In the Beginning (cont.)

When I found out I was pregnant, I specifically decided that I was not going to solidify my relationship with their father just for the sake of having a nuclear family. I was only 19 and I wasn't ready to make that sort of commitment. Of course, my fear of settling down drove him away because it seemed to him that I was interested in anyone but him. Really I was interested in denying and running away from what was happening. I was terrified of being a mother, because I had never really wanted children. My career had always been my main focus.

Still, I decided not to bother with my own personal goals for a while, when the twins were little. The pregnancy went smoothly, but they were born a month early and their underdeveloped digestive tracts left them grumpy and difficult. I was a very protective mother bear and wouldn't trust anyone else to care for them, under the circumstances. So I stayed home and focused on them for about a year and a half before I started distance learning classes online.

I studied visual communications at Westwood College Online, which allowed me to continue spending lots of time with my girls, who were still not talking and barely starting to be interested in the potty. I was so relieved not to have to put them in daycare.

For those of you who don't know, raising twins is not just like raising two kids of similar ages. If you've had "Irish twins", which I guess is what people call it when you have two babies about 9 months apart, you may think you understand... but it's not the same.

Before I expound on that topic too much, I should get back to the series of events that lead me to where I am. By the time I started taking classes at Westwood, I was living in Austin, Texas. I had moved there when I had nowhere else to go, shortly after I brought the girls home from the hospital. I moved in with a stranger who had an extra room, and tried to help out how I could with foodstamps.

That was a complicated and uncomfortable situation, and I was still extremely moody as a result of post partum depression and taking care of two babies on my own. And, at that point, I was avoiding their father out of bitterness for having been left alone in my first trimester to fend for myself in downtown Denver in the winter. It was near impossible for us to get along even on the phone when I was pregnant. He specifically told me he had no respect for me, and he never really listened to anything I said. Plus, by the time the twins were born he had joined the military; so his communications had become scarce anyway.

To Be Continued

Happy Thanksgiving

I am alone this Thanksgiving. My kids are at my sister's apartment in Texas, waiting for me to get things ready for them here in Colorado. It's almost all set up. I have a job that gets me in the door in the career I want. I get to move into my apartment next weekend, and I'm driving down to Texas to get them two weeks later. But, for now, I have to spend the holiday alone.

I'm thankful that my kids are all healthy. And since they are, I'm thankful that they're also smart and beautiful... but if they weren't, that would be fine. I'm thankful for my friends and my dog who got me through this. It was difficult to leave my girls behind and try to start a new life for us. It has made me a huge emotional wreck at times, but I bowed my head and powered forward through the pain. It wouldn't have been possible without my friends, the people who let me live with them when I had nowhere else to go and those who just loved and supported me however they could, even if they didn't realize it at the time. And I would spend far more hours lying in bed feeling sorry for myself if not for my dog.

I'm thankful for my mom and my sister, who are taking care of my children right now and I'm thankful for the money I've been able to send to help them every month. I'm thankful for the job I was given (or maybe I earned) even though I still feel like I can't do anything right there. I'm thankful for my many understanding and supportive coworkers.

Of course I'm thankful for the car that gets me to work, the heat that keeps me warm this season, the food I have been able to afford, clean running water, clothes to wear, soap to clean myself and everything else, a bed (or a couch as the case may be) to sleep on, the sun in the morning and the moon at night.

There are a lot of things to be thankful for and I doubt I could ever think of all of them. But when I think of how hard my life has been, I can't help but also think of how charmed it has been compared to that of people my age in so many other places. It's not perfect, but it's mine... and it's good. And I am thankful.

In the Beginning

I'm nearing a quarter of a century old. I know they say your 20s are for figuring out your life, but it's frustrating that we spent our entire childhood and young adulthood thinking we should already have it all figured out. The one thing that seems to be consistent is you're going to change, and that's going to make you change your mind.

Here's the back story:

When I was little, I wanted to be a... happy and stable person. My older sister wanted to be a marine biologist around that time. I don't recall really putting any value in what profession I might have as an adult. I was too busy climbing trees and watching bugs and squirrels and making things out of mud and sticks.

In junior high, I wanted to be a graphic designer. Jim Borger, a painter and mylar balloon designer I knew pretty well helped put that idea in my head without even trying. He was so nice and seemed so happy. I was very artistic. All I ever wanted to do was draw and paint and take weird pictures with my SLR Cannon, and then photoshop came about and I was in love.

In high school I got the idea that I wanted to be a funeral director. Originally, that came from wanting to be a doctor, but realizing that "because I want to help people" is nobel but not really enough to get me through that much school. In fact, it seems like that mentality is a great way to end up miserable as a doctor. So if I really wanted to help people, I figured I'd take my buoyant state of mind and apply it to a field still dealing in anatomy, but where I would be better able to directly help people in a way I was comfortable with.

My senior year of high school, I interned at a funeral home and I loved what I was doing. Admittedly, it got a lot of weird looks, but I guess I liked that at the time. The day after I graduated, I moved to Denver, knowing that Colorado is the only state that has no legally restrictive education requirements for people working in the funeral industry. That's not why I moved here. In fact, that knowledge is what kept me from getting involved with funeral service here at first.

I considered design school and was overwhelmed by the cost and terrified of failure. So I started working for a temp agency and lived with a friend on capital hill. My first placement was as a receptionist for an advertising design firm on 16th street mall. At the time, it seemed like I could see my future from that desk. But I was only 18.

I got pregnant on my 19th birthday... with twin girls. That was the point at which I basically accepted that ever being a funeral director or mortician would probably be a terrible idea and I should just settle into this idea of a somewhat more glamourous advertising job.

To Be Continued