog folder wherein her own strange and esoteric way she succinctly summarized what’s been going on with her over the past three weeks while I’ve been obsessed with writing 50,000+ words for Nanowrimo.
Eyvonne -
On Life in general:
I feel like crying lots, overwhelmed, underwhelmed, overworked (not by vacuuming), underpaid and completely stressed.
On Being an End Zone Instant Parent:
Is she 18 or 4? I remember it being easier when I could say, “Don’t put peanut butter up your nose.” Rather than suggesting in a moderated tone that it may be difficult to breathe if you continue to stuff your nostrils darling, so how about maybe you don’t anymore.
On what’s up with her:
When I’m not stewing over one thing in my head, it’s another and another and another. And mostly none of it has anything to do with any of you.
On Our Relationship:
So I’m sorry for snippy, stupid, rude, tearful, ignorant, snotty. So maybe it sucks to be safe, safe to yell at, take things out on…and it’s not fair. I am sorry.
And you’re right breathing is good…together.
Damn. Am I in heaven or what? The woman loves me. HA.
I figured out a couple years ago that when she pushes all my triggers it’s because she’s really hurting, not because she is sick of me, hates me, want so leave me or has discovered I generate so much stupidguystuff it isn’t worth it any more.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not glad she’s stressed, feeling insecure and unhappy.
I can deal with that. I understand stress. I know insecure big time, I invented insecure. I’ve mastered more stress and insecurity than you want to know about. I’ve got some pretty good tools to share. I ought to be able to help her discover ways to be less stressed and feel more secure, which will naturally lead to being happier. It’s an upward spiral from here. I have the answer and it is MANGO CHICKEN.
Well, not really. But close.
Right now I’m as happy as a frog in a rainstorm.
Because I know what Eyvonne needs. I mean besides my broad shoulders to throw crap at because she knows I won’t retaliate no matter how awful she is. This is a sign of true love you know. Watch a toddler and see if I’m not right. They pitch the worst fit they can just to see if their parents love them anyway. A truly great parent calmly observes the tantrum and says, “When you’re done I’ll be over here waiting to give you a hug.”
John Lennon was right again. All she needs is love.
You can bet your last Euro that supper will be ready when she comes in the door tonight. There will be candles on the table. I will sit with her while she eats. And I will listen.
Listening is after all the greatest gift and the surest sign of love.
As to the second plot, I can’t fathom its resolution at this point.
I was more than highly annoyed to discover India posted to the blog without letting me read what he had to say first. It’s one thing to talk through the computer, it’s quite another to have our first conversations in a public forum.
So. Anyway. Segue to his recent post:
India, I am sincerely touched by what you said about me. I believe with all my heart another theme of Ghandi’s - I’m paraphrasing from a book in el’s library here - A small group of people with enough faith can change history.
In some small way I know we did change at least a few things about our small corner of the world.
There are people who didn’t believe in multiples before they read something we wrote, or met us in person. Some of them are more effective intercessors, artists, nurses, writers, editors, counselors, ministers, teachers and cops because of what we taught them. Others are more aware and sensitive to their own journey through life. Most are more open to the myriad possibilities of Creator’s mind, one of those possibilities being us.
If nothing else we’ve opened the door to the concept that not all abused children grow up to become abusers. We spoke at a victims’ rights rally a few years ago following a minister who admitted he’d done research on the Internet. His premise was that the abused child grows up to become an abuser.
We had this whole really great speech memorized that we just trashed on the spot.
“With all due respect to Reverend Whatshisname, I stand before you today to assure you that is not always the case. In fact a lot of abused kids grow up to be upstanding, forthright, hard working citizens. They cherish their own kids because they know firsthand what it’s like to go to bed hungry, or crying with no understanding why,” I said.
We ended our speech by reading a poem we’d been asked to write for a state anthology written by victims of violent crimes. Eyvonne read her poem from the same anthology.
Afterward a woman came to me in tears, thanking me for what I’d said.
“I was horrified when Reverend Whatshisname said those things,” she said. “I thought, ‘what must my children, my neighbors be thinking?’ Knowing I was abused as a child, I thought they would think I must be an abuser in some way too.”
We cried together.
It ain’t easy being green.
To answer some of your questions India, I have no idea how el does that weather thing. He’s right about the weather 99 percent of the time, and he can tell you what time it is within 15 minutes with about the same accuracy. Rainman syndrome.
As to noises, I can’t deny they bug me too. But the safer I feel, the less they bug me.
As to issues about our parents, you’re right. It’s ancient history. No answers there. But it can’t hurt us anymore unless we let it. Not me, you, Taya, el, ‘rion, Trekker, Keeper, Baby, Ian, Gwen or any of us. We’re safe now. Trust me on this one OK?
It doesn’t matter anymore why this happened to us, except as a lesson or a warning beacon for other people to learn from, to recognize, the way you’d want to recognize any dangerous person, pattern or situation.
And the mantle of heroism doesn’t feel quite comfortable on my shoulders. Not when placed there by community members, or family or even Qs. But thank you India. I know how you feel. Not so long ago I felt that way about el.
If there’s a real Q hero it’s him. el gave up everything he wanted as a young man and stayed mostly inside for thirty years to keep us sane and moving forward.
I haven’t forgotten India that you and Ian and so many others hid just as long or longer, doing your own jobs.
The war is over guys. It’s time to come in.
It’s time to live, love, laugh. Be a frog in a rainstorm. Enjoy being green. Who the hell cares if it’s not easy, at least it’s us.
Oh, and by the way, remember to breath OK?
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
