Go ahead and wonder what the hell is wrong with me when I make this statement: “I don’t really like animals.” There, I said it. Hit delete or read on. I come by this honestly. My mother doesn’t like animals, either, as she reminded me over and over growing up. Seeing her pet a dog is one of the most unnatural scenes I’ve ever witnessed. It’s like oil and water—doesn’t mix.

            By not liking animals, I don’t mean I advocate their abuse and I don’t drive 30 miles out of the way to avoid catching a glimpse of the zoo. I like them, just not in my house. I don’t like paying for their various needs, as I have two children that consume every dollar for their various needs. And I happen to like my children, so if I have X dollars the X goes to them, not to the cat. I want what’s left of X to go to a new pair of shoes for myself.

            I wasn’t always like this. Like any other American child, I begged for a dog. Our blended family, I thought, needed a pet to make it complete. I vaguely remembered the responsibility speech as the four of us chanted “pleeeaaaaseee” to our parents. And then Hershey came along. To honor our family’s two last names, we called Hershey (girls’ idea) Boy (Chris’s idea as he was the only boy in the family) SanDob (a mixture of Sander and Dobbins.) We played with him all the time for maybe a weekend or two. And then there was Lucky. I’m not sure how we got either one, but I know we loved them a lot for a very short amount of time before we got distracted by other things. I remember watching them outside our window as they jumped up begging for attention. I wanted to watch Brady Bunch so I’d just turn the other way trying to ignore their sad faces. Left to come up with their own entertainment, they became fairly wild dogs and would jump on us with such force, they’d usually knock us over. They knew where they weren’t wanted and dug under the fence again and again trying to escape their lonely lives, only to be caught and thrown in the pound. I’m surprised my parents kept bailing them out. I think after that we  had a bird dog, Lady, but she wasn’t really “our’s” as much as she was for my brother and step-dad for hunting. I can’t remember which combo wound up with puppies – Lady and Lucky or Lady and Hershey – but at one point, we had puppies. Not sure where they went, either. As you can tell, I was very involved in the lives of these creatures. And the last thing I remember is noticing one day that the dogs were no longer in our back yard. They went to that proverbial farm, and that was that. I felt relief that I no longer had to get attacked every time I fed and watered them. I also felt a sense of relief that I didn’t have to feel guilty every time they stared at me, begging to play outside with them while I stayed inside with my Barbies or whatever it was I was interested in at the time.

            And then I got the critter fever. My best friend Renee had a hamster. And that hamster was just tons of fun, I thought, except when it peed on me. I had to have one, too. Somehow I convinced my mom to get me one. I already had a parakeet, Pretzel. I suckered my grandparents in that on my seventh birthday. He had an affinity for Michael Jackson music, and I actually took really good care of him. But when he escaped, it was my mom who coaxed him onto a pencil and back into the cage, cursing under her breath the whole time. Back to the hamster…. For some reason, it would only sleep under the water bottle, which dripped and it wasn’t long before (was it Cinammon? Ginger? I don’t remember) started looking sickly. During a weekend away, I let my best friend and fellow hamster fan take care of my hamster for me. Seems Ginger took a turn for the worse one day and they actually took it to a vet. The hamster was diagnosed with pneumonia and died a few days later. My step-dad made a tomb stone for it and we buried it in a shoebox in the alley. I got another one soon after. Renee and I wondered what would happen if we let our hamsters “play” one day. Well, 13 baby hamsters later, we found out. Since I had the girl hamster, I became a grandmother to the babies. My mom wanted them gone—fast. I gave a few away to neighbor friends and sold the rest for $2 apiece at a local pet shop. That’s when I saw a gerbil. Why I wanted a gerbil, I don’t know – rat-looking thing. As most critters do, the gerbil escaped. We never found it. But we could hear it – in our walls. The gerbil, who I named Fonzie, spent his evenings chewing through the inside of our home. Every time mom could hear him, she would give me “the look.” The “I’m so disgusted right now” look. But I ignored her. I wanted Fonzie to come home to his cage and join me and my little critter family of hamsters and parakeets. And one morning while getting ready for school, there he was on my bedroom closet floor. He died about a week later. He joined the other critter in the alley with his own tomb stone.

            This brings me to the present. I’ve managed to go the rest of my life without a pet. I haven’t had a dog since I was a child. I’m allergic to cats. I’m over the critter phase. However, there I now have an eight-year-old girl who is a self-admitted “tree hugger.” She is a lover of all things “living,” particularly animals. She reads about them, writes about them, researches them, and pets and loves on them every chance she gets. About two years ago, when she met her Aunt Deborah’s Yorkie-Poo’s, Tiny and Louis, she fell in love with the idea of a small lap dog. That also was the time her parents were divorcing. I felt the perfect band aid for her pain would be to get her a dog like that. So we drove to a breeder, and I plunked down a few hundred bucks for a Yorkie. He was cute for about five minutes. “Pepper” pooped and peed everywhere and at all times. I couldn’t train him. He could jump on the counters, like a cat, and would eat the dinner on the cabinet in a heartbeat. He yapped. All the time. Barked. All the time. Pooped. All the time. He was too little to be an outside dog, and we were gone all day which made him a “laundry room” dog. And he was pissed. Doggie school didn’t work. It was a failed experiment. When I learned we would be living in hotels most of last summer, I knew Pepper had to find a new home. He stayed with my best friend for awhile who loves dogs, and even she couldn’t handle him. He went to a good home, an older lady who has bred Yorkies most of her life. Adios Pepper.

            My oldest daughter still cries about Pepper today. What was supposed to help, wound up hurting her worse. Before the dog, we went through various fish and hermit crabs who all eventually met their maker as well, mostly because we didn’t care for them the right way. And now and then, she’ll shed a tear for them too. She still misses “Pishy,” her Beta from when she was a year and a half year old. Yes, in fact I DO have the most sensitive and dramatic child on the planet, thankyouverymuch. But what comes to mind is the funeral I wanted in our alley for the hamsters and gerbils. I cried, too. So I can’t blame the kid. Much, anyway.

            So last year, about this time, we’re finally settled into our new home. The talk of a dog to complete this new life comes around again. I think of the potty training, the vet bills, and the fact that we’re never home. I just can’t go through with it again. So she asks for a cat. Yes, I’m allergic but only if I touch them then touch my face. I somehow find myself on Hwy 380 meeting a girl who has one runt kitten left from a litter of “mistakes.” She breeds Siamese cats and mom cat got out one night and messed up the plan. Fine with me. The kitten is cute and doesn’t cause any problems. The care is rather easy and the maintenance is low. So is the cost.

            Then the cat turns into a she-devil…pouncing, knocking everything over, shedding…. ACHOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! She claws the kids, claws my furniture….and did I mention she has turned my laundry room into a toilet? She loves to chew up toilet paper and string it through the house…. She pees in the shower…and she likes to chew up pictures for some reason……She knows who loves her – Kate. And she is nice to Kate but that’s it. I want to get her de-clawed but when I think of where to spend $300, it’s not on a cat right now. But we have her. And whenever I talk about finding her a new home, out come the tears.

            And this brings us to Layla, the lizard. “Mom can I have a lizard?” I hear this about six months ago, and it continues. Every answer is no. No. No. No. No. Finally I tell her that if she researches lizards and learns about them, then we’ll talk. She basically writes me a college thesis on lizards. She catches one at her dad’s and it gets away. She catches another, and her little sister “accidentally” kills it. She has done everything possible to convince me that she “haaaaaaaas to haaaaaaaaave a lizard.” I ask her why she wants a pet that won’t love her back. “But it will, mom. You just don’t like pets and don’t know when they’re loving you back.” OK. I ask her if she’ll take care of it like she (doesn’t) take care of the cat. Like all kids I get the “I promise.” I don’t believe her, of course. And on it goes.

            Finally, I cave. I think….how hard can a lizard be to care for? Find a lizard, throw it in a cage, and toss in some lettuce, right? Wrong! Your basic lizard grows to be really, really big. Big as in gross big. Those are the cheap ones. I don’t want a big lizard in a big cage in my house. Ever. And they’re not “cute” says Kate. But what IS cute is a leopard-spotted lizard for the bargain price of $27. They grow to be about six to 10 inches, which is manageable but they need a 10 gallon tank. Not aesthetically pleasing in my home, I think. Oh, and they also need sand, a place to hide, a heat lamp so your $27 purchase doesn’t die the same day you bring it home, a water dish, and vitamin dusting powder for their food.

            The “lizard sales guy” is a lizard expert, I gather. He reveals he owns about a dozen or so himself, including an iguana which he walks daily on a leash. It looks like he takes time out of his day from gaming to work a few hours at the pet store, get his discount on lizard supplies, and goes back home to game some more. I am basically his worst nightmare – suburban mom, grossed out by reptiles who at first glance was probably a cheerleader in high school and chewed gum a lot and said “like” like every other word. Yeah, he hated me. But he bonded with Kate. As rattled off various lizard facts, his face lit up….ahhhh, a kindred spirit. They both spoke reptile. As Kate’s little sister Liv bounced through the aisles, dancing to Miley’s “Party in the USA” I realized that I’m in trouble here. Kate has the critter disease I had at her same age—a fascination with something…ANYTHING….to love and care for. And it came about the same time for her as it did for me…a few years post-divorce and at a time when I realized I’m a little different than other girls in my class. While they talked about boys, clothes, who is friends with who and who isn’t, and getting their ears pierced….. I wanted to dive into a new book, write stories, and still play pretend. So does Kate. I don’t know if it’s a part of our personalities or if it’s a product of divorce…maybe both.

            As I totaled the price in my mind of what this lizard experience was going to cost, I felt a little faint. This comes at the same time the kids are needing fall clothes. The timing couldn’t be worse. But we had been to the pet store before to look and research. I didn’t let her get the first time out. I made her think about it until finally she just wore me down. She held up her end of the deal with research and putting in $25 of her own money she had saved for it. I needed to hold up my end of the deal.

            Then I ask… “Oh yeah, where is the food for the lizard?” I am looking through various cans and don’t see “Lizard Food” anywhere. That’s because there isn’t “Lizard Food.” But there is, however, live crickets. And that’s what we will feed the lizard, twice a week. In addition to commuting two hours a day, getting kids to school, piano lessons, dance lessons, and everything else, I now have to add a trip to the pet store twice a week for live crickets. In my mind, I said the longest string of cuss words imaginable. The lizard sales guy looked pleased with himself….He had defeated the cheerleader.

            He might have kicked me but it was paying the bill for these lizard treasures that truly defeated me. We get home, too late on a school night, and start to set up the lizard’s home. The heat lamp scares me. I’m sure that will be what sets the house on fire. The crickets gross me out. And I can already smell that “smell” that only comes with having a living creature in a small room. And then there’s Layla, the lizard. She’s OK I guess. We don’t really hold or touch her, and most of the time she stays in the $9 shade hut I bought for her. She sure makes Kate happy though, at least for the next few days until she gets bored of the novelty of owning a lizard that her mother takes care of for her.

            And then I get a lot of “what the hell were you thinking?” “Your daughter has so manipulated you.” “She plays on your guilt.” “You have got to learn to say no to her.” I can respect and agree with all of this. But if you know Kate, then you just know…she’s a sweet, tender-hearted girl who is in a stage of childhood where she just loves pets and wants to care for them. She doesn’t ask for every toy on the shelf, and she certainly doesn’t get them either. She barely knows what an I-pod is and doesn’t really want one. She’s not that into fashion and doesn’t give me fits about clothes or what’s in style. She’d rather have her nose in a book or work on the book that she is writing. She’s starting to collect more journals than I have. She takes dance lessons but only because I make her. She loves her piano lessons, which thrills me. She might want to get back into theatre someday, but not right now she says. She’s counting the days til summer just so she can see the horse she rode during horse camp. She just doesn’t really ask for much. She made straight A’s the last two years in school, and has never been in trouble at school or even at home, really. She’s a good kid. A good daughter. A good sister. A sweet friend.

            What does bother Kate and causes her to act out, although mildly, is the fact that her parents are divorced. She hates it. She wants it all pasted back up the way it’s supposed to be. Unless you’ve been through it yourself, you will never know true self-loathing until you are on your closet floor, holding your sobbing daughter as she begs you to reunite with her father. The absolute heartbreak of wiping her tears as she hears the news that her father is getting married and that there is no chance her parents will ever get back together is something that words can’t describe. Moving your daughter out of the only home she really remembers – the place where she felt safe – into a home where she clings to you at night because she’s too scared to sleep alone….it will make you feel like the worst parent on the planet. Yes, she will come to understand why. Yes, she will come to accept. Yes, she will heal. And yes, she will be stronger for all of it. But today, at age 8, she is heartbroken. She is sad. She misses life as she knew it, and I don’t blame her one little bit. The one thing we give children as parents, or at least try to give them, is stability. And I was selfish enough to rip it right out from under her.

            So Kate wants a lizard? OK. After all that, it seems like the absolute least I can do, even to see a smile on her face for awhile. If it, even for a few moments, erases the memories like those that occurred on the closet floor, I’ll keep feeding it live crickets and spraying her room down with Febreeze. In the grand scheme of things, it’s just a lizard. But she’s more than just a kid. She’s my daughter. And if she continues falling into my footsteps, it won’t be too long before she’ll stop liking animals so much too. And then I’ll be stuck caring for a forgotten crazy cat, creepy lizard, and whatever else she talks me into. To be continued, I’m sure….

In trying to figure out the exact date of a friend’s birthday, I had to go through some old (should be deleted but aren’t) emails to keep from making a total ass out of myself by saying “happy birthday” when I’m not even close. The point isn’t whether I got the birthday right or not (I did, sort of), it’s that I was reminded of where I was this time last year. So much has happened I can’t believe I almost forgot. I was still living in a hotel last year, dutifully taking my laptop out into the hallway every evening to work, while my kids peacefully slept in their uncomfortable hotel bed covered with a delightful mauve and baby blue flowered comforter….the smells of curry drifting through the hallways. Ahhh……

            I was horrified with myself for moving my daughters from their home into a new one, not yet built and into a new school, sight unseen. Fast-forward, clearly we survived. But man, what a year! I swore I’d never go on another date. I did and lived to tell about it. (Dating around in your almost-40’s as a single mom…..not highly recommended, yet possible.) The girls did great in school, have friends, and are for the most part adjusting well. Oh, and we moved out of the hotel and into the house which I still don’t like but am grateful for. And in a year of hard knocks for a lot of employees out there, I managed to keep my job (ThankYouJesus) and am still typing for dollars. Wow. We did all that?

            So here we are in the final countdown to the school year starting and it occurs to me that I’ve got to get my shit together. School clothes have been purchased…backpacks (but now the oldest wants a different one)….school shoes (just waiting for, “I liked them in the store, but now they hurt”)….supplies, blah blah. I’ve written a check to just about every spirit organization, piano teacher, daycare, you name it……. It’s like an automatic reflex, check writing. And we’ve added an orthodontist to my payroll this year, so that’s extra amusing. Like everything else, I’m still (always) just trying to keep up. I’m on top of things at work, but not really ahead. The house is straight, but not clean. I know my daughter’s DS games are in the house, just not sure where. The cat is alive, but not because I want her to be. I lost weight, but I gained some back. The kids eat, but it’s nothing gourmet and barely registers as healthy. I sleep, but often still in my work clothes. We go to bed, but not on time. You get the picture.

            In the middle of all this, I tend to stop now and then and think about myself as well. I’ve become best friends with alone this year. Granted, as of late, I haven’t had to be alone as much but there are still very still and quiet moments. Not too long ago, at church, I couldn’t quit looking at this older lady, sitting all alone in her pew. Now chances are, she is a widow and alone because she lost her husband….not because she chose to be alone at age 36. Yes, I see the difference. I kept thinking that could really be me some day – kids grown and off at their own churches with their own families and me – wherever I’ll be – getting up, dressed, and driving myself to church in hopes of seeing a few friendly faces, driving back home, and doing some more sitting…alone, of course, while eating my Lean Cuisine. My daughter recently revealed that one of her biggest worries is about me being alone when she is with her dad. She pictures me by myself, missing them and she feels sorry for me. My heart broke for her to hear that! I’m fine, and I plan on letting her know I’m OK. But I see why she thinks that…. My life, for the most part, revolves around them and when they’re not in my presence, it’s like I’m missing my co-captains. We’re a team. Thank goodness they’re still young enough to really need me almost all of the time, because it keeps me going and gives me a reason to keep pushing forward. I hope I’m not alone on the church bench but the key to not being afraid of it, is to accept that it’s a possibility. What is it, expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t happen? Yeah….I’ll go with that gem of wisdom.

            Now we have added drama of getting braces, a new school year with “OMG so much homework,” TAKS, last year of preschool (the bastards that yank $800 a month out of my account), fighting about shorts vs. undies under school uniform dress each day, commuting further to work, getting to piano on time, car always breaking down, Saturday dance class, visitation struggles, figuring out how to split escalating expenses for two growing kids who have a need a minute and a want every second, the oldest not getting into the same class as her friends (Her: This will be the WORST YEAR EVER! Me: No baby, that was last year), staying afloat in this craptacular economy, figuring out how in the world I’ll ever be able to afford all of the fall boots I want (read: not), and really wanting to move again when I know I shouldn’t. That’s just a start.

