Fireworks with Sound Effects

Silver

2012-02-08T22:03:00.002-05:00

I have two parallel silver strands in my hair, and I love them. They are a reminder that my youth is leaving me. Youth is a love affair I found too late, like most things I love. And like most things I love, I will hold on to it far past the time of letting go. I haven't let go. Not yet. I lean into the mirror, plucking my brow, sighing at the lines etched by stress. And life. And laughter. I lean into the mirror, thinking it could be today. Perhaps today. I will decide later.

The Boy

2012-01-30T22:10:00.003-05:00

My son still asks if there is a Santa Claus. He tells me facts about the sun that no one has ever learned before. His excitement is quiet, but palpable. He carries a wooden sword for protection. He is never sure of when he might come across a rogue band of Yachets. That's Yah-Sheets. A race of humanoids who can only be killed if their heads are chopped off with a sword. He's never seen "Highlander" and I smile. If you cut off any other body part, it will just grow back. He'd rather be a Yachet. They don't have to deal with sisters. I say I'd miss him if he ran away with a roving pack. He says he'd turn me into a Yachet if he can figure out how to become one. His sister can go live with Nana. He practices his fighting moves just in case he is accepted, but carries his sword because he is still human. He will protect his family. Even his sister. And he tells me I'm the best mom.

Deja Vu

2011-12-31T20:19:00.004-05:00

I came close to pulling the car to the side of the road. The sensation was that intense. I could feel you kissing me, distinctly burning my lips. With a sharp inhale of surprise, I pushed away the sensation and kept driving. Still, I could feel my lips tingling. I don't know who you are. Nothing happens the same way twice. Three years ago, I knew who you were. You were a strange connection the universe kept forcing on me. It wouldn't allow me to forget you, the way you kissed, the way you touched. This time, the sensation was as strong and as breath-taking as it used to be, but I couldn't say for sure that it was you.

And so I pushed away, and I drove.

I stood in the coffee shop, hearing his words through a tunnel of deja vu. The last barista I knew by name told me he was in his last week. It wasn't his words causing the deja vu, it was the energy swirling around me. I used to sit in the coffee shop every Monday, chai in hand, reading a darma talk or writing in my journal. It was quiet, peaceful. I recognized several regulars and most of the workers by face, but no one by name. Then, I became intimately acquainted with someone there, and suddenly knew most of them. I stopped sitting, and started ordering to go. Grabbing and running. With this barista's announcement came a sadness at once again being left behind. I couldn't fight an image of me standing in a gray wasteland of Providence, waving as a mass exodus of people took place, everyone running to more colorful places full of life and love.

I pushed the image away, and drove away with my chai.

Driving along, I couldn't help but feel the deja vu that had swept over me in the coffee shop. The energy is the same that I felt three years ago, as I was entering one of the best years of my life. There was no major event I could point to as a measure of why it was such a beautiful year. I was at peace after turbulence. I was happy, content. I knew good things were coming, and patiently awaited them. But I know things don't happen the same way twice. My coffee shop will once again be a place of quiet and peace for me. But my every day circumstances, goals, thoughts are different. And I don't know who you are.

Purpose

2011-12-04T00:45:00.003-05:00

I know there is a meaning
There is a purpose
Because there is a you
And you smile

Our meaning is intertwined
In the ever-deepening lines
Around your eyes
When you smile

Our purpose is written
In the lines of my palm
I imagine caressing your face
As you smile

I close my eyes
Breathing deeply in love
Exhaling my doubt
And I smile

Seeing the Other Side

2011-11-23T13:58:00.003-05:00

I made the left turn onto Blackstone Blvd. On my way to the last outdoor farmers market of the season, I was listening to constant chatter from the backseat in which every other sentence began with "Hey, Mom!" I was looking for a parking spot. I was also dodging construction and pedestrians, none of whom seemed to notice that the sun was shining straight into the eyes of the drivers on my side of the road.

