Some Words...

from where I was

2010-12-05T13:32:00.003-06:00

It has been a long time since I posted on here but e.e. sent me a message with something I wrote some time ago and it reminded me how important this place was to me. It was a place many parts of myself healed while ironically others broke as a result of a chain reaction. It's strange how you can never really be 'whole' once there's a piece missing. It's like you turn the puzzle piece round and round trying to make it fit but it never really does and eventually you just accept that you're one of those puzzles that will always be missing pieces.

I started writing on another blog not long after my dad died which has been 6 1/2 months ago. Those of you who followed my words know that a lot of my pain came from dealing with my dad but somehow my dad and I built a relationship we both cherised. I'm very broken since he's gone; more broken than before. Please visit me there...especially you e.e. because you helped me so many times, in so many ways and quite honestly I still think about you.

thehopeinside.wordpress.com

selfishness and angels

2009-12-30T09:02:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I am so completely selfish. I put my own woes up at the top of the list as if they could even compare to the plight others suffer. The little boy I spoke of before died this morning. He lost the fight to Leukemia and now God has one more angel in heaven. It makes you sad, it makes you open your eyes, and it makes you feel selfish and stupid and incredibly small. Dax died today, one day before the start of a new year, and I have to believe that he wanted to make sure his parents didn't start a new year hanging on to something he knew they could not have, him. I want to be different, not just for today, every day. I want to lay down my selfish ways and be grateful for the gifts I have so graciously been given.

Rest in peace little man and thank you for the miracles you left back here on earth.

in God we trust...

2009-12-17T11:28:00.005-06:00

I'm sitting here now wondering how it is that I got back to this place I swore I'd never be again. The place where trusting someone seems impossible because the person you trusted is absolutely not the person you thought you were trusting. Trust is a tricky thing isn't it? We are born with it but somewhere along the line it becomes less of an innate ability and more of an achieved one. Can you remember the first moment when you realized that trusting someone also meant putting yourself on the line? Can you remember how it felt the first time someone you trusted proved unworthy of that trust? I can. Let me tell you that the pit at the bottom of your stomach feels exactly the same as it did the first time someone let you down. I suppose one might think you would get used to getting hurt but the truth is that the one hundredth time you get hurt is just as bad as the first time.

I thought that by now I'd be a master at discovering someone's dishonesty but I suppose we get so immersed in our daily lives that those skills tend to slack off. Well, I know now and that's what counts right? I'd like to say I'm a big enough person to forgive, to hand out another chance, but I am not so sure I am. It seems like there have been so many times in my life where I had to forgive someone, had to give them a second chance, that at some point I'd be fresh out of both.

As I laid my head on my pillow last night I knew only one thing for sure, God is the only person I can put my trust in and even that is hard sometimes. He must have a plan for me but I'd really like to have a clue as to what it is. Surely it can't be this...what it is at this moment.

Misunderstandings

2009-12-01T15:27:00.004-06:00

A long time ago I never thought about death. It wasn't that I thought I was invincible it was that I was young and when you are young you believe life will go on forever. Young people are not supposed to die. I was woken up today by my phone vibrating from a new e-mail from a journal I signed up for about a little boy named Dax. Dax is two 1/2. Dax is dying. He has incurable leukemia and just days to live. I don't know this little boy, he lives down the street from my mom, but I cried when I read how weak he has become. I wanted to scream at God and honestly the only reason I didn't is because my kids were still asleep. There have been many times in my life when I've questioned God's intentions, his reasoning, his compassion. This little boy is suffering, his parents are suffering - where is the compassion in that? There have been other times I've questioned God's plan like the time when I laid on the floor with a broken heart, in so much pain that I could not lift myself up off the floor. I figured that one out, that broken heart made me stronger, but how can taking a child's life, making him suffer his last days on earth, make anyone stronger?

I'd like some answers. I've been patient through my life waiting for His agenda to work itself out while my own faded into the background. I can't imagine any sort of good coming from losing a child and I don't think I ever want to understand.

The struggles that brought me here...

2009-11-09T15:29:00.003-06:00

Recently someone posted a comment on a post I made back in 2005 "I stayed for me" which made me want to read it again...even though I remembered exactly what it said. As I sat there reading the words about the struggle I went through to find myself after a bad break-up I realized how much I've changed because of those struggles. It seems like a million years back to that person I was before; the person who let a man define her. But even though it seems so long ago I still question how I became that person opposed to this one that I am now? Do we learn it from someone or do we just happen upon it like the lottery except you don't win anything wonderful? I remember watching my mom as a strong career woman where she was respected and even feared yet in her personal life she let men convince her that her worth would only be determined by them. My mom lived as two people, the strong single mom who provided for two kids, became the first woman vice president in her company, and the woman who never believed she controlled her own destiny. Do we consciously teach our kids that they alone determine their fate or do we teach them that everything else except them is responsible for where they end up? Money, education, status....these are what we place so much importance on and we're idiots. Money can't make you a good person, education can teach you how to add two plus two but it can't teach you to have morals. Status can make you appear important - on the outside, but it can't actually make you important to yourself.

Now that I'm a mother I pray my daughter will not have the same heartaches, the same struggles, or the same anguish I had over trying to convince myself my self worth was only determined by me. I know she'll feel the pain of a broken heart but I want to teach her to let it hurt and then let it go...something it took me years to master. I don't want to have to teach her that she's in charge of her own destiny, I want her to know it instinctively.

To that young woman who reminded me why I am who I am right here right now, thank you. Sometimes we forget how hard we struggled to get to the place we are now which also makes us ungrateful for the circumstances that surround us. Circumstances change but what we are worth no matter what moment we are in - does not.

Self Actualization

2009-11-05T08:24:00.006-06:00

Self Actualization - the process of establishing oneself as a whole person; the ability to develop one's abilities or to understand one's self.

Have you done it? Have you even tried or did you give up long ago when you realized what an uphill battle it was? Call me an optimist, call me stupid, but I have been trying to get there, to get 'self actualized' for a very long time. There have been moments when I thought I was close, the birth of my children, success in my career, and then just as I felt the moment was near - 'Plop' down I slid right onto my ass. So what do you do when all those self admiring thoughts you had of yourself become MIA? You kick yourself in the hind end, hold your head up high and begin the climb again. Recently my backside has taken quite a beating as I try desperately to convince myself I'm worth the effort. I'm there...self actualized that is, at least I think the end is near. So how did I finally manage to grab the gold? I stopped listening to myself and went back to the beginning - the place where I began my journey and low and behold there I was, the parts of me I thought were lost or buried or burned beyond recognition. We get lost in our expectations so much so that expectations become the reminders of the failures that have filled our lives. We let them define us, shape us, envelope us until there isn't much left for anyone to recognize.

I woke up yesterday and realized that the very things that cause me to keep waking up, to keep climbing the hill - are the reason I am self actualized or whole or able to understand myself. I am whole despite the bruises, despite the pieces I've left behind because they were too painful to carry; I am what I am Sam I am. Acceptance....it is one of the hardest things you will ever achieve and the most rewarding. Now go look in the mirror and learn to love that reflection staring back at you.

Sacrifice...

2009-10-20T14:58:00.004-05:00

When I was a kid my dad would always tell me that those willing to sacrifice will always be the ones first rewarded. I wasn't sure what sacrifice meant way back then and sometimes I'm still not sure.

When I was still working sacrifice must have been the horrible commute I unhappily drove every day to ensure my children had a secure future. Sacrifice must have been the lunches I never took because someone always seem to need something from me right about noon. Sacrifice most definitely were the hours I worked after I put my children to bed sometimes until it was almost time to start the day over again. I look back at these 'sacrifices' and start to wonder who the hell I was doing them for and when exactly are the rewards going to start rolling in? Surely the reward wasn't getting let go from a job that I dedicated so much of my life to just because it was cheaper to hire a consultant to do my job. And the reward isn't the endless amount of time I spend searching job boards, posting resumes, and trying to convince people I'm not as worthless as my prior employer made me feel. And the reward cannot be the fact that I am so damn pissed off that I even have to go back to work because I absolutely love being with my kids and it's just no fair that some women get to have husbands that bring home the bacon and it's enough to fill four plates. Maybe my dad had it wrong, those that sacrifice are not the ones rewarded first, they are the ones left stuck in the burning building because they let everyone else escape first.

Sacrifice should never be done in anticipation of a reward because trust me my friend, you'll be waiting a very long time to cash in. If you want to sacrifice just make sure you are doing it for all the right reasons.

Somewhere in there....

2009-10-14T09:06:00.003-05:00

Sometimes in non-particular moments of the day I get flashes of what my life used to be like and for a split second I feel envy of that 'girl' I used to be. It isn't that I regret having children or getting married, it's that I have not been able to combine the best of both selves into one. I used to be more creative writing songs and playing the guitar but now there seems to be little time to do anything more creative than making a Halloween costume for my kids. Yes yes I know those are important things and there is some gratification when their eyes light up and they prance around in their costume 24/7 but gratification has taken on such a different form now days. I remember when being gratified came from a few hours of Guinness and some hot...well you know. It is so amazing how a lifetime whizzes past you in a blaze of Glory. Don't misunderstand me, I do have many moments of happiness and peace when I look at my children but sometimes it is so hard to be someone's everything when you feel the emptiness creeping up inside you. Sometimes I feel pathetic for how I feel which seemingly all stems from being unemployed and unable to convince someone that your talents extend beyond a stay-at-home mom. I used to be that 'girl' that wowed everyone because there were so few women in technology. Now I'm just that women that used to do something that used to be important but it's gotten lost in the layers of the crappy economy.

How the hell do you take the anger and release it? I've tried that whole 'push it down and bury it' method and trust me....it doesn't work. I should be able to figure this out, to be happy regardless of the circumstances, but it is always just out of reach. I have to be somewhere in there beneath the anger, outside of the resentment, and inside a glass house that shakes in fear of someone with a stone in their hand.

Coming back....

2009-10-11T20:49:00.004-05:00

It has been so long since I've been in this place but I'm so lost from searching where I belong or what meaning my life has that it seemed logical to start in the place where I felt it all made sense.

I've tried to begin so many times now that it seems I'm already nearing the end and I have not even figured out what goes in the middle. I lost my job last December, a job that I put so many blood sweat and tears into that I rarely had any left for myself. I suppose a person could take comfort that so many other people in this economy have ended up the exact same place I have but for some reason I find little warmth in that knowledge. I'm pissed off of course but less about losing my job and more about the way I was treated. Our company went through a reorganization and in with the new came the evil lurking right behind it. People that once were so valued were now worth less than a penny at the bottom of my purse. I guess I was lucky up until that point because hard work always paid off for me and I felt 'appreciated'. Isn't it amazing how you can have so much in your life, a great husband, two wonderful children, but the moment your job stops treating you like a human being you fall off the cliff.

So here I am exactly where I have been for months now, home with my children which pleases me immensely because they have been my salvation. So how then do I feel so lost? So pissed off? Because life costs money and although my husband is still working, thank God, I'm used to being able to purchase things I need without worrying. Today my cat died, he was fifteen. As I sat there next to him listening to him take his last breaths I shouted at God, "What exactly is your plan for me?" I'm so angry, at Him, at myself, at that stupid company that stole the future I had planned out. I used to be able to afford things like an ultra sound for a pet that needed one but now, I cannot. Now I have to weigh which life is more important, my children's or my pet's. Of course I pick my kids but the point is that before I never had to make decisions like that.

So here I am back to this place that gave me solace, a place that provided an outlet to years of pent up anger towards my parents, and a place where somehow I figured it all out and felt whole again. I'm not feeling so whole right now since pieces of me seem to be sputtering down the drain with the rest of my lost plans.

It'll help right? Writing words that total strangers will judge me by? Of course it will because right now being anonymous is exactly how I've felt for the past months.

being selfish

2008-11-10T07:52:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I remember how selfish I used to be, not on purpose, but out of shear ignorance. I used to be the center of my own universe and my days were solely about me. It sounds much worse than it was. I was single, no children, no boyfriend (at least not a serious one), and my life had no real meaning. I liked myself, sort of, but in actuality when I look back I'm not really sure there was much substance to it all. Once upon a time I planned on having children but then age and circumstance seem to push that 'plan' aside and I'd resolved myself to the fact that I'd never be a mom. Well fate had other plans for me, thank God! I still remember the night I found out I was pregnant and there wasn't one moment that I wished it wasn't true. My boyfriend (now husband) thought differently, he was 4 years younger than I and believe it or not...more selfish than I. I didn't care what he thought, I was going to be a mom and that in an instant changed everything. I'm not sure if it was my determination or my willingness to go it alone that brought him around, but by the time Alice was born he was as non-selfish as I was.
It still amazes me that someone can live their whole life centered around themselves and then in an instant their life becomes someone else's.

If I were younger, maybe I'd resent the fact that every moment of my day is about my children, but I'm not younger. Even in the moments when I'm tired and feel as if my head will explode if I hear 'mommy, mommy, mommy' one more time, I'm thankful. Thankful that I am not selfish. Thankful that I have someone else to live for. Thankful that someday my children will grow up and realize they are selfish....and then they'll decide not to be.

circles around myself

2008-11-06T12:41:00.002-06:00

I keep coming back here. It takes days, months, sometimes a whole year - yet I return, loyally. My life turns and turns and seems to come back to the same point no matter how many times I swear off my return. Maybe I should stop running. I suppose there are things that become a part of you no matter how often you try to shake them loose or shove them deep into the recesses of your mind. I went to a therapist recently because I was angry. It's not that being angry is abnormal but not knowing why you are so pissed off isn't exactly healthy. I suppose I was a little surprised when we started to talk about my childhood and my blood pressure rose; I thought I'd dealt with my demons. Apparently denial is not the same as dealing with something! So, I continue to go but the therapist suggested I start blogging again, it's a release of all the things I can't seem to share any other place.

So I'm here. I uploaded a recent picture of my babies partly to remind me happiness can be simple if you let it be, and partly because looking at them inspires me to be something better than I am. I wish it was easier to remember how to be happy.

I'll be back....sooner than later.

In the back of my mind

2008-01-17T14:21:00.000-06:00

In the back of my mind I remember my dad is an alcoholic; It's not really something you can forget even if you've tried your whole life. The past few years it's been OK, meaning he hasn't made any of his drunken calls expressing his love for me and for the most part he doesn't even drink when I'm around. I know it's not a cure but him drinking less sometimes is the straw that doesn't break the camel's back. Some things you learn to accept either because you have no choice or you've thrown away so much time and energy trying to change them that there just isn't enough fight left in you to do anything else. So, there I was not even thinking about my dad's disease and he calls me - drunk. Even though it's been at least 2 years since he's done that, the old familiar sickness in the pit of my stomach came rushing back as if it was just moments ago. My dad means well, he calls to tell me he loves me when he's sober too (which lately has been more often than not), but for some reason he doesn't get it. Love means nothing to me when it's being recited through an alcoholic channel. I stop listening. I stop wanting to exist in the same realm. Basically I run and hide inside myself because in there, the world is much safer.

If I were twenty, I'd call my dad up and chew him out for putting me through that again, but I'm forty now. At forty, my days of preaching seem to be far behind. I keep wondering at what age his disease will stop bothering me? At what age will I stop rationalizing his 'moment of weakness' up against the ones where he fails miserably? At what age will I just stop expecting him to be any different than I know he is? Maybe that age has passed and I forgot to take note of it. Maybe it will never come.

to forgive

2008-01-11T14:41:00.001-06:00

Have you ever wondered why you don't need to teach a child how to forgive? It's like they are born with that ability automatically. I'm not sure that's actually a good thing because there are some things that just don't deserve forgiveness, but still, I've wondered at what age, at what point, do we learn not to forgive. I've held my fair share of grudges, even against myself. I've gone years holding on to pain because I just couldn't bring myself to forgive a wrong committed against me. I can't even remember when I learned the difference between forgiveness and acceptance which incidentally are not the same thing. There are many things I've just accepted but when I really am honest with myself, I know the forgiveness part, well that's something all together different.

I want to teach my kids about forgiveness, not so they'll know how to do it but so they'll know how to give it when it's deserved, when it's needed, when forgiving someone is just as much for you as it is for the person receiving it. I'm not sure how I'll go about teaching this lesson. Maybe I'll tell them all the things I wish I would have forgiven a long time ago. The things that ended up being the very same things I needed to forgive myself for.

Forgiveness. It's still something I struggle with, but I've learned to accept that.

When the mind is weak...

2008-01-09T14:48:00.000-06:00

I've blogged about my step dad before; he has Alzheimer's. Of course he's worse than the last time I wrote about him, people with that disease don't get better. But his body, it's gotten stronger. It's like some cruel trick that life plays on you...as your mind gets weaker your body tries to make up for the difference by getting stronger. It's not fair really, because who wants to be healthy when you don't have the sense to enjoy it? Of course that actually describes a heck of a lot of people doesn't it? How often do we wake up and thank the heavens that we feel great? Usually the only time anyone in the heavens hears us is when we have something to complain about. But my step dad...he's so lost. His body wants to go one way and his mind another leaving him walking in circles trying to find some compromise between the two. I'm not sure there is a compromise, at least not for him. For us it's the small moments of recognition that flicker in his eyes. We hold on to those moments because they are all he has to offer. Sometimes it amazes me how little we're willing to accept to make us feel better about something we're surely losing. I have to wonder, what makes him feel better? Does he feel anything other than pain? Does he remember that he used to be whole? I want to believe that he doesn't because to me, remembering what you used to have is much worse than forgetting it.

Somewhere under the Negative...

2008-01-08T08:24:00.000-06:00

I got in trouble yesterday at work. I'm not the type to deny making mistakes but this time I was the scapegoat for someone else screwing up. Apparently someone more important than me so you know how it goes...Shiest always rolls down hill right? So anyway while I'm in my bosses' office and he's telling me what I did wrong he also tells me what a fabulous job I've done the past year. As he's telling me that he has to write me up I ask him if he's also going to write me up for the compliment he just gave me and put that in my file too. I'm cursed with the smart arse jean! But really, why is it that you can do a stellar job and no one ever comes to you and pats you on the back but you screw up one time in 4 years and they are on you like a fly on...well you know! As a parent I make it a point of telling my kids how well they do at lots of things because I don't ever want them to think that I only notice the bad stuff but in reality the world just doesn't work that way. We remember the bad things people say about us, not the compliments. Why is that? Don't people realize that the more you focus on the negative, the more negative a situation becomes? I guess that accentuating the positive just isn't the way we work is it?

Well I don't want to be that way so right now I'm making a point to focus on the positive...even though it's raining cats and dogs outside and I'm really pissed off at my boss...here it goes:

It's raining...but at least the salt and grime got washed off my car this morning on my way to work.

I'm tired, but at least it's Tuesday and not Monday which means I only have 3 more days to go until it's the weekend.