 At least I have the new Hoarders series and another season of Desperate Housewives to look forward to. And let’s not forget Glee. (Pathetic much?). I didn’t cancel my membership to the Y, even though I never stepped foot inside it last year except to sign up. I’ll consider it a banner year if I actually walk in and get my ass on at least one machine. That and getting the cat declawed. The life of a single mom….nothing but pure unadulterated glam.

            Basically every day is like hitting the road to a different and usually not-so-entertaining adventure without a map. (Wait, we don’t use maps anymore right? Navigation system?) I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m headed. Based on previous results, chances are I’m going to screw up big time. Thank God for the family and friends in my life who keep me on course. Thank God I continue to hear “I love you” even when I can’t imagine why. Thank God my kids love me despite how I’ve muddied up their sweet little lives. Thank God I can still manage to get my work done and someone still approve of it, after almost 11 years. I don’t know if I could have made it without all of that. So maybe I have a map after all, but don’t really need it because I know we’re going to end up OK.

So, it’s been a year since the divorce was final--just over a year to be exact. It would be nice to apply the cliché phrase “my how time flies” to my life, but I can’t do that because it’s simply not true. To be fair, time hasn’t stood still either, but the year has been full of so many challenges, ups, downs, and new experiences (good and bad) that I find myself feeling and (sadly) looking older than I should because I’m so tired of swinging from emotion to emotion and climbing up a few notches on life’s ladder just to get kicked back down again. It’s exhausting. But I’m not broken. At least not yet. Let’s go with bruised.

            So here’s the scorecard. After a summer of living in various hotels, the home I had built was completed in early fall. I assumed the house would be the solution to all of our squabbles, emotional breakdowns, and bad habits like eating out, kids getting used to sleeping with me, overspending, and lack of routine. We move in, and the oldest goes to a brand new school—the very thing I was sure would put her in therapy for life. Turns out, no therapy or even a box of tissues were needed. She thrived. She made great friends, made honor roll every session, won the school spirit award, and really fell in love with her teachers and the school. The youngest daughter’s education wasn’t disrupted, as she stayed in the same pre-school. I was safe there. So, education worries? Resolved.

            I made sure to create perfect bedrooms for each child in our new house so they would finally have their own space and re-discover all of their toys and belongings that lived in storage for four months. The excitement of being re-united with long, lost Barbies and falling into their old beds lasted for about five minutes. Every night, for almost a year, I have found them either at the side of my bed or in it, saying they are scared in their own rooms afraid of our new house. My guilt over moving them from the house they’ve always known overcomes me every time, and I let them crawl in, as they snuggle up to me on each side, giving me just enough room each night to turn my head slightly to the left or right. None of us get adequate sleep, but I’m so tired at the end of the day, I just can’t fight the bedtime wars. Sleep issues? Unresolved.

            I promised myself that once we were settled in the new house, we would create new rituals, such as eating dinner together every night, making sure the kids had their own responsibilities and chores each week, a firm bed time, a ban on junk food, an extreme reduction in eating out… the list goes on. Let’s see. We probably eat together around the table, at home, once a week. We most likely eat out three or more times a week. There is a chore chart on the refrigerator, but even I’m too busy to make sure it’s always enforced. Because the kids won’t step foot in their rooms or upstairs playroom without me, they usually go to bed when I do which is too late for their ages. This leaves them tired and me without “me time” during the evenings. In other words, we’re a functioning mess. I spend about two hours a day in my car commuting back and forth to work and back and taking the kids to their various activities. Evenings during the school year are filled with homework and other school projects. Spare time is usually spent at a dance school, a horse camp, a piano teacher’s house, and on and on and on. Between work, school, barking orders at the kids, and getting in and out of the car 20 times a day, it’s really no surprise the three of us go from feeling like we never see each other to seeing each other way too much—depending on our mood. Routine established? Not so much.

            Overspending. Ah, this is a fun one. It’s no secret divorce is filled with immense sadness. It’s also filled immense debt. The first hit comes with the lawyer bill. Someone has to pay it, and that someone was me. On top of that I had to pay, for a short time, the expenses of living in a large, insanely expensive house I couldn’t afford. Then I had to pay for a big move into storage, three months of hotel living expenses, a move out of storage and into a new house, and the costs of getting settled into a house. Then there’s the trick of learning how to live on an entirely different, and drastically reduced, income and budget. I am just now figuring it out, but let’s just say it’s been a long year filled with tearful nights in front of my laptop with my bank page up, trying to figure out how to get everything paid with money I don’t, and won’t, have. It’s a problem I was lucky enough to never face, until now. In my old life, I never really had to say ‘no’ to my kids when they wanted something. Now I say ‘no’ every time we are in a store. I hoard gift cards and Christmas and birthday money for times when I really want to go shopping for myself because otherwise, I just don’t feel right about spending money on myself when I know it can go toward something the kids need or debt. I am starting to climb out of it and learn to manage with what I have, but it’s been a year-long lesson in reality for sure. I say a prayer of thanks every day for my job. I am beyond blessed to have it because it’s something I love and am passionate about, but it’s also what enables me and my girls to live in a nice house and have “enough.” The good news here is that I’m able to teach my kids about what truly is “enough.” The way we lived before wasn’t an example on the most fiscally responsible way to live. We’re going to make it, for sure. But it’s not going to be without struggles. Then again, such is life for a single mother. So financial health? Poor, but on the mend.

            And then we’re back to me. All of the stress and unhealthy living took its toll on me physically. In one year, I gained 15 pounds. I just ignored it for the longest time and decided that I didn’t care, anyway, because who was I trying to impress? I quit working out, which is something I really started to enjoy right before I moved. We got in the habit of eating out all the time, which certainly didn’t help matters. My anti-depressants were affecting my weight, too. I just felt tired and sluggish all the time. A few months ago, a friend put me in touch with a great alternative medicine doctor who ran a series of blood tests. He found the reasons for my issues and got me on the right track. I’m off of anti-depressants and on my way to losing 10 pounds in about a month already. I have more energy, and I just feel good in general. I’m eating better and have more energy for my kids. It’s kind of like a jump-start to getting back on track. Personal progress? Much, much better.

            Ah, and then there’s the single life. I don’t really consider myself single because I have kids. You can’t really live a “single” life when you’re carpooling, helping with homework each night, vacuuming goldfish out of booster seats, and signing up to be “mom for whatever they ask you to be mom for because you have severe divorce guilt.”  However, now and then, the girls are with their father, and I have something that has been very foreign to me since 2001—free time. I’m the first to admit that a lot of that free time is spent working, getting stuff done around the house, or just simply NAPPING. But, on occasion, I’ve dated. These are some of the highlights – wait, low lights -- of dating in the life of a single mom. Get ready to laugh, cry, or both. I surely have.

Back to the Well. You know the saying, “You can’t go home again?” Well, in my case, I found this to be true on several occasions. The easiest thing to do post-divorce/early dating life is to look up the old boyfriends. Social media has made this easier than ever before with Facebook and MySpace. Calling information for every number for your junior/senior banquet date in the greater metro area is no longer necessary—just facebook them. The best part is seeing “single” on his status because that means opportunity. It all starts innocently enough with the exchange of “hi, how are you, how have you been for 20 years, how are your kids, your dog, your job, your mistress, your geraniums, etc.” You do that for about a week, and then the “remember when’s” start to fly. Then you exchange numbers. Phone calls and texts lead to the first meeting, and then you have to marvel at how you ever lost touch.

            Well, there’s probably a reason you lost touch. You just had a lot happen in the past 20 years to help you forget. Eventually, you figure it out. I did. One old flame was single, but in love with someone he couldn’t have. Still is. It became clear I was just his entertainment until he could have her. Pass. Another wound up joining match.com during our courtship. When I discovered his new attempt at dating while dating me, I noticed that one of his profile pictures was of us on a date. Yep. True story. Couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

The Nutty Professor. So after realizing that I’m going to come up with a dry bucket after going back to the well twice, I decide to join the zombie divorced masses looking for a date and try e-harmony. I mean, hell, it worked for the guy I was last dating, right? I make it through the questions that mimic a really bad job interview to wind up with a professor who “loves sports and all athletic endeavors.” I should’ve known right then and there that e-harmony is really bad at what it claims to do – match interests – because nowhere do I mention “athletic” in my answers. Maybe it missed the word “avoid” in front of it. So I meet him at a local Mexican food restaurant for our first “date.” He orders us both waters. It’s dinner time, and I’m really hungry. I can’t help but eye all of the dinners at the table around me. Chips! Finally! We get chips! And then I start to realize mid-conversation that we are drinking water and eating free chips and salsa because he’s trying to decide if I’m worthy to spend money on. I guess I pass the first phase of the test because I get to order a blue margarita. He makes fun of me for ordering a blue margarita, asking if it will turn my tongue blue. Dork Clue No. 1. The conversation lags, and I do my best to make jokes and keep things light. He slams his beer and asks for the check. I guess I didn’t make it to round 2—dinner. He looks at the check and says, “Ok, so you’re margarita was $7 so I guess I can get the tip since I just had a beer.” I drop a $20 and tell him not to worry about it. He doesn’t argue. We head out to the parking lot where he says, “thanks” and walks to his car, leaving me to walk to my car alone. I laugh the whole way back. The next day, my inbox contains an email with a nicely formatted bulleted list of why he needs to close the match. It’s a list of the things he found wrong with the evening and with me. The top of the list is a comment, “You’re too lighthearted and make too many jokes. I want to be in a serious relationship with someone who can get into serious discussions with me and not be afraid of her feelings.”

            The only feeling I had that night was that I could have used another blue margarita. But the email was a nice re-cap of why I suck, very nicely detailed and spaced out with a jolly choice of zapf dingbats. And that was The Nutty Professor.

The Nutty Divorced Dad. The Nutty Divorced Professor should have been my first clue that e-harmony is a dangerous, dangerous place worthy of extreme caution and fear. But for whatever reason, during this stage post-divorce, I felt like I should go on dates with new people. Maybe it was fear of having to go back to the well again. I was determined to meet someone new. So I went back to my pool of matches and clicked on a guy who seemed like a great father to two daughters with you’re all around boy-next-door, aw shucks look who just got handed a bum deal in a divorce he didn’t really want from an ex-wife who some suspected was actually a lesbian. (Say it with me….awwww….) In the very short time I “dated” NDD I noticed red flags at every turn. This is a guy who wanted a girlfriend—bad. Correction, he wanted a wife. He wanted a do-over. He wanted to go back to “everything is normal-see we have a house-we go to church-we eat at Chili’s after church-look at my yard.” Everything was overboard, too much, too soon. At times, I was truly fearful. But on paper, he is probably what I should have wanted. But see, there’s something about being married twice and the term “should.” You know better than to make another mistake and you know better than to be with someone when you have to use the word “should.” So I started backing out, ever so slowly. When he began booking my own, personal babysitter for dates before I even knew we had one and started giving me gifts that were far beyond where we were in the progression of our short period of dating, I knew I had to get out of this gig. When I mentioned to him in a text rant (he loved the text rant) that I, in fact, was NOT his girlfriend I was met promptly with “like it or not, you ARE my girlfriend.” Ok…put the knife down….back away slowly…and no one will get hurt here….. I admit, I was a little scared. I quickly learned that when a divorced dad who doesn’t want to be divorced and really, really, really wants you to be his girlfriend doesn’t get his way, he attacks in emails, and rather viciously I might add. A sampling:

“I don't do things for attention. News Flash bulletin - if that was the case I would have never gone out with you. Your blog screams "look at me".” 

“You are a shallow, self-absorbed, bitter woman who hates men. I find it funny that you accuse me of gossip yet you have made a career out of it.”

“You should filter out all people - all you need is your collection of shoes and your self-hating blog.”

“You were always dramatic by pulling the "mommy" card which you did quite a lot”

“My neighbors are always trying to hook me up.  I dated several women prior to you who make more and have lots of time than you do”

…and my favorite….. ““And don't worry - I will get a different bike route.” (C’mon, ya gotta laugh).

But before you think it’s all been a loss, it hasn’t….. There have been good moments, good memories, and good dates. And as of late, I can safely say better than good. I think the key to dating post-divorce is the key to dating in general….You gotta kiss a lot of frogs to get to the prince. And I still believe in happy endings, even after all I’ve been through. I still believe in the tried and true advice that you’ll find someone when you’re not looking, but when someone else is looking out for you. It works. J

I recently picked up perhaps the best of the many books I’ve read on divorce this year, “How to Sleep Alone in a King-Size Bed.” At times, I thought this was someone who was watching my life, journaling it, and then publishing it as her own because the similarities were stunning. As it turns out, we’re simply moms and writers who are divorced and have shared the same ups and downs. Worse, we are blamed for our divorces because we’re the ones who asked for them. We struggle with the unfair reality that, in the end, it doesn’t matter about all the things that led up to the divorce. It’s almost as if those actions and situations are erased once the papers are delivered. It’s all about who had them delivered. What matters is who cut the last shred of tape that was holding it all together. That’s the person to blame. That happened to be us. We’re the only ones who know what really happened pre-filing, but we’re also the ones who have to live with the day in, day out guilt and stress about the choice we ultimately had to make. Theo Pauline Nestor just happened to get her book out before I did. (Yes, that’s a hint.) These are some key passages from the amazing author who touched me so much, I had to share, because they tell my story, too. And to a degree, explain it better than I’ve been able to…yet.

“The final stage (of divorce) is acceptance and growth in which there is a releasing of the past. Life slows to a less chaotic pace, and there is a feeling of comfort and belonging in one’s new life. The person begins to trust again to take reasonable risks and make solid choices. There is a letting go of anger and an ability to be friendly with the ex. In all phases of her life, the divorcee’ has moved ahead.”

“I will never again be the person who married the father of my children. I will never again be a woman married to the man to whom I said “I do.” I might recover a great deal of the brightness of my life, but I’m not going to come out of this the same person who went into the marriage and then divorce. I’m not sure who she’s going to be –this person who’s going to rise like a phoenix above the smoldering embers of her old life. I just want to make sure I’m going to like her.”

“Take care of yourself. No one else is going to do that for you anymore.”

“Maybe it’s the small things that change who we are. It’s those deceptively small things – the act of watching TV alone is a basement suite, the phone call from a friend at just the right moment, the smell of wood burning on a cold night - that transform us at a cellular level. Maybe it’s always something small that takes us from hope to despair. Maybe it’s something small, too, that takes us all the way back.”

“It seems it’s taking forever for my ex to realize that I am no longer an extension of him and longer for me to believe it. I feel like a disobedient arm or foot.”

“We meet people and 15 minutes later we figure we know who they are, but then we can spend a lifetime with a person and realize we still don’t completely know them.”

“Maybe this is what love is, after all…knowing who the person is and reaching for them when you know they can’t reach for you, going to find them when they are locked up inside themselves, even if you might be hurting or afraid yourself. Maybe this is why couples are breaking up everywhere…because we can’t talk each other down from our towers.”

“I can’t expect to save my children from hurt or from the fact that the parents are divorced. I can’t always make them happy. The hand-offs are tense. Christmas will probably always be a series of tricky compromises—two trees, presents shuttled between houses. Someday, mom might slow-dance in the living room someone who is not their father. Even if all of this is true, I can still be an okay mom, or even a good mom. Maybe, just maybe, because all these things are true and I am no longer going to pretend they aren’t, I can finally be both a mother and myself.”

…And back to the year in review. It’s been a beautiful disaster in many ways. We still struggle, almost every day. Some days, my ex-spouse and I run this co-parenting gig like a successful business. Dare I say we communicate even better? There are moments we have it down, and the girls seem completely adjusted and fine with The New Life. Then other days, I am screaming at him louder and meaner than I ever did in marriage, and he thrives on reminding me at how I failed the children and how I have ruined his life. I look at his life, and by appearances, it doesn’t seem ruined at all. In fact, he seems and looks happier than I remember him since college. I get frustrated because for someone who continually claims his children were “torn” from him, it seems our biggest struggle is getting “balanced” parenting time. He will always get to wear the “victim” badge post divorce and get the “I need to find myself” break, and I need to make peace with this. The kids still want to be with him and maintain their huge crush on their daddy, and I choose to believe that he will continue to do the right things for them. I will never abandon my promise to make sure I facilitate their relationship the best I can and to never speak ill about their father in front of them, ever. And I say this in all honesty, I want the best for him. I hope he can fill in the voids I couldn't, and that his final destination is nothing but happiness where he can honestly say, "this is better."

 What I know to be true will have to be enough for me, and most days it is. But then there are days when I can barely tolerate looking at myself in the mirror for the choice I had to make…almost by force. I choose to believe it will get better in time, especially now that he has moved on and is making a new life for himself that will ultimately include a “second” family. Maybe that will help him forget how much he hates me. I hope so. Maybe I can, too, move past what made me unable to continue in the life we tried to build, but outside of the children, should probably have never attempted.