One of those pedestrians stepped from the shadows along the median, into the road. She was angrily pointing at the crosswalk, while her husband stood behind her glaring. I jerked the car to the left in fright, but it was too late to possibly stop the car. Luckily, I didn't hit her or the pedestrians on the other side of me who'd stepped into the street because construction had closed the sidewalk at that spot. I looked into the rearview mirror to see the couple crossing the street while staring after my car, still glaring.

I parked the car a short distance away. The kids and I walked down the sidewalk until we had to step out into the street because of the construction. My kids began shoving at each other, arguing or playing -- sometimes it's hard to tell which. I grabbed my daughter's arm, holding her close to my side. I pulled my son in front of us, and kept my hand on his shoulder guiding him as far from traffic as possible. I explained to them that the sun was shining right into drivers' eyes, and they wouldn't easily see us walking near the road.

I thought about talking to the angry couple if I ran into them at the market. I'd explain to them that the sun was shining directly into traffic and that they should be more aware of the other side of things before acting in anger. When I actually did see them, they stopped to stare at me while I spoke with a vender. They seemed like they wanted to talk to me. I decided, from the look on their faces, that I would not talk to them. Maybe I should consider that they had things going on that day of which I was totally unaware. They were angry, and I wasn't going to change that. I didn't want to make their day worse with a confrontation. So, I just smiled as I walked by with my kids.

I've been thinking about this scenario since.

I think it's important to see the other side of things. People most often act in ways that have nothing to do with me, even if their actions affect me. When I don't take their actions personally, it is easier to forgive and move on. But what happens when those actions are affecting me? I make every attempt to understand. I often see so many sides of the story, that I become paralyzed and don't act on any of them. Many times, I put my own feelings on a shelf because I've created so many stories about why the other person is acting the way they are that I decide whatever they are going through is more important than what I am going through.

I've found that because I easily forgive, I am often considered a push-over, a doormat, or weak. Kindness and empathy should never be mistaken for weakness. Willingness to forgive is one of the strongest things a person can do -- that I can do. It means I am mature enough to realize people make mistakes and can move past them. It means that I am strong enough to move past my own hurt to allow healing for both people. I mean true forgiveness here. I do not mean that I say things are okay, and hold on to negative feelings in my heart. When I forgive, I let go and I reopen.

That does not mean I will continue to allow someone to treat me poorly. When actions repeat themselves after I've forgiven them, I begin to run out of stories for the other party. At some point, I have to deal with what I have directly in front of me. There may still be a story behind the other person's actions. It still may not be personal on their part, but they have chosen not to look at my side of their actions. If they've already been forgiven, then they are aware their actions caused pain in the past. It is time for them to take positive action; I can't force it. Eventually, I have to consider the actions personally and act in my own best interest.

That doesn't mean I am unwilling to forgive again. I have that strength.

Compound Words

2011-10-24T21:55:00.002-04:00

The kids and I had just left the farmer's market. I unlocked the passenger side door to let them both get into the car from the safety of the sidewalk, and rounded the car to the driver's side. Plopping myself down, the following conversation happened:

Boy: Mooooom! She said a bad word!
Girl: (confused) No, I didn't.
Boy: She did!
Girl: No, I didn't. I said dammit.
Boy: Yeah! Exactly!
Girl: Dammit isn't a bad word.
Me: Yes, honey, it is.
Girl: What!? No, it's not.
Me: Honey, damn is a bad word. I know I say bad words a lot, and I don't really care if you do. But you need to be aware that other people, like your teacher, are going to care and you will get in trouble for using those words.
Girl: But I didn't say damn. I said dammit.
Me: (Holding up one finger) Damn. (Holding up a second finger) It. Damn. It. It's two words. You said damn. Don't do it again.
Girl: Oooooooh! I get it. It's a compound word... Mom? Why are you laughing?

I remember...