I got in trouble at work, but at least my boss thinks I do a great job otherwise.

That person that played CYA by blaming their mistake on me...well they'll probably lay in bed tonight with guilt plaguing their shallow soul. (oops that didn't sound so positive).

Ok that's enough because honestly at the moment I'm not feeling all that positive. I get points for trying though right?

Happy Tuesday.

Two days in a row

2008-01-04T14:55:00.000-06:00

Ok, now I've been swamped today but I promised myself I was going to write...so here I am. This whole week has been going so slowly which is sort of ironic because this whole past month I've complained about how quickly time flies. My son turned 1 in December, can you believe it? It really does just seem like yesterday that I was big and preggie and now here I am chasing that little guy around. He's not walking yet...but the way he's cruising around the furniture and behind his push walker...it'll be no time before his little feet carry him all on their own. My daughter is going to be 4 the end of February and she's much smarter than me, or at least she thinks so. The drama in our house is beyond crazy...who would have thought it would start this soon. But anyway, time passes so often and we never seem to notice it much until some milestone happens and then we go, "Where did the time go". I remember when I was a kid I'd always say, "I can't wait to be a grown up," and my mother would say, "don't wish your life away." Boy was she right. Most times being a grown kind of sucks. What I wouldn't give to be a kid again when the most important decision I had to make was which friend I wanted to invite over after school.

Oh well....to leave you with a few pics of my life lately enjoy some pics of my beautiful angels. I'll be back soon.

And so it begins...

2008-01-03T08:45:00.001-06:00

I've been away for awhile. I thought about coming back so many times but I've been so busy with life that every time I started to write something, something else got in the way. Have you ever been there before, when the biggest thing standing in your way, is yourself? Well, it's another year and I'm another year older (I just turned 40 on Jan. 2nd) so I've decided to step aside and get on with myself.

My birthday kind of sucks. Not only is everyone usually broke and hung over, I also get to make new years resolutions and then turn a year older right after them. This year was a little harder, leaving my 30's trailing behind. Everyone makes such a big deal about turning 40 that I sort of psyched myself up to feel horrible so when it actually got here, I didn't feel much of anything. I'm really good at that ya know...not feeling anything. It's this bad habit I've learned to perfect in the last 40 years. Maybe I'll spend the next 40 years trying to break it.

So, a new year's resolution for me is that I am going to start blogging again. I've missed my blogger friends. Hell, I've missed myself. You know when I sit back and think about my life I'm pretty damn lucky. My kids are healthy, I bought a new house a few months back, my husband is pretty decent (hee hee), and 40 is supposed to be the start of the best years of my life. Well, we'll see.

I hope you all had wonderful holidays. I'm here now...and I'm staying. Kick my butt if I waiver on that one OK? I've discovered that everyone needs a good butt kicking every once in awhile.

The moments you remember...

2007-09-19T11:14:00.001-05:00

KimmyK asked about my step father...thank you for remembering.

He is as well as can be expected. He's in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's but it's strange because he still remembers us. He can't remember how to tie his shoes or get dressed but when when Alice runs to him screaming "papa papa," his arms open wide to hold her as close as he can. Maybe him remembering us is God's way of retribution, at least for now. I am grateful he knows my name, grateful more that he remembers his love for my mom. I can't imagine how hard it would be to watch someone you devoted your life to, forget you.

The value of one's life really can't be measured by the number of moments that happened in your life. The value of one's life is measured by the moments you can remember.

Silence....

2007-09-17T11:07:00.000-05:00

For so much of my life I've dreaded silence. I remember trying to fill up the moments in my life with noise so that the silence never trapped me in a world with no escape. Noise came in many forms, men who were never good enough to keep my company, drugs or alcohol that filled my head with so much garbage there was no chance of a quiet moment, and many many conversations with myself just because the sound of a voice - even if it was my own, was better than no sound at all.

This morning I came to work early, 7:00 a.m. to be exact, and as I sat down to turn on my computer I realized that something was different; I couldn't hear anything. It wasn't that I was deaf or that I wasn't listening, it was that I was surrounded by silence. For a moment I wasn't sure how I felt about that silence. To be honest, silence is something I rarely have a chance to experience so when it was there, staring me in the face, I sort of froze. I let it wrap around me and sink into my bones and you know what? It felt wonderful. I could hear my heart beat and even though I know I'm alive...I have forgotten to feel that thump in my chest to verify its existence.

It's amazing how many things you can hear when the world is silent. Maybe all this time that I've been filling up my moments with noise I should have been putting my ear plugs in.

When you are lost...

2007-09-14T14:46:00.000-05:00

I've been away for so long, willingly some of the time - not so willingly the other. Time has flown by since the birth of Patrick, he's already 9 months old, but it's always amazed me how sometimes when the rest of life is flying by - parts of it remain still. I suppose it's like taking a picture of yourself, one that shows off your best angle; you tuck it away in a hidden drawer so that sometime down the road you can take it out and remember how one time, you liked yourself. It's not that I don't like the me that's here now, it's that there are parts I liked better before. Ah...anyway, such is life right? Maybe that's why I stayed away from blogging for so long, so I could somehow find that part of myself that makes me grateful that I'm in this skin.

So...while I was away I bought a new house which is pretty much why I've had no time. It was such a big change moving from the city back to the country (well not exactly country but after you live in Chicago anything outside of it is country). I actually have a yard now and we can see stars every night. I never really imagined how awful it could be not to see stars. We take them for granted ya know, but trust me, when they are invisible - you miss them.

I guess I'm back and although I've been meaning to come back for some time, Keda made it real for me. You know...I've really missed this place and all of you.

I'll be back tomorrow. I promise.

Somewhere in the details...

2007-04-23T14:34:00.000-05:00

Trudging left a comment on my last post 'God is somewhere there...in the details.' I kept reading that statement over and over and realized that thought should be something I remember every single day. I'm not sure she knows just how profound that statement is but usually that's when statements have the most effect, when we just speak from the heart with little fore thought.

God has always been a part of my life. He's been there for the lowest points when I almost believed He'd forgotten me. He's been there for the highlights when I was grateful that He'd remembered me. There have been moments I questioned His intentions; moments I teetered on the edge of faith. Somehow I've managed to keep believing. It's been no picnic, no ride on the merry-go-round, rather it's been like climbing an enormous mountain with all the wrong gear. Once or twice I've reached the top of that mountain only to realize that climbing back down was a much harder task. I suppose where I'm going with all this is that I often forget to look close enough while I'm in those moments that test my faith - and see God in the details. It's usually only after the moment's passed that I give God credit for helping me survive.

It's hard to imagine that God was there, somewhere in the details, of that horrible tragedy at Virginia Tech. It's hard to imagine that God was there, somewhere in the details, as that Blue Angel pilot plunged to his death as his parents looked on from the crowd of spectators. But I'm going to try, to figure it out, to see Him, to believe He was there. Maybe He was the last thought of a loved one that passed through the mind of a victim. Maybe he was the light that someone saw as they left this world. Maybe he was holding the hand of that pilot so he wouldn't be scared of what was coming. Maybe he was the distraction that made his mother look away as his plane fell from the sky. He was there, in the details. Details matter more than anything. Thank you Trudging for reminding me to pay attention to detail.

tragedy

2007-04-19T21:50:00.000-05:00

It's been a busy week and it sure started off the wrong way. You know when I first heard about the Virginia Tech shooting I sort of...didn't pay attention. I know that sounds horrible but sometimes I just get so caught up in my own stuff like work, kids, husband, that I forget I am not an enigma. But now as I sit here in the dimly lit space I call my living room, my husband is away on a business trip, my babies are fast asleep, and it's just me and my cats Leo and Bobo trying to soak up all the 'quietness'. So now, I spend moments thinking about what happened in Virginia. I think about the husbands, wives, lovers, brothers, sisters, friends - people that no longer exist and the ones that are left behind. Sometimes they say tragedy unites but if that's true why are so many people left torn apart? I can understand how life can make someone feel 'ganged up on', how it can make you feel bloodied and bruised, but I cannot understand how you could be so angry, so hopeless, so lost in despair, that you would drag innocent people right out of this world with you. I suppose part of me doesn't want to understand because if I did, if I could, then I may have to accept that some people really are evil.

So I've said a prayer, for them, for me, for my kids, for my friends, for the people I know, for the ones I don't, for people everywhere - that they may stay unburied, unbruised, unbloodied. Sometimes it's so hard to have hope but somehow we must believe that there is more goodness than evil, more peace than war, more time - to make us all have faith again.

commonality

2007-04-16T08:28:00.000-05:00

People are different. On the outside we all have things that make us unique, dark eyes, small hands, crooked smile. On the inside do we look alike? I believe that although we each have our own indescribable characteristics that each of us is like a river flowing into a commonality that unites us. We stand on the beach, eyes staring out at an ocean filled with so much complexity yet somehow its' simplicity is what keeps us in amazement.

Saturday I watched my daughter float across the floor, hands held in a circle above her head as if it were her very own halo. Her first ballet class, her first taste at what it was really like to be a ballerina. My first reminder that as complex as life may seem, it's made up of simple pleasures. It's simple really, my daughter is my happiness.

time stands still

2007-04-11T21:10:00.000-05:00

I can hardly believe it's been over a week since I posted. Time flies doesn't it, well actually for some - it -stands - still.

Over Easter I went back home to see my mom and my step dad. Some of you may remember that he's now in a nursing home and he has Alzheimer's. It's been awhile since he could leave because his condition is getting so much worse so quickly so I took my kids to see him. As I walked through the front door the smell of urine and 'despair' was just about enough to choke me. It amazed me how my 3 year old never turned up her nose, never noticed that something smelled awful, instead she just smiled and ran to Papa to give him a hug. She didn't seem to notice that Papa now lives somewhere else with other people or that he can't talk as much as he used to. He can hug her and that's about all that matters in her world. God what I wouldn't give to be able to make things so simple in my own life. So we're sitting there pretending that things are not as grim as they seem and I begin looking around at the other 'lost souls' who seemed frozen in time. Some have visitors, some don't. Some smile because that's all they remember how to do, some cry - because that's the only thing left they can do. Each and every one of those 'people' appear to be waiting for something. I hesitate to say it's death they wait for but if I'm honest, it is all that's left for most. My step father is only a shell of the man I used to know. Somewhere deep inside there are remnants of him, but as hard as I try I cannot see them anymore. My daughter sees them but I'm starting to believe it's almost like believing in Santa Claus, the older you get, the less real he becomes. I wonder if some day only the 'virgin eyes' of a child will be able to find me in the shell that becomes my home. I hope not.

Before we left I hugged my step dad as tight as I could hoping that somehow he'd feel my touch down to the parts that still remember how wonderful it feels to be loved. I think the saddest part this disease is knowing he will die without the memory of a life lived, a life loved, a life full of so much more than he has right now.

I keep picturing my sweet Alice kissing her papa's cheek just before we walked away and I'm praying that for him, time is frozen in that moment.

Happy Friday

2007-03-30T10:13:00.000-05:00

I was going to write about something serious, something not pleasant but worth thinking about. I changed my mind after looking at these new photos of my kids. You know what? It's Friday and I don't want to think about anything other than how damn lucky I am. So instead I am going to share a new pic of my kids. I have to laugh every time I look at this because it's truly an exact expression of my daughter's personality. It seems she's a lot like me, always looking sideways at people wondering what they are really thinking. My son is a lot like his dad....he just sits back and takes it all in and then gives me one of those "Are you kidding," looks when I've gone overboard. Ah...children really are the most wonderful gift in the whole wide world.

Have a wonderful weekend.

the loss of innocence

2007-03-26T08:33:00.000-05:00

It happens, the loss of innocence that is. It's as inevitable as death and most times, as unexpected.

Innocence is like a shiny new penny laying face up in the street; when you walk by you can't help but stop to notice how bright and new it looks, untouched, unscathed. Sometimes we bend over to pick it up, shove it down deep into our pockets, saving it for a rainy day with the hope that some of its newness wears off on us. Sometimes we glance at it, reminisce about how we once owned our own shiny penny - and then we move on because it's like staring into the sun, if you look at it too long it will blind you.

I've always wondered why innocence attracts us so. Is it because we can remember what it felt like to be naive? Or is it because it's concept has become so far removed from our own reality that we gawk at it's existence in wonder and amazement? Try as I may I cannot remember the exact moment that my own innocence was lost but I do recall waking up one day confused at my apparent 'worldliness'. The thing about innocence is that it's rarely given like a gift, wrapped pretty with a bow and a thank you card. Innocence is stolen. That shiny penny lays gleaming in the palm of your hand, sparkling as if it were worth a million dollars - and then it slips from your grip and suddenly becomes as worthless as a two dollar bill. Sometimes as it's rolling down the sidewalk you have the urge to run after it, pick it up, and hide it where no one can steal it from you again. But your feet are slow to move and soon it's fallen into the gutter beyond your reach and you let it go because that's easier than playing search and rescue for something you were not even sure you wanted to keep in the first place. After all what does innocence really get you - more admirers?

I knew that it was coming, that moment when my niece's innocence would join the other 'once shiny pennies' in the bottom of an old whiskey bottle. And now it's there, sitting on top because it's still new but with time, it will work it's way to the bottom where it will tarnish. And for now she says, "It's only a penny, not worth much." But one day not so far from right now she's going to realize that having a pocket with one shiny new penny can make you the richest person in the world.

feeling spared...

2007-03-21T12:31:00.000-05:00

Three years ago my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I still remember the phone call where she told me they found cancer in one of her breasts. I remember feeling my heart skip a beat, my chest become tight as if a hundred pound barbell was laid upon it. I remember thinking that there must be some mistake because my mother - was invincible. We want to believe our parents will live forever but the reality is, they won't. That day that I learned my mother wasn't invincible, changed me. My mother is a survivor, she's cancer free 3 years and counting and there is not a day that goes by without me telling her how much I love her. Sometimes I call her, sometimes I send an email, but one moment in every day that I wake up alive - I reserve just for her.

One week ago I woke up with swollen lymph glands under my arm. When I ran my hand under my arm and felt a lump, once again my heart skipped a beat. Cancer was the first thought that popped into my mind, the second was, "My babies need me." At first I tried to ignore the thoughts but I'm one of those people that never has much success quieting that 'little voice' inside my head. I called the doctor and made an appointment and was kind of disappointed when she told me I had to go for an ultrasound. I wanted her to tell me it was nothing and I'd be fine so I could go back to my life the way I needed it to be. I debated on telling my mother, partly because I didn't want to worry her, partly because I didn't want her - to worry me. I ended up telling her because that's what her and I do, we tell each other things. She told me it was probably nothing but I could tell by the pause in her response that she was now afraid she'd passed something 'unwanted' on to her child. I couldn't get in to get an ultrasound until today so for the past week I've been contemplating the worst. One moment I thought I'd convinced myself that everything would be alright and in the next, I'd be begging God to spare me for my children. Maybe I'm selfish but I cannot bear the thought of my children growing up without a mother. For them not to be able to call out to me when they needed to me. There are a gazillion words in this language but none compares to "Mom". Death robs you of that word. I cannot put into words how much I love them, just know that it's more than I ever imagined loving anyone. So this morning I went to the hospital to get the ultrasound and as I sat in the waiting room with my husband, he gently held my hand as if he were afraid he might break me if he held on too tightly. The nurse called my name, I took a deep breath and stood up to follow her. Never in my life have I dreaded moving my feet more than I did at that moment. One foot in front of the other I slowly made my way to the place that may change my destiny. I undressed and laid on the table trying desperately to pull the gown over my exposed skin. My nakedness seemed due less to my lack of clothes and more to the fact that I felt completely powerless. A few months ago I laid on a table similar to this one as they swirled a wand around my belly to see the life growing inside of me yet now the wand was in search of something that could end my life instead of fulfilling it. I studied the nurse's face instead of the screen with the hope that her expressions would give me the hope that I needed. As I stared at her, this stranger, I placed an enormous burden on her shoulders - the burden of making everything alright. As unfair as making someone your savior is, I could not help myself. Finally the nurse told me she would go get the doctor and I convinced myself that this could only mean bad news. When the doctor came in she was quick and to the point, "Everything looks normal, the nodes are most likely swollen due to an infection, a cold or some other virus." At first, I believed I'd willed the doctor to say what I wanted as if I were a ventriloquist but then she repeated, "There is no mass, no cancer, you can get dressed and go." She had no bedside manner but I didn't care, still I wanted to hug her. I dressed and made my way out to the lobby to tell my husband the good news and somehow his arms around my shoulders never felt so good.

I'm not sure if you've ever experienced how it feels to have your life handed back to you, but if you have then you know what grateful means. I took a moment, that moment I take out of each day just for my mom, and I called her. "Everything is ok Mom." I'm so very thankful that word has not been stolen from me.

If I should die...

2007-03-19T21:49:00.000-05:00

Before now in some other life that I pretended to live, I never thought about death. When you are a kid death is something that escapes you. You go to sleep each night assuming that the sun will rise again, there will be more hours to play, more time to get chores done, more chances to do the things you neglected to do. For some of us, we briefly experience death when our beloved pet dies or a grandparent is laid to rest. For some, the less fortunate, they realize way too soon what death means by losing their parent or a sibling. But me, even though I remember standing over my grandfather's casket when I was seven I also remember thinking that it wasn't real. A child has that wonderful ability to make things into 'make believe' by simply refusing to pay attention. That's what I did. I'm not sure when it happens but at some point you realize that death means an 'ending' yet even then we still carry that 'infallible' feeling around with us. I suppose sometimes that's a good thing after all who wants to wake up each day thinking they are going to die right? When I think back to all the moments I wasted believing I'd always have another chance to do what I didn't get done today I realize how incredibly selfish that is. There has to be some balance, some way to be grateful for life without constantly worrying about it ceasing to exist but I'm not really sure how to achieve it.

I think about death now, since I've had children. I don't fret over the things I've yet to accomplish, I fret over the chance to see my kids accomplishments. I worry about who will raise them if I pass, who will teach my daughter how to love with all that's inside of her without losing all that's inside of her? Who will teach my son that loving a woman completely doesn't make you weak, it's makes you strong? Who will protect them from harm? Who will love them the way that I do? I have no answers and maybe that's why I think about death. It's not something that consumes me, but it's there right beside the mental list of groceries I need to pick up tomorrow at the market. I'm not really sure I want it to go away because somehow being a little afraid of death makes me a better person or at least it forces me to be a lot less selfish.

