Understanding God

30 10 2009

I have been trying to read scripture every day. I am inclined to want to spend a great deal of time and energy and effort and do it perfectly, going over a book, and the Bible and highlighting and taking notes, that stuff really jazzes me. When I do it, which is rarely because it takes such and involved effort to do it perfectly. That is NOT Biblical. God doesn’t care if you do it perfectly, half of it is just showing up. So to avoid my perfectionism I decided to just read proverbs daily, correlating to the day of the month.

It’s been a little scary to be honest with you.

Certain scriptures have been jumping out at me and taking hold of my heart and speaking to me that make me really uncomfortable.

Oct 28th: He who works his land will have abundant food, but the one who chases fantasies will have his fill of poverty, Proverbs 28:19

Oct 29th: A man who remains stiff-necked ater many rebukes will suddenly be destroyed without remedy. Proverbs 29:1

I am not really sure if it is God or the guilt that lives inside of me for so many wasted gifts and hours that makes these scriptures slap me in the face. It is said in the Bible that ALL scripture is God-breathed. These proverbs make me feel as though God is going to smite the crap out of me tomorrow…SMITE, SMITE, SMITE- Like so much Dragon’s breath. I can just see him with his lightning rod, tossing bolts down from heaven upon me destroying me without remedy, bringing me from my American dream into the depths of poverty.

Now, it is good to have a healthy fear of God. Blessed are those who fear the Lord. But I don’t think that the way I am interpreting these scriptures is correct. He is a God of love and he says that love is patient and kind and is not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs, always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. THIS is GOD.

It’s hard to get sometimes.

Which brings me to my Proverb today Oct 30th:

I am the most ignorant of men. I do not have a man’s understanding. I have not learned wisdom, nor have I knowledge of the Holy One. Who has gone up to heaven and come down? Who has gathered up the wind in the hollow of his hands? Who has wrapped up the waters in his cloak? Who has established all the ends of the earth? What is his name and the name of his son? Tell me if you know!- Proverbs 30: 2-4

You can hear the author’s desperation in his voice, the fact that he cannot understand God, that the knows that SOMEONE must be up in heaven, SOMEONE must have control over the winds and the waters and the ends of the earth. But he doesn’t know who. How frustrating. I have never really felt this way. I always knew that God was there and that he loved me, from when I was a tiny kid I believed. This is not the case for everybody. Especially analytical people who like numbers and facts and full explanations. For whom a feeling just isn’t enough.

The reason I bring this up, is this is a particularly meaningful scripture to me. It brings me to tears to remember it. In my Bible, in the corner above it in tiny lettering is the writing “K is here- 6/30/03”.  In ’03 I was talking to an old boyfriend again after being broken up for over a year and living in different cities. I was a new believer in Christ and he wasn’t. I told him I was only looking for a husband and only wanted a Christian husband, but we continued talking on the phone anyway.

When I talked to him I could feel his desperate confusion, his knowing that there was SOMETHING greater than himself out there, but not knowing what it was, or how to reach it. He could see the coincidences that were not coincidences, the miracles that were to big to ignore, yet too intangible to be sure. He would go from admitting that there was a God, to being angered at the very thought that he was considering it. He wanted names and places and proof and without a reasonable doubt. And I just couldn’t give it. And it wasn’t my job. So I wished him luck and told him not to call me anymore.

We didn’t talk that whole entire summer which was incredibly hard, because I had been so sure that I would marry him. I prayed fervently and so many other people that I don’t even talk to now did too. I quit smoking in June because he had once told me that he would never marry a smoker and I told him I would never marry an atheist. I decided to prepare for him to return to me. In August he called me up again. Triumphant, he understood he said. He got it. He had started going to a Bible study, and seeking other men and it happened. In January we were engaged, and by the following August, we were married. And he has been the most amazing blessing, and most Godly man I can imagine.

I am reminded that it is not my job to know, that I am human and He is God and he is in charge and I am not.

I don’t get alot of what I read, but if I continue to seek, God will make sure I know what I need to know, when the time is right. I don’t have to worry about being in poverty or being destroyed by God. Because he is with me, he comforts me, he loves me. But I need to heed his warnings, because at the end of it all, I don’t want to have nothing to show him for what he gave me, not because I am scared he’ll hurt me, but because I love him.

