Madness

I don't consider my self a hypochondriac. In fact I tend to lean away from drugs (even aspirin) preferring to let nature take it's course. I have never bee diagnosed with anything that has been reduced to a catchy acronym. Because, well, crazy isn't an abbreviation for anything... unless:

Compulsive
Reactive
Anxious
Zealous
Yonkers

There is a methadone to my madness...

It must be an oxycontin?

But today, I am feeling like I need some good drugs. And I can't quite together anything that is wrong with me, really. I am starting to wonder if maybe there might not be something to this drug thing. Like maybe I could control myself a little better if I were medicated. The trick to an 'O Happy Day.... could it be a Happy Pill? The problem is I am TERRIBLE at remembering to take drugs regularly. So, I can do good for awhile and then I forget. I'm pretty sure the swing of an on and again off again drug habit might be worse, than say my normal witchy self. Dare I ask the Alaskan what he thinks?

Nah... I prefer to keep him on his toes. He never knows what he's gonna get, and I kind of like it that way (part of the crazy tendencies). Bwaa Ha Ha.

Thank U

To explain where I've been in the last 6 months, to describe how I got here..... well, I'm not sure I really can. I had to fall down really hard. Bruised and broken. Staring out into nothing wondering if I would ever shake this empty feeling in my gut. That feeling that tells you, this time you really fucked up. And I had. I hated myself. I hated where I was. I was so utterly lost. Was I being hard on myself? yes....and no. The truth is, I made some pretty bad decisions. And as my cursor blinks at the end of that last sentences, all I can think is: what an understatement.

For all of the bad decisions, that to this day I can still replay in my mind wondering what would have happened at each turn had a did or said something different, I did make one good decision: In the end, I trusted the right person. Probably for the first time ever in my relationship with the Alaskan, I trusted that he would be able to handle this.

It was a HUGE gamble to admit my mistakes to him. For in this, I wasn't the only one who had made mistakes. He had his own burden to bear as well. But the only way for to get to it, was to go through it. I had to quit blaming him for everything. And even more, I had to let go of the notion that I could control his response.

I think I have always feared that if I let him in, if I trusted him completely, he would just leave. I never trusted that we had anything that would cause him to stay. Eventually, he would tire of me and he would go. And the truth is, when he really did leave, I somehow felt better, as if I could quit anticipating his departure. So for some reason in a moment of reckless abandon, a little tiny speck of bravery (maybe stupidity) allowed me to be vulnerable and bear my soul. To trust him with more of me than I had ever allowed him to see. In opening myself, I had to accept that he may still leave, but to allow him to know me and still decide to stay. I had to accept that he might hate me forever, but it was possible that he might love me more than I ever gave him credit for. And most important, I had to accept that I, ultimately, was not in control of that decision. And that, my friends, was the fork in the road, the choice I made, that has led me here today.

It's hard to describe all that has transpired. I wish I could say he took me in his arms, forgave me and all is well. But the truth is life is never quite that easy. Many times, I wondered if I had made the right decision, many times more I believed if I could do it over, I would have done it differently. The path wasn't always smooth and clear. But I know I did the right thing. I know that not only for my relationship, but for me. To be able to trust that not everyone leaves when things are hard, is an invaluable lesson I could never have learned alone.

So I am completely OK? No. I still have some bruises, that I wonder if they will ever completely go away. Am I still afraid? Yeah, sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. And then there is a moment when completely out of nowhere I catch an amazing glimpse of what it is that is so magical about relationships. In a moment of pure rambling, he says, "I was asking some of the guys at work about horses, and what the difference is between a mare and a gelding.... they said when we get a horse....." Dumbfounded, I say "You really do want to give me what I want." To which he replied, "Yeah, I do. And I will."

To completely understand this, you would have to know him and you would have to know me and our dynamics. Suffice to say, in the past I have always been the one to pay attention, and I'm the one who talks of the future. I'm the giver.

So lest I believe he never listens, or is not concerned about my dreams, but only with his own, or that he probably won't stay with me, he said I should know:

He Does, He Is and He Will.

"Thank U"

how bout getting off these antibiotics
how bout stopping eating when I'm full up
how bout them transparent dangling carrots
how bout that ever elusive kudo

thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

how bout me not blaming you for everything
how bout me enjoying the moment for once
how bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
how bout grieving it all one at a time

the moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down

how bout no longer being masochistic
how bout remembering your divinity
how bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
how bout not equating death with stopping

thank you india
thank you providence
thank you disillusionment
thank you nothingness
thank you clarity
thank you thank you silence

Thank U by Alanis Morissette

A Hemi

This post not for the faint of heart! If you get queezy, or don't like potty humor, skip it!

The joys of being a woman..... I learned very quickly in my first pregnancy that my modesty and humility were out the window. My body just took on a life (yeah no pun intended, ha ha) all its own.

I'll never forget the time I threw up in a restaurant's bathroom. Not sure what brought it on, I was feeling fine (and hungry) when we walked in. We placed our order, and while we were waiting for our food, I got that funny sensation. I got up to make my way to the bathroom, my steps quickening as the feeling worsened. I no sooner entered the bathroom (single stall, THANK GOD!) when (literally) all hell broke loose from my body. The door was barely shut and it was on! It was the scene from Exorcist. I tried to make it to the toilet, but no luck there. (Yeah, I know ew!) And it kept coming and coming, before I knew it, the floors, sink and toilet were covered. I stood back, fearing to leave, for what would I say to the server? It was a fairly small joint, so I couldn't just escape without being noticed..... uggg. Yeah embarrassed doesn't even cover it!

When I gave birth the first time I had an the unfortunate experience of an aunt who had to tell me that enemas were standard procedure in all births. WHAT?!? I freaked about that for MANY weeks leading up to birth. Don't know why I didn't just ask my OBGYN, but being young and scared made me a bit naive. Even though that never happened in my case, I did end up having to suffer through a catheter and many other procedures during birth that were new and less than fun.

But that doesn't even begin to compare to the experiences after birth. I had a nurse "man handle" my breasts during a lesson in breast feeding. (Uh back the fug up!) I had an infection in a milk duct that made my breast swell to the size of a cantaloupe and be tender even to a shower, which then in turn had to be examined and "felt-up" by another doctor. And then there were the bladder infections, constipation, etc. Yeah, I know, it's impolite to discuss such things on the internet. But most Moms would agree it is just the reality. That and much, much more.

So you must know there is a good reason for all this disclosure. Yeah and it's a good one, or at least I think so. So.... here goes: I was having a conversation with a friend (name withheld to protect the innocent) who was telling me about her man and his, ahem, new affliction. Yeah, we'll dispense with the "men are tougher than women" right here and now. Because for all their gruff, deep down most can be kind of wussies about being sick or having anything out of the normal wrong with them. We've all thought and some have even said it: If they had to squeeze a watermelon out of their privates, they would have a whole different perspective on not only pain and tolerance, but humility about the embarrassing things that happen to our bodies.