God Bless the Child

2007-03-16T08:37:00.000-05:00

Before, I was angry at God for not letting me take my son home from the hospital the day I was discharged. I can't take those moments that I felt that way, back. I can only stop being angry now. This past Sunday Patrick was baptized. The ceremony means different things to many people but to me it's standing before God and saying, "Here is my child, bless him, watch over him, keep him tucked safely beneath your arms." So now....God and I are sharing that responsibility of keeping my babies safe. I think He forgave me for being angry...after all He's the one who made me human.

lessons of abandonment

2007-03-14T15:01:00.000-05:00

While I was on maternity leave my niece, the one I've posted on many times before, threatened suicide. She's a troubled 14 year old who's been put on and taken off more drugs than I've ever been in my life. I've often disagreed with my brother's take on the whole thing, he thinks every time she acts up it's due to her being AD/HD or some other 'condition' he's not yet diagnosed. He can't seem to link the start of all this bad behavior to his marriage about 3 years ago. I could lay a lot of blame on my brother but what's the point? Blame really gets you nowhere, instead I've chosen to just be extremely disappointed in him.

So anyway, he's tired of the 'drama' my niece brings to him and his new family so he's told her she has to go live with her mother. Funny thing...when he divorced her mother he fought tooth and nail to get custody and now he's ready to just hand her back over because things are a little too 'inconvenient'. Imagine this, a teenager sneaking out to see boys, staying on the phone too long, forgetting to hand in homework, or fighting with her step mother....stop the presses! I guess my brother has forgotten the time he dumped his car down a ravine and told the Police it was stolen so my mom would by him a new one. Or the time he stole my mom's car and drove to Iowa to go to a Frat party and then finally called my mom to tell her where he was three days later. Yeah, he was a real gem. So his daughter has been acting out, trying to get his attention, trying to let him know that she's hurting. What's he do? He proves to her that she was right, he doesn't care enough to keep trying so she tells him she wants to die. Of course he doesn't believe her, she's dramatic after all. So I call him up, I yell in his ear, I make him listen. He finally calls the hospital and they admit her for observation and tell him to let her go live with her mother because she's into much pain to be around him.

So, she's 14 years old and she has learned her very first life long lesson - people abandon you. My heart aches for her as my mind swirls around my own memories of being 14 and abandoned by my own father. I wonder if my brother realizes that he's just done the very same thing he hated my dad for. I see her life ten years from now as she's letting some man abuse her because she's terrified that he'll leave. I see her life fifteen years from now when she's convinced herself that there is something 'unlovable' about her and that's why people always leave. I wish I could see something else but as much as I'll try to change the course my brother has set her ship a sail on, I know in all likelihood - I'll fail.

For now, she'll hate herself instead of him. For now, she'll seek love from him with every ounce of her strength - we always want love from the people incapable of giving it. For now, she'll believe that life is not worth living and thoughts of ending it all will pass through her beautiful mind more often than thoughts of beginning again. For now I'll hold on to her as tight as I can and hope that I'm strong enough for the both of us. And one day she'll turn the light on and begin counting the scars she's collected and hopefully she'll learn, just like I did, that although some people do leave, it's the ones that stay that matter most.

Sometimes I wish that the lessons we learn could be 'unlearned' or turned back in like an overdue library book, pay a fine and the slate is wiped clean. Life doesn't work like that does it.

the things that change us

2007-03-13T09:41:00.000-05:00

In life, there are many moments that change us. Some define us, some make us better or worse than we were before. Sometimes years pass before we realize that something is 'different' but sometimes the instant something happens we recognize the effect it has on our existence.

In my life I have changed many many times and once or twice I've made a desperate attempt to change back. I thought that in my 39 years of living I'd done all the changing that was required but 3 months ago when I brought Patrick into this world and then had to leave him at the hospital while I went back to an empty nursery, something in me - changed again. I was angry, at God, at my husband for not being able to understand my pain, at myself for somehow not being able to go just two weeks longer so Patrick would be full term. I've been angry before but never the kind of angry that consumes you until you feel so empty that a strong wind might blow you half way across the universe. I don't know if you've ever felt weightless before but it's not a good feeling. I felt like I was floating away and no matter how tightly those that loved me held on, I fought them. I remember my daughter sitting on my knee wiping tears off my cheek whispering, "mommy don't be sad." God gave me that angel to watch over me, and watch me she did. I never wanted her to see me sad but sadness was all I had left. It was the first time in my life that I felt completely out of control. The moment I walked out of that hospital without my son, I changed. The unwavering faith I'd always placed in God seemed to be faltering. For me, believing in God has always been what's gotten me through but now I felt completely alone.

Things turned out alright but even now with a healthy 3 month old little boy laughing and smiling at me, that part of me that changed is unable to change back. There is still a hesitation when I kneel down to say prayers at night with Alice that God is actually listening. I want to believe He is. I want to believe that He was listening all along and that even though I felt weightless as if I'd float away to parts unknown, I had an anchor holding me exactly where I was supposed to be.

Maybe what I need to do is look at these pictures every time I start doubting that some higher power is looking out for me.

from here to eternity...

2007-03-12T08:37:00.000-05:00

It seems like an eternity since I've posted and although some may think I've forgotten my blog friends, nothing could be farther from the truth. Honestly I've thought about this place often but life had me 'tied' up. After Patrick was born I took 3 months to enjoy being a mom but now it seems the time has come to leap back into my other reality. Coming back to work was hard the first day. I must have kissed my sweet babies ten times before actually making it out the door and as I sat on the train blasting my music trying to drown out the whispers of a reality call I wasn't ready to hear, I realized that for once in my life I was actually content. It's such a strange feeling ya know? There have been so many moments spent searching for something more than what I already had that I'd kind of forgotten what content actually felt like. It feels damn good.

So much has happened since I've been away, some good, some bad. I guess life wouldn't be life if it didn't have both of those ingredients would it? At least it's given me much to write about so I hope you'll stay tuned because starting tomorrow I have some pretty deep stuff to scribble across these pages. I know...you're thinking "Networkchic has deep things to write about?" Amazing isn't it? :-)

I've missed you all and in between my catching up on work I promise to visit each and every one of you.

This is love...

2007-02-13T22:43:00.000-06:00

For most of my life I've searched for love. There were brief moments when I thought I'd found love, moments that filled me up yet somehow left me emptier than when I started. When I was a child my father would sit by my bedside with his guitar in hand singing Irish ballads to lull me to sleep. I remember thinking, this is love. When my parents divorced and I watched my mom starve herself because of depression I thought, that is love. When I was 14 and my boyfriend told me he'd be with me forever as we laid in the bedroom of his sister's double-wide trailer while he took my virginity, I thought, this is love. The next day when he broke up with me because I was just too young for him, I thought, "Is this love?" When I was twenty-three and I stood before God and recited marriage vows I thought that would make me loved. When I was twenty-eight and I signed a divorce decree dissolving my marriage I thought I didn't deserve love. When I was thirty and I moved to Chicago to be with someone that wanted me, I thought, now he'll love me. When I was thirty-two and the man I'd moved here for broke my heart I realized, it didn't matter if he loved me. When I was thirty-three I decided I didn't need love. When I was thirty-four I met a man who loved me even though I told him not to. When I was thirty-six I brought a child into this world and as they laid her in my arms I discovered that all that came before that moment, were only preparing me for real love. I thought I'd discovered all I needed to know, about love, about myself and then I met my son two short months ago. When I looked into his eyes I saw how simple love has always been. It can take a lifetime to find the definition of love, and a moment to believe in it.

Happy Valentine's Day. I wish you many moments of clarity.

to keep me safe...

2007-01-16T08:53:00.000-06:00

Over the years I have collected many things that I thought would keep me safe, some tangible, some that are not. When I was a kid I kept a shoe box stashed in the back of my closet filled with things that 'meant' something to me, things that made me feel safe when I touched them or held them in my hands. When I was scared or upset I'd hide in my closet and take each treasure from the box and hold it close to my chest as if it's existence could transport me to another moment. God, when I think how simple it was to feel safe back then it makes me envious of children. As I grew older the things I collected to make me feel safe no longer fit inside a shoe box, most were still hidden but no longer could they be discovered by opening a closet door. You learn to bury your treasures much deeper beneath layers of brick and mortar so that they cannot be accidentally discovered which immediately nullifies their ability to keep you safe. And then one day something happens. You wake up and you feel that old familiar need to feel safe again so you reach down deep inside yourself and search for just the right tool to make it all better but as you roll it around in your hands and hold it to your chest you are not transported to another moment, and still you do not feel safe. You turn the light on to examine it more closely only to discover that your hands are empty. And now you are left to handle this alone. Sometimes being alone is the scariest thing in the world but sometimes, it's what saves you.

There have been moments lately that I have felt overwhelmed and that scares the hell out of me. I'm used to being in control and when I'm not, I pull out those 'tools' that make me feel safe enough until the moment passes. The old tools don't work any longer, either because I've changed or they never really existed. I didn't think I really had anything else to learn but apparently I was wrong. Right now in this moment I'm searching for something to make me feel safe again. Maybe I'm just not looking in the right closet.

Hope

2007-01-05T14:12:00.000-06:00

It seems like forever since I posted but my time seems to be pretty well spoken for these days. I swear my days are spent with my breasts hanging out the majority of the time and the left over moments are used up with diaper changes. Don't get excited...the breasts hanging out are anything but sexy when you've turned into a milk factory. :-) I meant to post on New Years and then on my birthday which was January 2nd, but both days passed so quickly and I chose to use my very few spare moments catching a few Z's.

Anyway I'm here now right? So, another year has begun and I've managed to make it past another birthday. I remember when birthdays were exciting with parties and presents but as you get older birthdays become more about regrets of the things you have not accomplished than they do about a celebration. I've had so many birthdays where the list of regrets spanned too many pages to read. Birthdays where I drank myself into oblivion because oblivion seemed much more pleasant than reality. This time, this birthday was different because the regrets I carry were overshadowed by the accomplishments that lay beside me. I woke up on my birthday with a sweet little girl named Alice with her feet planted firmly against my back and a tiny boy named Patrick who sees me as a much better person than I actually am. My children are my accomplishments because both of them proved that I can be selfless and that in itself makes me feel like the luckiest woman alive.

So I'm old - er now and somewhat wiser thanks to the education my children have bestowed upon me. My new year although uneventful to some, has brought promise and hope into my life and every time I look into the soulful eyes of my sweet babies I'm reminded that a life without hope is not a life at all. I have a life...a very wonderful one.

May your new year be filled with hope, hope that lifts you up when you have fallen, hope that lightens the load you carry upon your shoulders, hope that lets you love your life.

I'll be back soon....I promise. :-)

the things that break us...and the ones that make us whole

2006-12-21T12:00:00.000-06:00

Two weeks ago today at 5:22 p.m. I had a son, Patrick Charles. I had a plan, a schedule, I knew how things would go - but somehow God forgot to follow my lead. I was supposed to have Patrick on Friday 12/08 but after my amnio I started having contractions and they decided it would be best to perform a C section since the baby was laying transverse (sideways) in the womb. His lungs were not quite mature but they assured me he'd just need a little oxygen and he'd be fine. So at 4:15 they wheeled me into the OR and within ten minutes they were cutting me open. Patrick was a bit stubborn, he was big and didn't come out easily but after a bit of 'tugging' they pulled him into this world. I heard him cry and my heart most certainly skipped a beat. As quickly as they took him from my belly, the whisked him away to check him out. I could hear the doctors talking, something seemed wrong but no one spoke to me or my husband. Finally one of the doctors went to the Neonatal doctor and said, "mom is getting worried, can you fill her in?" Finally the Neo doc came over and told me Patrick needed oxygen and that based on his first assessment the baby was premature at 34 weeks. Then he left. I laid there stunned because I knew I was 38 weeks and 5 ultrasounds confirmed this. Patrick was 8 lbs. 8 oz., how could a premie weigh that much? They let me see him for all of 20 seconds before they took him away to the NICU. As I lay there trying to burn the image of my son into my memory from 20 seconds I actually got to see his face, I felt helpless. What happened after that is somewhat a blur because most of my moments were spent longing to hold my son, a son that had been taken away from me in an instant.

It took 5 hours for a doctor to give me an update, Patrick was on a breathing tube. He was breathing on his own but he needed some extra help inflating his lungs. Finally at 10:30 p.m. I demanded my nurse take me to see my son. Everyone had seen him except me. My husband took some video but can you imagine how much that hurts carrying a baby for so long and when he finally arrives you have to see his first moments of life on a camera? My reluctant nurse wheeled me into the nursery where I caught the first real glimpse of my sweet baby boy. He was the one that looked helpless as he lay there with tubes up his nose. I cried for him, for the first harsh moments this world had to offer him, for the mother he knew he had yet couldn't touch. I cried for him and I cried for me.

Every day after Patrick got better but not fast enough for him to go home with me when I left the hospital. As my husband wheeled me through the exit doors of the hospital tears streamed down my face. I was broken. I entered that hospital 4 days earlier with a child inside of me and now I was leaving the same place, with a hole where a child once was. I've been broken before but never in my life have I felt the pain, the loss, the anger...that I did at that moment. I was angry at God because I couldn't understand how he felt justified in keeping my child from me. I know that I should have considered myself lucky because Patrick would be better soon and many children lay in that NICU with much less hope of survival. But I was selfish, I wanted my child with me, in my arms, in my home, within my reach.

When Patrick was born he cried so hard that his little lungs sprung a leak. Air got trapped between the cavity and his lung so when he breathed his little lung could expand all the way. With the oxygen and flow they gave him it forced the air out so his lungs could expand like they were supposed to. There are not lasting effects, he's healthy now. Nine days after Patrick was born he got to come home. As I walked through the door of my house with Patrick in my arms, I became whole again.

Life can break you. Love can make you whole.

I'll try to write as often as I can but if I miss you before Christmas...Have a wonderful holiday.

in my life...

2006-12-05T21:17:00.000-06:00

In my life I have done many things. Some have scared the hell out of me, some have filled me with regret, some have changed me, and some have caused me to remain the same. Some were premeditated, some were on impulse, some I remember, some I still try to forget. Some things took courage, some were because I was a coward, some taught me lessons while others struck me dumb. Some things that I have done can never be taken back even though I've tried many many times. Some things I wish I could do over - but differently, some things I hope I never have to do again.

Friday I am going to have a baby.

When I look back on my life I realize that there are few moments that I remember being scared. I'm sure they exist but I've either blocked them from my memory or they have become so insignificant that they've blended into the woodwork of my life. When I had my first child I was petrified, not of the pain of childbirth but of the reality that followed. When you have a child you bring this tiny human being into the world that depends on you for everything. There were so many times I could barely depend on myself and the thought of someone else needing me for everything was the scariest thing I'd ever imagined. And then they laid her in my arms I was not afraid any longer. It's amazing how fear can disappear with one breath of your child's scent. How you can look into eyes that reflect your own and see only goodness and hope. Children are the chances we thought we never deserved.

On Friday I'm going to bring another life into this world. Am I scared? Yes. Not of the pain that comes from someone cutting your stomach open rather the pain of knowing that someday you will surely let this little being down. I've never been so afraid of failing. But I know that when I see his face or feel his skin on mine, fear will dissipate. Of course I'll fail but many more times I will succeed at teaching my sweet babies how to be compassionate and truthful and hopeful and loving. I'll teach them how to only be afraid of the chances they throw away, not the ones they take.

Once I thought my heart could never have enough room to love someone else, and then I met Alice. Once I thought loving one child took everything I had inside of me and then I felt Patrick's tiny hands brush the inside of my heart and suddenly I had more room then I ever dreamed of.

In my life I have done many things. Some change you and some remind you of who you were always capable of being.

an Angel on Papa's Shoulder

2006-11-28T08:33:00.000-06:00

Do you believe in angels? I think I do even though I've never actually seen one. There have been times in my life that something or someone has saved me, sometimes from myself and sometimes from other people. I suppose some would say it was just luck but honestly I believe in angels much more than I believe in being lucky. Luck is chance and when you come through the fire with nothing more than a few soot marks, you start to believe that some higher power is looking out for you.

I was worried about Thanksgiving with my step dad because he's gotten so much worse with the Alzheimers and my mom said he doesn't remember most people except the ones he sees on a daily basis. As much as I'd love to take Alice to see him every day, we live 3 hours away so that's impossible. I wasn't sure how I would explain to my 2 1/2 year old that her papa might not remember her but when Papa walked in and saw Alice, his face lit up. She ran to him and he hugged her so tightly that her cheeks turned red. He stroked her hair and asked how his sweet Alice had been. I can't begin to explain the relief I felt in that moment when somehow Papa remembered her. Most of the day I watched Alice and Papa play with Barbie's or watch Baby Einstein and I kept thinking that this may be the last time she's able to do this with the man she's loved since the moment she saw him. I remember the first time he held her she had her eyes open so wide and she kept trying to grab at his white hair. From that moment, her love has only grown. After they played for what seemed like hours Papa fell asleep with Alice on his lap so I told Alice that Papa needed a rest. She quickly obeyed as she hopped down off his lap and tiptoed over to me so she wouldn't wake him. "Look mama there's an angel," she exclaimed. "Where sweetie," I asked. "Right there, on Papa's shoulder," she answered as she pointed her chubby little finger towards a sleeping papa. The smile on her face confirmed that my sweet Alice could see angels.

There has not been one moment of doubt in my mind that Alice did in fact see an angel sitting on her Papa's shoulder. I believe we all have guardian angels but because we're grown up, less innocent and more cynical, we cannot see them. My hope for Alice - that she always be able to see the angels on our shoulders and maybe some day she'll even be able to talk to one.

when it's time to be thankful

2006-11-22T08:09:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day for those of us here in the states. It means a lot of different things to a lot of people and I must admit that even for me, the meaning has changed multiple times over the years. It seems that no matter where I was in my life, what pain I was going through, Thanksgiving was always one day that remained immune from reality. My family would gather around and pretend that we were all happy but even though that day retained a certain 'falseness' it also became a comfort. Sometimes it's actually ok to take comfort in things that may not be truthful to the core.

I know some of you write your grateful lists quite often and I'm always impressed how that list stays in the forefront of your life, reminding you of what you have. I won't lie, as much as I try each day to be thankful for what I have, sometimes I let the moments slip past with no acknowledgment at all. Try as I may to be more aware of my blessings, I've realized there is a difference between being aware of them and being thankful. It seems rather generic to start now, the day before Thanksgiving, but I'm going to do it anyway - because timing seems less important than the actual acknowledgement.

I'm thankful:

-that in a heart where once only pain existed, there is love strong enough to make the pain less 'painful'

-that I know myself better than I did before and I'm not scared of what I've discovered

-for second chances

-for people who have a stronger will than mine

-that sometimes it's ok to be scared

-that one man decided to ignore my request to 'leave me alone'

-that God blessed me with Alice and soon with Patrick

-that Alice 'touches my heart' every morning

-for the ability to forgive

-that I can remember the people that love me

-that people remember me for my accomplishments and not my flaws

-that I can be who I am and that people let me

My list could be longer but I realize it's not about putting the words down on paper or even saying them out loud, it's about really living my life in a way that reflects how grateful I am.