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Extreme Bedroom Makeover

28 10 2009

I was almost tempted to post a picture of a regular person, then one on the floor drunk— Get it? Before and AFTER Shots?  Hahahaha.

Anyway…

Ok. Just so you know, I’m not the miracle worker. I did not wash ALL of those clothes. I separated them into piles. Cleanish, and filthy or questionable and they are all in my guest room, I am going to finish the  laundry today. I’ve lost a bit of weight so I need to go through and sort them into give away and keep piles because there is no earthly reason for me to have so many damn clothes.

It’s so weird to actually see it in the harsh light of day, how dirty the room was. I mean I have been avoiding it (and making it worse) since I’ve been depressed, and my husband is so busy it really falls to me, cooking, cleaning, laundry- etc. I thought that when we bought this house WOW 2600 square feet, we are going to be SOOOOOOOOOOOO organized! There is a place for everything. Which is true, there are PLACES for everything, however there is also SO much space to throw crap around, and three bathrooms to clean– THREE! It feels so wonderful and peaceful in there now, it’s amazing. I also posted a picture of the gorgeous view from our bedroom window, with the trees and the greenbelt in the background.

Honestly, I went shopping yesterday for new bedding, because there is nothing worse than cleaning your room and it STILL being ugly. Flylady always says that the key to making your bed every morning is getting bedding you really love, here is a great article and blogtalk radio link to making your bed every day from flylady. My goal is going to be to at LEAST make my bed every day, now that there are no more “it will still look ugly” excuses.

I picked out deep purple sheets from Target last Christmas, and have been trying to find a comforter to match them for JUST AS LONG. Finally, we just gave up and slept with our white down comforter w/ no duvet and the purple sheets which I now loathe because they match nothing. It drove me crazy. So I left the house yesterday with full intention of getting new bedding. I visited Target and Ross and everything was either too expensive, too ugly, too scratchy or too cheap looking. Then I went to Walmart and found this soft, gorgeous set that matches everything I already have ON SALE for $59! Yes! I am so pleased with it, I even bought the wreath, and two throw pillows, all for under $100. If you go on the website you can also order, but you won’t get the sale price unless you’re in the store I guess.

My husband was in utter SHOCK when he got home. I had to wipe his jaw off the floor. He was all smiles the rest of the night. I have to say it was not easy and it took awhile. And it is by no means perfect, since I still have alot of stuff that I just stashed away to deal with later. But here’s the thing: it feels peaceful, and I’m trying for progress not perfection. I will take pictures of the piles and get rid of them one by one, because posting it up here online makes it REAL.

Next up: I am going to post pictures of the guest room- AKA ground zero of laundry. I thought it may be dumb to do this, but I gotta tell you, there is NOTHING more motivating than knowing you’ve gotta post pictures of your crap because you promised. P.S. Thanks so much for the encouraging emails I’ve been getting. Please know that you are not alone. If you want to send me before pictures of your own impossible project, let me know and I can hold you accountable, like you are holding me!





Giving Yourself Away

27 10 2009

When I was a kid, when things would get bad, I would lay in bed and read. In my bed nobody bothered me, I used to pretend that I was somewhere else and just envelope myself in the covers. I was a little bit of a loner.child-looking-out-window

We were the house on the block where the neighbor came over to cut the grass because he said it “brought property values down,” so I was too embarassed to play with the other kids and my mom said we would get stolen. Besides, I was different than them. Sometimes my bed was next to the window that looked out into the street and I would watch them play basketball or hopscotch or ride bikes and wonder how their life got there, and mine was behind the glass, watching them.  I was so jealous.  I would tell myself that maybe I would play when my dad taught me how to ride a bike. When I was thin and fit and could play hopscotch better, or when my dad was home and he could take me to the park to shoot hoops so I could practice and not embarass myself.  I just realized I wrote embarassed twice. I guess I’ve always been a bit embarassed to be me.

To make up for it, I became very personable. In school people liked me. I was generous and funny and charming. I never got made fun of for being chubby or too smart. I was respected. Nobody knew what my house and yard looked like at school. I needed that to make myself feel better. When somebody didn’t like me I was baffled. Didn’t I do everything right? What could I change? How can I appeal to THIS person, what facade can I conjure up? And then do it. I’ve always had lots of different groups of friends, even the bullies were my friends because I made them feel special.

