Set alarm for 4:45 to register H. and me for the Spring Lake Five Mile Run on Memorial Day Weekend. It's a race [or walk/run, which appeals to me] along the boardwalk by the sea. Patsy and Andy love it, and Patsy sent the link to sign up. Early registration day ended yesterday, with 7,000 people. We were closed out. Today there were 3,000 more slots, open at 5 A.M. It's that popular. We got in!
So then I trolled the internet for two hours while H., Fig, Sug and my world snoozed--I read more about the run, surfed chocolate cake recipes, which brought me to Amanda Hesser's Food52 site [I know, I know, chocolate cake and five-mile run don't mix], which led to a google image search of her and her New Yorker writer husband, Tad Friend, which ultimately landed me at Amazon with a book I really want to read that he wrote.
Turns out we did. I later saw her emerge from a noisy second-floor apartment from which a woman in black lingerie with garter belt was hanging out the window and telling me Don't worry, everything's okay. I just have a party like this every Friday after working so hard all week. When she said that, I hadn't known Figgy had been there, and I just nodded and smiled, because I can be very accepting.
But it later came out that there were many vials of blood in the room behind that open window, and a report on the TV news back in the hotel said something bad had been happening, this group had been taking people's blood in some bizarre party game, and Figgy, alone, had wandered onto the scene and in her innocence, been lured in. She came back to our hotel room with some blood transfusion thing attached to her arm vein, and there was a real risk that she had gotten Hepatitis C, which could kill her. The transfusion thing was pumping blood in and out of her arm.
She also said she had had sex with some weird older guy at the party [he showed up at the hotel, too] and that she had had sex [unprotected] many times before and done drugs and all kinds of things that were a complete surprise to us.
Moey was in the dream, trying to help. I really wish this was a nightmare and I'd just wake up, I said to her. But it wasn't. It was real. And I was terrified. My daughter was hating me, scorning me and at great health risk to boot.
And then it was a nightmare--thank God, I woke up in our bedroom, white Shabby Chic curtains from Target on the windows, H. in his office on the other side of the wall, working.
Where's Figgy? Is Figgy okay? I asked. Yes. She had fallen asleep on the living room couch, exhausted from her stomach flu.
I told her about the nightmare, and how glad I was that it wasn't real. Then I caught myself. I've had enough problems squaring off sex with my religious background. So I didn't want Figgy to think that her being sexual would be a nightmare for me.
I don't mean that having sex would be a terrible thing, I said. But in the dream, you were having sex with a lot of people and it was unprotected.
I did my best, probably fumbled. Because when is a mother really ready to accept a daughter's sexuality? Lord knows we daughters have a lot of sifting to do of mixed messages about our beauty, sexuality and intelligence--and the messages from our parents are the ones that mean the most and last the longest, whether we work with them or against them.
I'm just so glad our Figgy is OK.
TCOY
So then I trolled the internet for two hours while H., Fig, Sug and my world snoozed--I read more about the run, surfed chocolate cake recipes, which brought me to Amanda Hesser's Food52 site [I know, I know, chocolate cake and five-mile run don't mix], which led to a google image search of her and her New Yorker writer husband, Tad Friend, which ultimately landed me at Amazon with a book I really want to read that he wrote.
Nightmare
Finally back to bed--I'd only slept about four hours. Had a very troubling dream. H. and I were in NYC at a hotel with Figgy, and our friends and their kids were there, too. We had to go to a dinner that evening and Figgy, we figured, was with her friends, and anyway, she loves NYC and knows it pretty well, so we didn't have to worry.Turns out we did. I later saw her emerge from a noisy second-floor apartment from which a woman in black lingerie with garter belt was hanging out the window and telling me Don't worry, everything's okay. I just have a party like this every Friday after working so hard all week. When she said that, I hadn't known Figgy had been there, and I just nodded and smiled, because I can be very accepting.
But it later came out that there were many vials of blood in the room behind that open window, and a report on the TV news back in the hotel said something bad had been happening, this group had been taking people's blood in some bizarre party game, and Figgy, alone, had wandered onto the scene and in her innocence, been lured in. She came back to our hotel room with some blood transfusion thing attached to her arm vein, and there was a real risk that she had gotten Hepatitis C, which could kill her. The transfusion thing was pumping blood in and out of her arm.
She also said she had had sex with some weird older guy at the party [he showed up at the hotel, too] and that she had had sex [unprotected] many times before and done drugs and all kinds of things that were a complete surprise to us.
Moey was in the dream, trying to help. I really wish this was a nightmare and I'd just wake up, I said to her. But it wasn't. It was real. And I was terrified. My daughter was hating me, scorning me and at great health risk to boot.
And then it was a nightmare--thank God, I woke up in our bedroom, white Shabby Chic curtains from Target on the windows, H. in his office on the other side of the wall, working.
Where's Figgy? Is Figgy okay? I asked. Yes. She had fallen asleep on the living room couch, exhausted from her stomach flu.
I told her about the nightmare, and how glad I was that it wasn't real. Then I caught myself. I've had enough problems squaring off sex with my religious background. So I didn't want Figgy to think that her being sexual would be a nightmare for me.
I don't mean that having sex would be a terrible thing, I said. But in the dream, you were having sex with a lot of people and it was unprotected.
I did my best, probably fumbled. Because when is a mother really ready to accept a daughter's sexuality? Lord knows we daughters have a lot of sifting to do of mixed messages about our beauty, sexuality and intelligence--and the messages from our parents are the ones that mean the most and last the longest, whether we work with them or against them.
I'm just so glad our Figgy is OK.
TCOY
- Ummm,....really have to reach to list anything here today. I only walked the Little Dust Mop a few feet, not even around the block. I was lazy and it was cold. Figgy was home sick and I stayed in, too. But signing H. and me up for the 5-Mile Run is definitely a step in the TCOY direction. Really excited about it.
- Read, and took long nap.
- Work feeling good, and productive.
- Sat down to have snack/lunch rather than eat standing at counter, remembering blogger friend Nan, who has also pledged to sit down while eating.
- Made nice chicken cutlets with spinach salad.
- In CVS, picked up and put down bag of Peepsters, a new temptation. I don't like Peeps, but these are marshmallow creme dipped in dark chocolate. Have been trying to remember that things with long, complicated ingredient lists are artificial and not very healthy. That helps.
Posts
Good morning, Al.
ReplyDeleteThere are probably more than a few things that our kids do/did that we don’t know about. And that is frightening. I remember having the same fears and feelings when L was a teenager. Worry about her making bad decisions, getting in over her head, etc. Talking about things with Fig, like you do, is great. Very scary dream. Love, Linny
Hi Lin. Thank you for the note and the support. I feel like I'm really not sure how to be as a mother sometimes. I've pretty much followed my gut instinct all along, and while that has worked out a lot of the time [I hope] it is not foolproof by any means, you know? Sometimes I just feel like a failure. Then I don't. Love, Alice
ReplyDeleteGosh, being a parent IS the most difficult job in the world. Sometimes our gut instincts are right and sometimes we have to really think it through before reacting. And it's hard to know which way to go. But in the end, they will understand that whatever we did as parents was the best that we could do with the tools we had. I understand that about my parents now, even though I still don't agree with some of the ways they handled things. Love ya. Lin
ReplyDeleteLin, thank you for your thoughtfulness and support. and compassion. love alice
ReplyDelete