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving and whether you celebrate the day or not, choose to celebrate your life. Be thankful every day, every moment - until there are no more moments left. Happy Thanksgiving.

memories we no longer own

2006-11-17T12:08:00.000-06:00

I know I've posted before about my step father who has Alzheimer's but it's been awhile. My mom had him admitted to a nursing home back in March because she could no longer take care him by herself. It was one of the hardest things she ever had to do outside of watching the man she loves deteriorate into someone that neither of them recognizes. This Thanksgiving will most likely be the last one he celebrates with us, at our home. It will most likely be the last one where he remembers our names or Alice's sweet face or how much she loves him or how much he adores the sound of her voice when she calls him 'Papa'. It will be the last time Alice sees him where I'll be able to pretend Papa is the same, unchanged, loving man. She's growing up so quickly and as her mind expands, his retreats into a place that none of us are allowed to visit. Soon I'll have to explain why he can no longer remember who she is or why sometimes grown-ups need help with the very things I'm helping her learn like tying her shoes, going to the potty, or putting clothes on. I'm not sure how I'll explain these things since I barely understand them myself. I do not know how I will tell her that Papa will not be there when she wakes up on Christmas morning. Although she's only two, her Papa being present in her life is something she's always known, expected, celebrated. She seems too young to learn the lesson that nothing lasts forever, hell, I'm too young to learn it.

I know that most of us believe that we own our memories, that they are ours now and forever. But they are not. They are simply moments we're allowed to possess for a passage in time until some higher power decides they can be no longer. One day we wake up and like tiny drops of rain washing specs of dirt from a surface, memories no longer exist. A moment is just that - a moment, which disappears the instant that it happens.

Until you watch someone you love, someone that used to know they loved you back - fade into a stranger with no past, you cannot accept that it will happen. Memories become things we no longer own.

Sorry for the gloom just before a weekend...but it's life and as hard as I try to avoid it sometimes - it's always there.

hairy legs

2006-11-15T11:02:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I decided to treat myself to a mani/pedi and a leg waxing. I've always thought waxing your legs was sort of...well...high maintenance but when you reach the stage of pregnancy where you can't shave your legs yourself, waxing seems to be the only option left. Seriously do you know how awful it feels not to be able to reach your own legs? Quite honestly, it sucks. I can't put my socks and shoes on, I can't paint my toenails...hell I can barely see my toenails unless I lift my foot off the ground which is kind of dangerous since at this point my balance is questionable. I asked my husband to shave my legs and bless his heart he tried but he used the same technique he uses on his face which left me with tiny bits of toilet paper all over my legs. Not pretty. So I broke down and made the appointment and I'll be honest I had a little apprehension to the pain I knew was associated with waxing. I sat there trying not to think about how much it would hurt but that was near impossible after she ripped the first piece of cloth from my leg. I felt like a complete wimp, after all I have endured child birth but at least after that pain you get this wonderful little person that you can remind for the rest of their life the pain you endured to get them here. After getting my legs waxed all I got was nice smooth legs that I can't feel or see anyway. I suppose I could use this pain as a bargaining chip against my husband because really it was only because of him that I even cared that hair was growing wildly on parts that used to be shiny and slick. Trust me, when you are 9 months pregnant and you can't sleep, can't walk without waddling, can't remember what your pre-baby body felt like...the last damn thing you care about is 'maintenance'.

At least when Patrick does arrive he won't come out and be forever wounded by the sight of his mommy's hairy legs. The things we do for men....

careless tears

2006-11-13T09:11:00.000-06:00

When I was a little girl I remember seeing my mother cry. I remember feeling helpless. I remember that all I wanted to do, is make her not sad anymore. Over the weekend my husband did something that hurt me and although we never fight in front of Alice, I could not stop the tears from springing from my eyes. I left the room but not quickly enough to keep Alice from seeing her mommy cry. As I sat in the dark in the living room I heard her little feet thumping down the hallway. She came to me, "mommy are you sad?" I tried to explain to her that sometimes, grown ups get sad but she frowned as I spoke the same words my own mother said to me so many years ago. "Do you need a hug mommy?" "I always need hugs Alice." As she wrapped her tiny arms around my neck my heart was breaking all over again. I never wanted her to see me cry. I never wanted to place that burden upon her fragile shoulders just like my mother never wanted to place hers upon mine. But I'm human and as much as I try to be invincible, I am not.

After Alice wiped the tears from my cheeks she smiled and said, "all better mommy." "It is better Alice," I replied. Just like my own mother could not protect me from her sadness, I cannot protect Alice from mine. What I can do is teach her that if you have someone to love you through the tears, sadness doesn't last long.

Today for musical Monday I've chosen a song from one of my favorite artists Amos Lee. It's named 'Careless' and it seemed fitting for today. If you can't hear the music playing in the background click 'Here' to have a listen.

As the holidays draw near, I wish you all a few 'Careless' moments. It's what makes us strong - and human.

time flies...

2006-11-10T12:38:00.000-06:00

Once I closed my eyes to catch a few z's and woke up ten years later. I was kid with few responsibilities and the next thing I knew, I was full swing into adulthood. It happens a lot, time passes and I can't really be sure of where it went. I've tried to remember why this happens, that I've filled my days with things that seem to take no space inside my head and then I suddenly wake up and everything is different from the last time I paid attention. I make little promises to myself that I'll make something memorable happen each day, things to chart on the timeline of my life so that when I look back I won't be sitting here wondering how once again I've seemingly fallen into a time machine I have no control over. When you look at your life there shouldn't be big gaps between what was and what is but we fall into that nasty trap of believing we'll live forever, there will always be more time to make more memories.

I'm sitting here thinking about how I will have another child in 6 weeks or less. I can remember when I found out I was pregnant but after that, moments seem to blur. When I had Alice I promised myself I would remember everything about her, her 'special moments', her 'milestones' and you know what? I do remember every single one but what about me? I've let myself fade into the background like I've done a million times before. It's just too damn easy to make other things priority. I need to change that and not just change it for a day, for a week, for a month. I need to make my own moments 'milestones' so that one day if I wake up and feel as if time has slipped past me once more, I can remind myself that there was no 'slipping involved'. It was all about living and remembering and being grateful that God gave me those moments to make my own.

Have a wonderful weekend.

decisions

2006-11-09T08:00:00.000-06:00

Decisions have never been my strong suit. I usually procrastinate in the hopes that someone else will make the decision for me and if they do, I complain that they made the wrong ones. I suppose when you grow up being forced to make decisions and those decisions often cause you pain, you end up deciding not to decide at all. As I stood there watching my daughter try to decide which pumpkin she wanted to take home I thought about how many more, bigger decisions she'd be faced with some day. When I was a kid no one prepared me for the types of things I'd have to decide, like whether or not to invite my father to my school open house for fear he'd show up drunk or whether or not to tell my mother that my dad was cheating on her after I'd walked in on their secret trist. Some decisions should never fall upon the shoulders of children should they?

After Alice stood there for about ten minutes trying to decide which pumpkin she liked best she turned to me and said, "mommy, you decide." I could only reply, "how about we pick two." Sometimes you have to make the decision not to decide at all.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

letters

2006-11-06T13:06:00.000-06:00

I heard on the radio news today about a man who found a bag washed up on the East Coast, I think Jersey Shore, that had 300 letters addressed to God inside. Have you ever written a letter to God? How about Santa Claus? Someone you thought wasn't listening when you spoke out loud? Someone you couldn't talk to so writing your thoughts seemed easier, safer? You know what? I've written letters to all of the above.

When I was 6 I wrote a letter to Santa Claus because my parents told me to and I was shocked when I actually got a letter back post marked 'the North Pole.' When I was 9 I wrote another letter to Santa Claus not because my parents said to but because none of the kids I went to school with believed in Santa anymore. I was devastated and I needed some clarification, clarification I never received but being the optimist I was I held out on the notion of Santa Claus another two years.

When I was 12 I wrote a letter to God asking him why he had not listened to my desperate pleas to keep my parents together. Every single night since I was 4 I got down on my knees before going to sleep and prayed that God would keep my family together. When I was 12 it was obvious he didn't listen because my parents divorced. I wrote a letter to Him letting him know how disappointed I was that he was too busy to answer one small prayer from one small little girl. Even at 12 I could be quite dramatic.

When I 14 I wrote a letter to my father reminding him of the numerous times I'd tried to tell him that I loved him regardless of his addiction and begging him to love me enough to change. I guess I thought that writing the word 'alcoholic' on paper would make him realize, he actually was one. He read that letter and he cried - but he didn't change.

When I was 16 I wrote a letter to the love of my life, or at least I thought he was, telling him how hurt I was that he took my virginity, my love, my heart, and left it by the roadside as he peeled out of my drive-way. I wrote the letter because I was too scared of telling him in person, too scared he'd leave me - which is what he did anyway. I still remember that my hands were shaking as I slipped that note through the vent on his locker and how he never even acknowledged that he'd read it. Maybe he never did.

I'm older now but I must admit I still tend to write letters instead of verbal communication. Maybe it's because I feel that I have too much to say, too many feelings that no spoken word could convey. Maybe I'm still that scared kid who thinks no one listens, at least not the way I want them to. I write in my journal every night. I write to God asking him to protect my children. I write to my husband asking him to be more patient, more understanding. I write to my father asking the same old questions that were never answered and probably never will be. I write to myself - to sort out my thoughts, to remember that it's still ok to feel things even if the rest of the world can't feel them with you.

Those letters to God that someone found washed up on a seashore, I have to wonder what they were hoping for. Maybe all they needed was to write what they could not speak in the hopes that someone might actually listen. I wonder if anyone did.

A beautiful laugh...

2006-11-02T08:23:00.000-06:00

This year was my daughter's first 'trick or treat' experience. We made it to about 8 houses before she decided she'd waited long enough to eat a piece of candy and wanted to go home to see what good stuff she'd collected. I have to tell you that this Halloween was better than any I've ever experienced. To be able to watch the amazement on Alice's face as she recited "Trick or Treat" the way we'd practiced and then to realize that those few words meant someone would place candy in her 'ghost' bag was enough to fill up my heart. You know it really is extremely easy to forget how simple happiness can be. A piece of candy, a Tinkerbell costume, running around your backyard catching rain drops on your tongue...or a beautiful laugh!

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Trickin' for treating

2006-10-31T12:45:00.000-06:00

I've always loved Halloween, not for the candy since I don't have much of a sweet tooth but for the chance to dress up as someone else, someone people wouldn't recognize. I suppose it was a chance to hide but regardless of the reason, the memories that I hold are dear to me so I wanted to share one with you.

When I was five my grandpa (my dad's dad) came to take us trick-or-treating. Him being there was a treat in itself because my father didn't get along with him well so he rarely made appearances at our house. I remember sitting around the dinner table with anticipation of the moment I could put my ballerina costume on so my grandpa could see I really was his 'little princess'. My mom had made liver for dinner; I hated liver. My father in his futile attempt to remain 'King' of the house told us we couldn't leave the table until every last bit was gone off our plate. I tried to eat it but every bite caused me to gag. I even tried to hide some of the pieces in my napkin until my mother figured out what I was doing and took it away. I dropped pieces down to my dog whom we nicknamed 'Hoover' after his ability to wipe the floor clean of every morsel of food, but even he refused to eat liver. Somehow my brother managed to choke down all of the liver off his plate and my father excused him from the table so he could join his friends 'tricking'. There I sat, alone. When I think back to that moment I think that was the beginning of the long string of events that would leave me feeling exactly the same way. My grandpa was angry at my dad for making such a big deal out of a kid not liking liver. They argued and my father refused to back down so my grandpa sat down at the table with me. He put his hand over mine and winked and somehow I instantly knew that even if I did miss out on trick-or-treating it would all be ok. And then...my father looked away long enough for my grandfather to shove all the nasty liver pieces into his pocket. We sat there for a few more minutes and then he exclaimed, "good job princess, now you can go put that costume on." My dad turned around with a look of satisfaction on his face, he had won - or so he thought. My grandpa and I walked hand in hand to each house in our neighborhood as I collected my 'treats'. I remember coming home when we were done and sorting the candy into piles of 'good, bad, and ok' as I sampled one piece from each. I don't think that candy ever tasted as good as it did that Halloween thanks to the man who was brave enough to pull the wool over my father's eyes.

Happy Halloween.

resentment

2006-10-28T21:36:00.000-05:00

It's hard to believe that it's been four days since I last posted..I usually try to make here more often but life has been getting in the way. I remember myself being more selfish - in some other lifetime. I used to do things I wanted, things I needed, regardless of whether I actually had other commitments. I suppose that's part of growing up isn't it, giving up things that are important to you without a second thought? I'm not sure that's a good thing but it seems to be inevitable. I have to admit that sometimes I resent the fact that I have no time but resenting something and being able to change it are two different things all together. Hell I've lived with so much resentment in my lifetime that I've finally figured out that it's kind of a useless emotion. Mostly all resentment has ever gotten me are years of being able to hide behind the blame I placed on someone else for the way events unfolded in my life. Once, ok maybe twice, I actually resented myself for being so damn self sufficient. I learned at such an early age to take care of myself, or at least to make it appear that way on the outside. I always thought being 'tough' was a good thing. I didn't need anyone but what I found out is that while I focused on being an 'enigma' the whole world learned how to exist around me. I really resented the world for that. And so I got tougher. The thing about being 'untouchable' is that eventually you lose the ability to feel much of anything. We can't live like that...really we can't. And so I stopped resenting the world since they didn't take much notice anyway, and I started resenting myself. Know where that got me? A new place to hide. It's always amazed me how many really good hiding spots there are in plain view of the rest of the world.

Anyway, I've been having moments of resentment lately, falling back into my old ways of making myself believe I really can do 'everything' on my own. The truth is, I can't. The truth is, I resent the hell out of that fact. There is one fatal flaw in making the rest of the world believe you can handle life without their help - they tend to believe you. So I'm sort of stuck. I've never been good at asking for help. I've never been able to admit that sometimes I just can't do everything. I have to learn rather quickly because I'm growing rather weary.

P.S. I miss all of you and I promise to catch up on all my fav blogs by Monday...I actually took a day off work. Maybe that's a start at letting the world see, I am only one person.

fighting for a cause

2006-10-24T09:01:00.000-05:00

I cannot believe how cold it is. Today will be a high of 46 and can you believe that this morning we actually had to scrape the frost off the car windows? What is this world coming to when it's this cold in October?

On another slightly colder note...I was reading about how the Insurgents in Iraq have claimed a surge in violence in honor of Ramadan. Wow, how special that they celebrate a holy month by killing more innocent people. You know, I don't agree with the war in Iraq but, there is never a justified reason for killing innocent people. I can't imagine growing up in a country where you are taught that as long as you have a good reason and a religious cause to go behind it, it's ok to kill people. Some of you may not know that I'm married to a man who is 1/2 Palestinian. His father is Muslim but my husband is not practicing. It's been a wedge between us every time his father starts babbling about how those suicide bombers are justified because Israel started this whole mess. I always reply, does it really matter who started it when a child loses his/her life? It always shuts him up.

As much as I try not to focus too much attention on what's going on 'over there', it's hard because I've always been a person who is up on politics and world happenings. You know what bothers me the most? It's trying to figure out how I will explain to my children why people feel justified in war. You know when I was a kid I never thought about wars. I was born too late to experience any aftermath of any of the 3 wars this country has been involved in. I think that my parents never knew they should be grateful for that.

Today I want to live some place where war isn't a reality. Does that place exist?

expectations

2006-10-23T08:25:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend I organized a kid's Halloween party for a bunch of the kids in our neighborhood. I've always been the 'party planner' among my friends, hosting the BBQ's, the Christmas parties, the super bowl Sundays. I guess I like to have people in my house or in my backyard, or maybe it's just that I like to feel like I'm not alone. But putting together a kid's party is more pressure than I ever imagined. With adult parties all you have to do is throw some snacks in a bowl and keep the fridge stocked with booze and everyone is happy but with kid's, well that's a whole different story.

It took me weeks to figure out what sorts of activities would keep toddlers entertained and their parents pacified long enough to keep them both from screaming but I finally nailed down some craft ideas that seemed to be a hit. There seemed to be so many expectations and once again I wasn't entirely sure I could live up to any of them. There I was waddling around with my 8 month belly trying to get everything in place, worrying about if everyone was having a good time when one of the mother's said to me, "Are you a teacher?" "Well no, actually I'm a software developer," I replied. "Oh well you have such insight to what children like I just assumed you were a teacher," she said. I had to laugh because through the years insight is always something I wanted but it rarely had to do with children. Mostly I wanted insight into the men I dated so that I could gain a little more control, or insight into my father so I could figure out why he was the way he was, or sometimes I even prayed for insight into myself so that I could stop wondering who the hell I really was. Everything that I've always done has been to meet someone else's expectations. Do you realize how tiring that is?

I'm starting to believe that being insightful really means closing your eyes instead of opening them. After all, it's when we stop looking at everything around us that we realize the only expectations that matter are the ones we hold for ourselves and that's about as much insight as anyone could ever ask for.

running on empty

2006-10-19T08:53:00.000-05:00

There have been times in my life when I felt 'empty'. Drained from all the expectations and the responsibilities there comes a point when you cry out, "I have no more to give." I've sat alone in my car for hours just to avoid going back into my house; the place where people want and need things from me. A place that most times I love but sometimes despise which leaves me feeling selfish. And then...my daughter runs to me with arms wide open as I walk in the door, "I missed you mommy." Or I lay on a table as they move a wand around my belly and I see "Patrick" there inside of me with his tiny face and hands reaching out to the mother he already loves. And then it happens, I find that secret reserve of strength, of love, of everything I thought I'd lost and somehow it fills me to the brim and allows me to carry on.

I suppose love is like that. It can take all that you have and leave you feeling empty and in a moment's pause, fill you back up again.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

commenting on my life

2006-10-18T10:14:00.000-05:00

Several times in the not so distant past someone who wishes to remain anonymous leaves comments on my blog which is not the part I mind. It's actually the judgmental words they choose to drop so casually as if words really had no power at all. On this blog I post things about me. Things I do not sugar coat or dress up in ribbons or lace to make prettier than they are just so that whomever happens across my posts gets an image more pleasing to the eye. There are a few people that pass by this space that know me outside of blog land which doesn't bother me in the least. My posts are so real to the truth of who I am that I've even shared this blog with my mother, my husband, and several other friends. I take extreme offense to the 'Anon' comments where they assume to know me better than myself. I don't post things here with the hopes that someone will tell me how great I am. I post my past, my present, my future. I post about the things I've been through that have made me stronger and the ones that still cause me to be weak in the knees. I share my pain not for pity but for comfort or understanding to some other soul that has been in a place similar to mine. This commenter has reduced my 'blog friends' to figments of my imagination or parts of a fairy tale I've spun around myself. I'd like to ensure this commenter that if I were spinning my own fairy tale the story would be written much differently. You see, we don't choose to be 'damaged' or to carry baggage that weighs down our shoulders to the point that we feel broken. We live with the circumstances that life has dealt us and some of us, if we're lucky, examine our flaws with the hopes that someday we'll see them as parts of a whole. Parts we love just as dearly as the characteristics we celebrate.