So the year in review…..Despite all of this…everything since the first divorce…I’m still not jaded. I’m still not bitter. I’m not even mad. Surprisingly, I’m still hopeful. And despite the rough patches with the kids, the gnawing guilt, the broken down car, the bills that pile up, the tears, the days I can’t even imagine getting out of bed, and the painful struggles of being a single mom, I’m happy. Yes, I typed the word. I’ve said it….happy. And I’m not just saying this in order to make myself believe it. And I got here on my own terms. I’ve tried it on, and it fits. Happy…I like it.

And yet another from last year....

The Next Chapter
Current mood: blessed
Category: Life

Today, I was offered – ok, tossed around  – the idea of becoming more management than writer. Big problem, right? (ha, ha.)

In a weird way, it is because I know that if I don’t write, I’ll always struggle with is the feeling I have right now.--a sense or urgency to write. Something. Anything. Now.

Writing. Inspiration can strike on a road trip—just zoning out, thinking. It can come in a dream. It can be something that happened to me that no one would believe unless I told the story in a relatable manner. It could be inspiration that strikes, right now, when I’ve had two glasses of wine and should be asleep….. but I can’t help it.

I write. Manage? Eh, maybe........ but let’s move on shall we?

I’ve been doing this writing gig for as long as I can remember. When my parents fought as a child, I would grab my diary…spiral notebook…whatever I had and just write it all down – the confusion, anger, and emotions. If I had a crush on a boy, I would write about it until my fingers almost fell off. Certainly, I couldn’t reveal my secret but I had to just let it out, at least, on paper. As I recall, he wore an ID bracelet, and it was my inner-most desire in seventh grade for him to ask me to "go with him" and let me wear that bracelet. It didn’t  happen, but he did ask me to dance at our junior high dance. Of course, I used a lot of exclamation points that night!!!!!! when I wrote about it.

So now I am writing on the floor of what is, sort of, my home office. You see, just days ago, it was a true home office complete with décor, a desk, and a pull-out couch. Today, there is a "his" side and a "her" side with boxes and possessions divided—a marriage of almost 10 years and two lives divided by just a few square feet of hardwood flooring. My laptop – no, wait – his laptop -- is on the floor. I sit on a pillow on the floor, my glass of wine beside me, work beside me too…… and I think…..

Think…. Haven’t I mentioned before about how I think way too much?

You see, it is 12:24 a.m. My alarm is set for 4:30 a.m. Why? Well, that is because I have to somehow squeeze more hours into my day. I woke up, fed my girls, got them ready for school, took them to school, came home to straighten my home for an appointment with my Realtor. (Oh, did I mention that when you get divorced and your spouse moves out, it looks as if you’ve been robbed?) Anyway, I rushed to put it together as much as possible so that she would be impressed enough to list it for a decent price….. Time slips away. I have therapy at 11. It is as essential as the "happy" pills they’ve prescribed me to get through this God-awful mess. I have just enough time to put on the bare minimum of make up and rush out the door, downtown to therapy. We laugh, we cry. I feel guilty. I feel relieved. I pay money I don’t have. I drive through Chick Fil A while talking to my supervisor about what has transpired in a week --- the decision, the moving out, the finality of it all. My job. A possible promotion. Her new baby. I can barely stomach half my meal. I go to work to meet with our CFO. We talk all about my department – the good and the bad. We toss out ideas. I don’t know what to think, really, about what is being said other than Please God Let Me Keep My Job Because I Have to Feed My Kids. He’s talking about the good I’m doing and how I can possibly manage now, and all I can think about is how to get all of my work done and still have time to make my Realtor appointment, take my kid to her book fair, and make it to theatre class on time. The Realtor appointment was reschedule. I made it to the book fair. Spent more money I don’t have out of guilt. Was late to theatre. Got home, got kids ready for bed. Worked for several hours. And here I sit.

I bought a plane ticket for my sister to come into town this weekend simply for the fact that I don’t know how to "just be." I don’t. I have had someone "there" in my life for as long as I can remember….. Just last weekend it was my parents. She agrees. We will press on with what I know is right. Did I mention there are huge gaps in my home? Well, of course there are. Furniture, gone. Photos, gone. Evidence of a marriage, gone. Evidence of hope, long gone. I should cry, but where are the tears? I did cry here and there when the finality really set in. But the one person who claimed he couldn’t live one second without me seems to always find a way to live thousands of seconds without me, happily as it appears. He is my daughters’ father now. Not my husband.

Did I have a husband? Records reflect two. My heart, well…..I think it’s at a deficit. Neither ex would agree, but then again, neither knew my heart on an intimate level.

I once wrote a blog about a letter I would write to my teen-age self. Again, I would say to her….make sure he knows you inside and out and loves you—despite your shortcomings. Make sure that there is not one other woman in the universe who could make him as crazy in love as you do. Make sure that he lets you know every single day, even in the smallest way, that you are his…you are the one. Maybe you don’t cook, have sex, entertain, or whatever the way his best friend’s wife does…..but the point is, no matter how you do whatever, he should adore every inch of it and never let you forget it. If he doesn’t tell  you "good night, I love you" every night…..notice. Because he either loves himself too much, or someone else. Don’t fool yourself another second.

My therapist keeps telling me that I have all of these "gifts" to give….that I have all of this love stored up inside, ready and waiting. I think of the relationships I have had. How is it stored up when I gave it all away? But worse, why do I look at my "love tank" and it’s well below empty? When will I learn? When will I be "that girl" – the one who just can’t even believe "this is happening to her?" You know that girl. She’s in your office….a friend….a cousin of a friend….the girl who has the guy who just simply LOVES her. No strings attached. No this for that. No agenda. He just simply loves her and makes sure she knows it, even if it means being up with the baby all night so she can get a full night’s sleep at least just once this week. Even if it means a quick one second call to say "good night, I love you"  if you’re apart. Even if it means a simple text in the day that makes her feel 16 again. I don’t know what I’m talking about….I can hardly relate….but I know it exists. I’ve given up on this for myself but I’m telling you….no, begging you….. this is it people. Grab your life. With both fists, TIGHT. Hold on. Love it. Live it. Embrace it. Tell your children to do the same. Don’t waste another second.

I think I’ve mentioned in my previous blogs the porch swing I wanted to restore. It was my dear, sweet Papa’s. Well, I did it! Pictures to come. Oh, how I love that swing. I ordered a little emblem for it last night – "Papa’s Swing" Erwin John Sander. God, I love that name. It brings me peace. I swing and the world is right. What should be, is. I will restore that swing forever if I have to so that my girls can have it and I can tell them the stories behind it so they understand life is about so much more that right now. It’s about forever and then some. Grab it. Don’t let go.

My journey in this divorce started one year ago….mid April. I will never reveal the details but something happened last April that painted the picture as to why, despite what I want and crave and can pretend to have and be, I can’t be here anymore. It took a year for it to dissolve. But more than that, it took six years. I’ve been here before, but I’ve masked my pain with new homes, vacations, even a brand new beautiful baby girl. That scrapbook I kept as a child – that dream book – I should be a model on the pages of that thing, wherever it is because I fulfilled those material dreams. But yet here I sit, in an empty office, a half-filled home as he has already moved his things out to his new apartment……and still, no tears. I just keep pressing on. Money is dwindling faster than I can down my merlot. My job is so busy that I can barely tread water --- and yet they still want to promote  me? How is the possible? My daughters will spend their first night away from me, with their father, tomorrow. I’m excited and relieved they are comfortable. Sad they are gone. Jealous they love his place so much, as it is similar to a five-star hotel.

I’m tired. I should have been I bed hours ago but I don’t sleep. I have probably logged 16 hours or less of sleep, total, in three days. I just keep organizing, cleaning, throwing things out, and convincing myself that surely I’m not going to hell for all of this Right? Or am I already in hell?

Months ago, I answered a calling of for a mission trip with my church to Mexico. I said yes, not really knowing what it meant. Turns out, I leave Thursday to minister and help women and children with whatever they need -- repairing things, painting, fixing, feeding, hugging, playing with kids. They’ll feel like they won a million bucks if you give them a piece of gum or candy, I hear. I will be working my ass off, literally ---building, painting, moving. But I don’t care. It’s a way to help, and it’s a way to keep me from feeling sorry for myself. I am a millionaire compared to these families. I should never complain again.

Did I mention perfect timing for this trip? I am so consumed with worry about money and homes.....and these people have neither.

And then there’s the Bon Jovi concert soon after. Also, not bad timing. A little fun can’t hurt.

And then I need to move. I need to make my life. I need to figure out my financial situation. I need to sleep. I need to pray. To do a good job at work. To kiss and hug my girls 10 times more than I would think possible because they need it. Ok, I need it too.

There are holes all over the house, evidence of where he left. But there is a bigger hole left in my heart because he, through my blog and through countless talks, had the road map straight to my heart but still didn’t take it. And I keep that road map out for public view….and it just stays there…..Will anyone ever pick it up, read it, and actually follow it? I used to think yes, but as  time wears on…… I realize that this may be it for me. I was once married. I have two beautiful daughters. I work as a writer. That’s my life.

The end.

Really? The end? I feel this urge inside me to get started on living – take a pole dancing class just for the hell of it. Yoga? Sure, go for it. Women’s retreat in May? Sign up. Girls night out when he has the kids? Say yes. Church and more church. Get involved the way I always wanted to. Be Jennifer Sander and love my two girls more than even humanly thought possible, which I do. They are my sole reason for being on this planet. If you knew them you would know why I say this. All mothers can relate. So now I have 3.5 hours of sleep left. I hate succumbing to sleep these days…..It means my mind has to turn off and I have so many things to think about and organize. I have so many shattered dreams to put to bed; so many hopeful thoughts to just erase because now I know better.

I have been blogging for more than two years…….. some of it as real as it gets. Some of it trying to convince myself that I’m "normal" when I’m told I’m not. It’s just real. It’s just me.

So here you have it. I’m 35. Divorced with two kids. A writer. Full of passion for all things good, pure, artistic, and real. I’m scared out of my mind. I remain hopeful, but nearly as hopeful as I’ve been in the past. I need a pedicure. I need to balance my checkbook. I’ve had nothing but a hard boiled egg and half a chick fil a sandwich to eat today. I drank 3 glasses of wine tonight. Did I mention I’m scared to death? I am going on a mission trip to Mexico next weekend and don’t know much about it, but that’s OK. I have a servant’s heart, and am ready. I have two beautiful daughters who love me and trust me…..I’ll do whatever I can to preserve it. I have absolutely zero experience with truly understanding "I love you" from a man. The words and actions, to this date, have never matched up. I fear they never will. I have to learn to be OK with the possibility of being alone and the pride of not settling just to avoid it.

I am finally sleepy enough to end this blog and to say that I’m officially back. Sure, I’ve been accused of writing only to my "legion of idiots" – their quote not mine – to fluff my ego, and I have been lightly "grounded" from my writing. But here I am again, doing what I know how to do……write. Write what’s real. What’s true. What’s On My Mind Right Now.

Care to join me in my next chapter? Buckle up……. I just have this feeling you’ll need to….

The Porch Swing one... from last year

This Is...
Category: Life

...A big week for me in a lot of ways. I'll write more about it at another time when the dust has settled.

You see, I do my best thinking when I drive. This holiday weekend, that is just about all I did. Drive and think. Hours and hours of thinking. Sure, the thought process was interrupted to break up backseat arguments between my daughters, dodging flying sippy cups and  goldfish, pulling over to kiss "owies", etc. But I have settled my soul, finally, with some big decisions. I punch "go" on the process of these decisions this week. I have to. I have been in a such a state of "spin cycle" lately. I can't do it anymore. I'm worn out. Yes, people will be hurt. I'll hurt. But hurt is temporary. Hurt heals. When the decision is right, everyone comes out better in the end. You just have to hold on to your faith. And that's my plan. I like that plan.

I spent a lot of time with my sister this weekend. At one point, we were sitting in the "famous" rocking chairs on the porch of Cracker Barrel in Lubbock, Texas discussing, as usual, our love lives and/or the lack thereof. Much of the conversation was about our fears of the unknown….will we ever find "him?" Have we already found "him" and just don't know it yet? Will we make yet another mistake? Should we just settle even when we feel that familiar tug at our heart to hold out?

I looked across the way to the two rocking chairs in front of us. There sat, who appeared to be, sisters….probably in their 80s. If they weren't sisters, then they were best friends. They were looking over the menu, trying to decide what to order once their names were called. They were as dressed up as can be for west Texas and 80 years old--their night on the town. I looked at my sister and told her that no matter what decisions we make today, the inevitable truth is that we can't escape growing old. Our appearance will fade. Our energy will diminish. What's for dinner will become much more important than which heels to wear with what jeans. Hell, we probably won't even own a pair of jeans. Point is, this is it. One life. It's not a dress rehearsal. Both of us have been fortunate to enjoy second—even third chances. But we're not getting any younger. Sure, we still feel 25 and most of the time, we act like we're still 25. As each year passes, we'll feel it and see it. But there is still a lot of time between both sets of rocking chairs. We both have the chance to get it right—to seize happiness with both hands and not let go. To appreciate the blessings we do have and not worry so much about the things—and people—we wish we have, but don't. We have the time to take a new look at the people who consider us a gift—and treat us like one—rather than settle for men who look at us as only options…..men who may or may not get back to us when they realize the grass isn't always greener. While they wait, so do we…..and time marches on.

The point of my trip this weekend was to go to my papa and granny's farm house and get the porch swing. This isn't just "any" porch swing. It's the swing that I, literally, spent hours if not days, rocking with my papa and granny (usually papa) talking about anything and everything in the world. Without fail, he would reach over and hold my hand or hug me close when we talked. I could not have felt more special or more loved than on that swing with him. Sure, maybe his stories were long and about a time I couldn't begin to relate to, but they were full of color, humor, nostalgia, intelligence, and warmth. That porch swing, to me, signifies love….life….all of the beautiful things that God wants us to know, feel, experience, appreciate, and give thanks for. The swing is well more than 20 years old and has seen better days. Even so, it was loaded up into my step-father's truck (which I bravely drove with two small children) and carted off to his lake house where he has promised to restore it as much as possible so that I can rock my children on the swing and hopefully one day, my own grandchildren.

I can't go to that farm without feeling a rush of warmth, love, and belonging. No one lives there. The homes are void of people, but still filled with furnishings, photos, and memories. The homes even "smell" the same as I remember them from my childhood. The farm is a reminder that I have a starting place in this world. People cared enough about me to love me and support me and push me off into the world to go find my own happiness.

While there, I discovered a beautiful photo of granny and papa on what my father believes, was probably their wedding day or close to it. They were hugging and all smiles. They made it about 70 years….together. In love. I have no chance of making it 70 years with anyone, but I do have a chance for love. This time, it won't be the kind of love where the scales are so unbalanced—where I feel like my love is enough for the both of us. Where I feel like "he'll come around." Where it's obvious that he settled for me because I fit the bill of who he "should be with." If I could get in return what I give….well, I can't even imagine…..

Once we left the farm we drove back to Lubbock and went to the Alzheimer's/dementia retirement home where my granny now resides. She doesn't really know anyone except for my father. She is happy, although she will never understand why she's there or how it happened. And that's OK. Frankly, we're not sure if she even remembers papa, the farm, or any of the major parts of her life. She is always happy to see us, even if she's not entirely sure who we are. I choose to believe that somewhere way deep down inside, there is a spark of recognition of love, even if she can't identify who or how. As she ate her dinner, delighted in the smallest of things—a cookie or a smile from a friend—I thought back to the conversation my sister and I shared.

Outside of something purposefully tragic, you can't write the last chapter of your life. It's not for us to decide. When we're born, we have this clean slate. We're about the cutest we'll ever be—perfect little babies—and we are surrounded by love, care, and constant attention. Then we live our lives—the good and bad choices, the horrible mistakes, the blissful moments, and the mundane hum of everyday life. But every breath we take….every minute that passes….places us closer to the only thing that is inevitable—the end. And when that happens, do you feel grateful that you made "safe" choices and did what everyone else (who are probably not even alive anymore) wanted you to do? Do you feel relief that you let fear of the unknown kept you on a predictable path where you couldn't even feel this exquisite life that God gave you? Or, do you have regrets that you passed on chances. That you always took the traveled and worn roads. Do you wish you would have said what you always meant to say, kiss who you always wanted to kiss, dance when you felt like it, laughed until it hurt even when no one else knew why, said yes, said no, gone for it, said what the hell, helped someone rather than passed by, prayed more, hugged even when it felt awkward, said 'I love you' every time, danced and laughed with your children and friends...

I looked around the dining room of my sweet granny's retirement home and I couldn't begin to imagine the journeys of the people at these tables—many who could barely lift a fork to their mouth or have any sort of conversation with their seat mates. Why couldn't that be me? It happened to my smart-as-a-whip grandmother who was so full of life and love. Why couldn't my sister and I turn into the old ladies at Cracker Barrel where deciding on which sides to go with our pot roast is the biggest thrill of the day? Maybe their husbands were inside. Maybe they were still in love with those men after all of these years. Or, maybe not. Maybe they never met "the one" and they sit there, rocking….content, but settled. Wondering what if.