It feels wonderful to be liked by everyone.

It feels terrible to know the you that everyone likes is a lie.

I got help at first because the facade was slipping off. My husband made me feel too comfortable being me and I began to be uncomfortable being that charming wonderful person that people loved. This made me depressed that I was no longer charming and wonderful and made me try harder to be that person, that lie. So I stopped going out as much and just tried EXTRA EXTRA hard when I was out. I really got help because I wanted to keep living a lie. I liked that person I was in front of other people and I wanted to get her back. I wanted to be stronger and better at conjuring up that persona. I didn’t know that it was just going to make me scrape it away and let it all hang out.

So right now. I don’t really think anybody likes me.

I’m a little depressing to talk to. I cry alot. I’m not really trying to keep my chin up or be strong. I would love to say that I don’t give a damn if nobody likes me, but it’s not true. It kills me. I am a popular person. I have always been a popular person in crowds and classes and clubs. But I’m not willing to go there anymore. I don’t want to be liked for being a good actress.

I want to ACTUALLY be a fun person. I want to ACTUALLY be a positive person. I want to ACTUALLY be a loving and caring person. Not just the person who loves and cares when someone is watching or to get you to like me. It is my goal to learn how to step outside of myself and love people. I can’t seem to do that yet. I am still caught up in my appearance and my mess.

One of the motivational speakers at the seminar yesterday kept saying that to find yourself, you’ve got to give yourself away. I have been woefully fantasizing about a sponsor, or a woman of God to take me under her wing and “mother me” . Gently guide me, give me help, give me help. Love me, spend time with me. Care about me.

Do you see a pattern? ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME.

Ick.

We learn in ACOA that we build a protective wall around the “real” us so that no one finds out our inadequacies. This makes us incredibly selfish and self-serving people, unable to step outside of our problems to care about anyone else. We are constantly worried about our own perfection. Realization: the only way I am going to get that relationship that I desire is to step out of “me” and give a damn about someone else.

Ok: Here is my favorite part. The ACTION: I am going to serve my husband. He doesn’t read my blog so he won’t know I’m doing it.

He might suspect when he comes home and the laundry is done. (I’ve been so DEPRESSED…woe is me that I let it pile up and we are in a standoff right now. He’s bought packages of socks and underwear twice!) I want you to hold me accountable. I am going to post before pictures of my bedroom and after pictures. Tonight: I am going to do the laundry and clean our bedroom. It may sound small, and probably everybody is better than me and doesn’t need to motivate themselves with something so completely inane, but I am going to try it. And I’m going to publish this before I change my mind.





Off the Wagon

24 10 2009

Life was going really really really well. I mean, I’ve been really happy in a great mood, grateful toward everything, even the tiniest blessings were getting acknowledged and praised. I have been having some incredibly productive days that begin with scripture and end tired and satisfied. The kind of days that I dream of having. The kind of days that make life worth living. I was a little sick last week, while it stopped me from going to a few meetings and I slept more than my schedule allowed, I was still doing well. I didn’t post on my recovery blog because it didn’t feel like I had anything to recover from. I felt wholeness.

Then Thursday morning, I slept late. Then I got a phone call from a client asking me to withdraw her offer on a house I know is perfect and one-of-a-kind for her. Then I didn’t put the trash out before the garbage truck came. Then I didn’t go to the gym, didn’t go to Alanon, and didn’t shower. Then I ate chips in bed and watched youtube videos. Then my husband came home at 1pm from school after not having slept at all the night before from working on homework and I had the nerve to complain to him about how “dissatisfied” I was. Then I pestered him about whether or not he “loved me” or was “mad at me”. Mostly because I felt like an unloveable lump of crap that I was really really mad at myself.

Then he got this really really sad, frustrated look on his face and said, “You fell off the wagon, huh?”

Nothing mean, or condescending. He walked in the bedroom and began picking clothes up off the bedroom floor to put in the washer. I turned away from him in bed, ashamed. He went downstairs to make himself lunch. I layed in bed. Ashamed and angry, desperately willing myself to change, but not having the strength to even move. I tried to sleep some more but only succeeded in wanting to die.

Then I thought about my husband. How he didn’t get any sleep the night before and had still gone to school.

