Are you responsible?

I am.



When I was little, my mom was sick. As long as I can remember, I had to do all the housework. From the time I was about 10, I did all the cooking and cleaning. As soon as I could drive, I also did the grocery shopping. I remember my Aunt getting very angry with my mom. Telling her I was a kid, I shouldn't have to be responsible for all that. If I didn't do it, who would? My mom couldn't, so I did. Did I resent my mom? Probably. Don't most teens at one time or another? Mom died when I was 23 and pregnant for my 3rd son. I took care of her the best I could. I was responsible.



I married at 19. We were poor as church mice. My hubby provided. He worked, brought home the proverbial bacon. He was, nor is not now, a handy man. If something needed fixing, we had to pay someone else to fix it. I started learning things. We moved into a new home when I was pregnant for our first child. The house needed work. We had no money. Den couldn't do it. So I did it. I learned to do a bit of electrical work. I learned if I wanted a book shelf, I could build one. I learned if I wanted an updated kitchen, it would require me, 2 girl friends, a bucket of paint, a steam iron (don't even ask about that!) and a whole lot of alcohol. I was responsible.



We moved into our present house in 1987. I was 28 years old. It had 5 bedrooms at the time and one phone jack. In the kitchen. Our home was 90 foot long, so if you were at one end, and the phone rang at the other, you just didn't hear it. The phone company wanted a ton of money to run wire and jacks to other rooms. I missed the call my father made to ask me to drive him to the hospital as he thought he might be having a heart attack. He drove himself. He was indeed having an attack. We needed more phone lines. I thought briefly about calling the phone company and having them come out. Screw that. I learned it was easy to do it. I bought myself a 2 foot long drill bit and went to work. Oh ya baby...we had phone jacks in every room of this house, including the bathrooms. We got cable...they felt the same way about extra hook ups in extra rooms as the phone company did. Plus, they wanted to charge you per hook up each month. Screw that. I learned how to run cable, use splitters, strip wire and clamp on ends. Coaxial that Charter. I ran cable to all 5 bedrooms, the bathroom, the basement, and out to the garage, just because I could! We wanted that stuff, couldn't afford it, so I figured out a way to get it. I was responsible.



I did all the bills, taxes, shopping, planning, running kids, scheduling appointments, home repair, cleaning, you name it I did it. I was responsible.



My Dad moved in with us. We had some fun years. Then he got sick in about 2004 I think. He used to tell me that if he ever got sick, he wanted me to put him in a nursing home. I told him nah, I'd take care of him...unless he needed his diaper changed...then his ass was going in the home so fast it would make his head spin. We'd laugh. We laughed a lot. We even laughed when I was changing his diaper. No nursing home for my Dad. I took care of him. I held him. I changed his diaper. He hung on. I told him to let go. Go to Mom. I told him he didn't need to take care of me anymore. I just felt that was what he was fighting to stay here for. He wanted to take care of me. It was my turn now though. I pulled the couch right up next to his hospital bed (it was right there in his room here in our house) and held his hand and talked for hours. I'd say 'remember this?' and launch into stories of old. He'd stir now and then, a smile would flicker on his face, his hand would tighten in mine. I know in my heart he heard. I know in my heart that when I told him I was OK, and he could go, that's what finally convinced him to go. I was responsible.



Fast forward to now. My fingers don't work. My knees don't work. My shoulders don't work. I've gained a ton of weight in the last few months. My clothes don't fit. I'm not happy. I feel the fat jiggle when I walk. I feel the pain when I walk and move. Pain that could be reduced if I got some of this flab off. I'm working this summer not because I want to, but because with our financial situation right now, I have to. It's killing me. I come home from work and everything hurts so bad I can't get up after I sit down. I go to bed and everything just throbs and I can't sleep. My knees feel like knives are stabbing in and out. My thumbs feel like someone is shoving white hot needles in them. My shoulders...well they just frigging hurt. Why, if I have been responsible since I was a young Pixie, can't I get my act together to be responsible enough to start a healthy program? Why is it, I seem to be able to be responsible for everyone else in my life except myself? I really wish I had the answer. Maybe I want someone to take care of me now. This is something nobody can do for me though...I have to do it myself. I have to be responsible.



I read a book a long time ago by Bob Green I believe his name was....someone working with Oprah anyway. He said that there is a psychological reason if you're fat. You have to figure out what that is before you an lose weight. I thought it was BS. I'm fat because I like to eat. Well yes, that's true. I do love to eat. I love everything about food. I love the taste, the smell. I love the feel of food in my mouth. I love the feeling of food in my stomach. I love it all. BUT...(yes I do know you're never supposed to begin a sentence with a preposition), why, if I know eating like I am is killing me, don't I stop? It's more than just eating because I like the taste of food. So, maybe it's not all BS.



I'll figure it out. I always do. I'm responsible.

:-)