2011-10-22T21:31:00.002-04:00

I remember what it was like to breathe
after you left the room
and time slowed
so that even colors stretched behind you in confusion
leaving me to gray shadows.
I have waited here
in the space of a heartbeat,
people like pauses
giving momentary silence
to the demons drowning me.
Your hands in my hair
bring me back to the surface
with a beautifully painful shock.
And oh I remember what it is like to breathe.

What if I listen?

2011-10-09T13:02:00.003-04:00

It doesn't occur to me not to help where I can. When I saw a friend bouncing from couch to couch with her young child, I could help. So I did.

Sometimes, lending help to someone bites me, and things don't end well. She bit hard with poisoned fangs. It did not end well.

Last week, I was cleaning my bookcase, and an unlabeled CD fell to the floor. I set it aside to play later.

Yesterday, in my car, I played the disc. My now-exfriend's band came through the speakers. Beautiful and heartbreaking, it made me feel like I was flying rather than driving. I'd enjoyed her band when I'd heard them live on a couple of occasions. Now, I could clearly hear the lyrics.

And I want to ask you a question.
What are you gonna do?
What are you going through
All of these days of your life?
What if I listen?
What will tomorrow bring?

She didn't write the lyrics to the songs, but she lent her instrument to the feeling behind them. She once told me she played with band's front man and songwriter because he broke her heart with his music. And there I was, trapped in my car, with my chest exploding. She and I aren't so different, after all.

There were numerous conversations during our friendship in which half of the responses were "Me too!!" We helped each other through heartbreaks. We gave each other good advice. In the end, her problems were bigger than mine. She took her heartbreaks, heartaches, and pain inside and she hasn't allowed healing into her life. I try. I don't always succeed in taking my pain to a better place, but I try.

We are all born perfect. Beautiful children with no chosen path. How quickly we're set to walking... And how far our paths diverge...

But what if I'd listened a little longer and harder?

The Crushing Blow of Empathy

2011-10-06T08:02:00.002-04:00

I found the saved draft to an old post. I didn't get far. I'm sure I was interrupted in mid-thought and lost it. But I wanted to post my musings. Thoughts?

Sometimes, our best qualities backfire on us. Sometimes, we are blind to our bad habits. Sometimes, it takes a perfect stranger to make our tracks and think about these things. And sometimes, the people most dear suddenly become strangers.

The Beast

2011-10-04T21:28:00.002-04:00

When I got home, the sun was on the other side of the house so the room was shadowy.

Oh, God, I thought. He was fired again. I stepped away from the doorway, to the end of the bed.

"Honey? ... Are you feeling okay? ... Why are you home?"

Silence from the lump laying above the covers. I edged around the side of the bed. Tiptoeing. Very aware of the eggshells under my feet. Knowing there was a kitten in my bed or a beast.

"Honey? I need to go buy diapers---"

My feet were tangled in the clothes he'd discarded on the floor, and I fell headlong into the bed. I fell on top of him, scratching him while trying to catch myself.

My head hit the wall as I saw the short straw on the dresser. Dropped on a dusting of fine white powder. And my head kept hitting the wall. I was no longer sprawling across the mattress. I was being held on my toes by my neck. And my head kept hitting the wall. There was yelling. His and mine. Blended together.

"Who are you? What the fuck are you doing in my house?" Full of rage. Of hate. For this intruder. This stranger.

"I'm your wife! Please!"

His and mine. Blended together. And my head kept hitting the wall. My neck hurt. I was struggling to breathe, to hear, to yell. And my head... And the window moved closer. I don't know what he was saying, but I knew the window was going to swallow me. His hands were no longer on my neck, but knotted in my shirt. And I hit the wall. Window closer.

"I love you! Stop!"

"What are you doing?"

I was never so glad to see my father-in-law. I didn't stop to let him know. In the beast's surprise, he dropped me. I fell away from the window, running. Running downstairs. Running to my baby. Running out the door. Running to the car. Running to safety.