I drove home today with so many thoughts running through my mind, many of them scattered and unfinished at best. One very clear thought, however, was that for as long as I can remember, I have done everything in my life to please other people. And I am OK with that. It's a nice way to live, and it's thoughtful. I have waited patiently while the person I love hurts me time and time again before seeing "the light" and realizing I've been right for him all along, leaving me to feel alone and like honorable mention throughout our relationship. I have put together a list of what I want in a mate, only to settle for only a portion of those things just hoping that maybe, just maybe he'll "grow into it." I have loved and given so much of myself to just about everyone in my life, and I have taken sheer joy in doing so. And when I feel it in return, it's priceless. But that doesn't always happen. What's the saying? Show people how you wanted to be treated, and that's how they'll treat you? Well, the doormat aspect of my personality has really created a huge problem for me here.

So if in the end, I'm either in the rocking chair on the porch of a restaurant where the highlight of the evening is having pancakes for dinner or in a retirement home where someone is affixing a bib around my neck…… Well, who knows what will really be running through my mind? I hope I have great memories, a heart full of love, hilarious stories to tell my kids and grandkids. I hope someone is driving 7 hours with screaming kids in the back seat to pick up the porch swing that has made it through generations simply just to breathe in a special memory of me. I hope I can think of "him" and smile my biggest smile, knowing that in a matter of years our souls will be joined once again as God intended. I hope that "he" smiles that same smile, even when we're 80. I hope our kids and grandkids use us an example for their own relationships. I hope that they forgive me for the choices I had to make for myself and also, in a strange way, for them. I hope they one day understand.

As I smiled thinking of the memory of my sweet papa taking my hand, every time, as he talked to me, I thought about how many times I saw him take my granny's hand through the years…..just a natural gesture to show how he is there for her. I remember how his eyes would light up when he talked about their dating years, going dancing on Friday nights and such. Really, it's that simple…..someone who reaches out and who lights up….because he loves me unconditionally in a way that speaks right to my heart. The answer has always been around me in the lives of my grandparents and other special couples in my life. Basically, the porch swing is a constant reminder of real love whether it's a grandfather and granddaughter or romantic love—stopping everything to just swing, listen, hold hands, and be there for each other—even if it's for a brief moment….a soul connection. Think of how much nicer it is to get back to our busy, over-scheduled lives after experiencing that, even if it's just for a minute. Someone saying "I love you" without even really saying it all—feeling it, rather than just hearing it. My papa has been gone from this earth for more than two years, but I can still feel the love. I light up when I think of him, and when I think of his marriage to my full-of-life granny. Love is more than a word….it is an action. It can change everything when it's right. Their love has endured through generations…..to me….and eventually, to my daughters. I owe it them, and to myself, to get it right and to not waste for one second this precious, fragile, beautiful life. If I know where I'm headed, no matter what, then why waste one more second?

Yes, it's a big week. It's a big life. It deserves jumping in with both feet—carefully but with somewhat of abandon in order to really experience it.

I'm glad I got the porch swing. I'm glad I made some big decisions. I'm glad I reconnected with what was real about my past in order to stay focused on what's real in my present and my future. I'm glad my sister and I had that talk. I'm glad that things become more clear for me every day about what I'm doing right…and what I'm doing wrong. I'm glad I'm learning what I want, finally. I'm also glad that within a matter of months, I'll be spending crisp fall evenings relaxing with my girls on the porch swing, soaking in and being thankful for life's rich blessings.

Love life. Swing on.

Last year...... again

The View from Here
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Romance and Relationships

During my hour-long commute today, I struggled to remember the last time I was really single. By really single, I mean not even dating anyone. At all. I actually had to turn off the radio and think pretty hard about it. Truth is, I don't exactly remember.

I dated the same boy in high school pretty much the whole time, and then on into college and even beyond. Yes, we had our "taking a break" moments where we both saw other people, but we always wound up back together. I was with him until I was 25. When I moved here, I immediately started dating an old college boyfriend -- someone who I saw during the "breaks." We got engaged, then married. Eight months after we said "I do" I was pregnant with our first child. So technically, has it been since junior high that I was really single? Oh surely not. Wait. Has it?

As I maneuver my way through this new single life, I have become very in tune with The Way the World Works. This won't be a revelation for the single pros out there, but truly, this is a world designed for pairs. (Or pears, ;) if you will....shout out). I have overcome the fear of going to the movies alone. It's actually pretty easy to get by with that, as in, it's socially acceptable. I just choose the movie, buy my Diet Coke, and find a random seat away from the crowd. And truth be told, as a busy mom, I like the alone time. That said, I don't mind shopping alone, either. No strollers or whiny kids in tow. I can actually try on clothes IN the store--a true luxury. But after a few hours in a mall, I begin to notice how everything around me is in two's--or fours when they have the family with them. I'm only 5'2", but I start to feel even smaller in a big, big world. Not long ago, when the girls' father had them for the afternoon and evening, I headed out to a mall to kill some time. As I was leaving the mall, the sun was going down. For the first time in a really long time, I felt scared. Alone. I looked at everyone with suspicion. News stories of women alone in parking lots being mugged, raped, or kidnapped started running through my head. My whole body began to tense up. I thought of my kids at home, in their pajamas waiting for me to tuck them in, and I got so frustrated that I wasn't there. But I couldn't be there. We're not a family anymore. And as much as I am at peace with that fact, I'm not OK with feeling scared and out of control. I got in my car, locked the doors, and cried. I still had just under an hour before it was "my turn" with the kids, so I drove around until I could brush myself off and dry my tears. I tried really hard not to look at the couples and young families in my neighborhood taking their evening walk as I approached my house. 

That night, and pretty much every night thereafter, I experience a sense of panic every time I check the locks, turn off the lights, and set the alarm. I am the "grown up" in the house now -- the only one my girls look to for safety. I've noticed that the oldest clings to me more at night and talks more about "bad guys hiding in closets" and "faces coming through the walls." I'm sure what she wants to say is that she felt safer when her dad was here to protect her. And while I can't honestly say he did a great job at that (I can't tell you how many times I set the alarm, shut the garage door, or locked the doors after he forgot) I can empathize with her in that "dads protect the family." I can't say for sure she feels as confident in my "bad guy" fighting abilities. When she was little, I filled a squirt bottle with water and wrote "Scared Spray" on it. Each night, before we said our prayers, we would spray under the bed, around the window, and in the closet--just in case. Man, I wish that stuff really worked. I could certainly use it.

Why? Because I'm scared. I'm scared about a lot of things -- my girls' future, financial security, if we'll be able to sell this house for the right price and find a great new one, how all of this will wind up affecting my girls, about our health and safety when I'm flying solo, and also for me -- my future. I definitely give it all to God, but I'm only human. The doubts and fears inevitably creep in.

After all, this is a world designed for couples. While I feel OK having lunch out alone reading a magazine sitting at the bar, I simply cannot bring myself to dine out a restaurant alone in the evening or on weekends. Friends say to give it a try, but I just can't. Suddenly, concerts, exhibits, shows, and events are no longer options. Even if I didn't always like my "date by marriage" to these events, as least I had someone to go with me. Because of the fears and pressures of being alone, it's like my world has suddenly become much, much smaller. I think of vacations I'd like to plan and eventually take. And, yes, I could take my sister or a friend--and I'm sure I will--but rather than make concrete plans, I just think, "maybe some day." That's new for me, too.

One of the hardest aspects of single life that I have faced is school activities. Now this is something that is undeniably crafted for families. My oldest daughter's "family picnic" is coming up. Because we went last year, I know what to expect--FAMILIES eating Outback hamburgers together on blankets, talking to neighbors and friends while games and music go on in the background. I can pretend all day that my daughter won't notice that we're a family of 3 instead of 4, but she'll know. She'll remember last year. We could put on a brave front and all go together anyway, which is plausible, but also very confusing to the kids at this stage of the divorce. The other option is just to not go. But she'll know about it. She'll hear about it at school all month, as the build-up to the big event escalates. And really, I have no one to blame for my anger and frustration over the matter except for myself. She didn't ask for this. She didn't do this. We did.

Also in this new life, I have noticed how difficult the tiniest tasks can become. For instance, I've had a smoke detector beeping for weeks now. It drives me crazy. But the truth is, I have one not-so-tall ladder, and did I mention I'm short? So even when I climb on the ladder, I can't reach the smoke detector to change the battery. Tonight, I couldn't take the beep, beep, beep any longer. So I go out to the garage, drag in the ladder, and then place a step stool on top of the ladder. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and attempted my circus act. Damnit! I get all the way up there, balance myself....and I forgot the battery. I almost fell of the ladder climbing back down, retrieved the battery, and went for it. The good news is: I did it! The bad news is, I hated every second of it. A notice comes in the mail from the HOA saying I need more sod in the yard. Twenty phone calls later and a check to a manual laborer, and I have it. Not easy or cheap, but done. The pool has been green for a week. I actually had to ask the ex for help on this one. He obliged, thankfully, but it still doesn't look right. And on an even smaller scale, I slipped on one of my favorite dresses this week for work, but I couldn't zip the zipper in the back. The kids were already gone to school. Try as I might (I even tried scissors and a fork) I couldn't zip it up in the back. Tearfully, I took the dress off and hung it back up. So now I have to be married, apparently, to wear one of my favorite dresses. Fabulous.

I would be remiss if I didn't also include the fact about the chopped up social life. You see, when you are married or part of a couple, you get an insta-social life--his friends, your friends, your kids' friends. You go to couples' parties, dinner parties, out to eat, to the theater....or you host your own parties--which we often did. It is a painfully obvious fact that my weekend nights are wide open for the first time in a very long time. Now mind you, I enjoy being at home and curling up with a good book or movie...playing with the kids....that's just me. But I am just now at the stage where I'm starting to miss some people from "my old life" -- friends who are still friends in a sense, but are keeping their distance because everyone has to "choose sides" when a couple in the crowd divorces. It's a fact life life. Sunday school classes--they're either for young singles, young couples, or seniors. How about the divorced 30-something with kids? Where's that class? I can't get comfortable there, either.

One of my favorite hobbies is renovating my house. Whether it's a small project or a huge knock-down-the-wall remodel, I have always had some sort of project going on and some contractor in and out of the house. Well, no more. Not only does my new budget not allow for this sort of thing, it also seems rather pointless. No one is coming over. I'm not hosting any sort of social gathering. My kids don't care if the countertops are changed. And, truthfully, I won't be living here in a year. So I miss that, too -- antiquing, trips to Home Depot, accessories shopping. I used to save every home decor catalogue I received in the mail and would turn down the pages to my favorite items. Now, I just toss them in the trash. No need. They're for couples who are creating a home together.

And last, but certainly not least, there's the quiet. Because I was alone even in my marriage, the quiet in the house isn't really all that new. It's hard to describe the feeling. When the kids are in bed at night, or they are gone with their father, there is a certain stillness....lonlieness maybe? I haven't been able to identify it yet. I feel it in the evening before I go to bed, and I also feel it around 6 p.m. when it's time for dinner. There's no need to cook anymore--it's just me and the kids' have their own requests that call for little more than a microwave. My three-year-old certainly isn't going to ask about my day. Homework is the priority at this hour, along with bath time, stories, and extra hugs. Maybe the stillness is the big question mark that looms when you're single: Will it always be this way? Once the kids are gone, are the hugs gone for good, too? What's going to happen to me? Are we going to be OK? In my heart, I know my girls will be fine, but I haven't answered the question for myself yet.

Funny, all of the fears simply because of the absence of one person who really wasn't ever "here" nyway. It just goes to show that the very reason we came to this place--the illusion of a safe family--has even tricked us after the death of the marriage. It was an illusion then, but we held on to a false sense of security. And now that illusion has been exposed, I have a different vantage point from which to view this big new world. Everywhere I turn is a table for two. I don't buy into the "there's someone for everyone" or else there wouldn't be so many lonely people in the world. Even a trip to the grocery store is depressing. You think of recipes you like or see things that sound good, but there would be a huge amount of food leftover--pointless. You look in your grocery cart and you have turkey, wheat bread, Diet Coke, and a bottle of red wine for yourself and everything else is for the kids. Yep, even grocery shopping is set up for pairs. I'm too old to "go to clubs" to meet people--sounds awful--but I'm too young to settle and give in just to have someone to share a burial plot with. And apparently, I'm one person short of getting any sort of buy one ticket, get one half price promotion too.

So the view from here....it's interesting. I can see why people miserable in their relationships crave it--the freedom, the quiet, and the possibility--but I can also see how those who have been single for some time can't stand it one more minute--the freedom, the quiet, and the possibility that this is it for them.

I bet you're waiting for some sort of "Sex in the City" style wrap-up where I figure out life's problems in 30 minutes with no commercial breaks. Sorry to disappoint, as I haven't the slightest clue how I'm going to navigate this new life. About the only thing I know for sure now is that I'm glad my dog got sprung from puppy rehab and that my roommates, ages 6 3/4 and 2 3/4, are upstairs (sleeping like little angels) because they love me, single....not single....happy....sad....zipped or unzipped. And they never complained about the smoke alarm beeping for two weeks. Not even once.

Yep, I'm a lucky single girl indeed.

More...last year.....etc etc....

The Great Divide
Current mood: exhausted
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

I have this mental picture of myself, standing on dry, cracked ground with one leg on each side of a fast-splitting earthquake type break in the ground. I'm starting to go down fast, and I need to make a decision about which side to choose. Neither side is optimal—after all, this is an earthquake right? The indecision hurts, and it's dangerous. Both sides scare me, because I don't know what they will be like once I get there, and I desperately fear making the wrong choice and regretting my decision. It would be next to impossible to switch sides once I've decided, because by then, the gap between each side will be so large that there would be no way I'd have the strength and energy to figure out a way to get across to the other side.

Every time I find resolve and confidence in this divorce, something shakes it. I doubt myself. Someone will give me advice that makes me re-think my choice on which side to jump to. Or, I'll let my imagination run wild, thinking only the worst about what lies ahead. And then I am quickly reminded why the side I've chosen to try is a good side. You know, things like finding out my ex spouse has been on match.com for several months and met someone with whom he has developed a rather intimate relationship—little things like that.

Truth is, I'm tired. I. Am. So. Damn. Tired. The projects that need to be finished around here—endless. The paperwork that my lawyer needs me to complete to get this finalized—daunting. The bills that need to be paid—piled high. The money to pay them—diminishing quickly. Work--difficult. I have been sick for almost two weeks straight with different illnesses. The only times I have been constantly sick like this was my senior year in college, taking 19 hours my last semester and preparing for finals so I could graduate, and also when experiencing the gut-wrenching stress, guilt, and fear of untangling myself from a decade-long abusive relationship. I am just worn down and my body is screaming at me to slow down. Tonight, while brushing my teeth, I noticed that the circles under my eyes are darker than usual, and a bit puffy too. My skin doesn't look right. My face looks….well…sad. My home, usually neat and organized, remains in a constant state of disarray. I have been on time to most everything my entire life—I am a huge advocate of punctuality--but recently, I'm late to everything. I have almost run out of gas twice in the last two weeks. I could stay home from work for two days and do laundry straight through and have a slight chance at finishing it.

This….the current state of my life…is so hard that it, quite literally, hurts. To add insult to injury, a guy in a 2001 (big) Chevy Suburban plowed into me yesterday from behind, totaling his car and completely destroying the back of my SUV. Fortunately, no one was hurt and it was totally his fault. Still, I have yet another thing to add to my to-do list—file the claim, get the car fixed, get a rental car, and deal with everything else that goes along with having a wreck.

I was talking to my ex husband today about the schedule for the upcoming week, and as I am doing my usual three things at once, all the while blowing my nose and coughing, he looks at me and says, "Would you like to go upstairs and take a nap so you can get some rest? I'll watch the kids."

The rational, cautious part of me wanted to say no. If I take his help, he'll see it as a sign of reconciliation…and weakness. But I was tired. Not just tired, but mentally and physically exhausted. Add to that running a fever and some residual pain from the wreck, and the thought of taking a nap in the secluded, locked guest room sounded like sheer bliss. I wanted to cry because I felt like I was admitting defeat in front of the enemy, but I also knew that if I was going to get better, I had to rest. So I accepted his offer. He didn't brag or hold it over my head. He immediately told the girls that mommy is sick so they were going to play downstairs for the afternoon and told them to not go upstairs and bother me. All the way up the stairs, I second-guessed my decision but apparently not enough to keep me awake. I crawl into bed and instantly fall asleep—for almost three straight hours. I came downstairs to find the dishwasher going, laundry going, towels being folded, and kids bathed. I looked at him, in shock, wondering what to say. All he said was, "I could tell you needed to rest and I know things have been tough on you lately." He told the kids good-bye and was off. It was almost surreal.

I'm smart enough to know that one good deed does not a new and improved husband make, and it didn't make my heart swell with love, but I was thankful. And then I realized that even in the worst marriages, having two people to navigate the life of a busy family is easier than one person doing all the work. That has been proven over and over to me during the past few months, although I am managing fairly well. Being a single parent is tough. Being a sick single parent is damn near impossible.

