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Thursday, April 16, 2009

Getting you up to speed.

In the beginning...Larry & Emma Jane created a beautiful little blonde girl who they named Nicole...then came me, a little brown haired girl, a late Christmas present, the one who was supposed to be a boy. At least that's what our father has always told me. I was born in the days of avacado colored toilets, mini dresses and platform shoes. It was the year Saturday Night Live premiered with George Carlin as it's host and the cost of a stamp was a mere .10 cents. The average household income was a whopping $11,800 and the national debt was 541.9 billion dollars. Now we live in a time of instant gratification, living beyond our means, can't live without a credit card and our national debt is 11 trillion and counting. We don't know the price of a stamp because we pay our bills via the world wide web and hallelujah, we still have Saturday Night Live-33ish years strong! So, I don't remember much, well, I don't remember anything really before a certain point. Some psychological mechanism our body posseses to protect us form traumatizing events I suppose. You see, when I was at the tender pre-pubescent age of 7, our mother went home to our Good Lord. Unfortunately, the memory of the events preceding her being picked up by the ambulance are as vivid as if they happened yesterday, I remember everything right down to the meal our family was sharing. The day after my sister celebrated her 11th birthday. I missed no school and didn't cry until I was 13. Our father picked us up and moved us away from our mother's parents, our beloved grandparents who we lovingly called Mommom and Poppop, the people who not long after, would rescue us from the hell that was living without parents in Binghamton. Quite a culture shock for 2 little girls who knew nothing except our sheltered life in East Branch attending our tiny school of 350 K-12. We spent many-a-night alone doing things kids will do when left alone to raise themselves. My sister bravely ran to a payphone down the street in the dark of night to call our Mommom and Poppop, yes payphone, apparently our father had hidden the phones on us, don't remember and don't know why. The next day, we were greeted by thinly shaved ham and cheese and fresh hard rolls and more importantly, our Mommom and Poppop. We took up residence with our acting parents back in our sheltered life in East Branch and re-entered our tiny little school in Downsville. Whoooo.....that was heavy! We're not bitter, Nicole and I, we were blessed to have had caring grandparents who were now raising their second family. Our huge generation gap didn't create much heart-to-heart conversations and there weren't many hugs and kisses from a not-so-touchy-feely generation of people, but given the circumstances, we wouldn't have had it any other way. Nicole and I weren't pushed for excellence and weren't required to go to college. We did okay, even so. I tried to go to college, to give my Dad, who we rarely ever talked to, another chance to be a Dad. I was going to move back to Binghamton, the place that only a few short years before we had been running from. I moved back into my old room, complete with rainbow covered wallpaper. My Dad even bought me a tiny 13 inch TV that still works to this day, a good little TV! I applied to BCCC and got a job. Drove back and forth when I could to see my family and my then boyfriend. The day that sent me running from Binghamton once again was when my over-sensative ears heard an argument throught the walls of my rainbow covered walls about the picture of my Mom and Dad I had proudly displayed on my dresser that was laying face down when I arrived "home". I was asked to remove it, apparently Vera was feeling threatened by one of the very few pictures I owned of my dead mother. Okay...it must be my Hillman blood...I stand strong and move on. I celebrated the day my Dad called me while working the night shift at The Trout and Bear in Livingston Manor to tell me they divorced. Forgive me Lord, but she was an evil woman. I still think about that house on Burr Avenue in Binghamton and remember feeling rich in an average house that I never felt welcomed in. What do little girls know, afterall. I met my now husband Cory at work, of all places...he was a dorky dishwasher with double bar gold glasses and a killer body! And I remember thinking how did I land someone who was soooo intellegent...oh the stupid thoughts we have...haha. We had so much fun together. I couldn't figure out why he would often blow me off to spend time with his family. I always thought they were strange because I had never been around a family