How he was going to work right after lunch, because he had to pay the bills to keep my depressed and lazy ass in chips to eat in bed, electricity and internet so I can while away the precious days that God has given me in comfort. I was disgusted with myself. What nerve did I have to tell him what a shitty day I was having, when the only thing that was shitty that I had no control over was the client. The rest was all on me, baby.

I would love to tell you that I immediately got up and didn’t waste the rest of the day. That I showered and got dressed and ate well and went to the gym, the office, read my scriptures, cleaned my house. Anything that was productive. That I was so inspired by the thought of my husband working so hard for us, that I just had to get up and get going. That I vowed that minute to do everything in my power to change and never look back.

It’s not true though. I did take a shower, and got dressed in some comfy sweats and went downstairs and kissed my husband and told him that I would get right back on the wagon. That he didn’t have to worry anymore, that things were getting better. That things were GOING to get better. He looked at me with compassion, and said, “I hope so.” Then went back to his sandwich.

Then he went upstairs to take a nap, and I went with him. I slept the rest of the afternoon and into the night. He went to work. He asked me if I would wash some socks. I didn’t even get up to do that. He came home at one AM, exhausted and crawled into bed with me again. He cradled me in his big arms and I wailed, “you shouldn’t hug me. I didn’t wash the socks. ” He said he had been getting them off of the floor and he’d just do that again. I sniffled, “you can have mine tomorrow, they didn’t even touch the ground today.”

“Ok,” he said, holding me tightly.

Sometimes I want him to hit me and scream. It would feel more appropriate. Sometimes I want him to threaten me with leaving and falling out of love, anything to shake me up. But he doesn’t. He holds me and I’m secure and I have no reason for acting the way I do. I was doing so well. What happened?





Highschool Reunion

25 09 2009

On Tuesday, I went to a weight watchers meeting. You remember, I’m a meeting junkie now (almost typed meeting chunkie, hahahaha) anyway. The leader asked, “Anybody in here who is here because they are getting ready for an event?” There was one lady who was going on a cruise, another who was going to a wedding, then I piped up with, “I joined because I wanted to go to my reunion, but decided not to go because I got fat.” Immediately like four people voiced their opinions, “GO!” “Just do it!” “NO one cares” “They all got fat too!” “It’s not high school anymore!” My favorite, “If you go they’ll think you’re filthy rich.” Excuse me?? “Yeah, because those are the only people who go to those things, the ones who are filthy rich and want to brag, or the ones who are still skinny!” Hahaha.

Seriously, it got a big reaction. It made me start thinking too. I am so damn tired of having to be perfect. Because I am the worst perfect person I have ever met. I mean there is nothing that I have not failed miserably at, yet I always want to be perfect. Notice I didn’t say “strive” for perfection, it’s not a trying thing, just an idle want, and then hide myself when I’m not perfect. Anybody wonder why I’m in hiding so much? Why I barely leave the house some weeks. Why I am constantly lying when it’s not really a big deal. Exactly. I was taught that if you are not perfect, you are NOBODY. So I couldn’t let everybody think I was NOBODY. I have to be SOMEBODY. So, I am going to be perfect or be alone. That’s it.

So I’m alone a lot.

But I did decide after everyone’s prodding and encouraging that I will go to my high school reunion. I will go and drink punch and dance to stupid 90s songs and try and make up some excuse for never finishing college when I was all Gifted and Talented and Advanced Placement in high school. I will try to be gracious and listen to people talk, instead of wondering if I look skinny. And I will not worry about what those people are saying about me behind my back, because chances are I am saying worse things about myself to my face. Those are my promises.
Just so you know, I have only been to two Al-Anon and one ACOA meeting this week, I have been doing kind of crappy on the program, AKA not doing the program. I need to get with it, this is basically life or death here folks. Maybe I’ll look back on this 10yr reunion as  a turning point in my life, and my 20th I’ll be happy, recovered, have well-adjusted kids and a good career and no apologies. That’s what I’m holding out for. Oh yeah, and if WW works, I’ll be skinny too! Basically PERFECT. ACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Old habits die hard, what can I say.