I started to think of how "easy" – and I use the word lightly – it would be to go back. All of the fears about moving, dating, being a single mom, money, and everything else that goes along with divorce would be settled. I could pick up where I left off—redecorating, remodeling, planning vacations, and being the smiling suburban mom and wife. At the end of the day, when all of those projects are put to rest, I know I wouldn't be happy in my marriage on an emotionally intimate level—this too has been proven—but it would be easy to distract myself from that. I could do it again, but if that was enough then I wouldn't be here in the first place. Lately, jumping over to this side of the cracking ground doesn't look so bad. Dressing up and going out to a nice dinner most weekends, hosting dinner parties with friends, spending money on wants rather than needs, planning a beach vacation, getting bids on remodeling the pool, and preparing for a Christmas without divorce sounds really, really nice right about now compared to mediation, visitation schedules, child support, confused kids, moving, and adjusting to a new budget.

And then there's the other side I've been trying to get to for years—the side where my authentic self is just waiting for the shell that I've become to join her. The place where I don't have to pretend, where I have a shot at finding someone to love who "gets" love and who "gets" me. A place where I can raise my daughters in a manner where material things aren't worshipped, but God is. A place where I don't have to loan out my mind, body, and soul for someone else's pleasure. A place where what I think and say matters and counts. A place where I can freely breathe, think, cry, love, play, and just be. But also a place where I'm lonely. Scared. Remorseful. Guilty.

I don't like either of my choices. Both sides, quite frankly, suck. This is like every decision in life—weighing the pros and cons. What can I live with? What can't I live with? At the end of this awful, beautiful life, which side will I be most proud to have taken? And on that note, which side allows me to really live my life…not just life a life so that when I take my last breath I know I didn't waste it? Which is worse? Guilt about selfishness or selling out to keep the peace (and the china?)

So there you have it. Between the tears, the Nyquil, the surrender to an afternoon nap, caring for a sick child (again), shuttling kids to school, dance, theatre, and choir, exchanging insurance information with a complete stranger in front of the Galleria, dealing with an ex spouse who doesn't want to be an ex spouse, and well….all the rest of it, I find myself straddling the great divide, barely able to keep my balance. I have to choose, else I'll fall. And I need to choose quickly because the pain of staying in one place only entertaining the thought of each side is becoming to much for me and everyone else to bear. I keep hoping that someone will just take my hand and pull me one way or the other so my decision doesn't have to be so hard, but no one can do that. It wouldn't be right. It's a move I have to make on my own. Years of disappearing into who I'm with, accepting being that person's "honorable mention," and essentially feeling invisible and unimportant in a relationship has to stop, but the trick is it starts with me. It starts with me choosing a side, being confident in that leap, and never….ever….looking back again

A random last year entry

max 95 characters
Current mood: awake
Category: Automotive

That older song My Immortal by Evanescence.....never thought about it much but really listened to it tonight. It's playing on my page. Good song.

And well, the dog ate my kid's homework. Really, he did. I thought that was just a saying. And even if it was, my dog turned it into reality. No kidding. Now what?

I need a new default pic. I feel like I'm staring at myself. Weird.

No, I'm not drinking. But I am thirsty.

Tomorrow is operation organize. I'll be rewarding my efforts with something sassy to wear. And I'm going to save it for something special. No, I don't know what that something special is, but when it happens, I'll have just the outfit.

My eyes hurt, but I'm afraid to fall asleep. I don't like my dreams lately. I also hate those first moments of waking up, realizing why I'm sad and why my life is so hard right now. At present, I exist between the proverbial rock and a hard palce. I'm squished so tight that I even stress out in my sleep....that is, when I do sleep.

I miss hugs.

I have been considering a side career in public speaking. I want to speak to 20-somethings about marriage. I want to be the poster child for WAIT YOU STUPID IDIOTS WHAT'S THE FRIGGIN RUSH?! But I won't use my default pic on the poster. I'll let Zach take a new one once I lose five pounds, and then I'll use that one. OK Zach?

Tonight I realized that my house is a potty training disaster, between my youngest daughter and the puppy. I am getting tired of it. Maybe it would help if I took her outside and put him on the potty. It's worth a shot, right?

Is it wrong to just want to stay in your pjs and sleep for a week, never even getting out of bed except for necessary restroom breaks? I hope not, because that's what I want to do. Except then of course, I'd have to dream and I'm not a fan of that these days. Can I be one of those mopey, can't go on type of people just for a week? I promise I'll shape up, but just once......

I keep having this vision of my grave site in some random big-city cemetery where all of these stranger dead people I never knew in real life are all around me with their better skeletal halves and I, of course, got the "single plot." All the "doubles" are around me, happy they are reunited for eternity. And even though I might be happy alone in the afterlife as I (pretended to be) was in real life, there I am, still single.... even in Heaven. I picture myself bumping into Bill and his wife.... "Yeah, sorry about that wacky til death do us part thing. Ooops. Party foul." And then I make a left and there's Joe and his fifth wife (she got to keep her boob job in Heaven? Who knew?), floating along..... "Oh hey! Yes, isn't it lovely here? Yeah, I know I still feel bad about that whole for better or for worse stuff.....like we really meant it, right? They really should take that part out of the vows. It's so last century. Sorry about that, but I have to run and play bridge with all of the other old hags who died alone and single because they spent their time on earth dating, marrying, and then subsequently divorcing jerks like you. Have a nice eternity. No need to keep in touch."

This mental picture of that lone little tomb stone depresses me. Is it wrong to just get married right before you die in order to get the whole double burial plot deal? Could I just buy one and then keep the plot beside me empty, much like my bed was during my life on earth? I mean, who will know? And then I could make up whatever I wanted for his gravestone about how great my fake husband was and then it would be the coolest tomb stone on the whole row.

I have another fear of growing old alone, living in a tiny apartment or trailer with no heat or AC because I can't afford it, yet I have all of these stray cats....or maybe parakeets.....some random pets to talk to in order to break the silence. I picture my daughters off on their own, checking in by phone here and there, as they vacation with their kids with their wealthy father, step-mother, and their offspring. I'll be that weird little old lady who claims she used to be a writer (yeah right) and keeps a 1980s poster of some freak named Jon Bon Jovi on her bathroom wall. Eventually, the magazines from  my subscription to Hit Parader will pile up high enough for someone to check in on me, and I'll have expired while digging around in the fridge for an old can of Sprite to soothe my upset stomach. Alone. And then of course, the cats and parakeets are happy to be spared anymore annoying hair band music coming from my vintage CD player, circa 1992.

I need to go to the grocery store. But more importantly, when I buy stuff this time, I actually need to eat it. I can't tell you how much food I buy that just goes to waste. I either don't eat at all, or I eat take out and just keep throwing out the rest. Cooking and preparing meals is depressing. But those kids the hospital gave me need to eat, so I guess I should be purchasing and serving something of nutritional value. I checked and Halloween candy, despite the protein-packed peanut butter filling, doesn't really make the cut. Alas.

Chris, my trainer, won't call me back. Are you mad at me? Call me so that I can hand over my next paycheck to you and then gripe at you for an hour a week for forcing me to inflict severe pain on myself while you yell at me for eating leftover Halloween candy I keep stealing from my kids' stash.

I thought it was funny to use max 95 characters as my title. At least I think so now. I might not later. I change my mind every 10 minutes about everything else lately, so I wouldn't be surprised if I read it tomorrow and realize how terribly uncreative I am. And how about that Automotive category....I'm such the jokester.

Well, I think this worked. I am finally sleepy enough to hopefully go straight to sleep without over-thinking things. Again.

Maybe I should work on my daughter's scrapbook. Or not. I think I'll work on a to do list so I feel productive and ready to go tomorrow. Or not.

But yeah, as I was saying, that Evanescence song is really good when you really listen to the lyrics.

You Signed Up for This
Category: Life

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Several weeks ago, my ex-husband and I were engaged in a conversation about visitation schedules with the kids. I made a promise to myself when this divorce started that I would rarely, if ever, write about the details of this divorce—why, who did what, who is doing what wrong at the moment, stupid stuff he does, stupid stuff I do. I don't see what purpose it would serve, other than to leave a record of unhappiness and bitterness for my daughters to read one day. The only reason I bring this up is because this particular conversation has been running through my mind for the past 12 or so hours.

I asked him why he didn't ever want the kids overnight. Often, it feels like I'm forcing them on him when it comes to overnight stays. He said, "That's two and a half days. It's hard taking care of them for that long."

            "Precisely," I snap back. "I do it all of the time."

            His response?

            "Hey, you signed up for this. It's going to be tough for you, being a single mom and all."

            My response to this gem of wisdom?

            "Why, are you planning on dying any time soon? You are still their parent. We don't have to be married to co-parent."

            And then proceeds to tell me that because "I signed up for this," it's different. If I want to be a single mom so badly—enough so to lose the house we worked so hard for, split retirement accounts, divide possessions, and be embarrassed around our friends and family—then I'll get what I deserve.

            Yes, isn't that every little girl's dream? To grow up, fall in love, have a dream wedding, make a home, and then have beautiful, healthy children---all just to throw it away for the hell of it? Or because being a single mom sounds like so much fun? Give me a break. Rather than focusing on that, he should have been focusing on what it is he's done to me through the years (or not done) that has made a more trying lifestyle more appealing than one with him. Well, we are here because he's never turned the spotlight on himself for further examination. It was, is, and will always be "my choice."

            Funny thing, outside of joint finances, I have felt like a single mom for a very long time. Actually, from day one when our first child was born. Late night cry sessions, feedings, changings, searching for daycares and sitters, caring for sick kiddos, pediatrician visits, hospital stays, clothing, birthday parties and play dates, school functions—I handled all of it. I was our "relationship secretary" so to speak, as I would keep him informed about times, dates, and places for him to decide about whether or not to attend—much like an admin and a CEO. Therefore, when people ask me if it's harder to handle the kids on my own, my honest answer is always no. There are moments it has been harder—an extra set of hands always helps. Shuffling kids to and from activities—it's nice when two people can divide the task. Otherwise, things have remained relatively the same.

            Until last night.

            As fast as I can claim it's not that hard being a single mom, I will also admit (near) defeat at the moment. My daughter and her best friend have planned a Halloween party for months. They were so into this gig that it often felt like we were planning their birthdays instead of a quick holiday gathering. The day was spent making the house look as spooky as possible (these are girls after all….gore has its limits) and we made sure everything was put together for costumes, down to black nail polish and purple hair spray. My daughter's friend and her mom—who happens to be one of my closest friends—arrived mid-afternoon to help set up, plus it was a chance for us to catch up over a beer….then another beer….and so on. It was a fun day.

            Right at 6, the little ghosts and goblins arrived. It almost brought tears to my eyes when I realized that these kids all became friends when they were about 2, going on 3. I remember their first Halloween at their pre-school, as they clung to our legs and timidly tried out carnival-type games for the first time. My how time flies, I realized, as they began chasing each other around the house, sword fighting, wrestling, jumping off of chairs, and such. They were doing anything but clinging to our legs. I call my group of friends "the preschool posse" as that's where we all met and became close. In daycare situations, you usually smile and nod at the other parents during drop off and pick up, but for some reason, our situation was different. We quickly realized we shared an affection for a nice cocktail, good food, and lots of laugh-out-loud humor. All working moms, we have a lot in common. Champagne cocktails, bacon-wrapped scallops, chips and dip, brie, wine—we indulged while the kids played.

            The party officially kicked off with spooky blood-red kool-aid over dry ice and eyeball suckers. Then we went into pin the nose on the jack-o-lantern, a cake walk, dance contest, guessing games, and such. Right about the time we handed out goodie bags, it hit. By it, I mean my youngest daughter's stomach virus—the one she stayed home for on Friday. At first, I thought it was the champagne mixed with cupcake frosting. But nope. I sprinted for my bathroom. Enough said.

            Party is still in progress. It's my house, and I'm the host….. So, I put a cool rag to my face, re-apply lip gloss, and head back out. This is when I realize a few people wanted to hang back to wash dishes and chat. Normally, I'd take them up on the offer, but I had more pressing matters at hand. I insisted they go home and get some rest. Just as I ushered out the last guest, I hear my oldest daughter tell me that her stomach hurts. I knew instantly that she had the bug too. As I was putting my crying pre-schooler to bed (she was furious that we skipped stories and songs….sorry kiddo) I hear a primal scream from the gameroom. I knew that she had gotten sick, but I didn't realize the damage…until I opened the door from Liv's bedroom to find the last thing that Kate ate—chocolate cake—all over the carpet. She's crying and scared so I usher her to her bedroom to clean her up and put her to bed. Then it's my turn. I run to the guest bathroom. Then it's her turn. I hold back her hair and bring the trash can over to her bed. This continues for what seems like forever. I strip her sheets and get her settled in with a cool rag to her head and some water. I settle in next door in the guest room. We had about two more bouts each during the night but we made it through somehow.

            Somewhere in the night—not exactly sure what time as it seems almost endless—I sat up in bed, curled my legs in to my body, rested my head on my knees and cried. It was if the tears were unending—a steady stream of sadness, frustration, guilt, and bitterness that I had been holding back for months. All I could think of was, "You signed up for this."

            Now granted, if he was here there probably wouldn't have been much he would do to help. I've been through this before. He immediately gets nauseous when someone else is in this situation, and nurturing when sick is not his forte'. But I couldn't help but think of one thing he could do, which was to go out and bring back a Sprite. Since I was a kid, drinking Sprite when I have an upset stomach has been an almost magical cure. It just settles everything and helps me (and my stomach) relax. I could not get the vision of a tall, ice cold Sprite out of my head. I was so thirsty, and water helped but sort of made me sick again. I thought about calling a friend, but at that hour, my friends with kids were long in bed….my friends with no kids were probably just leaving the bar somewhere. I thought about calling neighbors, but the sad realization is that my neighbors are "his" friends. I'm friends with them via marriage—which I am no longer a part of—so I really don't think these fine folks would jump at the chance to bring over a Sprite in the middle of the night to help out their buddy's ailing ex-wife. Doubtful.

            I went downstairs to check the pantry and fridge one more time for some lone can or bottle of Sprite, possibly left behind from the last round of sick we experienced. Nothing. I look around and see a house destroyed—dishes everywhere, toy plastic spiders all over the floor, opened and left-behind treat bags, half-eaten apples, smoky red Kool-Aid coming out of my sink, three bags of garbage, wine and champagne glasses scattered about. I thought about my bathroom—the scene of the original crime. I was in such a hurry to return to the party that I didn't exactly clean it up. I felt sick again just thinking of it. I thought about the carpet upstairs and Kate's bedding. I realized that I had little to no sleep, but that in a matter of hours, my youngest will wake up ready for breakfast and eager to play with mom. I could barely turn my head, much less carry her around. The aches, pains, and chills were starting to set in.

            So I stood there, in the middle of my kitchen in the middle of the night, crying. Earlier that evening, one of the mom's asked if I was involved in interior design work and complimented the house and its style. I was blown away. I started looking—really looking—at everything around me that I have poured my heart and soul into making the "perfect" life—the pictures everywhere, the perfect granite to go with the perfect tile and backsplash which complements the perfect bronze fixtures on the sink. The list goes on. I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and walked over to a window, running my hand over the plantation shutter that I spent hours choosing with a designer. I looked outside to the pool, still lit from the party—so serene and inviting. The house was so quiet. I could just hear the familiar ticking of the mantel clock. I sat on the couch and said it out loud…."You signed up for this."

            And then the tears stopped. Yes, I still wanted that Sprite. Yes, I still love my house and everything in it. But what I realized is that he spoke the truth when he said those words. Yes, I did sign up for this….because I didn't have a choice. He didn't give me a choice, even though I gave him opportunity after opportunity to do so. You see, just before I got Kate settled into bed, and just before my second round with "the sick," I called him, as he is out of town on business. I thought about the fact that he'd be angry if I didn't call after the party so he could talk to Kate and sing her goodnight songs. So in the midst of my misery, I found the energy to get the phone, call him and quickly say…."Kate has been throwing up. I am throwing up. We have Liv's virus. It's awful around here but I didn't want you to think I kept Kate from telling you good-night." I had to hang up, as I was getting sick and I could hear Kate getting sick again.

            You would think that he would call back at some point, if nothing else than to check on his daughter. And if not, you would think he'd call first thing in the morning to see how everything turned out. The phone never rang. I had a moment of weakness in the night and called him, wondering if he could think of someone who could just buy a two-liter of Sprite and put it on the front porch—a friend or something. He didn't answer the call and nor did he return the missed call in the morning. I reached him this morning so Kate could talk to him, and he whispers "Yeah…." I ask if he's in a meeting and he says, "No, we're about to tee off." And then I knew. He was busy with golf….his friends…himself.

            I realized that if I was on a business trip out of state and he called to tell me that everyone in the house is sick, the carpet is ruined, and he would do anything in the world for a Sprite, I would do everything in my power to help. I'd call and call….and then call again…to check on everyone.

            So, there you have just one example of many of the differences that brought us to this point. So, yes, I did sign up for this. I signed up to give my daughters a shot and learning about what a healthy relationship is—and isn't. I signed up for taking care of them 100 percent, even if that means I get throw-up on my jeans and have to wash the sheets three times in one night. I signed up for telling my daughter it's OK and not her fault when she sees the stain on the carpet and cries because she feels bad. I signed up for giving my daughter a fun Halloween party and not ruining it by announcing that I'm sick, but instead carrying on with fresh lip gloss and a smile. I signed up for staying home from work—when I'm already behind—to take care of them. I signed up for creating a home that is full of love, laughter, and peace—not tension and anger. Maybe the home we wind up in won't have granite and plantation shutters, but it will be filled with love, laughter, and a Christ-centered focus in everything we do. I signed up for being a healthy, happy mom—which I wasn't before. I signed up for life….for living.