But I went back. And I kept going back until the day he raised his hand to me in front of company, and only stopped when someone yelled "Whoa!" just in time. He started laughing, and tried to convince everyone it was a joke he and I played. I knew if he had come that close, it wouldn't be long before he actually did it. And when he was comfortable enough to hit me in front of other people, there would be no stopping it. There would be no stopping my children from seeing it.

I wish I could say that I learned my lesson that day. But I didn't. I've never dated another man who hit me. But I've been repeatedly abused. From the man who constantly pointed out the imperfections of my body to the man who manipulated my emotions. I have allowed it to happen. Mostly, I can recognize the danger signs and walk away from them. Sometimes, a man is a better abuser than I am a detector. Each time, I learn a lesson, honing my radar.

The biggest lesson I have learned since that day is that I accept the love I think I am worth. There are days I mourn not having a shared love in my life. I also recognize that I am worth that love, and holding out for it is one of the greatest gifts I can give to myself.

Help My Friend

2011-10-02T21:11:00.002-04:00

My friend, Alyssa, is an amazingly talented woman. She decided to audition for Glee and she deserves to be there. Please take a few minutes to check out her audition, and you'll agree.

http://thegleeprojectcasting.com/Auditions/View/1372764

I do suggest watching it "with questions." Please click on the "like" button under her video so that she gets credit. Thank you!

Baby...? BOOM!

2011-09-30T21:02:00.005-04:00

I have two children. I have two wonderful children. I have children who are potty trained. I have a boy. I have a girl. I have no reason to want another one. Right?

When I had my daughter eight years ago, I was so sure I never wanted another child, I told my doctor to tie my tubes. He refused, saying I was too young and may change my mind later. I was pissed. He didn't have to deal with potty training my son who was clearly possessed at age two while nursing a tiny daughter who was clearly trying to remove my nipples. What did he know?

For years, I held to it. I never wanted another baby. And then...

I started getting very tired right before my cycle. So tired, I was falling asleep at my desk at work, taking too many naps, and going to bed as soon as I got the kids to sleep. Often, I was falling asleep in my clothes, too tired to bother. Soon after, I developed odd cramping, bloating, and pain. Eventually, I had shooting pains down my legs and terrible back aches forcing me to sit or lay down.

Then, the testing started. Several ultrasounds, blood tests, and specialist exams later, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. Considering all the possibilities, I was relieved to hear that it was endometriosis. The doctor gave me the rundown of the disease and treatment options. Left untreated, I was facing a lifetime of pain and infertility. I could have both of my ovaries removed, curing the disease and guaranteeing I never have another child. Or I could choose a series of injections that would halt the disease for a couple of years, letting me live without pain until it came back. He warned me that insurance companies didn't often like to pay for the injections, so I was looking at very high out of pocket costs or having to remove my ovaries. I wasn't about to let it go untreated. But to cure myself, the possibility of having another child would be gone forever.

I wasn't excited. I was finally getting what I wanted: the assurance that I would never have to change another diaper again. But there I was, telling the doctor I was too young to consider saying "Absolutely never again."

I went home, and thought things over. I love my children more than anything. I've also never had the experience of having a child out of a loving relationship with a man who welcomed it. Maybe I wanted that. Did I? I still don't know. I realized that I am no longer closed to the possibility, but I don't have a clock ticking. If I found a loving, lasting relationship with a man who wanted a baby, I would consider it. But I also have two beautiful children who have given me a full life. I am blessed to have them, and happy to be clearing blockages.

I sat and wrote a letter to the insurance company.

I had my last injection yesterday.

Blessing in Disguise

2011-09-26T00:04:00.002-04:00

I can't believe how long it's been since I posted last. I've been looking back over the last year of my life, and saying similar things across many areas.