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My Dependency

21 09 2009

I am currently going through the 12 step guide, “The Hurting Person’s Handbook”  A companion for 12 step recovery. The first step in recovery is admitting that my life is out of control and become unmanageable. One of the Step 1 Meditations (based in scripture) is based on Psalm 31 9-10, “Have mercy on me, O Lord for I am in trouble; My eye wastes away with grief, Yes my soul and my body! For my life is spent with grief and my years with sighing; My strength fails because of my iniquity, and my bones waste away.”  The meditation for this passage tells us how we are unable to admit we are powerless until we have “first assessed the magnitude and gravity of what our addiction has cost us.” It goes on to suggest compiling a list of losses that are due to our problems with dependency.

When I was thinking about this, I first had trouble, I mean, I am not an alcoholic. I shouldn’t be the one with the dependency problem, right? Upon closer look however, I realize that I don’t have one dependency, but several that have cost me quite a bit in my life, and I think I need to examine all of them in order to heal. Usually (I think) the codependent is the person that is obsessed with the alcoholic and trying to change or “save” them. I saw my mom try to save my dad my whole life, through manipulation, screaming, threatening, crying etc. She tried to get him to stop drinking and give a damn the only way she could think of, Drama, drama, drama! As you can imagine, this did not work. My dad still drinks and they are very much divorced.

I realize, though my husband is not an alcoholic and I cannot see any symptoms of an addiction, I am very much prone to using the same manipulation-shrewishness to get my way. I am codependent and basically get all of my self-worth from how he sees me and treats me. Looking back I saw this pattern develop starting with my very first crushes in elementary school. Since my mother ignored me and spent so much time on dwelling on my dad, I realized I desperately wanted to get my very own measure of self-worth.

As far back as the fourth grade, I can remember my very first crush, JJ.  I don’t really know why I was in love with him. He was much shorter than I was, a swarthy, athletic kid who came from a well-off family, his dad was a doctor and he did well in school. Even then I was thinking long term, this is a guy who will be able to support a family, as he wanted to be a doctor too someday. But this was no childhood crush as I imagine childhood crushes should be. There was no pulling hair on the playground or teasing and chasing. No, I carved his name underneath my desk along with the date of when I started loving him and did not cease for three years. I never told a soul, but daydreamt of our life together, imagined his parents, his siblings. Wondered how his mother would like me, imagined how I would get him to love me and carved his name a new every new  years eve, thought about how I would keep him happy. I was totally obsessed. I would picture how I would feel once he started loving me, how he would see me, once he noticed that I was the right one for him for life. How I would be totally complete.

As I grew older, I transferred my affections to another boy, then another, finally one who I dated. My very first boyfriend. I dated him from my freshman year in highschool all the way to my sophomore year in college. I did not care about anything but him. If he had asked me to marry him any of the years that we were together I would have said yes. I cannot tell you how unhealthy this was. We never slept together, just because my mom totally scared the shit out of me and I was convinced I would immediately be pregnant if we did. But if our relationship was going well, I was over the moon, if he broke up with me I was in the depths of despair.

You may think this is just normal teen-agey stuff, but I don’t think it was. It wasn’t the fact that I loved him and he was so wonderful that I just had to have him, he really wasn’t that great. It was just because he loved me that I liked him.  I needed him to see me as perfect, and cute and quirky and sexy and smart and _________, and I had to ruin him for all other women after me, or I was none of those qualities. If I didn’t project this facade of perfection, and sugar and spice and everything nice, I would ruin it and he would not love me anymore and I would be worthless. I had to see myself through his eyes.

The first step in recovery is basically giving everything over to God, and I think alot of that is seeing us through Jesus Christ’s eyes. In the handbook, the first Step 1 meditation is Matthew 9:36, “But when He saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion for them, because they were weary and scattered, like sheep having no shepard.” Jesus Christ sees our neediness and flaws with deep compassion and love. He is forever accepting of us, that never changes. People, especially hurting people are not able to give us that constant and complete love that God gives us. No matter what, he sees our flaws and sees us as his children that were created for him to love, the way you are supposed to see your newborn baby girl.

My mom was happy when my dad was loving her. She was all sparkly and beautiful and loving to us. But when he didn’t love her, when he was drunk and gone she was a joyless-pitiful creature who cried and slept and ate constantly to dull the pain of the fact that she was NOTHING, therefore she had NOTHING to give us when we were little. She didn’t love us the way a good mother looks at her perfect and helpless child and wants to give her the world. She saw us and saw only her pain and rejection and bad choices she had made. She projected that dissatisfaction onto us, and since one of the characteristics of an alcoholic family is hiding the pain, we were the only ones she talked to about her loss. But we couldn’t tell anyone. We were stuck being the adults, and we were no good at it. I couldn’t wait till I could grow up and I would show my mother how to be a good wife, how to be a good mom, how to love someone perfectly and get their love back. PERFECTLY.