that was all huggy-kissy and actually enjoyed being around each other. Our family loved each other, but it went unsaid, only assumed. They thought I was the most stuck up person Cory had ever met and told him not to bring me around! The gual of those people! If they had only known that I loved them and was sooo painfully shy, I was always afraid to say the wrong thing, to sound stupid. An old friend of mine once said I had the personality of a door knob...yes she was my friend. We kind of did things backwards, me and Cory. We found out I was pregnant at Christmastime in 1997. Cory had made up his mind, his life was ruined, he would never make anything of himself. He was terrified to tell his parents and even cowardly left a note on their kitchen counter to give them the news that they were to be grandparents. We gave birth to Zachary Kenneth on August 15, 1998 at 3:03 am, 3 hours and 3 minutes after my beloved Poppop's birthday who sadly passed while I was pregnant. My Zachary, my loving Mr. Cautious. Sensative. Caring. Sarcastic. My Poppop was Kenneth Sanford and his name lives on in my first born. He was a grumpy old man, but you wouldn't find a more generous person. He called me Allisoni-macaroni and occasionally other names I'll not mention...Cory stayed in college. First SCCC then New Paltz and graduated Cum Laude...my husband...I was so proud as I stood on the chair holding our son Zachary in the air, watching him walk with the hundreds of other graduates that day in New Paltz...so proud, as if he were the only one walking that day. The day Cory proposed to me...we were sleeping on a mattress on the floor of his parents spare bedroom...someday I might tell you why we were sleeping at his parents...maybe not...probably the single hardest time in my entire life was that period. Those who know and love me know. Anyway, back to the ring I so selfishly picked on that night. My first, tiny little WalMart engagement ring and my poor husband. Ahhh, what was I thinking? He was a full time college student with meager earnings from a part time job, what more did I expect? It'll do for now. We set our date and Cory's mother and I began the do-it-yourself preparations for our wedding. We made everything by hand, cheaper that way. I was amazed when my oh-so-generous, do everything for everyone else, lay down and die for her family sister-in-law offered to buy my $900 wedding gown! This is some family I'm marrying into! On September 28, 2002 4 years after our son was born, we were married at East Branch United Methodist Church, the same one my parents and my sister were wed. Tradition. We really had a wonderful time that day. 9 months later Max was born! We could have named him Ceasar after our honeymoon, lol. My OB came in to my labor room that June 15th morning telling me that there was a beautiful blue aura surrounding the moon. Fitting that my Max was born under a blue moon. My rebelious Mr. Personality. Fiesty. Stubborn. Funny. I quit work when Max was 2 1/2. I so loved being home with him. Finances were terrible...like seriously awful, but they tell me it'll be worth it. It is. Just when the time is coming for Max to start school and mommy to go back to work, God decides we need to have another baby. Zachary 10, Max 5 and a newborn 0. Man, what's up with the timing? Max is gonna be a big brother and Zachary couldn't be more excited. I enjoyed the extra hugs while I was pregnant, even if they were meant for Luke. Our 3rd baby boy. My 3 sons. Testosterone city. Only G.I. Joe's, no G.I. Jane's. It was true for me, labor is shorter the more babies you have. 33 hours for #1, 8 hours for #2 and 4 1/2 for #3. He sort of looked like Max, but then again looked really different from his big brothers. My big boy, 9 pounds 2 ounces. My Luke, my Mr. Content. Playful. Easy-going. I'm so blessed. Even through the many trials I've been through, I remain strong. Positive. Stubborn. Must be the Hillman blood.

2 comments:

  1. From your aunt....you write as beautiful as you speek and look. You may have one little error though. I thought you were 9 not 7? At either age both you and Nicole have endured way more than two children should ever have to. Anyone else reading this and not knowing you could never imagine that you had to go through so much pain. I'm so proud of both of you and that you made such good choices in life. If your mom (my sister) could not raise you I'm happy that MY MOM was able to be the one. I love you. Aunt Tracy

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  2. Actually we were both wrong, and I knew I was when I typed it...I was 8. Turned 9 that year. And I love you too!

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