I can't believe how long it's been since I've written a blog post.
I can't believe how long it's been since I wrote a real journal entry.
I can't believe how long it's been since I've written a poem.
I can't believe how long it's been since I've seen some of my friends.
I can't believe how long it's been since I accomplished more than one task at work in a day.
I can't believe how long it's been since I've been in a yoga class.
I can't believe how long it's been since I've felt like me.

I've spent months feeling detached from myself. I was somehow watching my life play out, but not really an active part in it. It made me crazy. It depressed me. It aged me. It wore me out. I cried. I was sick. I was tired all the time. I couldn't concentrate, and made mistakes all over the place. My memory was shot. My apathy was at an all-time high. I wanted to care. It bothered me that I didn't.

So why am I writing in past tense?

Because I have not felt this wonderful in months. I am happy. I smile for no reason. Music makes me dance, rather than cry. I am connecting with my children once again. I am reconnecting with my body and exploring yoga again. I have more energy and motivation than I have felt in a very long time. I feel very much in my own body, and I am reveling in it.

So what's different?

I underwent a break-up, of course. For months, I'd been in a relationship I knew wouldn't work. After a short time dating, I explained that he shut me out and I couldn't date him. He didn't go away. Even within the relationship, I was acutely aware of being manipulated at times. I fought against the wrong things. I fought him over what I saw to be our issues, rather than to put a spotlight on the manipulative behaviors and put an end to it. Finally, he found someone he liked better, and moved on.

In moving on, he flaunted her in front of me and my children. Hurting my pride, and hurting my son's heart. In moving on, he deleted me from facebook and then blocked me, as did the new "friend." Angering me at having two assholes treat me like I was the asshole. In moving on, he blocked my phone number. Making me smile. In moving on, he continued his efforts at manipulating me so that he would walk away looking like the good guy. The martyr. Bringing calm to my heart. It wasn't me. I was okay. I could walk away with peace in my heart.

The moment I realized he'd blocked my phone number, my mouth dropped open in shock. I took a moment to recover. Then, started laughing.

Now, before I make myself sound like a creepy stalker that he was forced to block, I should explain. He used to spend time with my son since my son doesn't have a father in his life. It was beautiful to watch my son come out of his shell because he finally had a man show interest in him. It was why I didn't fight to end things when I knew I should have, and why I did fight to keep things together when I shouldn't have. Just because I was hurting, didn't mean I wanted my son to hurt. I was willing to put my own feelings aside and allow the man to continue a mentor relationship with my son. He took advantage of that, and attempted to manipulate my son, coming by my house when he knew I wouldn't be home to tell my son that he needed a break from me and so wouldn't be hanging out with him for at least a week. I called to discuss the inappropriateness of his behavior and to request that he inform me of any contact with my children before it happens.

Only, I received a pre-recorded message saying the person I was trying to call was not accepting phone calls at this time. I called from a different number, got his voicemail, and informed him in a message that what he was doing was beyond inappropriate. I sat down with my son, and talked with him about it, telling him I was so sorry he was put in the middle of things.

After my son went to bed, I laid down. I laughed all over again. My heart felt light. After crying for several days straight, this was what I needed. It was the final nail. He was truly out of my life, and I felt the weight of months of unhappiness lift from my chest. I thought of a future of misery that I'd avoided, and I felt thankful.

The next day, I received an email from the man, trying to talk his way out of it. I was not surprised. I calmly wrote an email enumerating the ways his actions and conversation with my son were inappropriate, and downright creepy. I told him that he was not to contact my family again.

I hit send. And I smiled. And I sat and thought. I was so happy to have this behind me for good. And I felt guilty feeling so happy at the absence of someone I'd cared for. I questioned why I'd allowed things to drag on. Why had I allowed him to meet my children? Why had I allowed him to manipulate me? How was I manipulated so easily?

These are things I'm still working through. But I feel wonderful, and I am happy to be getting to know myself again.