So back to my friend's man, who has developed a new little affliction in his nether region, and it has struck him pretty hard. A combination of embarrassment, and the humble reality that we all age, and our bodies change, sometimes in the most mortifying way, has had him whining about this quite a bit. Oh, yeah and it's uncomfortable and a little painful. But mostly it is the former not the latter. She was sympathetic, because having had children, she could relate. She explained how to relieve most of the pain, WITHOUT him having to go to the doctor to have this bumm exposed. Yeah, is he not lucky to have her or what? But her sympathy only went so far, and she couldn't help but rib him a little during a txt interaction:

Him: No more beans 4 lunch!
Her: Why, the guys giving U a hard time?
Him: No my butt is sore!
Her: Aw, don't worry at least U can tell the guys U have a new HEMI, just not in UR truck, on UR ass!
Long pause.....
Him: NOT FUNNY!

The feck if it ain't! Yeah, I think it's hilarious! In fact I'm sure if he heard this little interaction about someone else, he'd be laughing his ass off (again, no pun intended). I know I am. And if he KNEW she told me this AND if he knew I posted this to my blog..... yeah, again: NOT FUNNY!

But I couldn't help it! I had to share.

You can have it all, but you can't have it all at once.

I get little glimmers where everything seems to fall into place. It doesn't all get done, but everything that needs to be done, seems do-able. It's not absolutely perfect, but it is perfectly in place, where it needs to be. Where it is just second nature to not sweat the small stuff.

Binya-Binya

Happy Birthday to you.

Today you are 12. Hard for me to fathom that a dozen years have come and gone. Surely they have slipped right through my fingers like fine sand. Each moment has becoming one more in a string of moments speeding by, before I had the inclination to pay attention. I wish..... that I had paid closer attention to these tangible examples of an intangible concept. That I could go back, remember each and every moment where you have made me smile and brought joy to my heart. That I could somehow list them and describe each one of them to you. For they are many, and unfortunately, my memory is just not that good. But what comes to mind today is the very first moment you brought this joy: the moment I first held you.

You were the gift I didn't even know I wanted until I had you. Your Dad and I were very young, still trying to figure out what we wanted in this life and not even quite sure who we were. I'll never forget the day we found out that we two would become three. The nurse had that look when she came back into the room, and even though I had tried to convince myself that these symptoms were merely the flu, I just knew right then: it was real. Ready or not you were coming. She talked on and on about what, I am not sure, because I could no longer hear what she was saying. I was lost in a daze in my own head asking myself: What now? How will I? What if? It isn't exactly what we hope to write down in that special place in the baby book where it asks "How did you first find out about your pregnancy?" So many emotions were swimming around in my head, but mostly I was afraid.

Of course, I had nine whole months to get used to the idea that I was going to have a baby and be a Mom. I tried to plan, to prepare myself: I read books, took classes, and of course I thought about it all the time. But as with anything one has never done before, it is never quite how you think it is going to be. I labored hard with you. 23 hours in fact. I can remember how much it hurt, and how I wished the contractions would be fewer and shorter, but also knowing it was a necessary pain, I just wanted to get through it because I knew it would culminate in your arrival. I passed the hours, the time between contractions, thinking of what it would be like to finally have you here, to hold you, and talk to you. I visualized what you would look like: How big you would be, your nose, your mouth, your 10 little fingers and 10 little toes. I even worried you would have a head full of thick, dark, curly hair just like your Dad. (Actually, in my mind, it looked more like Elvis) These minor worries kept the nurses amused and my mind off the pain for a little while. When they finally said I could push, I was glad it wouldn't be much longer before I would see you. And with every push I prayed that it would be my last, and this would be done. Again and again, bearing down, I believed through sheer force I would bring you into this world. But after laboring for so long, the doctors became concerned because I was not progressing. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't seem to push you out. They gave me my options: I could try a little longer or I could have a C-Section. As if somehow I was in control of this process. "Whatever we need to do." I said, "Just get her here." Nothing I did was working, because the truth is, I was so not in control. But I was afraid.

A lot of the complications I read/learned about were now happening. No one could take this from me, no one could do this for me. I had no choice. I just kept telling myself, whatever I need to do to have you in my arms, I would do. I never knew I would have to be this brave. They prepped me and moved me into another room for surgery. It went relatively quick because what I didn't fully comprehend was, you were struggling and they were worried. I didn't let myself think about the surgery, so when they draped me, I looked away and closed my eyes, hoping this part would go quick. Up until this point I had never had surgery, never been under anesthesia, never been cut into. And I was afraid.

You didn't cry right away when they pulled your little, wrinkled, curled body from me. The longest few minutes were waiting for the doctor to finish suctioning your lungs. The previous 23 hours were a blink of an eye compared to this. And then finally you cried. That sound... I couldn't even comprehend before that moment how my heart would feel hearing your tiny, yet intense noise fill the room. And then I cried. Oh how I longed for you in that moment. When they placed you on my chest - wrapped in a blanket with a small knit cap over your misshapen head (you seriously could have won a part in the Coneheads movie), your arms and legs tightly drawn to your chest, I gently pulled your hat off (whew, no hair) and kissed your head. In that moment I was forever changed. My heart was unable to contain this feeling, tears streaming down my face. You were real. You were here. And what I could never have imagined before now was just how beautiful you would be to me. I was yours and you were mine. How will I ever be everything I need to be for you? Again, I was afraid.

How could I know what this would feel like? How can I tell you now what this felt like then? To all at once be so utterly amazed and terrified. Never before and never again would it feel just like this. Overwhelming and incredible. See, you were the first for everything. I had no idea what to expect. Up until that moment, I didn't understand that what you get in life is rarely what you envision:

actually, it is so much more.

I truly understood the power of an unknown future. You, nestled there on my chest making little baby noises, surely mesmerized by the beating of my heart which you had grown accustomed to inside of me, were the most amazing thing I could never have planned for. You were so delicate, everything so soft and tiny. My mind could never have dreamed you up, let alone, this perfection. And this feeling in my chest. I was unprepared for this joy. And I'm glad I didn't know what it would be like, because for the first time, in that moment I learned no matter what my hopes and fears were, that I couldn't possibly imagine or plan for all that lay before me on this journey. And I have come to understand that the unknown is so much better than what we foresee.

Through the years of being your mother I have had many more moments like this. Where I have come to understand things that I never understood before. Where you have brought me pride and joy through just being your Mother. Because just like I couldn't predict then what it would be like to be a Mother, I certainly couldn't have predicted how you would grow into what you have become. How I am still amazed that the tiny little baby wrapped in that blanket asleep on my chest now stands almost as tall as me. How did it all happen so fast? I wish I could put some memories of you in a bottle and keep them there, forever. Taking them out, on occasion, reliving each of the moments again and again. So that when I am afraid, like I am today that soon you will be grown and no longer my little girl, I can remember all that you have given me, all that you have taught me, all the joy that I could never have conceived, just by you being born to me as my first and only daughter.
I love you Binya-Binya. My wish for you is that you come to understand the possibilities of the future and all that lay before you. Don't be too afraid of the things to come. Don't try too hard to have everything planned and figured out. Because even when you believe you are in control, you aren't, so relax and let go a little. Believe that life will be infinitely better than even you can imagine. And I hope that you can enjoy the moments for what they are: gifts you didn't know you wanted until you had them.