The friends that I've made here are real to me. I choose not to place their lives under a microscope in which I spend any amount of time trying to determine what parts of their posts are real. I read what they write, I take in what I can, I respond with the goodness that I know resides within my heart. You see, that's all we can do isn't it? We can only take in what life allows. I find it most amazing that although you seem to despise what I write, you still seem to frequent my blog and take time out of your own fairy tale perfect life to leave me comments.

I assure you dear Anonymous commenter, you do not know me. Even if by chance you happen to have made my acquaintance outside of this place, you have never been allowed inside the realms of my world. As for your last comment about the darkness not being able to hide all my flaws, it appears you may be right but I thank God for that reality because each and every day that I walk this earth, my flaws become the reasons I survive.

One last suggestion to this 'Anon' person, maybe if you spent a little more time examining your own life and less time looking at mine, you might find that your hands are quite full of your own baggage.

the darkness

2006-10-16T21:35:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been afraid of the dark? I don't think I'm like most people because it's not the darkness I'm afraid of, it's the light. It's the sun shining down on the parts of me I've kept hidden so that, well, they are not a secret anymore. To me, the darkness has always been my night light, casting shadows on the things that scare me so I don't have to see them. When I turn off the light I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders because when it's 'light outside' the burden of 'appearances' lay heavily upon me. In the light people can see your flaws, the ones you've worked so hard to conceal and no matter how hard you try to flee underground where the light cannot penetrate, somehow your feet can never take you there fast enough.

Someone told me once, "darkness may seem like the only place you can be yourself when really it's the place you pretend not to be yourself." God I've gotten good at pretending.

Maybe tomorrow I'll plug-in that princess night-light. Hey, you have to start small right?

procrastination

2006-10-13T09:00:00.000-05:00

I knew that yesterday was going to be cold. It was splashed all over the news..."Snow Flurries Coming," but for some reason it didn't prompt me to dig out my winter coat. So there I was standing on the El platform freezing my #$@$ off wondering why I do that...procrastinate that is. When I try to remember how I started that nasty bad habit I really have no idea - that's how long I've been doing it. I procrastinate everything and although it ends up causing me a lot more stress in the end, somehow I've convinced myself that if I can put off something that may cause me even a moment of unpleasantness, it's all worth it. I believe that of course until things pile up like a heap of garbage that I'm forced to sort through. I realize not that I not only procrastinate on things like digging out winter clothes or grocery shopping, I am an emotional procrastinator as well. There are so many things in my life that I've shoved to the back of my proverbial closet to allow me a few more brief 'pretend' moments of peace. It's amazing really how long you can actually live in denial or how often you can actually succeed at pushing off the 'bad things' you don't want to deal with. But then one day you'll find yourself standing on an El platform freezing your arse off and you'll realize that no matter how long you procrastinate, eventually the 'bad stuff' comes right back around to you.

I guess I really need to work on changing that about myself, the procrastination thing. I'm not exactly sure where to start but I think a really good place might be digging through that crap in my closet to find my warm winter coat. I'm really tired of being cold.

Have a wonderful weekend!

bridges

2006-10-11T09:48:00.000-05:00

I want you all to know how much comfort reading your comments brings to me. For so many years I considered myself an enigma. When I began blogging I never realized just how much I had to say and how many people would actually listen. Although I wish none of the pain I've endured on another human being, I must admit that knowing there are so many others who have been through similar things helps me heal. It's sad really, the realization that pain exists no matter what walk of life you come from but it also brings hope because those same wounded souls have found the strength they need to make life better. If we put all of our scars end to end we'd probably be able to cover much more than half the world wouldn't we? Maybe what we really need to do is use that distance that our scars cover, as a bridge to get to some place better.

Every day I wake up there will be scars reminding me where I've been before this moment but when I open my window and look out at the tiny bridges we've built to get to each other - I'll know that scars can fade into something more pleasing to the eye, something you are not afraid to look at.

forgiveness

2006-10-09T12:05:00.000-05:00

My father came up to visit for the weekend and we took Alice to the zoo. I love watching the way my dad interacts with her. He talks to her like she's a little adult and she loves the way it makes her feel important. As our day was wrapping up and we were headed back to our car my dad says, "I could sure use a cold beer." Doesn't seem like anything extraordinary does it? Well it wouldn't be if my father were not an alcoholic. In a matter of seconds I felt like I'd traveled back what seems like a million years ago to that scared twelve year old sitting on a bar stool at her father's favorite pub. I remember watching my father tip back beer after beer, occasionally glancing my way to make sure I hadn't moved. I remember feeling abandoned. I remember feeling trapped in a reality I couldn't escape. As I stood there staring at my father as he seemed oblivious that his remarks would bother me at all I responded, "I could have used a father when I was growing up." He didn't respond and now there was this uncomfortable silence surrounding us. We both quickly pretended that the moment hadn't occurred at all just like we've done a hundred times before but denial only comforts you momentarily.

After we got home and Alice went down for a nap we sat in my living room and it was apparent that neither of us knew how to get past the moment we tried to deny existence. "Did you ever forgive me," he asked. I sat there for a moment not knowing what to say. I know I've tried to forgive him and sometimes I think I've actually convinced myself that I have but then the reality of his disease stands firmly in front of me and the pain that's accumulated all these years seems to be the only thing I can acknowledge. "I'm not sure I know how to do that," I responded. Forgiving someone has always been hard for me. People hurt you and sometimes they don't mean to but other times they inflict that pain even when they are fully aware of it. I know he has a disease, one that he cannot control but this huge part of me despises the part of him that has never tried to control it. I think about Lash and how lucky his kids are that their father loves himself and them enough to get sober. Why didn't my dad feel the same? Why even now at the age of 38 do I still feel so 'affected' by his choices? I ask myself if I did to my children what my dad did to me, would I want them to forgive me? It's a hard question to answer because there's this huge part of me that believes that forgiving my father enables him to relinquish his guilt. Maybe there's this twisted little part of me that thinks his guilt is the only thing that allows me any sort of vindication. Maybe I'm afraid that if I forgive him it makes all the pain I've endured meaningless.

So we sat there, a father humbled by his mistakes and a daughter broken by them. So many times I've convinced myself that I'm whole, that I've accepted who and what my father is but the truth is I do not know if I'll ever be able to. I still wonder what he sees at the bottom of that beer bottle and if it's magnificent enough to keep him from looking up at the life he's throwing away.

Comfortable Slippers

2006-10-06T20:14:00.000-05:00

This post is dedicated to dear Caterpillar's friend. Although he is a stranger to me, the pain he is going through is familiar. It's as familiar as my favorite pair of slippers, the ones with the cracked sole, the faded velvet, the tiny tear around the edge that makes my left foot slip out the side as I walk just...so. As unattractive as those slippers are I cannot seem to let them go. Sometimes pain becomes like that, an old slipper that fits just right. We convince ourselves that it's comfortable enough to keep because letting it go means breaking in another life, more moments, more memories - that may or may not fit as well as what we're wearing right now. But as hard as we try to keep what is, sometimes what we once thought was 'comfortable enough' becomes what causes the blister to form on the back of our heel. We begin to limp and eventually we're caught off balance and if we're lucky someone is there to catch us before we fall into a place where no arms could reach.

One day you'll go to put those old slippers on and you'll realize, they really don't fit at all. You'll pick them up, turn them in your hands as you reminisce about how they once seemed to be the only thing you could stand to wear. But then, you'll see all the cracks in the foundation you've walked on and decide, it's time for a new pair. It may be awhile before you throw them out, they may sit at the back of your closet buried beneath the new things you've tried to replace them with but just as Spring always promises to bring new life, they will make their way back to the top of the pile just in time to make Friday's garbage pick-up. As you toss them out in the back alley trash can a small pang of 'what may have been' will cause you to hesitate. But you'll glance down at your feet and notice how the limp has gone and you'll let them go. You'll close the lid and you'll walk away and next Friday when garbage pick-up rolls around again, you'll be waiting with another pair of 'old sneakers' that no longer fit you.

Empty your closet dear Caterpillar's friend and try on a new pair of shoes.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend.

Security

2006-10-05T08:16:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, we hold on to something that makes us feel 'safe'. We hold it tight and hope that it will 'pacify' us even if it's only for a moment. And sometimes someone comes along and tells you that it's time, time to let it go, time to be brave enough to face the world without that 'security'. It might be something we've held on to for what seems like forever, like pain. Something familiar even if it's painful, is better than not recognizing anything about yourself, isn't it? In a last attempt to hide our 'insecurity' we paint our faces hoping that we'll blend into nothingness and no one will notice, we are still very weak. In our minds we know that no material thing really makes us more 'secure' but we hold on to it anyway. Maybe it's just the mere act of being able to hold it, to own it - that makes life seem a little less out of control. And then one day we wake up and feel strong enough to try. We walk in circles around ourselves before laying down our 'security blanket' and glance over our shoulders a hundred times before actually walking away. But we do, walk away. We straighten up our shoulders, put one foot in front of the other, and we go on and the things we needed before to make us feel 'secure' - become mementos tucked away in a dusty hope chest.

Is it it time now, to throw away the pacifier?

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

rear view mirror

2006-10-02T09:56:00.000-05:00

Thanks for all your comments on my Friday post and it turns out the book Tab recommended is one my mom already has. I asked her if she'd heard of it and she said 'yes'. "Have you read it," I asked not meaning to sound sarcastic. "I suppose it's time to read it again isn't it," she replied? You see, I learned how not to let go from my mother. She dwells on things, things that have passed, things she has no control over, things that matter less then she thinks they do. I can remember the numerous men in her life that fell into that category "needs saving." Even when I think back to the friends she had, most of them needed saving too. I guess she figured that she couldn't save herself so if she helped someone else it might even out the score. Sound familiar? Isn't it funny how strong we become by saving other people yet when the tables turn and it's us that needs a hero, somehow we're paralyzed?

My last attempt to save a man was about 5 years ago and he was the man I moved to Chicago for. I was desperately in love with him but he needed to be saved from himself before he could love me the way I wanted him to. I still remember the day he broke my heart and the pain that consumed me. It was the moment that the last piece of string that held me together - snapped. As much as I hated him for breaking my heart he was also the reason I sought help. There's something about hitting rock bottom that makes you look up because there's nothing left to look down at. Over the weekend I went into the restaurant that he owns like I've done many times since I've put my heart back together and one of my old friends told me that he just got divorced. I remember when he got married only 8 months after we broke up (we'd dated for 2 1/2 years) and I was devastated once again because I wanted that person to be me. I can't say I ever really got over him. I'm a true believer that you never really get over love you just learn how to live without it or to love someone else. I learned how to ache less, how to trust myself enough to allow love back into my life but at times, I still miss him. When I heard that he just went through a divorce I didn't feel any of the satisfaction that I thought I would from his apparent loss; I felt sadness. As much as he hurt me I still loved him and wanted him to be happy even if it wasn't with me. I'm mostly whole now with only tiny bits still missing but my life doesn't belong to that same broken girl who chased after a man that couldn't love her. I left that girl behind and maybe that was the very first step towards walking away.

I thought that I still couldn't do it, walk away from pain and then some higher power sent me a reminder. Sometimes we cannot see the distance between what was and what is. More times than not we spend so much time convincing ourselves to look forward that we forget to glance back to remember where we started. People always tell you that it's looking to the future that saves you but sometimes it's what's in the rear view mirror that moves you in any direction at all.

P.S. I've added a new artist to my list of favorites and to you he's going to be an unknown. Ryan Star was on RockStar Supernova and he won my support after hearing a few of his originals so I bought his cd "Eye of the Elephant". Some of my favorites can be found here and the song I've chosen for Musical Monday is "So Ordinary" which seems to be fitting. I hope you enjoy his music as much as I do.

walking away

2006-09-29T15:16:00.000-05:00

There are some people in this world that have trouble staying but me, I find it hard to walk away. Most times I let the moments pass that are meant to save you from yourself or even more importantly - from other people. I stay beyond the realization that I belong anywhere but where I am. I stay even when the moments of bliss that brought me to a place have all but expired. I endure pain as if it were my destiny. After years of therapy and countless nights spent running away from myself just to allow one more day of staying put, I thought that I'd changed. I stay in friendships that only weigh my wings down - not lift them up. I take rejection personal and then I work harder to be accepted. I cannot walk away from work not because I love the job but because I can't stand to let someone down that depends on me. As I sit here staring out the window I realize that for all my effort, I still have no idea how to put myself first. I want to learn but can I do that without feeling selfish? Sometimes what I really want is to walk away from myself. The self that thinks she can heal every wounded bird that lands on her front doorstep. The self that believes letting others down is a worse fate then letting herself down. The self that sits here tired and broken and wanting to move her feet in the direction of the door - but has no idea how to turn the handle once she gets there.

I always believed that if I stayed it would erase all those moments where I was the one being left behind. I was wrong. Staying doesn't rewrite history - it repeats it.

Have a great weekend.

parts of me

2006-09-28T09:13:00.000-05:00

You are lying there beside me and as I watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest, I feel only peace. The curve of your tiny nose, the dimple in your chin are all parts of me yet they belong to you. The way your eyelashes curl at the ends as they touch your cheek must be the most beautiful thing I could ever lay eyes upon. Although I've known you for over two years, there are still parts of you that seem new to me on a daily basis. So many times I am amazed that I had a role in creating you. I never believed I had the power to create something, someone, so utterly perfect. Before you, there were only brief moments where I had enough faith in myself to believe in anything worthwhile. And now you are the most worthwhile being I've ever dared to give myself to. I've faltered so many times before without regret, without conscience, and the moment you were born my conscience became the guiding light that I knew I had to follow. Every single day that I am allowed to know you, I become a better person.

Someday I'll tell you these things or maybe you will already know - but I'll tell you again anyway.

on a pedestal

2006-09-25T09:41:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I wonder if it's just inevitable that parents let their children down. When we're young we put our parents on pedestals to separate them from the rest of the mortals. They are our protectors, our heroes, our friends and we never think about them making mistakes because they are not like other humans - they're special.

Someone told me once that childhood is what you spend the rest of your life getting over. I wish I didn't believe that but when I look around at all the broken people it's pretty hard to deny it's validity. It would seem that even the best parents somehow screw up their kid without really knowing that their doing it. I think about this a lot because as much as I want to be a good parent, to not let the demons of my past affect my own ability to parent, I know that the chances are pretty great that someday Alice will look back at her childhood and think, "my parents really screwed me up." Maybe it's how we're programmed, to remember the negative moments over the positive ones. Generally we choose doubt over faith, lies over truth, the road more traveled than the one leading somewhere off into places unknown. I don't really think my parents taught me to be that way, in fact it was just the opposite. They wanted better things for me, better chances, more choices, but somewhere down the line I faltered. I know I'm ok now but when I think about all the pain I had to go through and how long it took me to get here, I fear that somehow I'll make the very mistakes my own parents did.

I want to believe that what happens in life is not inevitable. I want to pinch myself every day to make sure I stay conscious of my actions. When we become someone else's parent life becomes less about you and more about them so the mistakes we make turn them into the victims. I never want my children to be victims of my actions. I wish I could believe that being aware was enough. Sometimes we know exactly what we're doing, who it might hurt - but we do it anyway. Sometimes we forget that we're standing on that pedestal in front of our children and it's up to us - not them, to have a damn good grip so that we don't fall off.

touch my heart

2006-09-22T09:00:00.000-05:00

Ten years ago today I got my very first tattoo. It took me forever to decide what I wanted because it had to be something feminine, something subtle, something you could only see - if I let you. Ten years ago I had just left my husband and had gotten involved with a verbally and physically abuse man. I suppose that in a way, I was punishing myself for not being able to love a 'good man' the way he deserved so I sought out a man that would treat me like the loser that I felt I was. My heart was in a million pieces and I had absolutely no hope that it would ever be whole again. Hell, I wasn't even sure it was ever whole to begin with. So as I pondered what sort of 'mark' I was going to brand my body with, there really was only one option that seemed appropriate - a heart. It's a plain, simple little red heart placed near my left hip at the top of my left butt cheek. I remember feeling foolish as I laid on my stomach with my bum exposed on that cold hard parlor table. The tattoo artist had beautiful tattoos covering most of his body and here I was feeling brave for enduring one tiny 'label'. He could see that I was nervous, that I was unsure, and he touched my arm and said, "at least you aren't wearing your heart on your sleeve." I had to laugh because he didn't realize how true that was; I'd never been able to let my guard down long enough to put my heart anywhere, let alone my sleeve. So I got my little heart branded on my bum and I hid it from everyone for a very long time. I'd occasionally look at it in the mirror and it became more of a reminder that I had a heart and less of a 'statement' of my individuality.

Every morning as I'm dressing for work and Alice lays in my bed watching Dora, she jumps out of bed and races to my side, "Touch mommy's heart," she asks? She puts her tiny little finger right on top of my 'heart' and smiles. "It's a pretty heart," she says. "Yes it is," I reply and finally I actually believe it.

Someday I'm going to tell Alice how much it meant to me that she 'touched my heart' and how lucky I am that she came into this world to remind me that I had one.

Have a wonderful weekend.

sick of the view

2006-09-20T15:44:00.000-05:00

Someone told me once that the only person who can control your life, is you. I've battled with this theory my whole life because most of my life I've blamed other people for the things that happened to me. I blamed my father for teaching me that trusting in people essentially meant letting yourself be hurt. I blamed my mother for teaching me that it was ok to a let a man treat you badly as long as they claimed to love you. I blamed people but I never blamed myself. I convinced myself that I had no control over how I turned out because circumstance makes you who you are and there's nothing you can do about it.

I can't remember exactly when I realized that I was in control of my own destiny. Maybe it was the moment I accepted that my self destruction was entirely of my own doing. I know things happen to us. Things that hurt us, damage us, scar us in ways that seem unrepairable, but what we choose to do with those things - is our choice. I've had many pity parties for myself and every time I've been the only guest. I've found that as much as people are drawn to tragedy, they are not drawn to misery. People can love you, support you, but even the best of friends refuse to stand on the sidelines and watch you self destruct. Once a very good friend told me she loved me and then walked out of my life. I hated her for a very long time because I thought she abandoned me when I needed her most. Years later when our paths crossed again I asked her why she left me behind. She replied, "I didn't leave you behind, I stepped out of the way so you could see your own reflection."

We often base our opinion of ourselves on what other people see in us. We measure the success of our lives by someone else's standards. We give control over the most important parts of ourselves to someone else because we're too afraid to grab hold of the reins and navigate our own path. We seek, we follow, we fall. And then we get up not because we're tired of laying on the ground, but because we're sick of the view from someone else's eyes.