Man was I ever wrong, I have no clue how to love somebody. I am selfish and depressive and dissatisfied and pain-ridden. I am constantly needing my husbands time and energy and love and like a SUCUBUS I am draining him of life. This is why I am getting help, not only because I want to be happier, but because my husband really does LOVE me which is crazy, because he KNOWS me and loves me anyway. I am very lucky and I need to be a blessing to him, not a curse. I need to be his helper and not a little girl, constantly begging for his approval. I need to be a strong independent woman that he doesn’t have to worry about. I need to make him glad every day when he wakes up in the morning. I need to learn different than I was taught. My dependency aside, I picked a pretty great guy, and right now, he needs help with the laundry.





Puppy Love

18 09 2009

In the ACOA meeting on Monday, the “leader” or whatever made a very intriguing comment that really hit home with me since I have three dogs. He said, “If you want to know how your childhood affects how you care for people, just look at how you treat your pets. He didn’t tell us how, but just let us think on that. WOW. I am a crappy dog mother. I am so glad that I don’t have kids yet to mess up. I am constantly either smothering them with love, or pushing them away or ignoring them. Of course, when I’m on one of my depressive binges, I hold one or all of them close to me while they lick the tears from my face and use them to comfort me. I know, I know, they are just dogs. But, what if they weren’t? What if they were my children.

One of my first memories is of my mom grasping me close and sobbing while we waited for my dad to come home. We sat on the windowseat of our little white house, I on her lap and wiped the tears off of her face. I must’ve been like three or something. I remember wondering why I wasn’t enough for her. This was the thought my whole damn life, why aren’t I enough to make my mother happy? Why is the house always a mess, and there never any food? I just wanted her to be an adult, to love us, to make a home. Of course I didn’t know this. In my childhood brain, it was always just, I guess I am not enough to make my mom happy. Dad makes my mom sad. She only stays with dad for us. Therefore, I must be why my mom is unhappy. If I had never been born, she would’ve been happy. Why was I born?

I know that if I were to have children right now, at the age of 28, my depression and anxiety would manifest itself in my kids. Sometimes I will turn to my wonderful husband and ask, “Does Lola look depressed?” At first he would laugh, like the thought of a depressed dog was funny. But now, as I have fallen deeper and deeper into my pit. He’ll warily say, “Don’t project, our dogs are not depressed. They are dogs. They are happy to be petted and fed and sleep.” Interesting. Don’t project. That’s pretty insightful I think for a guy who doesn’t really know about this stuff.

My list of wrongdoings towards my dogs includes:
1) Not taking the time to train them, then expecting them to know how to behave.
2) Only disciplining them in public, so it doesn’t look like I am the bad dog-parent, but being too drained to consistently discipline them when we are alone.
3) Not taking time for walking them, then getting mad if they try to run away when I open the door.
4) Pushing them away when I don’t have time for them, which is often, then not taking time to give them my full undivided attention.
5) Forgetting to feed them sometimes, not having the energy to feed them other times.
6) Not picking up the dog shit in the backyard.
7) Not brushing them or giving them their meds as needed.
8) Sometimes being overly clingy or needy and expecting them to comfort me.
9) Taking them to the vet and acting like THE PERFECT dog-mother, asking lots of questions and being generally overprotective, and throwing money at the situation, they are on the best vet plan, best dog shampoo, best food, etc.

If this were a child, I would definitely be an unfit mother, one who consistently ignored, didn’t discipline and berated her children, then acted like the perfect supermom in public. This scares the shit out of me. How am I ever going to be a good mom, when I am turning into my own mother? If this were a child I would definitely call CPS, the children are running around in their own shit, nobody is feeding them, it’s squalor and they are being emotionally abused. But they are dogs. I take them to the vet, I feed them almost every day and they aren’t chained or beaten. They are in good health, always in good tail-wagging spirits, and very very sweet. They won’t grow up to be drug addicts or have abandonment issues or end up pregnant out of wedlock or in jail. But I have to get my act together if I am ever going to have real babies.