Love, Your Mom

The Fairytale

Have you ever thought your life should end up like a movie? Say Pretty Woman? Well, maybe not Pretty Woman, because how many of us dream of being hookers falling for a rich john (not sure why that happens to be my twisted fairytale, but it seems fitting). OK, substitute some other, more appropriate, hopelessly romantic story where "Prince Charming" swoops in, they fall madly in love with each other, he sweeps her (who is almost always less than perfect in circumstance, but perfect in demeanor) off her feet in the most incredibly romantic way, and saves her from her poor, pathetic life?

So maybe we don't buy this in exactly the same way we did when we were seven, because well, how sad would it be to believe we are not whole or complete alone and that we must be saved by some swooning man in order to be happy? I digress... But do you think deep down some people maintain a belief in fairy tale true love long into adulthood? Do we hope for the perfect courtship and happily ever after? Is this illusion stored in the back of our minds, in our subconscious where we keep all the ideals of our lives, tucked away safely like mementos in a hope chest?

I think I have always believed in this fantasy to some extent. Not completely, but enough that this impractical expectation has colored how successful I believe a relationship is. I can't quite bring myself to part with this, even though over time and circumstance, I've long outgrown such silly ideas. If it isn't "just how it should be", then maybe it isn't the "Fairy Tale", and maybe it isn't meant to be.

The reality is, we end up in relationships where we don't live happily ever after. We work everyday, the effort being harder and more frustrating than digging a hole on the shore while the waves come to undo what we have done again and again. We struggle, we try different solutions, we compromise, we settle and we make deals we thought we'd never make. In attempts to find intimacy we try to work through misunderstandings and being better understood. We try, and we try again, even when we don't find what we are looking for. We seek to comprehend things that are beyond our perception. We give and give and give some more, and what we get in return isn't quit what we hoped for. Sometimes, we even let go of the things we cherish the most in hopes that we will find something better on the other side, only to be disappointed and resentful when we don't get what we need. And sometimes we fail, ultimately just wanting to quit and walk away.

It's not to say that it is all bad, these relationships. Lots of time it is so right and perfect in the moment you can't help but stop and laugh at the little guy on your shoulder who tells you that it shouldn't be this hard and you are making a HUGE mistake to keep trying. Sometime you have that precious feeling of "he gets me". You have that moment of simpatico. Often it is a look, a touch, and things are just good. The arms around you feel so right, the sustenance they provide is comforting right down to your bones. At these times, I just close my eyes and smile. Breathe. Take in the moment. Enjoy. Because unlike the fairy tales, it doesn't end here. Everyone doesn't live happily ever after. Life goes on with more struggles, and more moments of bliss. We just hope that overall the bliss outweighs the struggles.

But is the ideal: Once we conquer the struggle, we should live in eternal bliss, while ever elusive, keeping us from being content and satisfied? That: Prince Charming should be perfect in every way and complete us so entirely, making us wonder if there is someone more fulfilling out there for us? Do we put way too much emphasis on the "fairy tale" romance, therefore never letting ourself believe that things are gratifying, let alone good enough? Do we question a relationship's value by questioning "Should it really be this hard?"

The truth is, as nice as our fantasies can be, nothing of value comes easy. The struggle between good and evil can be equated to the fact that we find greater worth in that which we must fight for. Though it is never perfect, the progress we make helps us to be more satisfied together. There is no dragon to slay (unless you count his stubborn ways), there is no witch to trick (unless you consider my less than nice demeanor) and no one was locked in the attic waiting to be rescued (unless you reflect on the ways we help each other save ourselves time and again). We don't get the fairy tale ending kiss and the happily forever after fading into the sunset. Instead, each day we get to wake up next to each other, and for good and bad, we have been given the promise of one more day together. Because the only part of happy ever I find that works is: the after. That after all is said and done, we continue to come back to each other. Again, hoping to have happiness even after all.

Home and Hearth

Sometimes when I have nothing going on up there in this mind of mine, I imagine what it would be like to win the lottery. First of all the irony here is that in order to win, I must play, which I don't. So what are the chances? Yeah: zero, zip, zilch! But a girl should dream.....

First, I imagine what it would be like to buy any house in any area I want. A house on a lake would be what I really want. Not big, but you know, big enough. I want everyone to have a space they call their very own. I want my OWN studio. A place that is all mine for whatever I am currently into. I want my land to be enough that we can expand (build an additional house someday or ???). The interior (or things) wouldn't be much different than they are now. I don't think I would suddenly change to expensive taste. I guess what is telling here is that I really don't want anything that I can't attain without winning the lottery. Maybe that's why I don't play.

OK, but if I did and I did win. One thing I would do that I really couldn't do unless I won: I would pay off everyone's ( my peeps) mortgage. I want this for everyone around me: A place all theirs that they don't have to report to "The Man" to have.

I'm not sure what else I would so. I think I would travel, not sure if I would quit work, but I would probably make a different choice about what I do and how much I do it. I'm not sure why I even feel compelled to write this except that I think it says something about me that the most important thing to me is home. When I am most happy is when I am nesting.

The Alaskan and I have been working very steadily around the house lately. Just about every day we do something that improves the house or our surroundings. And I LOVE it. Of all the things that happen in a day, it is this that makes me feel like I have accomplished something. And it is very indicative of everything around me. I like to have a steady stream of work that has purpose and direction. If things are hard, we have too many projects going in too many directions, I wonder if we will ever get it all done. Everything feels overwhelming, including the little things. I am liable to pull my hair out and be miserable. And we all know, when I am unhappy, it spreads like the worst plague ever!

And then I breathe. Learning that this house and all it entails is a process and it is never all done, has flowed into other aspects of my life as well. Don't sweat the small stuff, right? You know like the weeds that are growing on the side of the house? Yeah, I'll get to them. And I know when I do that, in time they will grow back and I will have to pull them again. Yes, kind of like real life. Sometimes it can be frustrating to feel like there is just so much to do or to keep doing the same things over and over again. I just breathe. Put one foot in front of the other. and know it won't always feel like this.

I find it helps to have goals and direction. Helps to keep the focus. My goals, my direction, whether I win the lottery or not, I hope someday to sip my coffee from a place that is mine all mine with a view like this:

Shin Splints

I caught a few minutes of this program the Alaskan was watching last night where this guy said (about running this marathon) "I'm not gonna like/enjoy it, but I am gonna like how it feels to push myself and have myself stay committed and keep going." That sums up for me what this feels like. I don't really like this work in the moment, but I like to know that my determination wins the battle of quiting/stopping vs. doing something even when it's hard or hurts.