Yesterday someone said, "this is how I see you...". My reply, "It's a good thing we're looking in different mirrors."

As my wise old grandfather always said, "If you don't like the view from where you are, turn around and look in a different direction."

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Rain Rain....

2006-09-18T08:34:00.000-05:00

Yesterday as I sat in my big fluffy recliner watching the rain pelt against the window and felt the gentle rhythm of Patrick's hiccups inside my belly, I felt at such peace. I've always loved rainstorms because it seems like God's way of giving us another chance. All the dirt and grime is washed away leaving a nice clean surface to start anew. I've always thought those storms that lasted days on end was His way of telling us that the dirt was pretty thick and it was going to take more than a simple shower to see the glisten again. When I was a kid I used to love to stand out in the rain, let it run down over me as if it really could wash away all the bad. Even though I know technically it takes a whole lot more than some drops of water to get a clean surface, I always felt better after I dried off. Have you ever done that...stood out in the rain and let it wash over you? Sometimes I think we let the water run over us but we hold on so tight to the grungy parts of ourselves that even a hurricane couldn't wash away the bad. It's all about letting go. Tipping our head to the side, letting the water run in and out of our ears to unclog the grime that's stopped us from listening to ourselves. Closing our eyes, letting the water drip from our eyelashes so that when we open them again, we see only hope. And while we're at it, lets open up our shirts and let the rain pour over our chest to wash away the layers we've let accumulate over our hearts that prevent us from loving the way we were meant to.

I walked outside yesterday and lifted up my shirt and let the rain wash over my pregnant belly. I was hoping to give Patrick a clean start when he decides to make his entrance. I'll leave you with my daughter's wise words..."the rain makes me pretty again." Sometimes we all need a good strong rain storm to make our skies sunny again.

P.S. an appropriate song for Musical Monday is by a very talented singer songwriter named Kasey Chambers and one of my favorite songs is "Am I not pretty enough". You can listen and download it from here. I also encourage you to listen to the song "The Captain" too.

Have a great Monday.

mean girls

2006-09-15T15:16:00.000-05:00

First I must apologize for being so incredibly busy at work that I have had little time to much else...including blogging. I'm going to catch up this weekend because I'm missed all of you dearly.

My niece started high school. Although high school was many many moons ago the experience remains in the forefront of my mind.

Girls are mean. In case you didn't know this I'll explain why I know this to be. When I was in 5th grade I decided to become a bully much the same way someone decides what their going to eat for lunch or which shoes to wear with which outfit. I was popular but not because I earned it, my father was on the school board, I was lucky enough to be blessed with decent looks, my family bought me things, I wasn't shy, I had a built-in pool in my back yard...all things which made it easier for me to be noticed and to be liked. Shallow reasons to befriend someone but when you are a kid you don't analyze the reasons people like you, you just accept it. I started off nice. I liked most everyone because my parents taught me to and I rarely ever questioned if someone was 'acceptable' to be my friend...until I met Ellen. Ellen took a liking to me, not in a sexual way since we were only in the 5th grade but rather in a 'look up to you' way. She followed me around the play ground, she listened in on my conversations, she was in an essence my shadow. I never much minded having Ellen around because sometimes it's rather nice to be admired even when you are too young to actually realize what real admiration is. And then one day Ellen wrote on her notebook "Ellen and NWC, Best friends forever." Sweet I know, but one of the 'mean girls' saw this and started teasing me that I hung out with losers. Ellen was small for her age, she wore thick glasses, she lived in a house that used to be a funeral home so instantly she was labeled 'weird'. As soon as my 'friends' started to tease me I lashed out, not at them, at Ellen. I called her 'weirdo', I told her to stop following me, I told her I'd never be her friend and amazingly enough - she listened. I continued on the path of 'meanness' by not becoming a follower but a leader. I led the campaign against little Ellen and in no time my popular friends thought I was cool again. Most of my 5th grade year and part of my 6th grade year were spent being 'mean' to Ellen and any other girl deemed unacceptable by the 'click' I belonged to. Eventually Ellen's family moved away and I changed schools and all those moments of meanness disappeared as if they'd never happened - at least for me.

Luckily after I changed schools I found the sweet girl I used to be and rather than become an enemy of the 'unacceptable' people, I became an advocate. Somehow I was always able to maintain my 'popular' status and make some very good friends with the people that nobody else deemed 'worthy'. Maybe it was because I cared little about what other people thought and more about what I deemed acceptable. When you stop worrying about measuring up to other people's expectations, the tables turn and you become the one people take measurements against. There's something appealing about a person who is secure enough with themselves to live their life the way they see fit. People stare, they wonder, they sometimes try to make you the strange one but when they realize their efforts go unnoticed, most times they accept you for what you are.

So, my niece started high school. Her very first day of school she fell off the bus when exiting, she got lost going to her classes and began to cry so her counselor had to walk her around to each classroom. In her second week her best friend decided that she needed to hang around more popular people and in a matter of days my niece went from being accepted to being an outcast. Her parents nag her about finding friends. They pressure her into finding 'just one friend' that she can ask to the football game. Without even realizing what they are doing, they have peeled the sticky label 'loser' off the wall and placed it firmly across her forehead. I know it's hard for parents. Parents want their kids to be liked but in reality who are we really wanting their popularity for? For us or for them?

Girls are mean. We can be emotionally cruel. We can throw insults out and forget them later. I'm not saying boys don't do this - but girls do it better. I wish I knew why this was true but I don't. I only know that I've been there and luckily enough my parents influence was strong enough that eventually I remembered who I was born to be.

A few years ago while visiting some old friends in my home town I ran into Ellen, the girl I bullied in 5th grade. Strangely enough she recognized me but she was far from the person I remember with big thick glasses. We sat and talked for awhile and as she explained her life, her accomplishments, her failures, all I could think about was how mean I was to her. When she got up to go I touched her arm and said, "I'm sorry." She knew exactly what I meant without me explaining. Her only reply was, "I always knew that underneath it all - you were, sorry."

I am worried about my niece. I worry that in her quest for acceptance she'll seek out the wrong types of people to be friends with. She'll allow herself to be manipulated by those who prey on the 'unaccepted'. I suppose part of me wants her to be mean back...at least to those who treat her with such little respect but the bigger part of me wants to march down to her high school and kick some freshman ass. Yes I know, real grownup of me right? I suppose what I will do is sit her down and drill it into her head that the very best friend you can ever have is the friend you find in yourself. It starts there you know? Acceptance.

Have a wonderful weekend.

I believe I can fly

2006-09-13T15:24:00.000-05:00

Once I had a dream that I could fly. I climbed up on top of a mountain, firmly planted my feet squarely beneath my shoulders - and jumped. I had no fear of falling. No questions about whether someone would be there to catch me. I leapt before I looked, I spoke before I thought, I lived before contemplation of what may come. I was a child then, even though my years were many in number and technically designated me as an adult. I lived without regret not because I was brave; because I was afraid.

Sometimes clarity only comes when you experience regret. When the mistakes of your past flutter carelessly around your existence until you notice them, acknowledge them, and place them in the archive of your memory. It is then and only then that you can classify yourself as an adult because living a life without forethought or consequence - is called 'childhood'.

In my life there have been many moments where regret has plagued my thoughts but if I'm honest with myself, in those moments there was little ownership of the actions that brought forth that regret. I've discovered that it's damn easy to regret something you've done and quite a harder task to take possession of it. Recently I was listening to someone apologize to me for the way they treated me and immediately following their apology they began to place the blame for their actions back onto me. As I stood there listening to how much control I apparently had over their actions, I remembered being in that place. A place where nothing was my fault and everything that had gone wrong in my life was because of someone else's actions. I remembered that as much comfort as I thought being unaccountable gave me, it also left me powerless to change my life into something better.

Once I had a dream that I could fly. I climbed up on top of a mountain, planted my feet squarely beneath my shoulders - and jumped. I had no fear of falling. No questions about whether someone would be there to catch me. I leapt before I looked, I spoke before I thought, I lived before contemplation of what may come. And then when I hit the ground and the only thing there to break my fall was my own self esteem - I stood up, brushed myself off, and realized only fools jump without a parachute.

There's love in the sky

2006-09-11T09:31:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time I lived in a place where stars lit the night sky. I'd lay with my dad on a blanket out in the middle of our pasteur and search for constellations. I remember thinking that I could stare at those stars forever. And then I grew up and I gazed at the night sky less often. Stars were still beautiful but I appreciated them less because I took it for granted that I'd always be able to see them if I just looked 'up'.

Eight years ago I moved to a city where the night sky is filled with smog, reflections of bright lights, and airplane beacons. Sometimes we don't even realize what we're giving up to be somewhere else. Every once in a while either because of a black out, less pollution, or a slow air traffic control night - I can remind myself how beautiful stars can be. It's not as easy to spot the stars but if I look really hard, I can spy one far off in the distance. I never thought I'd miss them but that's usually what happens when we take something for granted and then suddenly - what was once assumed, now becomes what's wished for.

My daughter and I were out on our patio the other night looking up at the sky. It's so different than when I was a kid, star gazing with my dad. I always had hundreds of stars to wish upon and now if we find just one, we're actually pretty lucky. So there we were gazing up at the night sky and for whatever reason, the stars seemed more plentiful or brighter or maybe it was that we looked around the obstacles - but we saw them in all their glory. I taught Alice how to wish upon a star and as she sat on my lap chanting "Starlight, Starbright, I wish I may, I wish I might..." life seemed so uncomplicated. She closed her eyes and made her wish and I hugged her tight hoping that some of her innocence would rub off on me; I remember when I believed that wishes on stars actually came true. We sat there for awhile longer staring up at the stars I've promised never to take for granted again, and Alice points her chubby little finger towards the sky and says, "Look mommy, there's love in the sky." "Where," I asked? "Right there," she said stretching her arm even higher as if she could almost reach out and touch those stars. Even at the tender age of two I still have no doubt that she knows exactly what love is and that somewhere up there...she did see love. And you know what? As I sat there watching her believe in something, I didn't even have to strain my own eyes to see what she saw.

There's love in the sky. The same stars I see are the ones you gaze upon which makes the distance between us, less important. We are different people, we have different experiences, but in those moments we notice those tiny spots of wonder - we are the same.

This is a somber day which marks 5 years from the tragedy of 9/11 but maybe for one day, one night, we can search out those stars that have no boundaries, no dividing lines, no ownership. Maybe we can gaze up at the sky and see the love that Alice sees shining as brightly as her heart. Let that love carry you through. God Bless.

P.S. As a tribute to Musical Monday I've changed the music playing on my blog to one of my favorite artists Alice Peacock. The song is I'll Start With Me and it seemed fitting for today...have a listen.

Windows to the soul...

2006-09-06T13:34:00.000-05:00

I never get tired of looking into the eyes of my sweet Alice. It's not just because she's my child, it's because in her eyes I see the type of person she has the potential to be. I often wonder if my own parents looked into my eyes as a child and knew the kind of person I'd be when I grew up. Did they know that my heart would always stay tender even after picking up the broken pieces time after time? Did they know that babies and animals would always make me feel 'squishy' on the inside? Did they know I'd be strong enough to not only believe in my convictions but to practice them? I think they knew. When I look at Alice I know that after all the bumps and bruises she'll surely endure, the person that remains will be full of compassion and conviction. I know because every day that I still have a say...I'll teach her how important those things are. And even when she wanders off the path I hope she'll follow, those lessons will be there like a lighthouse in the storm, waiting her return.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

man boobs

2006-09-06T11:45:00.000-05:00

A little bit of humor for today...I'm standing on the El Platform waiting for the train and I notice this guy in a tight black shirt. His man boobs were easily detected and as grossed out as I was, I couldn't look away. I guess I was curious as to whether or not he knew he had man boobs and didn't care that the whole world now knew too, or that he really was oblivious. I'm not really making fun of him, maybe he can't help the extra little 'somethin somethin' he carries up top there. But, couldn't he be like a woman an cover it up with a loose shirt, a jacket, or at least not wear a skin tight shirt?

It got me thinking about what people think looks good, and what we know - doesn't. I could name a few....but then you'd think me bad and shallow and...well something less desirable than I really am. So I'll pose the question to you. What sort of fashion faux pas really make you do a double-take and shake your head in wonder?

20 Years

2006-09-05T09:42:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone had a nice long weekend to relax. I spent part of my weekend attending my 20 year high school reunion. At first I was reluctant to go because what could I possibly gain from going back to a place where so much pain was endured? It's not that the actual experience of high school was painful, it's the moments that went along with it. Some would look at my high school year book and think I had it good...there are pictures of me on the cheerleading squad, pictures of me at prom, pictures of me with my 'football player' boyfriend - but as we all know looks can be deceiving. Sure I had a lot of friends, I had boys that liked me or thought I was hot, but I also had an alcoholic father, a mother that had to travel for her job so she was absent for most of the important moments, a brother that tried to escape our reality by joining the Navy. I was for the most part - alone. But despite all the painful memories, I decided to go back to the place where so many moments defined who I was going to be for the rest of my life. Back to be with the people that stood there beside me sometimes noticing the sadness behind my smile but most times looking past it.

As I walked into the reunion my heart began to race. I clutched my husband's hand tighter and leaned in towards his shoulder. I needed him to hold me up in case I fell, he knows that sometimes I'm not the 'wonder woman' I play on tv. As we stood in line waiting to check-in I noticed a few familiar faces, faces that had aged just as mine had, faces that carried the wait of their own realities in the laugh lines around their mouths. They handed me a nametag with my senior picture printed on it. My husband laughed at my 80's hairdo and I had to remind him that back then, I was considered 'in style'. As we started to wander around the room I started to feel more comfortable when I noticed a few of the most popular girls and guys now were sporting bellies and receding hairlines. I know it seems kind of cruel to celebrate someone else's misfortune of losing their hair or gaining weight, but there was a sweet justice to it all that I couldn't ignore. Back then, those people thought they were untouchable but time had proved them wrong. We all stand within the reach of time don't we?

I mingled with a few of my old cheerleader buddies and just like back then, I felt out of place. I was always the one to stand out of the crowd, to make friends with the 'outcasts', the unpopular, the kids that no one else noticed. Some of the people I knew back then, were still the same. The same sour expressions still decorated their faces and I could tell that they hadn't figured it out yet - none of us are more special than anyone else. Part of me was relieved that I wasn't the same, I've traveled miles past that scared mixed up teenager that adorned those hallways. But part of me wishes that something remained, something that still resembled innocence, but life has a way of beating that out of you.

After making the rounds I finally saw the one person I'd actually come to this reunion for, my best friend. We'd lost touch many years ago when I moved to Chicago and part of her held resentment towards me for leaving her. But as we stood there looking at each other all that remained was the love we'd once felt. She was the sister I'd never had, I was the friend she always needed. She was one of those outcasts, the people no one noticed - but I noticed her. We talked for hours and I know that I will try my damnedest never to lose touch again.

As my husband and I got up to leave someone grabbed my arm, spun me around and kissed me on the cheek. As I looked up I saw the very first boy I'd ever kissed; I was in the 2nd grade. I'm amazed I can still remember hanging upside down from the monkey bars, grabbing a hold of his arms, and demanding he kiss me. He obeyed of course after all I was still wonder woman back then. We laughed as we reminisced about old times and he told me something I'll never forget. He said, "you're eyes are still the same, full of sadness yet softened by their hope for change." At first I wasn't sure what he meant and then I remembered he was the one and only classmate that ever saw my father intoxicated. My father came to pick me up from a school function 2 hours late and Joey waited with me on the playground until my father finally showed up. As my dad stumbled from the truck I remember my face burning with shame at the thought of someone else discovering my secret. Joey grabbed my hand as my father called out to me, "I'll never tell," he said. You know what? He never did tell and neither did I.

20 years out of high school is a long time but I discovered that no matter how many years pass between what was and what is, there are some things that remain the same. I never used to be grateful for that.

when the chances are gone

2006-08-30T15:42:00.000-05:00

No nekkidness today.

About a year ago a friend of mine sent me a link to a website of her former neighbor/friend http://www2.caringbridge.org/il/vickip/ . She explained how her friend was going through a tough time, she was in her 7th month of her second pregnancy when she was diagnosed with Colon Cancer. Almost reluctantly I clicked on the link, afraid of what I might find. Afraid that someone else's plight may be too intrusive on my life. Lord knows I had enough plight of my own. But I clicked and I read and ever since that moment this woman and her family have been in my heart. The baby was taken early so she could start treatment and although the baby survived and is actually doing well, the mother's fight against cancer ended yesterday. Left behind are a husband and two little girls, 3 and 1. Life is so goddamn unfair isn't it?

I think about my life and the things I've been through, the pity I've often felt for myself - I'm ashamed. When you strip away all that we are, all that we've been, all that we may become, what is left? We build walls to protect ourselves, we tell lies to avoid truth, we run away to avoid standing still, we search for ways to survive. And still we are the same fallible human beings. No matter how many times we jump off cliffs and manage to survive, we must face the reality that somewhere, life will lose to death. It's a battle we often ignore because we all know that ignorance is bliss right? And then one day every truth you've ever avoided manages to stare you in the eyes every time you look in the mirror and it's then that you realize, there is no avoiding the inevitable.

I've been so wrapped up in my work and my life lately that I've failed to make my rounds to all the blogs I love and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that I can never seem to remember how precious life is until someone else's tragedy lands squarely in front of me, reminding me how lucky I am. I am bruised, I have fallen and gotten up more times than I care to remember, but I am alive. I have chances to right the wrongs, chances to create new memories to overshadow the bad ones, chances to love the people I've hated, chances to choose honesty over lies, chances to become something other than I am right now - something better. We let so many chances pass us by and then before we know what has happened, there are no more chances.

I encourage you to click on that link above. Read the story, feel that family's pain, and make your life less about chance and more about choice.

believing in something else

2006-08-29T09:07:00.000-05:00

This morning I walked out to get in my car and right by my car door was a dead yellow finch. How depressing is that? I wasn't even aware that finches came around our place. Mostly I see those dreadful rats with wings otherwise known as Pigeons. It's funny how my daughter thinks those nasty birds are the prettiest things ever! I suppose when you are young there are many things you deem as 'beautiful' until eventually the rest of the world's view crushes the existence of your own opinion and sooner or later you end up playing along whether you wanted to or not. Sometimes it's hard to remember what you believed before someone else told you it was the wrong thing to believe in. I think we live in a society where people feel down right uncomfortable if everyone else doesn't think exactly the same way they do. It's sad isn't it? We learn at an early age to lose our individuality and become 'like' everyone else. People call you a freak or 'eccentric' if you happen to follow your own rules, believe in your own things -regardless of the majority. I suppose I'm guilty of both, following the crowd and expecting someone else to think like me.

I want not to be one of those in the majority. The real test on how much I believe in individuality will come when my daughter comes home one day with blue hair and her nose pierced. God give me the strength to celebrate her uniqueness instead of fear it.