            So now I have a messy house—I'll clean it tonight when I feel better. I have a stain on the carpet—If I can't get it out myself then I'll call a carpet cleaner. Oh, and I also have a Sprite. I bundled up my sick kiddo and enticed the younger one with her own "grown up drink of Sprite" and headed to the nearest drive-thru to get the biggest Sprite on ice they have. Bliss. I feel better already.

            I really do. I feel better already. So glad I signed up for this.

Another one from last year, rerun

I AM OK
Current mood: thoughtful
Category: Life

Thank you so much for checking on me. I'm OK.

I really am....OK that is. Not great. Not awful. Just....OK.

I alternate between moments of confidence and, honestly, joy and relief......and then I feel like I can't take one more step. Remembering to breathe is hard. I doubt everything I do, from which brand of toothpaste to buy to making this insanely huge choice. The sheer number of emotions I go through on a daily basis is higher than I can even count. All at once, I can feel like a successful person who is brilliantly marching to the other side.....to a complete failure who is ruining her daughter's lives and voluntarily throwing away everything I've worked so hard to achieve. 

When I was a little girl -- maybe around 10 -- I created a "dream book." That's exactly what it was -- all of my dreams, collected, and displayed. Whenever I felt frustrated about not having something I wanted, embarrassed, or awkward, I would pull out or add to my dream book. It was a blue binder. In it, I pasted magazine pictures that spoke to me in some way. For instance, one page was "my dream house," or, "my dream kitchen." I remember "dream bathroom." I think I had a dream wedding dress and, funny enough, a dream husband. I think it was a picture of a clean-cut, all-American guy dreamily smiling at his new bride--the picture of perfection. The book contained pictures of successful women in suits, brief cases in hand. Cars. I hand-wrote notes to the side to remind me why I liked what I saw or how I could even make it better. I was determined to blow straight through that tiny, dead-end town to make every dream come true. The book was a blueprint. I knew even then that I had to live my life by design. No one was going to hand it to me. I had to know what I wanted and go get it. But the difference between me and your average gold-digger is that I wanted to earn it, not just marry into it.

From the time I had my first "real" boyfriend, til now.....I have had such a huge capacity to love. When I give my heart, I literally hand it over and entrust that person with it. It's a fatal flaw, to be sure. Every time, I have hoped and prayed to get the same in return. Whether I had no money or a lot of money, I made sure the person I was with lived a life as close to the "dream book" as possible. It was tough the first go-around--no money, abuse, addictions.....it was a disaster from day one. I needed a hell lot more than a homemade book to keep that one together. The second marriage was a band-aid for the first. I was using it to clean up my mess. Love or not, I was going to bring that dream book to life. If I could have built a white picket fence myself I would have. I was determined to get what I had always wanted.

And on the outside, I did. As I was rummaging around for the video camera, I came across a box of Christmas cards I ordered a few months ago. They were nice cards and a great deal. Plus it crossed one thing off my list. All four of our names are on that card......a reminder that sometimes dreams just don't come true. I just shoved the box back in the cabinet. No tears. No anger. Just disappointment. You know, you can have a beautiful home with four warm bodies all co-habitating inside. You cand send out the most beautiful Christmas cards showcasing your expensive family vacation (you know, everyone in white on the beach). You can all go out to eat after church, dressed in your Sunday best and arriving in your Mercedes. You can invite all of your friends over every month and serve brie and crackers on your best Waterford or Nambe dishes......letting the wine and champagne flow freely while you exchange stories about work, vacations, birthday parties, great sales, and business....all while the kids play with the excess of toys throughout the house. Trick or treating with the neighbors....dinners at the newest restaurants with friends where the tab isn't an issue....trying to decide where to take your annual trip for two and your annual family vacation.....you can do all of this over and over again. Every year. And yes, it looks and sounds great. It is, in fact, a dream life. That is, until you realize that all the money, status, and stuff in the world can't fill your heart....your soul. The dream book is just that -- a book. When there's no "love glue" to keep it all together, then it's just not worth it anymore.

When your spouse honestly thinks "my wife just doesn't like sex" so continues on with what he needs without giving her a second thought, this stuff doesn't mean much. When addictions mess up priorities, vacations don't matter anymore. When your spouse finds you crying in the fetal position in the closet after a fight and just stares at you or asks, "what now?"....somehow you just don't feel like walking hand in hand watching the kids trick or treating. When one person carries the entire relationship on an emotional and business level--and the other person knows this and just lets it happen, just letting her crumble into nothing....well, it's no wonder she doesn't want to kiss you anymore. When she feels like the kids you made together are "her's" and that are here just to "help out" don't be surprised when she says she doesn't feel like a family. Emotionally bankrupt -- there is just no way actual dollars can built that account back up again. Not for someone with so much love to give, anyway.

Each night, as I straighten up the house after my daughters are in bed, I pass by photos, decorations, antiques.....all reminders of a life that I wanted more than I could stand sometimes. I guess I wanted it so bad that I just closed my eyes, took a breath, and hoped against hope that he would one day "get it." I hoped that my desire to have a "dream" would be enough for both of us. I hoped that he would love me so much and so unconditionally that if I just wanted to stay home and raise my babies for awhile, I could, without feeling any guilt for it. I wanted him to actually want to get up at night with the babies, just to get to know them and also to let me sleep.....so proud of me for creating and bringing these two precious lives into the world. Instead, I spent months on the couch, careful not to disturb his precious slumber. Bottle after bottle, diaper change after diaper change, crib training, well visits, sick visits......does he know what he's missing, I would wonder. When I would pull him to me to dance and he wouldn't, I would again ask -- does he know what he's missing? As the years passed and I turned cold to where any intimacy was definitely and obviously just another chore on my to-do list, I was amazed this didn't bother him. Anyone who could go through life with absolutely no emotional connection.....well, it actually scared me. When his needs were met in all areas, we were fine. When he didn't get his way, even in the smallest way, the universe just wasn't right. So I did whatever I had to do to make it right. I mean, if I didn't have sanity at the least....then I had nothing.

This week my therapist said something that really stood out. It's not that he can't be married to me; he really can't be married to anyone. Does he care? Yes. Does he love me? Certainly. Does he want a family? More than anything. But that's as far as it goes....wanting. He can't see past the end of his nose. He can't see outside of himself and his needs far enough or long enough to care about someone else's feelings enough to actually do something about it. The one thing I've asked him to do from the beginning is the one thing he refuses to do. I think it's because it takes too much work. It would be extremely uncomfortalbe and awkward for him. It would change his life as he knows it. It's too late now for it to save us.....but he should still do it, to save himself and for his daughters.

I think back to most of my relationships and I see a common thread....I have always been willing to give everything....all of myself for someone I love. I am dedicated to the "dream." However, in every single relationship, there has been something he couldn't sacrifice or give up--something that was slowly but surely destroying our relationship and my trust and faith....and ultimately....love for him. Whether this thing was something or someone, for whatever reason, I wasn't enough. Even if he said I was, his actions proved otherwise. It's no wonder my self esteem is so low when it comes to relationships--I've never been "it." It's always been made very clear to me, even in marriage, that other things....people....whatever....come before me. Strangely, I've accepted this. I loved them anyway....I kept pursuing the dream anyway. Love, honor, and cherish. Those are powerful words. I've felt each of them here and there but I have always wanted to feel them all at once -- not hear them, but feel them. Now that I think about it, my dream really doesn't have anything to do with granite or paint....it has everything to do with those words. Because when you have that, everything falls into place as it should. I know this is true because I've seen it work in other people's lives. Right now one of my dear friends' mother is dying. She has been married to the same man for more than 30 years. Each night, he curls up on the hospital sofa next to her....only leaving to shower and grab something to eat. More than anything else, they have always been "there" for each other.....nothing else ever got in the way. They were each other's priority, and thusly, everything else fell into place. There love was the "glue" that kept everything going....everything together.....good times and bad. That's the dream--full confidence and trust that until your dying day, the person you love and that are committed to is simply....there.

So.......as I have journeyed through this new chapter in my life I have grown and learned some valuable lessons. One is that my dream, although nice, was a little off track. Everything I wanted was valid, but none of it matters unless you are building and sharing it with someone who gives what you give.....and that what you give is done in a way that matters to and speaks to the other person.....what's right for you might not be right for the other. It's that seeing past the end of your nose thing again........ I have also learned that unless you have the right emotional connection--the love glue--nothing else is going to stick. Period. I have learned that people matter a hell of a lot more than stuff. I have learned that I can no longer use someone else as the "band aid" for what is broken in my life due to the relationship that can before him. One relationship doesn't "fix" the other. I have learned that the next time around, I want to be more than an "idea" for someone. I want to be "it." I want to feel what I give. I'm not going to hope against hope ever again that "surely he'll come around." He either does or he doesn't. If I have to wait around for someone to realize they can't live without me, then truth is, they can. It's a painful truth, but it's one I have to face head on if I'm ever going to go through another relationship again.

I've also learned that I'm more sad than I thought I would be. This is a loss. Not only have I lost companionship, I've lost the dream. The hopes I've had for him since the day I met him never came to fruition. Facing that is hard, especially since we share children. At the heart of it, we've always been friends. It's sad to divorce your friend. It's scary as hell to jeapordize security. Truth is, we never truly are secure--anything can happen at any given time to wipe it all away. But still, the notion that you are financially in a good place and have worked hard and planned well.......to just give that up all in the pursuit of happiness.....it's scary. It feels self-indulgent at times. My heart breaks every day for my daughters -- my babies. They are the reason I was put on this earth--I know that. This is why I can never say this marriage was a complete mistake. I wanted to give them the dream, too. I measure success in their happiness, and this is a permanent wound that I gave them.....a constant piece of sadness they'll take with them forever. I did this. I choose this. Granted, I was forced to do so on so many levels.....but I hope they know one day that they deserve a healthy, happy mom.....and this is the only way they'd really get one. It's so hard, right now, parenting (for the most part) alone. I'm worn out from the emotional strain of the divorce.....and from the physical exhaustion of getting it all done. I feel like apologizing every second of the day. Sometimes, I just want to cry.....Sometimes, I just want to sleep, even in the middle of the day.

But something keeps me from doing all of that. This inner voice.....she's always been there, since I was a little girl. Maybe my idea of a dream life was a bit off as I was making that book, but at the heart of it was just a girl who always wanted to be happy and in love....secure....safe......somewhere where she always could count on having a soft place to land. I feel like I've been looking for this place my whole life. I get close, but then for whatever reason, I am reminded why even though I see the place, I better fall into with caution because it could be ripped right out from under me at any given time. Even though part of me wants to give up, simply because I'm so tired and disillusioned......I know that if were to go back, I would drown. I would be gone. My shell would be there, but that's about it. But I'm scared as hell to go forward. The unknown is terrifying. Being alone is frightening. Will anyone ever be curled up on the sofa next to my hospital bed trying to hang on to every last moment with me? Can I do this? Am I setting myself up to fail yet once again?

These are the times I forget to breathe. These are the times I panic and wonder what in the hell I'm thinking........

And then I regroup. I press on......the years have passed but the dream remains.....

This is when I breathe. I read. I sleep. I pray. I remember.........

I remember that I'm OK. And that I'm going to be OK.

The Journey, by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Alone.
Current mood: sad
Category: Romance and Relationships

It's 2:30 a.m. I'm tired, but I can't go to sleep. It's not that I haven't been sleeping lately, because I have. In fact, I slept from about 10:30 to 12:30 this evening, with my daughter in her room. I guess I should consider it a nap and feel lucky I slept at all, considering she fell asleep with a near death-grip around my body. Her last words before she drifted off to dreamland….. "What if you move away to another house, too Mommy?"

Of course, at 35 I can completely see how that would be impossible. At 6, I can see how she can think this could really happen. After all, just 24 hours ago, she found out her father is moving out of this house to another house—yet of course, to be determined. This house, as far as she concerns, only exists in her mind. She knows two homes—the one where she lived from 6 months to four years (which is already beginning to fade from memory) and the one where I clamed with certainty when we purchased it that we would be here on the day she got married…..I could envision her wedding gown hanging off the back of the guest room door upstairs as everyone frantically ran up and down the stairs all day preparing for her big day. I envisioned prom photos by the fireplace, graduation parties in the formal dining room. Slumber parties….pool parties….joyful gatherings with friends and family….they were all going to take place in this house.

House is actually the key word here. There is a huge difference between a house and a home. And as much love and attention as I have put into transforming this house into a home, it probably only feels that way to her. I could hear her drifting off to sleep tonight and I felt her grip slowly loosen as she began to relax. I looked around her room…..every inch of it was so carefully put together……my imagination of the perfect princess room brought to life. It's where she feels safe and secure. However, I know that now, she will fall asleep in that room for so many nights to come, wondering what happens next.

Funny, that's what I was thinking tonight, too, as I was trying to fall asleep again in my own room. Out of habit, I continue to climb into "my side" of the bed and stay there. It's almost as if it's wrong to dare tread on "his side" of the bed. So tonight, I pushed the dog over and I made myself try to get cozy right smack dab in the middle of this monstrous king-size bed. I couldn't sleep. I turn on the television and watch a show about young girls who kill their newborns. I was so disturbed, I turned off the television and tried to go to sleep – again. One word and feeling kept running through my mind—alone.

I am alone.

Yes, I have two sweet girls upstairs. Yes, I have an incredible network of support of friends and family. My work and church have been unbelievably supportive of me during this time. And in an odd, yet blissful twist, I have incredible support from my blogworld. The kind comments on both spaces often bring me to tears. It's humbling. But there is only so much these wonderful people in my life can do. They have their own lives to lead, and their own problems to tackle. At the end of the day, it's just me. Alone.

All of the sudden, I began to truly appreciate my uniquely dysfunctional family. My parents divorced when I was 4. I have maybe three memories at best of life prior tot their divorce. The memories are very short and vague. I don't remember my parents together at all. I consider that a blessing. What I do remember, is when my mother and step-father married. I was excited about the wedding and being a part of it. I was thrilled to have his children become my brother and sister—as we were already such great friends. However, I felt strange having this new man in our house who all the sudden got to make all of the rules. As much as I liked him and appreciated his kindness, there was an obvious line there—this man was not my father. And even though I rarely saw my own father, my fantasy was that he was out there, pining away for me….wishing he could see me more…..the perfect guy alone in the world missing us. Truth is, I later learned, nothing could be further from the truth. I was probably about 6 or 7 when I developed this fantasy of my father—a musician who sounded just like Willie Nelson who always made me laugh and never ran out of Juicy Fruit gum. My daughter is 6, going on 7. She has very distinct memories of her father, and of her father and I together….of all of us together. Obviously, I know about all of his failings and faults. She doesn't. Just as a little girl should be, she is in love with her daddy…..and he is her hero.

As I was tossing and turning just hours ago, my thoughts were so scattered…..about the present and about my childhood. I grew up just 45 minutes away from my dad and saw him about twice a month. I was fine with that. It was like visiting an uncle or another distant relative. The man who set my curfew, who grounded me when I broke the rules, who scolded me when I was bratty to my mother, who gave me a list of chores….lived in my house. My step-father. This was also the man who bandaged my scraped knees when I fell off my bike. He took me to and picked me up from various practices when my mom couldn't be there. When my mom had conferences out of town, he tried his best to give me and my sister two perfect ponytails, even though they were incredibly uneven and lopsided. He cooked for us when mom couldn't. He took us to church. He prayed with us. He made us clean our rooms. He helped us with our homework. He tucked us in. When my first love broke up with me for someone else, I ran straight to him and cried on his shoulder. When I went to college, he walked me through registration and helped me design my class schedule. He moved me into my dorm and into all of my apartments throughout college.

When I was offered my first job as a newspaper reporter out of college, he was the only one home when the call came from a publisher in ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Killeen, Texas. I was so excited and I ran straight to him to tell him the news. He was beaming with pride. He played a dual role with my dad in my first wedding, as far as giving me away. He actually did give me away at my second wedding. My father was not present. During my first divorce, he was my confidant and constant cheerleader. Every email to him was promptly returned. He walked me through it and helped me see things from a man's point of view so I could avoid scary pitfalls. Five years ago, when I almost divorced my current spouse, he was right there again….a shoulder to lean on. I knew I had to pack for myself and take care of things alone since we lived far apart. He made sure I had enough money to keep my car in good shape, and he gave me a stack of packing boxes he'd been gathering. He never let me leave the house to fight my battles in the big city without a prayer.

About two months ago, when I made the final decision to go through with this divorce, my step father was sitting in my kitchen, reading through some of my daughter's school work. He knew there was tension in the house and asked if everything was OK. I broke down and told him I planned on filing for divorce the following week. No words were needed. He just hugged me. I cried. Every day since, we have exchanged texts, calls, or voicemails. If I don't know what to do next and feel panicked, I call him. If I am unsure of something my spouse is doing, I consult him. He usually has the answers, and even if he doesn't, he listens and gives the same advice without fail—we can all pray. And I know that he and my mom are praying for me and my girls every day. To date, my real father doesn't even know I am getting a divorce. Honestly, I don't plan on telling him until I really have to.