Speaking of hurt, a week or so ago I mistakenly believed I was ready to "up my running game". yeah can you say cocky? I was feeling really good about my progress thus far, and so I tried to run a bit longer and harder. In the moment, it was fine and I was glad I pushed and kept going. But oh how I paid later: with shin splints. I have battled this malady before, so I laid off for a few days before I tried again. My left is still bugging me a bit even when I do a routine morning. So I am trying to not push so hard so many days a week. Today I walked my whole route. YUCK! Boring and LONG. Yes, my impatience is even present here. I would so rather run and get it over with than walk, which is so slow and long. So, I was feeling a little down by this. What if I don't progress? What will keep me motivated? Because, the truth is, I don't really LIKE to do this. I love to push myself, and I do think this is what keeps me interested. Doing just a little more today than yesterday.

So I'm going to limit the running to 3-4 days, walking the alternate days, and try to only up the amount of running once a week.

Balloons - A Lesson in Letting Go

How do you do it? How did you just let go?

Teach me this lesson.

When the kidlets were young they loved balloons. Anytime they were presented with an opportunity to have one of their own, they eagerly grasped the string in their chubby digits, not letting go for anything. They would drag them home to their rooms to keep. Always these balloons were soon forgotten until, while cleaning, I happened upon the sad deflated carcass behind some piece of furniture, hovering only slightly above the ground, small and wilted, waiting to be popped and thrown away. It seemed hard to believe something once so full and vibrant, joyful, bouncing at the end of its string would become so faded, dusty and even wrinkly to touch.

On one occasion I became determined not to have this big bright ball bouncing off the ceiling of the car on our long trip home. Of course reasoning with DQ that her balloon made it hard for me to see out the back window of the car, was futile, but remembering a book we had read a few nights before, I came up with a quick plan.

"Let's send the balloon up to the baby angels."

She was, of course, reluctant to let go of her balloon.

"Before we take this home, where it will fall, lets let it fly and let the Baby Angels enjoy it too! Image how excited they will be to have this balloon!"

She smiled and I knew I had her.... We counted together and slowly her little fingers opened and the balloon drifted from her hand up into the sky. We watched it until we could no longer make out the dot in the sky.

Sometimes we don't want to let go, but we need to. Our fingers are grasped tightly around the string, afraid to even loosen, fearing it will slip away. Hoping that by holding tight it will be forever ours. But today, I want to remember a light, bright thing that in its moment brought happiness.... not keep it until it becomes sad and wilted, long past it pleasure, and just done being what it once was.

So I am closing my eyes, taking one last look, counting to myself, and against my childish nature of wanting to keep this, I'm gonna let this fly away.

The Price is Right

So this is how it goes.....

Me, "Does this look ok?"
Him, "Yeah... you look good. Why? Who are you trying to impress, some guy at work?"
Me, "No, please.... everyone I work with is OLD!"
Him, "Yeah, well there are plenty of hot grandmothers out there.... I could even fuck a hot gramma... on her plastic couch.... while we watch Price if Right."

Pause..... hmmm... WOW - yeah, I heard him right, he did just say that!

All I can do is laugh.

Halloween

This is perhaps the end of an era. Probably the last year I will be able to talk the kidlets into having some sort of combo costume. (And hopefully the last that I am up for hours and hours hunched over a sewing machine trying to pull it off without REALLY knowing how to sew!) Let's take a moment to pause while I wipe the tears from my eye. Its been a good run. But alas, sad, but true, they are growing up and no longer easily manipulated convinced to do what Mom wants.

So I am taking a walk down memory lane, back to when they were young and cute and had no idea how embarrassing it would be that someday I would be posting these pictures of them on the internet oh so innocent and trusting.

There was the first Halloween I had two. Yeah, DQ had a few cute Halloweens before the arrival of DP Joe. But nothing is more fun than couple costumes!!! I was so EXCITED to have two! But apparently I wasn't quite over the fact that I had a son, not another daughter. D begged me not to emasculate his new son in this way, but I thought it was adorable....



Oh it's gets better! The next year it was even more brilliant! Being 7, DQ wanted to be something much more regal (and worthy of her Queen status). No prob says Mom! I modify someone's old prom dress (Thank you Value Village!) to make her the cutest princess - complete with the garniture and pointy tall hat. Notice how utterly happy she is! DP Joe gets to be the frog with the red lips on his cheek where he's been kissed! tee hee. Notice he looks less thrilled than last year. Yeah, quick learner. He knows now, last year wasn't a fluke, this shit's gonna continue.



Now, year three was by far my personal favorite. I actually sewed both costumes with the MIL's help AND it just so happens that this combo was near and dear to my heart because once upon a LONG time ago, my brother and I were this combo. Raggedy Ann and Andy with Cody being Teddy E. Bear. Come on, let me here you say it, ahhhhh...This picture (of course) does not do justice to DQ's costume with red rick rack and full pantaloons. Other than the fact that most of her friends had NO IDEA what she was, she liked the attention from all of the adults who TOTALLY knew who she was and appropriately ohh'd and ahhh'd. I'm sure I will hear from DP Joe some day, "Mom... A doll? WTF?" Again, deep under that red wig I'm sure he's thinking.... is this mockery ever going to end? Answer: No, probably not. After all, isn't this WHY I had kids?

The Angel vs. the Devil. Ah, how true it is! The truth is these two really should have been reversed! But again, trying not to scar the poor boy for life. Notice the increase in his excitement? He's practically going to burst if he has to be still for one more picture. Yippy, maybe I finally scored with this one! Oh yeah, forgot, it wasn't the costume that had him excited, he was at MIL's and totally hopped up on sugar from all the Halloween candy. Surprised this picture even turned out and he wasn't just a blur in my lens! What you can't see is the awesome red tights with flames he's wearing under his cape! Yeah the debauchery!

But fear not DP Joe, your year is finally here! No longer can Mom assume since you are little you will not understand how sissy her costume picks have been for you. You are now old enough to say, "Not so much." Well the truth is, you learned NO a long time ago, but this year, lucky for you, you perfected the oh so cute and adorable doe eyes look combined with the sweet, sappy, "Please, mom, wouldn't this be so cool?" plea. Yeah that one STILL gets me. Again, quick learner! How could I say no!

And this was the costume of all costumes for him. Complete with the dragon tattoo on the chest. Still the one he remembers the most, the one he goes back to every year and wants to be again. But aside from the fact that EVERYONE is on the pirate bandwagon (or should I say ship.. argg!) these days, I was a little concerned about how he kept veering off to the right, into the street while we were trick-or-treating. Apparently, although the eye patch looks cool, it affects his equilibrium. YEAH! Turns out the patches in the medical supply section of Wally World aren't the best costume accessory for a child who uses BOTH eyes to see! (Don't tell the folks judging the 'Mother of the Year contest!) DQ was his pirate bride. Wasn't too creative in figuring out how to make that obvious. It didn't hurt that just a few weeks prior she was the flower girl in The Gnome's wedding.