Musical Monday and Amos Lee

2006-08-28T14:35:00.000-05:00

I actually had a date with my husband last week...hard to believe isn't it? One of my favorite artists who remains to be an 'unknown' was playing a free show at a local hangout and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to see him.

Amos Lee has become the kind of music I listen to when I need to 'feel' things. Did you realize that music has that kind of power? When you feel numb, some music has a way of reaching down inside you to give your heart a good 'flick' to get it to started beating again.

I first discovered Amos one morning when I was playing hookey from work and I switched the tv to the Today show. They were doing a series on Rising Stars and Amos Lee was the feature of the day. He comes from Philly and when you hear this guys voice, every single thing about him shares a glimpse of what the real Philly is like. My favorite song is Keep It Loose, Keep it Tight. There's a line in that song..."Sometimes we forget what we got, who we are - and who we are not." I think all of us can relate to that can't we?

So enjoy the music and as always if you'd like to download it and have a listen for yourself go Here .

Sorry I've been bad at keeping my blog up to date...but hopefully my week will slow down and I'll be off to visit you all tomorrow.

Enjoy the music...and don't forget to 'feel something' while you listen.

Kissing Patrick...

2006-08-24T08:19:00.000-05:00

Alice is going to be such a good big sister...she already shows Patrick how much she loves him by kissing my belly every single day. Children are precious aren't they?

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

disappointment

2006-08-22T08:44:00.000-05:00

When you are pregnant, you can think of nothing but having your own body to yourself again. To be able to sleep in any position you want without someone kicking you. To eat what you want without fear of heartburn. To walk farther than a block without your back aching from the distance. But after giving birth you realize that the biggest part of you is now somehow, external. You'll spend the rest of your life trying to figure out a way to keep your child close enough for comfort and most times you'll fail.

In my life there have been many moments filled with disappointment. Hopes and dreams broken by fate, fading into the background because life just has a way of doing that to a person. Although I managed to survive and somehow come out the other side while keeping some part of myself in tact, I never wanted to experience disappointment through someone else's eyes. There's something about watching a child hope for something, then witnessing that same light fade from their eyes, that can break your heart in an instant. I know it's part of growing up, part of being human - to experience disappointment. But why? Why do people make promises they cannot keep? A promise is a contract right? Why do so many people care so little, so much so that they are willing to disappoint a child? Maybe it's because the person breaking the promise is rarely the same person who has to stand in front of that child and watch the hope flee from their eyes.

I want to protect my children. I want them to hope for things and to never be afraid that having faith in something, costs too much. I'm just not really sure I know how to teach that lesson. How can I tell someone else how to have faith when so often I have so little? People disappoint you. People break promises. Are these lessons I want my children to learn? Maybe the lesson is really for us, not for them. Maybe we need to learn what making a promise means.

Voices

2006-08-21T08:58:00.000-05:00

I finally found a song that touched my heart just as much as the one I constantly play on my blog. Although I'll always consider Alice Peacock's Into the Light song one of my 'theme songs' I thought this new song, the one playing in the background fit perfectly in blogland. Listen to it and tell me what you think. Just in case you are curious the name of the band: . I found them by accident while channel surfing one night, trying to block out a fight I'd just had with my husband. The voice in my head was barely noticed over the volume of my anger and then I stopped on the Publice Broadcasting channel and this band was playing this song. Needless to say it stopped me in my tracks and as I listened to the words, mysteriously my anger subsided. Finally the voice in my head began echoing the lessons learned from my past, lessons shared from my blogger friends, lessons I need to learn over and over again. Being angry can strike you deaf, so much so that you'll miss the voice of reason.

I suppose it's fitting that I'm sharing this song, this band, on Musical Monday. I hope you enjoy it just as much as I do. You and I, we all have voices and here in blogland we choose to integrate them to make the most beautiful music on earth.

Choices

2006-08-17T09:22:00.000-05:00

I was reading Caterpillar's blog and her posting about the tough decision she's faced with - ending a relationship that will not go where she wants it to, or staying out of fear that she'll lose the friend she's found. Reading her words has brought back so many memories. Memories not created so long ago. Memories that will probably never fade far enough into my past that some remnant of their pain will not linger. I know that it's not just women that do that, stay in relationships because they keep hoping it will eventually be more than it is. I know men get hurt too. I know this because I have been the one to hurt someone, the one to take and never give. I've been the person that we all despise not because I wanted to be, but because protecting myself made me selfish. It's easy to hate someone because they can't love you the way you want them to but it's much harder to understand them - and then let them go. I think we all get so tied up in the 'understanding' part that we actually start to believe once we do understand, we'll be able to get them to love us the way they should. I've learned something the hard way. Understanding why someone does something doesn't take away the wounds they've inflicted. It doesn't erase what we know or what we feel, it simply exists. We all scream "Understand me." We thrive for it, we claim that if we have it then all is right with the world. But we're wrong. Understanding someone means you don't hate them for their choices but it does not mean acceptance.

So I'm rambling. I suppose I just want to send Cat a message because I'm fearful that it may take much too long for her to 'understand' what I'm saying. In this life there are choices. Choices to stay. Choices to go. Choices to sacrifice. Choices to be selfish. Choices to understand. Choices to be confused. Choices to love ourselves. Choices to abandon ourselves. Choices to listen. Choices to be deaf. Choices to see. Choices to be blind. Choose wisely sweet Caterpillar. Some choices can only be made once.

Tough Enough

2006-08-16T11:52:00.000-05:00

It's easy to look tough when you have red popsicle on your face...really it is. My dear sweet Alice is just as tough as her mama. Good thing...she'll need that 'toughness' in this world we live in.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

not enough time

2006-08-15T08:35:00.000-05:00

I feel horrible lately for not being able to visit all my fav blogs. I swear it's not fair that people actually expect me to work and not go blog surfing all day. Honestly though, I'm one of those over achiever types that can't say no when someone asks me for help. It's nice being appreciated, it's nice when people have faith in your skills - but sometimes I need to step back and take a few moments for myself. I'm entitled, I think.

So I apologize to all my blogging buddies...I promise today to stop by and pay a visit. I may have to skip lunch to do it but I'm going through withdrawals here so sacrifice is necessary.

I wanted to leave you with a quote that I found in one of the best places to find meaningful words - the bathroom stall. Yes people still write on bathroom walls...some things never change. The quote seemed fitting given the events of days past.

"No doubt one may quote history to support any cause, as the devil quotes scripture. "

making the call

2006-08-14T08:23:00.000-05:00

Most of you know by now I made the call to DCFS about the little girl that lives next door. I was scared, mostly that they'd find out it was me and seek revenge, but I decided that my fear was less important than Savannah's.

So I go home on Friday after work and I'm sitting there with my husband and Alice watching Sesame Street when the doorbell rings. Husband answers and I hear a woman asking him if he was the one who called DCFS on her grandson. I immediately go to the door so he doesn't have to face the piper alone. I ask her what she wants and she repeats the question, "Did you call DCFS on my grandson?" "No," I reply. It may seem cowardly but when you are holding your two year old on your hip, your instincts to protect yourself and your family kick in. So she continues to say that someone in our building did. We live in a two flat so it could only be us or the upstairs tenants. I tell her that I don't believe it was either of us and ask her why she's going door to door. "Well I think it's pretty rude for people to stick their nose where it doesn't belong," she replies. I tell her that it's pretty awful when people don't get involved and a child suffers because we're all too scared to speak up. She goes on to say that her grandson is a wonderful father - I almost choke because it's quite obvious that this woman either has no clue how Savannah is treated or she thinks that threatening to strangle a child is acceptable. At this point I don't care what she thinks, I know the truth. I tell her again that I didn't make the call but I am not surprised someone did because the whole neighborhood heard the threats made to Savannah. "What threats," she asks? My suspicions are correct, she has no clue. She then asks me if I'm a racist. "Um, what the hell did you just say." She accuses me of being a racist because Savannah is part African American. My blood is boiling at this point and my husband asks her to leave. My last words to her - "Ignorance has no color does it?" I think I stunned her because she was speechless.

Part of me is angry at the system for giving my address out as the house that called in the complaint (they didn't have my name). It's no wonder that so many people are afraid to get involved, revenge is scary. I still don't regret that I made the call. Although Savannah is still there living with the same freaks as before, at least now they know 'someone' is watching. God willing, I hope that's enough to save her.

who will protect the children

2006-08-11T08:31:00.000-05:00

I have a dilemma. I've learned over the years when to keep my mouth shut and when to speak up. It's something I've learned the hard way and trust me those lessons were not always pleasant. But now, I'm really at a loss so I need your help.

The people that live next door to me are...well there isn't any other way to put this, they are white trash. I hate labeling people but I'm not sure how else to describe them. I live in an up and coming gentrified neighborhood but there are still a few houses that remain where the people owned the property for 20+ years. I don't judge people, normally, but I've found it increasingly hard not to pass judgment on these people. In the house there is a grandpa, two grandsons, a mother, a boyfriend of the week, and the house owner who lives upstairs and only comes out when he feels like smashing his car into his fence because he's completely hammered. Oh I almost forgot the most important person, there is a 3 year old girl named Savannah. I'm always friendly to them and I say hello to Savannah every day. Most days she's found outside in the backyard with her grandpa because her father happens to be one of the grandsons and is all of 19. Her mother doesn't live there and comes around once in a blue moon. The sons, one of which who is the father, are quite frankly - trouble. I see them chugging beers, smoking pot, cussing up a storm - all in front of the kid. I've often had to ask them to refrain from the nasty language while my daughter plays in my backyard and they've politely obliged. Honestly I feel really sorry for Savannah. She's such a beautiful little girl and so clearly neglected. I've watched her fall down and hurt her knees, begging for her daddy to kiss it better, only to have him push her away and tell her to get lost. I say nothing because it's not my business right? But now, it's different. Last night I was out watering my flowers and I hear Savannah crying. She's throwing a usual 3 year old fit because she wants something of her dad's and he won't give it to her. Normally a parent would ignore these tantrums but instead her dad puts his hands around her neck (not tightly) and shakes her and tells her if she doesn't stop crying he'll strangle her. He pushes her away, he yells at her that he's going to beat her bloody if she doesn't shut the F*ck up. He grabs her arm and tells her he'll break it if she doesn't leave him alone - and she never stops crying. He yells over to his mother, his grandfather, to take the kids before he beats her - they return blank stares as if they've seen it all before. No one tells him to stop, no one picks the child up and comforts her, no one does anything except look on. Finally her dad takes her in the house and locks her in a room, I hear the door slam, I hear her screaming to let her out (their windows were open), and he returns to the outside to sit quietly on the back step and finish his cigarette. The blood is boiling inside me, my heart is racing, I want to run over and scoop that child up and keep her from harm - but can I? I finally go in the house because I cannot stand to look at them any longer. I cannot stand there and keep my mouth shut, I'm not that strong.

So all night I tossed and turned because I do not know what to do. Do I stay out of it? Do I continue to watch these people neglect and abuse this child or do I call DCFS? What if I say nothing and Savannah really is hurt? What if his threats really do come true? What if they already have? There is no doubt in my mind that she is neglected. There is no doubt in my mind that the type of threats he throws at her are verbal abuse. There is no doubt in my mind that he is absolutely not fit to raise a child. But can I interfere?

Who will protect our children? I can protect mine but do I have a right or obligation to protect yours?

help.

covered up

2006-08-10T09:25:00.000-05:00

I know it's Half Nekkid Thursday but today I don't feel like revealing much. Waking up to the news that yet another terrorist plot has been averted in London kind of makes me want to be anything but naked. As I sat and watched the news in surprise tainted with bits of horror, I thought to myself, why does this news shock me? This world we live in has been changing ever since someone flew two planes into the World Trade Center. It shocked us then right? And for awhile we went on with our lives as if it never happened. Sure we claimed that we'd all change, we'd be nicer to one another, but our good intentions were short lived and sooner than later we were all back to being the same. We blame our problems on politicians, on oil prices, on an economy - but the blame really belongs to us. We may think we're different, we don't fight wars based on religion or ethnic background, do we? But how many times have you walked out your door and passed someone on the street or stood next to them on the train and never noticed what they looked like? How many times have you cursed at the person in the car that pulled out in front of you and you let it ruin at least half of your day? How many times have you listened to an ignorant comment that was either directed at you - or wasn't, and you let it affect who you were even if it was only for a moment? I'm guilty.

There are many times that I lie awake at night wondering what kind of world my own children will grow up in? How will I teach them to be kind and compassionate when there is so much hate surrounding them? I can prevent them from watching the news but I cannot keep them from living in a world where hate inspires so much action. How do we change? How do we make our world safe? How do we stop placing blame and take responsibility? It's up to us you know? This world is ours.

when parents are human

2006-08-08T08:35:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend I attended a surprise birthday party for my dad's 65th birthday. His birthday was actually on August 2nd so we had to make him believe that we'd all been too busy to acknowledge it. I learned that even at age 65 a grown man pouts. Turns out my dad complained to just about everyone he knew that no one did anything for his birthday. It's kind of ironic really because my dad has forgotten my own birthday quite a few times in my lifetime but that's a whole other story. So anyway, we all show up at my dad's place while he's out golfing and he was pretty surprised by the time he came home. I could tell he felt kind of stupid for complaining to everyone about being forgotten but as he always tells me, what's done is done. It's strange celebrating one of your parent's 65th birthday because even though you know that everyone gets old, somehow you never see it happening to your parents. You don't think about your parents getting sick and you most definitely don't think about them being old enough to collect social security. I see other people's parents and they're old, but not mine. I'm not sure why we live in denial for so long except maybe it's because we don't ever want to think about losing them. As I sat there watching my dad squint trying to read the birthday card I'd handed him, I realized that my dad is human. He will get old, he will most likely get sick, and some day he will pass on to the next life waiting beyond this one. It's not a pleasant thought coming to that realization but I suppose it's inevitable.

As always my dad left us all with some words of wisdom, words I file away under "things to remember". He was talking about his life as a boy, his poor family moving here from Ireland with exactly $53 to start a new life with. He said that growing up he believed that he knew everything. He knew that life could be hard so he decided to be harder than life. When he was in his twenties he started to wonder if maybe he didn't know as much as he thought he did and that left part of him vulnerable. When you don't know everything, you risk losing what you've already obtained. And now that's he's an old man he can't remember if he ever knew anything at all and that vulnerable part has become what's left. He said that all the time he spent trying to convince himself that he was hard enough to survive his life, should have been spent accepting that being hard is what makes you unable to survive at all.

So my dad is 65. He's what some consider old but luckily for now, he's healthy. He still has the flaws he had before, some seem larger and more apparent now. But as I look at the father that's been in my life for 38 years, finally I see that the 'hardness' has escaped him. The edges of who he is may still be like stone, but the inside, it's pure marshmallow.

grasping

2006-08-04T08:28:00.000-05:00

I know that I never change the song on my blog but I think it's because I need to hear it. Each day when I load my URL in my browser and that song starts to play, I stop and listen to the words and they never cease to move me. Ever since I was a kid I either had a theme song or a poem that I made myself read each day. I've always been a words type of person, expressing the things in my mind and never really being able to 'get it' unless it was literally spelled out for me. I suppose that's why I love blogging; the chance to write down my thoughts and read other's just the same, inspires me. I wrote this little diddy last night so I thought I'd share because it seemed the perfect way to end a long week.

There's something I cannot grasp.
My hands reach beyond what I know, what I feel, what I've practiced - because I know there is something more.
Something more necessary than the indulgences I've given myself as reward.
As I peer over my shoulder glancing at the road that's brought me here, I wonder how much of that path was truly the "Road less traveled."
So many times convenience rather than courage has chartered my course.
When I look back I have to wonder, what was I afraid of?
Fear has changed me but then again, it's changed us all.
Sometimes I open my eyes in the morning and there is no trace of what came before.
And part of me is scared.
If it's all gone, who is the person that remains?
Maybe there's a way to remember and still be free.
Maybe what I cannot grasp is acceptance.
I must remind myself of this and make a promise to never stop reaching.

A boy

2006-08-03T09:34:00.000-05:00

This is my son. Isn't his face beautiful? As I lay there looking at the monitor while the tech swirled her little wand around my belly, my heart fluttered with excitement at seeing this tiny being tucked safely inside me. I didn't care whether it was a girl or a boy, I just wanted a healthy baby but when they said "It's a boy" I saw my husband's face light up. He loves Alice and she's his princess but I think every guy wants a son too. One of each...aren't we lucky?

I have to admit that boys scare the heck out of me. I have not been able to figure out how their minds work in my 38 years of living...I doubt I'll be able to get it all sorted out now. At least I'll have a shot at bringing up my son the way I'd want a man to be, compassionate, repectful, and loving.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

medicate the mind

2006-08-02T08:38:00.000-05:00

My niece was here for a long weekend and I was excited to see her. I don't get to spend as much time with her as I would like since she lives 3 hours away so I was hoping this would be a chance for us to catch up. She's starting high school in the Fall so pretty soon hanging with her aunt will become a thing of the past. You remember how it is right...your parents and any other adult related to you suddenly tops the 'Uncool' list. Anyway on the ride back to my house I asked her how her therapy sessions had been going. She's been having a hard time dealing with her home life since her dad married her step-mom about 3 years ago. So she tells me that the therapy is going well and that her psychiatrist has now put her on 3 medications. One for AD/HD, one for depression, and one for mood swings. I have to tell you that I'm no fan of doctors that push meds on kids to make them behave the way we think they should. I've known this kid since she was born and I've been there for all the heartache she's endured. Her problems are emotional not physical and although I agree that sometimes our experiences do lead to the need for medication, I do not believe it should be the first priority. What happened to healing the mind and heart instead of trying to medicate it? My niece takes so many meds that basically she has no emotion. She has no highs, no lows, no expression of anything. How in the world can that be healthy for a 14 year old? Isn't it by experiencing those emotions that we learn how to deal with the things that life throws at us. Those emotions are not always pleasant but I believe that they are necessary. How will a child learn what sorts of actions hurt us emotionally and which ones are beneficial? I can tell you from experience that the pains of my past have allowed me to become the person I am today. Sure I wish some of the pain didn't exist but do I wish I'd felt nothing at all - NEVER. I also heard my niece describe herself a few times as 'border line Autistic'. She said her therapist told her she has Autistic tendencies. I happen to know a lot about Autism and there is no way this kid has any form of Autism. They said she doesn't show affection, she focuses too much inward...hello....you have her drugged up what the hell do you expect her to do.