The reason I am taking this walk down memory lane is because it dawned on me tonight how fortunate my mom was—how fortunate I was—that she married someone who automatically loved us as much as he loved his own children. He loved us because he loved her so much. And as his love for her has grown, so has his love for us. He treats my children like his own grandchildren. They know him as Pop Pop, and as far as they are concerned, he is their true grandfather. How lucky am I….to have a great mom and a great dad….and a wonderful stepfather and yes, even a really nice stepmother. They have been in my life since I was my daughter's age. They have all done whatever they could—despite their obvious issues—to make sure me and my sister always felt loved and supported. We may not have had everything we ever wanted, but we had more than enough.

I realized tonight that not every step-child has it so good. In fact, most of them probably don't. In a world where divorce is as common as getting the morning paper, step-families and blended families are everywhere. I realize that chances are, me and my girls will become part of one. It's hard to imagine that, but should I ever re-marry (the thought makes me nauseous now, but I have hopes) my girls will have to learn to adjust—just like I did—to another man in the house. He won't be their dad, but he'll play a critical role in their life.

This is all fine and good, but I am gripped with fear wondering how or if anyone could love me so much that they are willing to take on the emotional and financial expense of helping raise my own children. I can envision someone thinking they would want to…..wanting to date me…. but when it comes down to the three of us as a package deal….would someone really step up to the plate? Thing is, because I have had such a stellar example of that, I won't settle for anything less than what I experienced in my own life. Granted, we had our growing pains along the way, but to this day…..my mother and I won't always tell each other we love each other when we get off the phone, but my step dad never hangs up the phone or never drives away without an I love you…… Now that I'm grown and a mom, to me that means that yes, he loves me…..but more than that, he loves my mom….I can't imagine someone really wanting to go through all it takes to raise kids these days—the emotions, the expense, the drama, the fear—just to be with me. It may seem like a good idea on the surface, but I feel like reality would scare him away. Whoever that is…..

My youngest daughter is 2 ½. Assuming that her father sticks with the state-mandated "you can't move more than 100  miles away from each other rule" – which I understand and respect—that means I'm here for another 16 or so years, easy. Who can commit to that? Who would want to commit to helping me get my girls through their teen-age years and college? Who would understand why I want to give my girls everything I can for their weddings? Who will help me enforce curfews, dating rules, homework guidelines, and bed time rituals? It's too much for me to ask someone to take on. It doesn't seem fair. Yet, I can see me doing all of those things for someone I love. I guess it's just hard for me to imagine someone loving me that much to make those sort of sacrifices……..marriage is hard enough…..We'd be dealing with our own relationship in the midst of trying to raise children—his, mine, our's….whatever…..I feel like damaged goods.

I feel alone.

And then I realize that this fear is one of the many fears that has kept me in an unhealthy relationship for so very long. Fear of the unknown can be crippling. It certainly had me paralyzed with fear. Funny thing about the human spirit, just when you think you are so broken that you can never mend….you pull yourself and not only survive…but thrive. I think that is what is happening to me right now, despite my spouse's bitter words, horrible accusations, and empty threats. He told me tonight that I will regret this decision for the rest of my life and that he looks forward to just smiling and nodding as he "moves onward and upward" while I drown in my own undoing. My first instinct is to agree and go back to my old life. It would be easier. In a way. Thing is, if I do that, I'll be alone.

That's right….alone.

So I'm left with weighing this decision about my life. Would I rather be alone in an unhappy marriage where it's painfully obvious why I feel this way….or would I just rather physically be alone? I choose the latter. As much as I hate the thought of it, at least I am living an authentic life and I am doing everything in my power to make the most of this blessed life God gave me. At least I am showing my daughters that they should and can strive to have it all….and that if they make a mistake, it's OK. God has blessed us all by giving us more than once chance. But He only gives us one life. I have to keep that in mind.

I told my mom recently that if I stayed in this marriage, I would be really pissed off at myself as I draw my last breath on my deathbed. She told me that's the only confirmation I need. I laughed. She's right. I guess I should focus on that, rather than wondering about all of the what ifs in life. I guess if someone loves me enough, the girls will be a bonus in his life, rather than dead weight.

Life experience is the best teacher, and I can honestly say I have learned more than I ever thought possible in my marriages.

I have learned that I don't value myself enough to hold out for someone who couldn't even imagine loving anything or anyone else but me. I will never fully enter into another relationship again until I know I'm first—not just in their intention, but openly and honestly. No lies. No hiding.

I have learned that somehow, I think it's OK to be my partner's "consolation prize." It's not….and I can never do that to myself ever again.

I have learned that I often feel like my love for someone is enough for both of us – it's not, by the way.

I have learned that I can't fix anyone.

I have learned that, really, people don't change all that much.

I have learned that the words 'I love you' are only words until they are put into daily action. I have also learned that the words 'I'm sorry' don't mean a thing until you feel it.

I have learned that sometimes, the best thing you can do in a relationship is turn your cheek when you don't like something……but only just a bit so you can keep an eye out. Never look away and pretend what's hurting you isn't really there.

I have learned that men lie. Period. They just do. Maybe they are lying to protect you, but nonetheless…a lie is a lie.

I have learned that sex doesn't have to be a chore on a to-do list. It's a gift to be given and received in marriage. It's not a right, and it's not something to be forced no matter what.

I have learned that affection—that doesn't always lead to sex—is critical in a relationship. It builds trust and comfort.

I have learned that it matters a great deal to me that my partner in life not only believe in God, but also love and seek Him.

I have learned that it's critically important to watch—and soak in—how the person you want to be with treats his fellow man…..strangers, friends, parents…everyone. It says a lot about his character.

I have learned the critical importance of choosing a partner who is available to you—emotionally, physically, and spiritually. A man who does what he says he'll do….stands by his word….and who is there for you…..is, simply, a real man.

I have learned that little things mean a lot – opening doors, getting things done without being asked, simple phone calls or emails during the day, kisses goodnight, fun surprises, spontaneity, PDA, dancing just because she likes to, love notes, flowers just because…..all of those types of things…can make a huge difference in a relationship. "Big things" are nice….but to me, at least, it's the little things that mean everything and that reveal the true love story.

I have learned that I'll never settle again. I will listen to my mind and heart. I won't accept "good enough." I'll pay attention to the inner voice I just recently rediscovered. I haven't listened to her in the past, but this time, I have promised her that I will.

And hopefully, by doing so, I won't always be alone.

Clearing the Clutter
Current mood: determined
Category: Life

I can never find a damn pen that works in this house. No matter how many packages of pens I buy….no matter how many freebie pens get brought into this place…..I can never find a pen when I really need one.

And, if I do reach the holy grail and find a pen, chances are, it's out of ink. What the hell? Do all of the pens go to the mysterious land of single socks? Are they on some island somewhere, laughing at us as we fold clothes in frustration and keep the pizza boy waiting while we search in vain for a pen to write him a check for a large with extra pepperoni?

Today, as I was sifting through the junk drawer—yet again—for a pen, I yelled out to no one in particular, "There is too much damn clutter in this house!" I don't yell often, but when I do, it sure as hell feels good. I started opening drawers, closets, and the pantry. Everywhere I looked I found organized chaos. I felt like I was suffocating…choking. I needed to come up for air.

Spending thousands of dollars in therapy has taught me a few things. One is that people easily place their internal problems on something external. I realized that I wasn't really mad at the clutter in the house—I was mad at the clutter inside. As I go through a significant life-changing moment, all of the advice from friends and family, Internet articles, books, and instructions from attorneys and therapists has cluttered my heart and brain. Worrying about tomorrow causes unnecessary stress today. One wise piece of advice, "Think about what is best in 20 years….not 20 days or even 20 months," goes through my mind again and again. I try to stay focused on that, because the answer is always the same.

Money is clutter. It's a necessary evil. It pays our mortgages, puts food on the table and clothes on our back. That should be enough. But it's not. Once you get used to a certain lifestyle, it's damn near impossible to go back. My mother in law is a perfect example. Wealthy in her 20s and 30s, at 60 she tries to live the same lifestyle with no salary at all. It causes undue frustration, guilt, and pain. Then I look at my grandparents. They have always had enough because they made—and spent—enough. As a kid, I thought they were rich. I make more money now than they probably ever did combined, and I'm not nearly as happy as they were then and are today. They are in love. Content. Peaceful. I can only hope to be as fortunate as they are when I reach their age. I vow to do what it takes to get there. Making tons of money isn't the answer.

One of my favorite passages from the Bible is "Be still and know that I am here." I am rarely, if ever, still. My mind and body are in constant motion. I try to stay busy and active to keep my mind off of things that clutter my soul. I don't want to think for too long about an unhappy marriage, so I decide to remodel a room. I don't want to think about how I am doing my children a disservice by living a life of illusion, so I dive into work or schedule a fun trip for them. When I don't want to face what is right in front of my eyes, I'll go scrub the bathtub….over and over again. Either that, or I'll book a trip to Mexico or the Carribean on a whim. Who is this girl? It's not the girl I was growing up. It's the girl I thought I'd be, nor want to be. When Sunday after Sunday passes as we sleep in, I feel a pang in my heart for not having my girls in Sunday School….and me in church, feeding my heart and soul. When I hear about charity opportunities and long to join in, I don't, because I know it will be too much of a scheduling hassle. This isn't me. I let the clutter of day-to-day survival outweigh what my heart and soul are screaming out for.

Funny thing about running from your problems, they always catch up to you….usually when you least expect it. I have lost count of how many nights I have stared at the ceiling, just before falling asleep, wishing and wondering what it would be like to go to bed each and every night with someone you love so much, that truly…nothing else but health and true happiness matter. I wonder what it would feel like to be married to someone who loves me – not the word love….but the action love. I crave knowing what it's like for someone to come up behind me and give me a hug, just because…..with nothing expected in return. All the same, I crave wanting to walk across the room to give that person a hug. I want "I love you's" to be part of everyday conversation, just like it is with my daughters. I don't want to have to struggle to get the words out of mouth, just to keep the peace.

I want to know what it's like to love someone who jointly shares the spiritual part of my life. I am in awe that my parents can so easily drop everything and pray together. What I would give to be able to hold hands with my spouse and pray together, trusting in God to carry our burdens and problems. But, when only one part of a couple believes in God, that just can't happen. I wish to experience life with someone who truly believes that you get back in life what you give. I'm tired of sneaking money into the plate at church. I'm not in church to see what I can get out of it; I'm there to see how I can give back to Him and to the world in general. I don't know how to live an authentic life without someone who can share in this belief with me.

Authentic. Take inventory of you life. Just pause and reflect. Are you authentic? Who you really are? How much of what you do on a daily basis is for the benefit of others? How much of yourself do you give up in order to uphold whatever image you have created for yourself? Are you proud of what you get….or of what you give? Is it even close to equal?

I look at my daughters and I want them to know the real me—the person I set out to be a long time ago. They have it in them to do anything….everything…..but they too can become paralyzed by things and a slave to money and "keeping up." They know what they see, and if I am showing them the path, then I can only blame myself for blazing the trail for them. I never intended to raise them on my own, and for the most part, I won't. But someone has to step up and be their moral compass. That someone is me. I have a job to do, and I am failing in the way I live now.

My biggest prayer in life right now is that my girls will forgive me for the choices I've made that will affect them forever. Today, their concern is that they might have to move into a different house, or possibly switch schools. Because I've lived it, I know that one day, they will be frustrated beyond belief at how they have to arrange the seating chart at their wedding reception, trying to keep an acceptable amount of space between their mom's side and their dad's side. They will likely have step-siblings, and for sure, their holidays will be spent living out of suitcases. Their loyalty will shift through the years, depending on which parent is buying them what. They'll hate me. They'll love me. They'll miss their dad. They'll figure their dad out. In the end, I hope they understand and respect what I had to do….the things I taught them….the morals I instilled in them….the things I gave them that money could never buy. I want them to marry—the first time—for nothing but love, crazy love. How can they know what that is if they don't see it on a daily basis on their own home?

Funny, when you start to leak your plans to dissolve your marriage, people inevitably ask what you'll get. I've spent lonely nights taking inventory of how we'll divide our assets. I've been doing this for years. The more I think about it, the more I start to feel that constricting, choking feeling. There's too much stuff. While I believe that 90 percent of it should go to me—after all, I selected it and placed it according to my taste – I realize that he deserves more than a plate and hand towel. I try to envision these things in a new home. I try to envision my girls getting used to new rooms, new house sounds, and a new neighborhood. We'll all learn to be comfortable in our "new normal." My hope is that once we get there, we have less clutter—in our junk drawers, our home, but most of all—in our souls. Being still can be so rewarding, especially in this clutter-filled, fast-paced world. A friend recently told me, "Find your bliss." I took it lightly at first, but now I live by it. Maybe my bliss doesn't match his, others in my circle, or even society in general….but the key word is 'my.' I know the road to finding this bliss is going to be winding, rough, and even dangerous at times, but the rewards—I have to believe—will be so worth it.

As I sit right on the cusp of turning 35, my first thoughts are to be disappointed in myself. This is not where I imagine I would be. Breaking hearts is torture, and that's all that divorce brings—broken hearts. Disappointment is at every turn. Self-doubt, inevitable. What am I capable of? Can I get through this and manage to raise two well-adjusted human beings at the same time? Will I ever experience, in marriage, the soul-mate kind of love I have craved for as long as I can remember? I keep chasing it, but my net always comes up empty. Lesson learned---I can't save the world, I can't save a guy….but I can save myself. I can save myself from an unexamined life, a life not fully lived or experienced, and a life that lacks authenticity. In the end, I want to know I gave this gift of an awful, beautiful life everything I have. Thus far, I have been hiding….behind clutter.

Maybe I'll never find a working pen around here, but I am determined to find myself.

So far......
Current mood: scared

So far, I've noticed that....

It's weird to grocery shop. There is no need to plan a weekly menu anymore. My kids eat the same five things over and over, and I never really care what I have for dinner when I'm alone (are olives dinner?) so I find myself randomly roaming down aisiles I used to shop regularly thinking, "wait, I don't need to buy that." A perfect example, my soon-to-be-ex spouse loves fruit. I stocked up on it every week. I'm not a big fruit eater. I passed by the fruit section twice, feeling quite strange that I had no need to dig around for the best Pink Lady apples.

It's weird to lock up at night. Even though we always shared this duty, I get a twinge of panic whenever I lock all of the doors and set the alarm. I realize that I am solely responsible, now, for these two precious little lives.....are we safe? As I crawl into bed, I have to banish the thoughts of would-be robbers, rapists, or whatever. Then my mind drifts to fire. The girls are upstairs; I'm downstairs...... I would have to save them on my own. My heart starts to beat fast and then every thing awful that could possibly happen runs through my head. I have to force myself to read something or watch television to shift mental gears.

It's weird to have everything so neat....and so quiet. He never believed me that the noise and mess in the house was primarily his. Now I can prove that to be true. The house has stayed relatively in tact. The bathroom? Spotless. The bedroom? Nice and neat. Kitchen's always clean. I don't have three televisions blaring or guitar amps vibrating the floors and walls. I have to say.....I like it.

Space. We have a King size bed. Kind of a necessity, in that my soon-to-be-ex spouse is a rather large guy. It's just me and a four-pound Yorkie now. I realized last night that I don't have to scoot all the way over to the corner anymore--no risk of someone trying to get any. I'm free to flop around in any ol way. I like that, too. Strange though, the habit is still to crawl in--and stay--on "my side."

Food. It's no wonder people gain weight when they become part of a couple. Eating is a central part of a relationship, whether you're dating or married. Now that I'm neither--in spirit at least--my food intake is next to nothing. It doesn't bother me at all. Still, as I pull chicken nuggets out of the freezer for my girls, I can't help but to see and think about the steak, chicken, and such that just sits there....meals meant to be cooked and served for two.....that will probably never see the light of day.

Planning. I know I won't live in this house forever--I'll be lucky if it can be afforded for a year. However, I already find myself making a mental plan of how to "de-guy" the place. This office was technically his--now it will be a writer's haven. I am about to inherit an entire walk-in master closet...oh the possibilities! At the same time, my heart experiences a little tug when I walk past furniture that I know he'll claim. There will be empty spaces--obvious scars that tell the story of a wounded relationship. I have decided, however, to give him the mattress. Enough said.

Aware. I'm so aware of things I never thought twice about. I'll drive by a nice restaurant, or one of my favorite stores and think to myself, "I'll probably never eat there/shop there again." I am realistic in knowing that I won't be able to afford those places anymore. Plus, who would I go with anyway? I would be lying if I said I'm not going to miss--even just a little bit--the lifestyle I enjoy now. It's worth it, but buying Coach sunglasses or a Coach wallet on an average Saturday--over. Breezing into Steve Fields, Kirby's Sullivan's, Cru--whatever--without even looking at the prices on the menu--done. Shopping just because--history. As all of my married friends embark on their annual summer vacations--Italy, Destin, Florida, etc.--I am painfully reminded that one of my favorite things in the world--travel--will become a distant memory. I'll never be able to afford to take my girls to DisneyWorld first class like I've done in the past. Yearly summer vacations to Mexico or the Carribean--at least I can say I've been, right? We flew first-class to Hawaii once--champagne, warm nuts, hot towels, and great flicks the whole way....yeah right. I don't really see that in my future.