So, I had to come up with something cool enough to convince DP Joe to let go of his pirate obsession. (NO REPEATS!) Not easy feat, trust me! Years later he is STILL dressing up in full pirate garb on occasion! This glow in the dark skeleton barely cut it. DQ is wearing a lovely woman's dress shirt which I fixed up with some gauze to be ghoulish. The wig filled with plastic bugs was the capstone and her fav!

But the home made costumes are not quite as cool as the store bought super hero variety...... I knew this day would come.....Finally we move away from Mom's homemade creations to the more main stream cool choices with (GASP!) masks. What you can't see is DP Joe's fake chest muscles and DQ's mini skirt and boots... MEOW! Yeah a little frightening when you darling little girl goes from baggy sweats to knee high boots and a black leather mini skirt... HOLY Kitty Cat Batman!

So that brings us to this year... when amazingly enough I have once again managed to pull this off. The sewing machine was still going Halloween morning as I apparently have yet to understand that I lost the Mother of the Year contest a long time ago fervently finished DQ's costume (yes, I drug my sewing machine to work!) And in the end, as it always manages to do, it came together without a hitch.

Little DQ Riding Hood and the Big Bad Joe!

TGIF

Rocks

Sometimes I view this blog as a way to let go of what burdens me. The heavy rocks we carry around that weigh us down, and unless we figure out how to let them go, they will eventually break us. So I put my rocks here. OK, not always. I admit sometimes this blog is all fun and games.

But sometimes it is little pieces of my heart I put here.

I label my post.... spill my guts.... and then heftily toss it out into cyber space. Let go. Let God.

And I admit I do occasionally feel lighter having done this.

Of course there are the rocks I have yet to learn how to let go of. Sometimes I am just not ready to let go or afraid.... Those are tucked safely in my pocket. I reach in and hold it, feeling it, rubbing it, trying to define it and make sense of it. Sometimes I take it out wanting to let it go, but just not quite able to.... yet. But every rock has its day.

Mostly, when I look back at what I've written, I feel like I've left a trail of stones on my journey through the woods, that tell who I am, where I've been, who I've become, what I have learned.

The Weight of the World

I've only lost about 10 lbs......

But clothes that haven't fit me in ages are now loose and actually somewhat falling off.

I wish Oscar (my scale) would come around to my way of thinking, but he is stubborn. He is just an honest reflection of the reality, can't really take it out on him (well, actually, I can and I do, but that's embarrassing.... say nothing of the fact that I am MORE embarrassed that I talk to my scale than I am of my FAT ASS! Moving on....).

I'm not loosing this weight as fast as I would like. That fact that it took 3 years to gain it, not important. (OK, so, yeah, getting involved again and cooking lots of food that almost always contains lots of love and cheese, and allowing the couch to know my butt better than the river trail used to, yeah no surprise, I easily gained weight. I KNOW! Should've seen that coming!) But why is it so fecking hard to lose?

So I've been back at my routine of exercise being a consistent part of my life. I am running again (almost daily) and weight training (4-5 days a week). I'm not really trying to diet (OK so I eat an egg every morning now, instead of nothing, but this doesn't really make up for the pizza I had for dinner last night). And there always the "Muscle weighs more than fat" theory that I cling to when I notice my biceps now have a hard curve to them. But its still not enough to completely convince me. I am still hoping one day when Oscar and I meet in the hallway, he will sweetly whisper in my ear how FUCKING KICK ASS I look (by that I mean show me a number that starts with a 1 vs. a 2). But no, he just flashes his number at me (which is SO SLOW to change). So I don't seek Oscar's company too often. And when we do, I often can be heard muttering "Feck you Oscar!" to which his number just blinks back at me. Whatever!

So instead of number gloating, I add another pair of to big "Fat Pants" to the pile of never again will I wear these. The pile to be carted off to Goodwill as soon as my closet is emptied of the "Fat Wardrobe". I like to see the pile grow. Someday soon I will part with this pile vs. shoving these items in the back of the closet, just in case. No safety nets, nothing to fall (or grow) back into.

I don't know how much I want to lose, so it's hard to set a goal. I know my body will get to a place where it will naturally stop loosing with what I eat and the activity I do. Far be it from me to fight nature for the last 5 or 10 (or even 20) pounds. I know it's cliche, but I really just want to look and feel better. I know if I work out, and eat generally better, I will lose weight. How much I don't know. But I don't want to set a goal that if I don't meet I can add to the list of things I wish I did better. So I won't set a number to meet.

It seems this time rather than looking to Oscar for reassurance, I tend to run just a little longer and little harder every week. I tend to do one more set of weight reps. Add a few more sit ups to my routine.

The numbers may never look good enough to me. Even when it does change, I find it is never enough at one time. You know how it is, you lose and then like a greedy child you just want more and more. And that ever elusive last few pounds becomes your nemesis and the number never gets low enough and you give up and say "Feck it, why am I working so hard?". Not this time. I run not just to loose weight but as a personal challenge to push past the pain. Because sometimes life hurts, but you have to keep pushing on. So I tell myself I can go just a little farther before I walk again. And sometimes life is hard and you don't want to continue, but you do. This is what I tell myself in the morning when I get out of my warm bed just before 5 to pull on my running clothes and head out into the damp, dark morning. And sometimes life isn't fair, it doesn't come easy, and you don't always get what you want, when you want it. That is what I remind myself when Oscar is stubborn.

So I won't base my success on Oscar's tally. BUT when I am up from running only 30 seconds at a time to over 3 and 1/2 minutes, I know I am making progress (actually I am sure this is better than even before when I was running). And hopefully when I catch a glimpse in the mirror of the hot girl on the treadmill, I will smile as she goes for 30 more seconds.

Recipes

http://www.myrecipes.com/recipes/main

I LOVE this site! you can search for recipes, add them to your own collection, create menus, shopping lists. You can also enter your own recipes too!

The Alaskan and I tried the fish tacos, and we both agree they were great! Here's the recipe:

Fish Tacos with Lime-Cilantro Crema

Ingredients

object2="> Crema:
object2=">1/4 cup thinly sliced green onions
object2=">1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
object2=">3 tablespoons fat-free mayonnaise
object2=">3 tablespoons reduced-fat sour cream
object2=">1 teaspoon grated lime rind
object2=">1 1/2 teaspoons fresh lime juice
object2=">1/4 teaspoon salt
object2=">1 garlic clove, minced
object2=">
Tacos:
object2=">1 teaspoon ground cumin
object2=">1 teaspoon ground coriander
object2=">1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
object2=">1/4 teaspoon ground red pepper
object2=">1/8 teaspoon salt
object2=">1/8 teaspoon garlic powder
object2=">1 1/2 pounds red snapper fillets
object2="> Cooking spray
object2=">8 (6-inch) corn tortillas
object2=">2 cups shredded lettuce
1 tomato diced
1 small avocado diced

Preparation

Preheat oven to 425°.