When did we become a society that believed for every ailment, for every emotion or action we do not want to experience - there is a drug to cure you. What is the cure anyway? To me it seems too many of us believe that a cure means being able to exist without feeling anything. Sounds a lot like denial if you ask me.

small minds

2006-08-01T08:41:00.000-05:00

I was all ready to post about my weekend with my niece which ran over into yesterday but then on the train this morning something happened. I had an encounter with a small mind. As I stood on the train platform sweating (it's already 85 at 7:30 a.m.) I was kind of pleased to see a train pull in that actually had open seats. As I got on the train and took a seat next to a lady who decided she needed a seat and a half to accommodate her morning commute, I refused to be ungrateful for a place to put my bum since it so rarely happens. I glance across the aisle and see a young man sprawled out on two seats as he drifted in and out of consciousness. A woman friend sitting in front of him told him to move over because someone was going to get mad that he was taking up two seats. He responded that he didn't give a damn. I suppose the look on my face showed my annoyance at his comment. Honestly people like that really piss me off. So his other friend who is sitting behind me says, "that chick had a stupid look on her face when you wouldn't move your arse." He replies, "that's because she's white." As much of a realist as I am I was still kind of shocked to hear such a racist remark. You see I'm one of those people that don't look at the color of someone's skin. I don't see Asians, Middle Easterners, or African Americans...I see people. I know I'm naive thinking that everyone has the same pair of 'non racist' glasses I have on but when you hear someone blast a comment like that in your face, it really hurts. I just shook my head in disgust and then he tries saying something about me to his friend behind me. His friend obviously doesn't catch on because he then says, "the one sitting in front of you." Gee...I wonder who that could be. So I respond, "What about me sir?" I happen to be the kind of person that rarely has the will power to keep her mouth shut. In my opinion this world is made up of too many people that keep their mouth shut. Anyway, he stutters. It would appear that I caught him off guard. He didn't expect me to face him head on. I was supposed to be intimidated by his stupidity. He replies, "oh I was just pointing out your shoes." Wow...what a comeback. His friends start to laugh, another girl says I can't believe she said something to you. He replies, "I'll let the first one slide." Funny thing is, he left me alone after that. People on the train were giving me glances like...we know they are idiots but the only thing I kept replaying over and over in my head was his original comment to me.

I cannot stand the fact that this world is made up of so many small minds. Minds that have no room for love or respect because they are filled to the brim with hate. Who teaches them that? How does a child learn to despise someone because of the color of their skin? I know for a fact that my own child has no awareness of skin color. I will never teach her about skin color. I will teach her that people look differently not because of what's on the outside, because of what's on the inside. Our minds color our skin and when you see shades unpleasant to the eye, it's because a small mind has no appreciation of a rainbow.

As long as there are small minds there will be war. War among those of us who have room in our hearts for love and those that have every crevice filled with hate.

fourteen

2006-07-28T08:48:00.000-05:00

My niece is coming to stay with me for a long weekend and I'm sort of baffled on what we'll do for entertainment. I've been stuck in 2-year old mode for awhile so I doubt she'll enjoy putting on a princess dress and dancing around my living room. When I was fourteen the only things I wanted to do were locking myself in my room with the music on high, veg out in front of the tv with a bowl full of cheese puffs, or be somewhere that there were cute boys to flirt with. Although I can probably accommodate with the first two, I honestly have no idea where cute fourteen year old boys hang out these days. Plus, her father would probably kill me if he found out I was actually promoting flirting with boys in any sense of the word.

You know as old as I am I still remember exactly what it felt like to be fourteen - hell. Your hormones are raging, your emotions are running high, and absolutely no one in the whole universe understands how you feel except your best friend. This weekend should be interesting...we can't even go outdoors since the temps are soaring to 98 with heat indexes to 106. It's really too bad because I'm quite positive one of the best cures for those raging hormones is to get thrown into a freezing pool of water.

Have a great weekend....

See, there's a baby in there

2006-07-27T10:12:00.000-05:00

I was thinking that maybe if I where a sign like this....someone will actually give up their seat on the train each morning. Probably not...my luck no one would be able to read. :-)

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

anesthetic

2006-07-26T09:02:00.000-05:00

So here I sit...two less wisdom teeth than a couple of days ago and I still feel a little wise. I'm not a wimp but let me just tell you that if you ever have to have your wisdom teeth pulled and you can't get anything except local anesthetic, run ten miles in the other direction. And when anyone tries to convince you that you can handle the pain...since you've been through child birth, laugh in their faces. I hate when anyone compares pain to childbirth. One big difference, when you are in labor you know you are getting something good after the pain subsides. When you get your teeth pulled, you get two less teeth and that's about it. No comparison.

I'll admit I was feeling a little sorry for myself after the procedure. My mouth hurt and I wanted someone to take care of me but there is no explaining to a 2 year old that mommy needs to sit and rest. I told Alice I had a boo boo in my mouth so she politely kissed it better (on the outside of course) and then told me to get up and play with her. As I sat there playing with Princess Barbie I have to admit that I forgot about the pain for awhile. As Princess Barbie danced around singing her lovely princess song, somehow my weariness became the last of my worries. We rarely do that, keep on dancing to the music even when we'd rather be hiding under the safety of our duvet. And while we're stuck under the covers, life goes on with or without us. It still amazes me every single day that I can learn something new from my toddler. I'm convinced we're born with common sense and it's the growing up that makes it dissipate. We get caught up in our pain so much so that we close ourselves off from the world, we numb the pain with whatever anesthetic we can find, and we do anything but cope.

I hope that Alice can keep teaching me the lessons I need to learn and I hope with all that's in me...that life never goes on without me.

wisdom

2006-07-24T09:25:00.000-05:00

I did it...I made it through an entire weekend without apologizing for something that wasn't my fault. At times it was stressful because a certain somebody kept looking at me waiting for me to say I'm sorry. I never realized how often I must say those words for someone to expect them so easily. It's hard breaking a pattern you've become so accustomed to but it also feels wonderful being able to walk away with your self respect in order. I also ended up talking to my dad last night as I usually do on Sundays and I asked him if saying your sorry makes up for things we've done wrong. I suppose I was asking because he's said those words to me so many times but they never seemed to make a difference, the pain was still there. He told me that he'd told so many people he was sorry in his lifetime that he'd lost track of what he was supposed to be sorry for. Part of me wanted to remind him but the larger part understood exactly what he meant. And then he told me something that did make a difference, he told me that beyond his sorry's he was ashamed that he relied on words to ease his own guilt. Instead of telling me he was sorry he should have said, I want things to be different, I want to take back the actions I've thrown into your world that caused you to ever feel sorry for things you had no control over. That's it isn't it? Us people that apologize for actions not our own, we are trying in our own desperate way to gain a tiny bit of control.

Someone told me recently to make it simple, go with the flow, avoid conflict. I've been doing that my whole life and what I really ended up with is a whole mess of complications. I've said it before and I'll say it again, be accountable. Own what is yours and leave the rest behind.

Hope you have a fab Monday...I'm off to get my wisdome teeth pulled. Let's hope I come back at least 1/2 as smart as I was before. :-)

my apologies

2006-07-21T08:10:00.000-05:00

I'm not in a good mood today. I know that there are trials and tribulations to every relationship but when do the trials get verdicts and a sentence handed out? To put it plain and simple, I'm tired of asking for things to get done and it never happening. It's a vicious cycle, the task remains unfinished for days that turn into weeks, I end up doing it myself because I can't stand the fact that it's not done. I get pissed off, my mood shifts, and somehow I've now become the executioner and my husband the martyr. I'll be honest, most of my life seems to go this way and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I've formed this bad habit of apologizing for things that are not my fault. Like...I'm sorry that you lied to me and now I don't trust you. I'm sorry that you can't love me. I'm sorry that you broke your promise to me and now I have lost all faith in you. Why or why do I do that? You know what's more frustrating than apologizing when you are not at fault? That the people responsible actually let you feel sorry. They not only accept your apology, they expect it. Well, things have to change for me. Whether it be a broken promise or as small as not doing household chores....I am not going to apologize for something I have no fault in. I've played the big bad wolf too many times when in reality I'm just the little girl in red too frightened to stand up for herself.

I have to wonder, if we stop apologizing for the things we have no fault in will those people that gobble up those apologies stop expecting them? Probably not. There must be a way to own only what is yours and leave the rest by the curbside.

Here's wishing you a weekend with no apologies.

Half Nekkid Hair

2006-07-20T08:45:00.000-05:00

Well here it is...my head after I cut all my locks off. Today it was raining and it's humid but you know what? My hair still looks half way decent even after standing in the rain ....I forgot my umbrella. Although I still have moments when I go to flip back my hair and nothings there but air, I still feel a heck of a lot 'lighter'. It's amazing how good you can feel when you let some of that baggage fall off your back. :-)

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

heated up

2006-07-19T08:54:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed that people are meaner when it's hot? It's been pretty darn hot here in Chicago for the past week nearing temps of 100 and with the humidity famous in the Midwest, it feels like 110. As much as I'd like to stay locked inside my house basking in the wonderfulness of air conditioning, I can't. I have to go to work downtown which means I have to ride a train...where there are other people pissed off that it's so darn hot. I have to walk a couple of blocks to our building and stand on street corners waiting for stop lights to change while people brush up against you and it pisses you off more because IT'S TOO DARN HOT to be touching bodies. I've managed to stay in a decent mood regardless of the heat but I have noticed that most of the people I encounter are in anything but a good mood. Yesterday I had three different people let door slam in my face because they were in such a hurry to get inside to the A/C that they didn't much care who was behind them. I had a bus almost run me over because the driver tried to speed through a yellow light. I see people yelling, I see people with frowns, I see people pretending that no one else exists except them. Although I live in a city of 3 million and it would seem that having that many bodies crammed into one space would make people mad in general, generally it's not like that. People usually are pretty friendly. We say hello or smile when our eyes meet, we hold doors for the people that are coming through behind us, we still might yell but we tend to have a bit more 'tact' when the heats not turned on high. I'm not sure why the heat affects us so negatively. I know it sucks to be hot but isn't it worse to be cold?

It's like that old saying states....If you can't stand the heat...get out of the kitchen. Ok so it doesn't exactly fit but you know what I mean right?

Have a wonderful HOT Wednesday.

dreaming loneliness

2006-07-18T08:33:00.000-05:00

They say when you are pregnant you tend to have vivid dreams and I have to agree. Lately I've been dreaming things so vividly that I wake up sobbing or angry because I can't figure out if it was real or a figment of my imagination. Supposedly I'm a text book case because when you are pregnant you tend to dream about old relationships and unresolved issues from your past. You can probably imagine that my mind is in overdrive when I sleep because I seem to have a plethora of both of those things. The problem I have with dreaming about old relationships is that I seem to be reliving the pain along with the memory. The dreams are not exactly historically correct but they are pretty darn close. Sometimes the faces change or the names, but the result is always the same...someone is always leaving me. The strange thing is that sometimes in my dreams I put someone that's never left me, like my husband, into a memory where I was abandoned. The pain feels familiar but worse if that makes any sense. Sometimes I wake up so pissed off at myself for falling into the same old pattern that I spend at least half the day trying to convince myself it was just a dream and nothing else. I'm not sure I believe that theory though. When you sleep your inhibitions are low so every insecurity you have surfaces. If I wanted to spend more time analyzing my dreams I could probably come to the conclusion that some part of me fears being alone. Some part of me believes that this guy will also leave me stranded. I suppose fear resides where insecurities thrive. I better work harder on laying those parts of me to rest so I can actually get some rest.

Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you. I think my book will be a best seller.

it's neither here nor hair

2006-07-17T09:26:00.000-05:00

I cut off my hair. That action was strictly prohibited for many many years of my life sometimes due to a controlling boyfriend who claimed to love my long locks and sometimes due to my own insecurity when I actually thought my hair made up 80% of the reason anyone would be attracted to me. Rubbish I tell you. It's been a long time since I cut my hair, almost 3 years to be exact. When I was pregnant the first time I cut my butt length hair up to my shoulders because...well I was pregnant and hormones do things like that to you. But, since having Alice I vowed to grow my hair long again. I'm not sure why, maybe I was feeling less than attractive since becoming a mom but the truth is that even though I'd still get the occasional glances from unsuspecting men, my hair couldn't quite live up to the task I'd placed on it. So this weekend while trying desperately to escape the near 100 degree temps in this lovely city I call home, I snapped. Well not exactly snapped but I couldn't get my hair up far enough off my neck to feel cool. It looked dirty and sweaty ten minutes after getting out of the shower so up it went into a pony tail. My hair had gotten pretty long, almost to the middle of my back, but honestly not many could tell how long it was because it spent the majority of its time up in some new fab doo. I came to the conclusion on Saturday that it's rather ridiculous to put so much importance on something growing outside of my head when the real meat and potatoes of who I am grows on the inside. I picked up Elle magazine and flipped through it with about as much interest as I have in reading one of my hubby's engineer magazines but...this picture of Halle Barry and Natalie Portman caught my interest. Short hair, a pixie, seems way to drastic but really, what do I have to lose? So I asked my hubby what he thought and he said..."honey you'd look good with a shaved head." I took that as a green light and I made the appointment. I walked in to the salon and said...cut it all off. My stylist had to catch herself from fainting but then she asked me if I was sure. "Well, no, but if I wait too long I'll lose my nerve." So she cut, and she cut, and she cut. When she was finished I hardly recognized myself but I wasn't nearly as scary as I thought I would be. She actually told me that I should never grow my hair out again because I have the face made for short hair. She said my head shape and my thick wavey hair are perfect and I should take advantage of the fact that I can pull off this short style and still look feminine as hell.

I love my hair. I feel sassy (not that I needed a new hair cut for that), I feel beautiful, I feel like I've cut off a huge weight - literally. It's funny when I think back to all the times that I refused to cut my hair because I thought I'd be ugly because now that I'm older, wiser, and less vain, I realize that being ugly comes from the inside of your head and no amount of hair can cover that up.

So...I'm exposed and you know what...I feel pretty damn good.

For my mama

2006-07-14T11:15:00.000-05:00

Beyond what is and what was there is what will be. There are rainbows after every thunderstorm and pots of gold waiting to be discovered. Birds sing their lovely melody as we listen in hopes of hearing words of wisdom. We open our ears and our hearts to be filled with something more than we possess in the here and now. I believe these things because of you. Although my vision often blurs and I have to blink a few thousand times to gain focus, it always comes when I hear your voice. The sacrifices you made so that my own debt would be less has given me strength that can never truly be measured.

Today is your birthday and I celebrate your life as you have so often celebrated mine. I love you mama....Happy Birthday.

because of her

2006-07-13T12:24:00.000-05:00

Since I've been digging through this history of mine trying to make some peace with it all I've realized that I have overlooked someone, my mother. Sometimes I focus so much on the pain my father inflicted on me that I forget the many many years my mom spent trying to protect me from the inevitable heartaches she herself experienced. I love my mom not only because she is my flesh and blood, not only because she spent 36 hours in labor trying to bring me into this world. I love her because she was the shield or at least tried to be, that stood in the forefront of my life taking the brunt of all the blows. Of course she couldn't protect me as well as she hoped but honestly I do not give her enough credit.

My mom is the perfect definition of a self made woman. She married my dad two days before her 18th birthday. She lied to the judge and told him she was already of legal age, that's how much she loved my dad. Little did she know that she was signing up for a life of uncertainty. She survived his infidelity, his verbal and physical abuse, his alcoholism. She hid her demons from my brother and me so that the person we saw seemed in control. When I think back I can remember the times when her fragile facade was in danger of revealing the cracks beneath the surface. I remember when she kicked my father out for good that she lived on cheetos and jelly beans for almost a year because it was the only food she could stomach. I remember being angry at her for making my dad leave, for breaking our family apart, when in reality she was the glue that held it together. We as children are so naive aren't we? Of all the memories I have of my mother the one I seem often to forget or to place importance on is the night my mom stood between my drunken father and me as he tried to force his inebriated affections around my little body. I ran outside to escape him, he ran after me, my mother followed. It was pouring down rain and I jumped inside my dad's blue Ford truck and locked the doors. As my dad tried unlocking the door, keys fumbling in his unsteady hands, my mother grabbed the keys and threw them. I'd forgotten the next moments partly out of guilt, partly out of fear. My dad grabbed my mom's arm and twisted it, he threw her on the ground, I screamed and ran to her as fast as I could. My dad stood there unable to speak. I suppose he knew what he did and for one of the very few times in his life - he felt regret. I remember my mom driving to the emergency room steering the car with one arm, her wrist was broken in two places. I sit here and try to remember what came after those moments but I can't. My mind rolls around in the blank spaces as if the film has been spliced and the next things I remember are years later. God it hurts to remember pain doesn't it? I think at this moment what hurts me more is not the pain but the guilt over not being able to recognize how strong my mother was. She must have been scared out of her mind yet for her child, she remained whole - at least on the outside.

After my mom divorced my dad she worked as a secretary and mail room clerk. At night and on weekends she put herself through college, obtained a Marketing degree and eventually worked her way up to be nominated the first woman vice president in the same company she'd been an hourly employee. She didn't do it for herself. She did it so my brother and I could have a life that had some resemblance of normal. Although I often look back on my childhood and consider it anything but normal, I really didn't have it as bad as it could have been. When I hold my daughter, when I promise to chase away the monsters and protect her with all that is inside of me, I feel my mother's love bubbling to the surface, seeping through my pores to all those that touch me. Because of her - I'm not as broken as I could be. Tomorrow is my mom's birthday and the gift I want to return to her is my gratitude.

a reminder

2006-07-12T08:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was going to post about the things I'm grateful for following CeeCi's suggestion of Grateful Tuesdays. Instead I wrote about my daughter and I suppose when I look back at that post it was about something I'm eternally grateful for - her. But then something happened, something that made me stop and realize I better get that list in order because it's not only important, it's necessary.

I usually leave work about 4 every night and I take the Blue Line El train home. Yesterday I was asked to stay late, until 5, to attend a meeting where they needed my input. Of course I agreed but I told them I'd have to clear it with my nanny first to see if she could stay late with Alice. When I called the nanny she told me she had a doctor's appt. and could not stay late so I had to tell my superiors that I had to decline the meeting and asked that they reschedule. I ended up on my normal train and I didn't realize how fate played a part in my commute home until I turned on the news last night and saw that there had been a train derailment and fire on the Blue Line at 5:09 two stops after my entrance stop. I would have been on that train because the train comes at 5:05 and takes exactly four minutes to get to the stop where the fire occurred. Over 100 people were treated for smoke inhalation, 2 are in critical condition. It's not that I think I might have died, chances are I wouldn't have, but smoke inhalation when you are pregnant is almost always fatal to a fetus or has a high risk of causing birth defects. I sat there watching the news and I told my husband that I was supposed to be on that train. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of what might have happened to my sweet baby to be.

I know that a lot of bad things happen in this lifetime and most times there are no answers as to why. But sometimes we're spared from the pain and the question of why seems much less important. Today I'm going to make an effort to stop asking why. I need to remember the good and the bad and accept it for what it is so that each of my tomorrows can be spent remembering the things I'm grateful for.