I'd also like to say that I've missed the companionship. But that would be a lie. We never really had it anyway. We enjoyed separate activities on the weekends. We did our own girls and guys nights out quite frequently. I went to church alone most of the time. I handled 90 percent of the kids' activities, etc. Even at home, we'd watch different television shows in different rooms. I would cook dinner, and he'd eat it in the living room in front of the television. I would always eat at the table--just because....well, I wanted to. And then I'd clean up while he relaxed. And then I'd put the kids to bed. And then I'd usually work as he played guitar, drank wine, or ran through all of "his" recorded shows. I remember a few times--a long time ago--we'd go on family walks. I have a faint memory of sort of liking him then--liking being a family unit. That was so long ago that the memory is sketchy at best. Funny how a walk puts more skip in my step than the most expensive night on the town. I'm really simple. Too bad he--or anyone else--has never seen that.

On the topic of walking, as I was driving home this evening while he was giving the girls a bath and spending time with them....I passed by our neighborhood park. Kids were playing. Moms pushing swings. Dads coaching soccer. SUVs crowded the parking lot. I realized that I could have that if I wanted it. All it would take is "OK, one more chance." But I've given this chance after chance--nothing changes. This relationship is the quintessential example of "too little, too late." I saw a couple, probably in their 40s, walking the jogging trail around the park. They were walking hand in hand, obviously talking about their day. She was smiling....he was laughing. Will that ever be me? Will I ever get there? Will someone care enough about my day to want to take a break from everything to take a walk with me, ask me questions about me and my day......Will a relationship ever be so good that it's just natural to want to hold hands? A married couple--friends--at work don't leave the house without a kiss, hug, and i love you's. In fact, they don't go to sleep without it either -- ever. They send each other reminders in the day--text, emails, sweet phone calls, vm's, whatever--so that they each know they are in each other's thoughts and loved. The wife, my friend, calls it "all day foreplay." I love that. I guess if I never experience it.....well, at least I know someone out there is. I guess for now that will have to do.

Peace. I can't wait for the day until I come home with my girls and we are settled in to our "new normal." When I can lock the door and know that the three of us are together inside.....and anything else that happens in my life is my choice. I have a long way to go to get to the other side, but I can honestly say I'm hopeful. I keep thinking about how much time I've wasted....how I'm too old to "date" or get a life outside of my kids. Maybe it's true. I guess time will tell. I guess instead, I should focus on the lessons I've learned--what type of guys to stay away from, to recognize my weaknesses and overcome them, to never be second place again....and most of all to realize that without the life I led the past nine years, I wouldn't have the job of my dreams or the two best things that ever happened to me--Kate and Olivia. I wouldn't have some of the greatest friends I've ever known.....or had the fun experiences I've had. God gave me those gifts, and I treasure them.

Pain and regret reminds us that we are alive--that we have lived. They are the best teachers.....I hope I've, finally, learned. The special people in my life who are supporting me--who I could never do this without--keep telling me how great things are on the horizon for me. I sure hope so. I could stand something great about now. I don't believe in happily ever after.....but I believe in happy. I look forward to getting there.

I have a week left of Christmas vacation. Have I mentioned before how much I love my job? We get Christmas Eve through January 4 off this year, and I couldn’t be more thrilled about this. So, as a departure from my usual deep thoughts about life and such I thought I’d blog about Christmas 08, so far.

Gifts to Myself

What can I say, I’m a giver…. And I really decided to go for it this year when I gave myself a pain in the neck, literally. It’s called Submental/Neck Liposuction. My plan is to be smoking hot at 40 so that it’s just a number and not a reminder that I’m 40 and have really screwed it all up. Which I have, but if I look good maybe I won’t notice so much. I don’t have an after photo yet because my head is wrapped in an ace bandage-like contraption  that goes around my chin and head. It is anything but attractive and comfortable, which is why I chose to have the procedure in the holidays. I can hide for the five required days and emerge only looking like someone has tried to choke me to death. This is the procedure, for the most part.

As we age, certain areas of the body can accumulate fat that is hard to lose, in spite of a healthy diet and vigorous exercise. The neck is one of those areas. Fat in the neck can detract from the appearance of the entire body, making a younger person seem older, or a fit person seem out of shape. Neck Liposuction can give this area a new streamlined contour, enhancing the effect of facial features and improving the profile. Neck liposuction produces consistently good results, and has a particularly high patient satisfaction rate. Performed as an outpatient procedure, the unwanted fat is gently removed by vacuum suction through very small incisions in hidden under the chin. This procedure is most successful in individuals that have good skin tone to the neck, allowing the skin to redrape nicely after fat removal, revealing a sleek new neck and jaw profile.

So basically I get a new profile and a sculpted neck for Christmas. I have decided against the entire body overhaul for now. First, of all, it’s insanely expensive and I have priorities. Second, the downtime is too consuming. I can’t imagine when I’ll have two to three complete weeks where I don’t have to drive, work, or really move at all. I don’t see it happening any time soon. It’s something that has to be carefully planned and thought out where I have lots of help and work squared and kids squared away. And winning the lottery would help. So in the meantime, I realized that the body overhaul is a great idea for the self-esteem but really, who the heck is seeing any of it but the plastic surgeons who keep marking me up during consultations, me, and the cat? Exactly. So I decided to start with what is visible all the time – my face. It’s something that has always bugged me. I have always, even as a kid, had this area under my chin that kept me from having a defined neck. My profile bugged me. I always stick my neck out in pictures to hide it. So I fixed it. If you decide to try this procedure, bring an Ipod. Otherwise, you can hear the entire procedure. And by that I mean, you can hear “inside” your head the device scraping against your jawbone. You can hear the slurpy sound of the canula sucking out all of your fat. Kind of like getting to the very end of a milkshake. (Hope you weren’t having lunch. Sorry.) Good times…good vain times. And now I look like one of those kids on Weird Science with this white bra-like contraption on my head. It itches. It bothers me. It’s ugly. But apparently, it’s the key to success, so I wear it. So, cheers to skinny necks and all that jazz.

Boots! If you’ve read my blog long enough you know I love a new pair of boots. Like my children, I love each pair in their own special way and refuse to play favorites. A few weeks ago, I was shopping with my daughters and my sister and we came across a cool pair of tall, low heel Army-type boots with a cool silver buckle. I admired them, but didn’t purchase them as I’m also known as Santa around these parts. My oldest daughter paid attention and did her own investigative reporting to learn my size and made sure to remember the name of the store. She apparently asked her father to take her to the mall so that she could buy her mommy a Christmas present. This girl has the biggest heart of anyone I know and is beyond kind and thoughtful. She is keenly aware of others and at age 7 prefers to put others before herself, which is basically unheard of. She made sure that she and her dad worked to get just the right boots for me. Granted, this is no longer his job. Not even close. I, too, made sure that she and her sister had presents for their dad on Christmas morning. I didn’t break the bank and honored their requests. They don’t understand that we don’t buy for each other anymore, and we are the only links to wallets they know of. I get the report just before Christmas that the price tag on the boots was more than $200. Clearly, this was beyond what he expected to pay so I paid him back. So I got the coolest boots ever from the coolest 7 year old daughter ever. Sort of. I wasn’t planning on paying $200 for boots in the height of going broke buying drum sets, Bratz, puzzles, Meebas, doll houses, and Nintendo DS games….but I guess I did. I may sleep in those boots tonight. I bet they’ll look smashing with my head bra contraption thing.

Special Lunch. Before Christmas, I got to have lunch with a very special friend and got two of the best Christmas gifts I’ve ever received – one to wear and another for my heart. A reminder that hope remains.

Help Me! Two days before Christmas, I realized there was no way I was going to get this drum set for my oldest put together. I was overwhelmed with all the wrapping, packing up for a trip to see the family, and lonely without my kids. So I accepted an offer for help and it turned out to be a really fun night of wrapping presents and sitting back drinking wine while I watched the drum set being put together (ha, ha). I made some appetizers and kept the wine and good movies going, and a night that would otherwise be frustrating and lonely turned out to be really great and rather sweet.

A Good Sign. When I chose my new neighborhood, I did so mostly for my kids. I wanted them to have the experience I had growing up where kids could play in their yards and safely ride bikes. We can walk to the community pool. It’s certainly not a place for a single girl to meet someone as it’s a family-oriented community but this isn’t about me; it’s all about them. So we’re here. I was told people are so friendly and you meet a new neighbor every time you walk outside. Really? Because I haven’t found this to be true. And then on Christmas Eve, the neighbors started coming by….bringing homemade cookies, leaving little ornament gifts in my mail box and cards on my door. I’m excited for warm weather so we can hang out outside and hopefully meet some cool people.

The Gift That Keeps on Giving. Excited about the prospect of a few days to myself to clean up the Christmas explosion and get some things organized, I went to bed on Friday night at my parents’ house ready to hit the road and get the kids to their dad’s so I could have some me-time. Around 2 a.m., the virus from hell hits. The youngest is down, and I’m drenched. I stay up with her until around 5 a.m. until she finally drifts off on her little bed of fresh towels I made for her. Load the girls up in the morning so we don’t “spread the love” to everyone else at the house and she keeps on giving and giving until we hit the Interstate. As we get closer to home, my oldest starts to feel bad. Turns out, she has the gift as well and ready to share. I guess we’re all givers around here. I’m sure I’m next. A lovely sight – getting sick in a head wrap and new boots. Merry Christmas indeed!

That Darn Cat! About a month ago, I got my oldest daughter a baby kitten. I still feel guilty about “sending her dog to a farm where he can run and play with other doggies” and she reminds me almost daily about how much she misses him, even though he was the  devil dog and she knew it. So I figured I could deal with a cat. They are low maintenance and she is a great kid and deserves a pet. The only thing she has ever really asked for is a pet. I went the goldfish and hermit crab routes – they are in fishy and crab heaven now. And she is ultra-sensitive and still mourns their passing, much to my amazement. So we have Coco the Cat. This is fine except I believe we now have the Devil Cat counterpart to the Devil Dog. When can I get this feline declawed anyway? And I am allergic to this “sweet” little kitty. So here I sit, typing this with (did I mention the big white bra/jockstrap contraction on my head) with puffy, watery eyes from the cat. Oh yeah, and cats stink. Moving on….

I Miss Ivonne. A lot. She was my cleaning lady for several years in my old life. My house really isn’t big enough now to warrant a cleaning lady, and I shouldn’t be spending extra money on something I can easily do myself. But I long for the days of coming home after work to that fresh scent of Pine Sol….clean wastebaskets….folded towels….shiny appliances….an organized fridge….and not a speck of dust in sight. Sigh…. How do I love thee, Ivonne, let me count the ways while I mop and cry. Point is, my house is a wreck post-Santa and I don’t want to clean it. So there.

Too Much. My car is loaded to the top with Christmas gifts, bags, and whatever else. My living room is full of toys, wrapping paper….There’s so much to put away and organize. Old toys need to be tossed. Clothes drawers need to be organized. Laundry needs to be done. It’s just too much. Plus my neck hurts. Yeah, that’s it. I can’t do anything because of my neck. Ahem.

Is It Wrong….. that I had two naps at my mom’s house, a nap today, pretty decent sleep last night and it’s 9:45 and I’m ready to go to sleep? Again? Because that’s what I’m about to do. I’m sure it’s because of the neck, too. Yeah, that’s it. The neck.

So…. A new neck. New boots. New people in my life. New memories….all mixed in with cat hair, a messy house, and a rampant stomach virus. This, friends, was Christmas 08..... so far.

You know those, to use a rather cliché term, “light bulb moments,” when the solution to something you’ve been struggling with just suddenly appears? Don’t you love those? I wonder, sometimes, if they’re answered prayers or maybe it’s just the reward for hard work spent thinking and working through something. I guess either way you look at it is fine because the end result is that feeling of relief—the opening to a path that you’ve been trying like hell to take but just couldn’t figure out how to remove the obstacles and take the first step.

I was fortunate enough to experience such a moment yesterday. I think part of it was due, in part, to a good therapy session. I haven’t been in awhile, so for a change, I was actually looking forward to it. I had a lot to talk about, and unlike most of my therapy sessions, this time I did talk. And talk. And he just sat back and let me do so without too much advice. I think talking through the struggles is actually what I needed. It’s like I came up with my own solutions with a little guidance.

Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t solve every problem in an hour but I did get rid of a major part of that twisted feeling I wrote about awhile back. The solution, amusingly, actually lies in something I do every day. I just need to apply the skill to my life, rather than an article.

Editing.

Certainly being an empathetic, giving person is a good thing in many ways, and I wouldn’t change that about me because I feel good when I can help others and be there for others. But lately I’ve noticed that the “yes factor” I have has been detrimental to my progress in moving forward. I get stuck and feel pulled downward by others’ problems and neediness. I get too wrapped up in situations that don’t have anything to do with what is—and should be—my priorities at this stage of my life. I complain that I can’t do it all. Well, no wonder. Because I’m inviting in too much “all.” I need to edit out the things that no longer make sense. Some of that will be learning to dismiss worries about people and things I cannot control. Life is going to move forward at full speed ahead, and all of the worrying in the world isn’t going to slow it down or change anything.  Just because I dwell on something doesn't mean the situation will change. The dwelling is what keeps me stuck, and that has to change. Key people in my life will continue to live their lives the way they want, despite my advice or offers to help. Other key people will continue to take advantage of my good nature simply because “that’s the way it’s always been” and the only way that will stop is if I say so.

And I say so.

When hashing everything out in therapy yesterday I said out loud, “I wish all of this would just stop.” And it occurred to me, nothing is happening “to” me. Things are just happening, and it’s how I deal with them that makes them either continue…or stop. I shared this realization with my therapist, and it turns out, I should have written myself the check yesterday. But with this realization comes the proverbial red pen. I have to edit some things out of my life in order for the story to read the way I want it to read. I have to set the priorities, decide what’s important, and hit ‘delete’ on the rest. And just like editing a story that you really like, it’s so much easier said than done. It starts with paying attention to how I feel. And then acting on it. If that situation, or dare I say it, person doesn’t help my “story” at all and doesn’t need to be there anymore, then it….him/her…needs to go.

Some of this editing will be for things that have needed to go for quite a long time. It will be hard to do this, for sure. So much of what needs to be cut are situations and people I’ve had in my life for awhile, and it’s going to hurt to slash through them with my almighty editing pen. But I firmly believe the story will read much better when I do. Things that take up my time that shouldn’t – gone. Things that don’t contribute to my overall goals and priorities in a positive way – gone. Things that drag me down with pointless worry – gone. Just because someone asks doesn’t mean I have to say ‘yes.’ I’m going to become more familiar with the word ‘no.’ I also need to learn to stop knocking on doors when it’s clear no one is going to answer. I have to edit myself as well. You see, just because I think something should be doesn’t necessarily make it so. And that’s a lesson that has been presented to me over and over, and I’ve refused to learn it. I’m stubborn that way, I guess. I have to edit this part about myself and also learn when to give up and move on. This goes for several things in my life, from work to friendships, old friendships, and relationships that have been launched and ultimately failed.

I also need to pay more attention to that inner voice—not the mean one I’ve referred to before. I have to learn to edit him out, of course. I mean the one that knows better. I’m sure you have one too. You can hear it, but don’t want to. But it’s the voice that will make editing so much easier by just listening and doing the work. I’m listening, and admittedly, I don’t like what I hear. But so far, she’s at about 100 percent so I’m being extremely quiet and still, letting her talk and taking her cues.

And this is where the big editing job of my life gets harder. Because as most writers know, editing can hurt. Getting that marked up story back stings. What you turned in, well, that’s what you want. That’s how you want the story to go, and the ending you think is best. So this editing job I have to do, it’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt me because I’m going to miss some of the people who get cut from the story. I can chop up the story all I want, but it’s impossible to forget the characters. That’s when the nagging pain will come, but I have to learn to overcome it. And then, my supposition, is that it will hurt others as well. They’re used to having me there, just as I am…old faithful. And even if I’m still there, well, it can’t be the same anymore. My routine has to change for this edited version of my life as well. Comfort zones that zapped my energy and attention and caused me to place focus on things that really don’t matter have to go, too. In their place, only things that do matter.

And that’s where I spent most of my evening—deciding what does matter. As my children make their Christmas wish lists, I made a list of what I’m keeping in my story…the things, situations, and people who are spared the red pen. Time wasters, energy zappers, emotional vacuums, financial drains, and anything or anyone that causes an overload of unnecessary worry…one by one I wrote them down and then ceremoniously crossed them off the list.

I woke up this morning and looked at the list to see how it made me feel after a surprisingly good night’s sleep. I felt relief and even a bit of anticipation knowing that once I get used to living like this—an edited version of my life—I will feel free in so many ways…emotionally, financially, spiritually. Hopefully the end result is that I will no longer spend my precious extra time on things that really don’t matter and instead be able to nurture and grow what does matter in my life, whether I have it now or have set a goal to have it. It’s a cleaner life, easier to navigate and understand. More fun to read. And that, my friends, is the very definition of successful editing.

Pen in hand….. ready.