To prepare crema, combine the first 8 ingredients in a small bowl; set aside.

To prepare tacos, combine first 6 ingredients (cumin through garlic powder) in a small bowl; sprinkle spice mixture evenly over both sides of fish. Place fish on a baking sheet coated with cooking spray. Bake at 425° for 9 minutes or until fish flakes easily when tested with a fork or until desired degree of doneness. Place fish in a bowl; break into pieces with a fork. Heat tortillas according to package directions. Divide fish evenly among tortillas; top each with 1/4 cup lettuce, some avocado, tomato and 1 tablespoon crema.

Lessons Learned

There's some things that I regret,
Some words I wish had gone unsaid,
Some starts, That had some bitter endings,
Been some bad times I've been through,
Damage I cannot undo,
Some things, I wish I could do all all over again,
But it don't really matter,
Life gets that much harder,
It makes you that much stronger,
Oh, some pages turned, Some bridges burned,
But there were lessons learned.

And every tear that had to fall from my eyes,
Everyday I wondered how I'd get through the night,
Every change, life has thrown me,
I'm thankful, for every break in my heart,
I'm grateful, for every scar,
Some pages turned,
Some bridges burned,
But there were lessons learned.

There's mistakes that I have made,
Some chances I just threw away,
Some roads, I never should've taken,
Been some signs I didn't see,
Hearts that I hurt needlessly,
Some wounds, That I wish I could have one more chance to mend,
But it don't make no difference,
The past can't be rewritten,
You get the life you're given,
Oh, some pages turned,
Some bridges burned,
But there were, lessons learned.

And all the things that break you,
Are all the things that make you strong,
You can't change the past,
Cause it's gone,
And you just gotta move on,
Because it's all,
Lessons Learned.

Lessons Learned - Carrie Underwood

32.... Now What?

Freaking Years Old!

How the Hell did that happen? It seems like just yesterday when I thought 30 was way old. And then I turned 30 and I think I thought time would just stop there. No such luck! So here I am 32.... and I have to ask.... now what? For as long as I can remember, we had age milestones that we looked towards. When I'm 18... when I'm 21... when I'm 30.... but once those have come (and gone), then what?

I think I mostly feel good about where I am at. Glad to be older. Thankful to be wiser. I don't get the patronizing tone of 'When your older, you'll understand' bullshit. I no longer find myself wishing to be older/wiser/better/different. I know that I am right where I need to be. I can still doubt myself at times, but I find more and more that I'm not unsure of myself as much as I once was. Navigating the terrain in front of me with the opinions of other people as my map and light never got me anywhere, accept further lost and stuck. Why it was that I learned to trust others more than I trusted my own inner voice, is hard to say. But I did.

Now I am trying to navigate my own path. It was like cresting the hill and now the view is different.

I just am who I am. Where I once struggled to be the best I could be, I am content that I am not perfect. I like myself. Imperfections and all. When I was younger, I worried people wouldn't like me, but the older I get I realize people love me for who I am, and it is better that they love for for who I am then who I am not. Sounds so cliché, but I think I get this more now than I ever have in the past. So many times I have found myself searching for the approval of others, when really the best thing I have found is my own approval of myself.

So to answer my own question... now what? Well, I don't know. But what I do know... the view looks good.

Trix are for Kids

I'm not good at Birthdays. It seems every year, I get the shit end of the stick when it comes to celebrating my birthday. "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride"..... Always the planner, never the party girl. Ah well, there are worse things right? Well.... no, not really. It is shitty for your birthday to roll around and have everyone be flummoxed as to how to treat someone to a special day.

Year after year, this happens to me. It's to the point that the only thing that amazes me is my disappointment. You'd think by now I would learn I am not 10 years old anymore. Everyone is not going to come together to eat, drink, be merry and celebrate. Well, that is, unless I plan it.

I don't mean for people to feel pressure. I don't think I'm high maintenances or hard to please. Everyone looks to me "What are you doing for your birthday?" But often times if I'm not planning my own event, people just plain give up. And I should just learn...

"Silly girl Trix are for kids"

The Way That We Live

......Women who long, love, lust - Women who give
This is the way - It's the way that we live

Talking, laughing, loving, breathing,
fighting, fucking, crying, drinking,
writing, winning, losing, cheating,
kissing, thinking, dreaming.

This is the way - It's the way that we live
It's the way that we live....
...And love

A'hoy There Mateys!

Dread Pirate Joe is (still) into pirates, but not as much as he was.... I rarely find him dressed in full pirate garb which includes the eye patch (that on occasion made him walk funny), the frilly white silk shirt (smallest shirt in women's from Goodwill), the knee high women's boots with a heel (the MIL bought for him to REALLY feel like a pirate) and of course the ridiculously expensive tri-corn hat (he had to have from the Pirate Festival)! Because whilst looking for material to build ye boat ye should look the part of a swash-buckling mate come to plunder! Ah good times, good times! Its been awhile (a few months maybe?) since he was obsessed with building the perfect pirate ship dressed to the nines. But come to think of it, he didn't travel too far off the path with his latest obsession: The Titanic.

Anyway, I can digress..... so in honor of "Talk Like Pirate Day" I, being the good Mom that I am (still holding out for the Betty Crocker Mother of the Year Award), scoured the web for some sort of Pirate Food to make for dinner. Because, well, I am all about a theme. So here's what I came up with:

Captain Morgan's Treasure

2	garlic cloves, chopped
2	inches piece fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
1	medium shallot, chopped
1/4	cup oil
1/4	cupbutter
6	boneless skinless chicken breasts
	salt and pepper
1	mango, peeled and chopped
1	papaya, peeled and chopped
1	jamaican hot pepper, chopped (remove seeds unless you like it really spicy)
1/2	cup Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum
2	cups chicken broth
1/2-3/4	cup heavy cream

• Chicken Breasts Main Dish
  

1. Heat butter and oil in dutch oven, add garlic, ginger and shallot, saute until shallot is soft, 2-3 minutes.
2. Season chicken with salt and pepper, add to pan and brown, turning frequently.
3. Add rum, chicken broth, mango, papaya and pepper, bring to boil, cover and reduce heat, simmer for 20 minutes.
4. Remove cover and simmer until sauce is reduced ( I let it go to half) and add cream, heat through but don't boil.
5. Serve over steamed rice.

**UPDATE**
So it was a hit. No one got scurvy from eating it, anyway! In fact the whole crew scarfed it down like it was the first hot meal after a month at sea! Arrr! (Yeah, ok corny, I know.)

I couldn't find the Jamaican pepper, and since the kidlets don't enjoy the Alaskan and I's penchant for spicy foods, I left it off. I had to buy way more rum than I needed (they don't just sell half a cup of anything in that store), because (gasp!) it is the one type of alcohol not included in the so far unopened stash of booze in the liquor cabinet.

Dread Pirate Joe overheard me telling the Alaskan the recipe that I had picked for this occasion, and said, "You are putting rum in my food?"

Me, "Yeah, it what all pirates love...."

Him, "Do you have to put rum in my food?"

Me, "Joe, it's ok the alcohol cooks off and just leaves the rum flavor."

Him, "Oh.... so why do you have to put it in there then?"

Me, "Yeah good point, lets just drink it with dinner then!!!"

Just kidding! If you know me, you know that Rum and I don't get along (hence why it wasn't in the liquor cabinet to begin with). But a shot in Joe's Grog (eh, rootbeer) might be fun to watch and help him fall asleep sooner since I had so much left.....

Who me? NEVER!!! That wouldn't get me any points in the Mother of the Year contest, now would it! ;)

Plays Well With Others

Interacting in larger groups: not something I do well. I have the social skills of a gnat. Well, actually, I should pick another animal: one who likes to stay in the corner and "watch" others interact, not a bug that is relentless in fling around your head!

When I found myself 30, in the singles scene for the first time in my adult life, I thought the bars would be the place to be. But often (OK, almost always) I am out of my element. Sure, I like the J&C in my hand and the music playing. It's the whole interacting with people I don't know thing that is hard... I have really never been good at this, I guess. I can talk to people one on one. And if I know you well, I can talk for hours. But if I don't know you, I am quiet and reserved. And apparently stand-offish. It probably even appears that I am not having a good time. Not necessarily true, but certainly I can see why one might observe that. Yet, I try to get along and go along, but I have all too often ended up standing against the wall wondering why I do this. Don't get me wrong: give me a few drinks and I like to dance and can even let go of enough to have some fun. But carrying on a conversation with people I barely know: not so fun.

But I don't think this is about the bar, or even drinking. I think for far too many years when I was young and married we stuck together and alone. Socially, I ONLY interacted with him, or with a few close girlfriends, but almost always one on one. I'm just not good at the party scene because I have never really done it. And, also, I think I just don't do well in crowds. Too many people + too close together = anxiety. I prefer more intimate social situations. If there are more than a few people, or people I don't know, I fall very easily into the "Watcher" or "Listener". I don't always contribute, but this doesn't mean I am not enjoying myself. I just means I'm not as comfortable to talk or share in these situations. I prefer to sit back and listen. No harm on foul right? Yeah until you are the only one not talking. Then people wonder what the hell is wrong with you. Which is only a little better than what those who know me think.

Having friends who LOVE the bar scene (and I might add are very strong in this social situation) they seem perplexed by my shyness. This not talking is, well, not normal, because they know what a "Chatty Cathy" I can be. And since I am so quiet, I appear to not be OK. I HATE this! I get the: "Are you ok?" When I am fine. Just sitting back assessing, watching. AND, quite frankly, TRYING to learn how this is done. Silly to be 30 (something) and still trying to figure this out!

OK, maybe I'm a little hard on myself here, but what occurs to me is that I worry if people will like me. And in these situations, I play it really safe, and keep quite. Best to say nothing at all than to look like an ass. And apparently looking like a socially inept dufus is the better alternative?

Maybe

I'm strong, But I break
I'm stubborn and I make plenty of mistakes
Yeah I'm hard and life with me is never easy to figure out, to love
I'm jaded but oh so lovely
All you have to do is hold me
And you'll know and you'll see just how sweet it can be
If you'll trust me, love me, let me
Maybe, maybe

Someday
When we're at the same place
When we're on the same road
When it's okay to hold my hand
Without feeling lost
Without all the excuses
When it's just because you love me, you let me, you need me
Then maybe, maybe
All you have to do is hold me
And you'll know and you'll see just how sweet it can be
If you'll trust me, love me, let me
Maybe, maybe

I'm confusing as hell, I'm north and south
And I'll probably never have it all figured out
But what I know is I wasn't meant to walk this world without you
And I promise I'll try, I'm gonna try to give you every little part of me
Every single detail you missed with your eyes
Then maybe..... yeah maybe

One day
We'll meet again and you'll need me, you'll see me completely
Every little bit
and maybe you'll love me then

I don't want to be tough and I don't want to be proud
I don't need to be fixed and I certainly don't need to be found
I'm not lost
I need to be loved
I just need to be loved
I just want to be loved by you and I won't stop 'cause I believe
That maybe..... yeah maybe

I should know better than to touch the fire twice
But I'm thinking maybe, yeah maybe you might

Gremlins

"It's the most beautiful time of year!" Yep School's back! Look at these monkeys..... wait, not monkeys, more like gremlins. The sweet smiles are very deceiving.

The Egyptian's trainer hit the nail on the head. In a moment of self loathing about her body, he reminds her "It's ok, don't be so hard on yourself. You spit those 4 kids out like gremlins." tee hee. We got a laugh about this, but I had to remind her... " Our kids were Mogwai when we spit them out. Should have followed the care and feeding instructions that came with and they wouldn't have turned into gremlins!"

Break it

And this time make sure you break it good..... break it hard.......

Into a million little pieces, so be it.

So I remember.... so I will let this go.... so I will move on.

Go ahead, break my heart..... please.....

The Measure of a Man

The X has a very "special" relationship with his mother. It is an on going joke that she is his Wother (Wife/Mother). She cooks for him, cleans his house, does his laundry. Recently while we were chatting about his recent relationship ending, we talked about the "wother" effect. I told him, "It was very hard while we were married to compete with your relationship with your Mother. No one could ever take care of you as good as she could." It was frustrating, to say the least, that she felt this was a women role. And when I didn't do this good enough, she stepped in.

I know that many men are "mamma's boys" and having a son of my own I hope I have a good bond with my son. But I DON'T want to "take care" of him for the rest of his life. I want him to be a good husband and father someday. I hope to teach him to take care of himself and one step further, to "man up" and take care of the women in his life. Somehow as women we get something from taking care of people, after all it is our role as Mothers to take care of our children. But the problem is we sometime forget that our job is to also teach our children to take care of themselves. Even though we CAN do it for them, it is best to stand back and let them do it for themselves. Now, don't get me wrong, the X can certainly take care of himself. He does well for himself professionally, he can cook, do laundry, take care of his house and kids. The problem is he LETS his mother do these things because, well, she will. And for me, standing back and looking at this dynamic all of these years later, I know that I didn't want a man that needed to be taken care of. I wanted a partner. Women were not put on this earth to take care of you. It was my hope that WE would take care of each other. Hence, why he is the X.

In my opinion (and of course just like assholes everyone has one) the measure of a man is getting to the place where you don't LET people take care of you when you don't need it, just because they will. It feels incredibly lazy and selfish.

The true measure of a man is a son who says "Mom, I can do this. You sit down. After all, all the years you spent taking care of me, let me take care of you." And if this were me, I would know I taught my son well.

Because as Mother's, Wives, Caretakers it is nice to be taken care of sometimes too.

Death

You Are Death

You symbolize the end, which can be frightening. But you also symbolize the immortality of the soul. You represent transformation, rebirth of a new life. Sweeping away the past is part of this card, as painful as it may be. Your fortune: Don't worry, this card does not predict death itself. Instead it foreshadows the ending of an era of your life, one that is hard to let go of. But with the future great new things will come, and it's time to embrace them. Mourn for a while, but then face the future with humility and courage.

What Tarot Card Are You?

If

If you can keep your head
While all about you
People are losing theirs and blaming you

If you can trust yourself
When everybody doubts you
And make allowance for their doubting too.

If you can wait
And not get tired of waiting
And when lied about
Stand tall
Don’t deal in lies
And when hated
Don’t give in to hating back
Don’t need to look so good
Don’t need to talk too wise.

If you can dream
And not make dreams your master
If you can think
And not make intellect your game
If you can meet
With triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same

If you can force your heart
And nerve and sinew
To serve you
After all of them are gone
And so hold on
When there is nothing in you
Nothing but the will
That’s telling you to hold on!
Hold on!

If you can bear to hear
The truth you’ve spoken
Twisted and misconstrued
By some smug fool
Or watch your life’s work
Torn apart and broken down
And still stoop to build again
With worn out tools.

If you can draw a crowd
And keep your virtue
Or walk with Kings
And keep the common touch
If neither enemies nor loving friends
Can hurt you
If everybody counts with you
But none too much.

If you can fill the journey
Of a minute
With sixty seconds worth of wonder and delight
Then
The Earth is yours
And Everything that’s in it
But more than that
I know
You’ll be alright
You’ll be alright.

Cause you’ve got the fight
You’ve got the insight
You’ve got the fight
You’ve got the insight

Joni Mitchell If from her new album Shine

Little Miss Understood

This is frequently how it ends for me. I try to articulate what it is in my head, the A connecting to the B which connects to the C. But most people don't get it. They don't see what I understand. They misunderstand what I try to communicate.

Sometimes I am angry on the outside, but really on the inside I am hurt.

Sometimes I appear to be bold and brave, but on the inside I am terrified.

Sometimes I will push you away when I am really looking for reassurance.

Do I over analyze everything..... yes. It is a fear of being misunderstood that causes me to get it strait in my head so that I can explain. When I am trying to "get it strait" I work through it over and over again.

But I am not always clear, not always able to figure out what is going on for me quickly. I am running in circles chasing my tail trying desperately to understand myself.

When I trust people I let them in. Sometimes in this process of trying to figure myself out, I am vulnerable. Trying to hold on to my self worth with all I've got. But I am so susceptible to other people's opinions of me. It is hard for me to take stock in who I am when I hear things buzzing around in my head. And if I try to talk through it and I get confused and people don't seem to understand, I think my tendency is to undo what I did, take it back, make it right for them.

I wish I could let go completely of everything I know and start with a fresh canvas and repaint who I am, who I want to be. But even if this was possible, I would lose history.

Who am I? Who do I want to be? I'm not sure I know. But I don't think I want to be me anymore.

So it is no wonder that I am misunderstood.

And You....

I can remember being huddled in the corner of their bedroom, they were fighting in the hallway, my only route of escape. Things were being thrown and she was screaming at him. That really wasn't all that unusual, but his anger was. She was frequently out of control, but he usually kept his calm, very infrequently loosing his temper. But when he did.... He was yelling and knocking things off tables. Things crashed around me and I covered my ears, crying, afraid I would be found. She backed into the room where I was trying to make my self invisible. He followed her into the bedroom where he kept on her until she was backed into the same corner where I was kneeling. I'll never forget the look in his eye. He was pointing at her and yelling, his face getting closer and closer to her, spit flying out of his mouth. I was afraid of him. This fight had nothing to do with me. It was between them. It was there issues, and they had many. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caught in the storm. And as happens when anger and frustration boils over, who ever is in the path tends to get some of the fury. Even when his anger was directed specifically towards my Mom, I was terrified that he would turn to me and say "And you...."

My parents did the best they could. They weren't perfect. Often far from it. So many things are forgivable, after all, I made it to be a fairly competent, functioning adult. But there is one thing my parents failed me in, and that continues to plague me to this day. Their inability to convince me that I was lovable and that no matter what mistakes I made, or what bad choices or trouble I got into, they would love me. NO MATTER WHAT. I frequently felt like I was bad. That I was a disappointment. That I was a mistake, unwanted and only tolerated. That there was no redeeming qualities I possessed, that made me a good daughter in their eyes. I was always reminded of my shortcomings and can't remember being praised for my achievements or even celebrated for who I was. The older I got, the more often I was reminded of everything that was bad about me. On occasion I was shown off to other people, BUT NEVER did my Mom or Dad tell me that I was special, loved or a good girl. My parents never stood behind me, took my side or defended me. It was always my fault.

So I grew up believing that I was not good, likable or even worthy. As an adult, I would develop relationships where I would get a glimpse of these things. People seemed to like me, and when they liked me, it stirred a desire in me. I would gain some feelings of being likable and even worthy. Often times I would find myself becoming closer to these people emotionally, craving this acceptance. And then something, as it often does in relationships, would happen (there would be a difficult thing, a disagreement or even a differing of opinion) and I would know that I did something wrong and that I was no longer worthy. It doesn't matter how good I had been or how hard I tried to be a good friend or partner, this thing, this bad thing, this mistake inevitably would over-write everything good I felt about myself. And it was all my fault, because I was bad. This has ALWAYS been so hard for me. But up until very recently I didn't understand why in these moments I became a child again, wanting desperately approval and unconditional love. But these relationships are NOT parental relationships, and love and friendship isn't always unconditional. Sometimes for very good reasons, relationship run their course and end. But what I wanted more than anything was approval. For them to tell me they would love me no matter what.

But what I ALWAYS took from this was that something is wrong with me. So wrong that I need to be different, that I was bad and there for not worthy of this friendship/relationship/love. In an effort to prove that I was lovable, I would often try to fix this relationship, by sacrificing some part of something that was valuable to me (my self worth or self respect), and usually only reinforced my feelings of not being good enough when I was unable to "fix" whatever this was. Lots of times, in hind-sight, the issue for them had very little, if anything, to do with me.

I was reminded this past weekend of just how fragile my self image is when you have people you trust knock you down. When even as an adult I know that there are many pieces and parts of me, some good and some bad. I can, in my mind, believe that I am over all a good person with good intentions. Am I perfect? No. Do I have things about me that I know aren't good qualities? Yes. But I would like to believe that on the whole I am a good person. And I would like to believe that the people I trust know this, and love me for me, short comings and all. But when people are angry and they do "my inventory" reminding me of my short comings, forgetting all about any good things, I am put back into that place where I am unable to let go of this judgment.

Like a child, I hear these things that people say, the list of things that are bad about me, and I believe, once again, that I am bad. It's all my fault. I know it shouldn't matter what another may think, and that hidden among this long lists of things wrong with me are the truths that this has more to do with them, than me. But I am that child in the corner again, just waiting for him to say "And you..."