Haiku

2011-04-26T18:54:00.000-04:00

The taste of metal
I forget to breathe, heart pounds
Your shadow passes

The Power of Self

2011-04-15T23:48:00.002-04:00

I have just entered a self portrait contest sponsored by Artists Wanted. I stand to win a year of my life paid for so I can focus on making art. I can also win the People's Choice Award if my portfolio is consistently highly rated. Please consider taking a few seconds of your time to check out my page, and rate my photos. In the upper right corner of the page, you can click on the number of stars you'd like to give my work. It won't even ask for your email address. Thank you! If you like my work, please vote every day!

http://leannheath.see.me/aw2011

Thank you! Namaste!

South Africa

2011-04-11T13:08:00.003-04:00

Recently, South Africa has permeated my universe. Every day, it pops into my line of sight in some new way. A modeling agency with an office there. People. Random art found during research. Hits on this blog.

My blog has received hits from all over the world. I thinks it's really neat when I check out my traffic to find that someone in Brazil, Italy, Germany, and many other places have visited something I've written. This past week, when it began to show up everywhere for me, I had a hit from somewhere in South Africa. This particular day, I had three visits -- two from the United States and one from South Africa. All three visits were through a google search. All three searches were looking specifically for me. Someone in South Africa was looking for me? South Africa?

Like any internet-addicted girl would do, I typed in a facebook status. "South Africa has been popping up EVERYWHERE in my universe for the past week. I believe this calls for an existential investigation." One of my dear friends, living 500 miles away, amazingly wrote back that it had been for her as well. She sent me the following poem:

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Earnest Henley

Nelson Mandela read this poem over and over to himself while imprisoned in South Africa. My friend, B, wrote, along with sending this poem, that South Africa is an area that has seen decades of both the darkest oppression and the most profound strength. To B, South Africa's native people represent liberation; they have overcome. She wisely said that South Africa is most likely coming to my head because it represents where I need to be in life.

B and I have talked quite a bit over the last few days. It was interesting to find that for the past few months, we have both been staring at a very dark emotional place. Recently, we have both overcome the feelings of sinking into an abyss. On April 6, I woke up thinking "Life is as it should be." I involuntarily smiled to myself, feeling peace wash over me for the first time in months. My energy has returned. My determination has returned. Something new has come along with it: a sense of realizing what I deserve. I have not allowed myself to feel that I could have a better job, a good and lasting relationship, that my artistic talents are worthy to be seen. I've always felt sub-par, and I've settled for far less than I should in every category in life. I have been afraid, and I have allowed it to hold me back. I need to be brave. Bravery does not mean that I will no longer be afraid. It means that I will act against that fear if it is in my best interest. I need to liberate myself, and celebrate that freedom.

B is the single most amazing woman I have had the privilege to know. She is someone I feel honored to have as part of my life, and someone who humbles me every day. B had to put college on hold to fight a brain tumor. After recovering from surgery, she went back to college only to find out she had a second, worse tumor. She put off surgery to graduate college. She made it through. Through hand tremors, body tremors, some memory loss, a growing speech impediment, and finally needing to walk with the help of a cane, she fought through and graduated college. After her second surgery, she entered grad school toward the end of a painful recovery. B graduates from her grad program next month. Today, she announced that she has cancer. She did not fold, give up, wallow in self-pity or any of the myriad negative activities in which I would have engaged. She simply said it would be okay, and quoted "Invictus."

In our conversation about the symbolic importance of South Africa invading our thoughts, B said to me, "We all have some sort of mini-apartheid in our lives...someone launching a full out war against us...sometimes we are the ones launching the war against ourselves. It's time to put down our guns and enjoy the flowers."

In honor of the most amazing woman I know, I am honoring myself. I am being brave, and working through fear. I am taking chances. I am living. I am planting seeds so that I may enjoy the flowers that will blossom. When B recovers from her latest, we are meeting in South Africa to celebrate liberation once again.

Searching

2011-03-02T22:42:00.002-05:00

Pixilated fog
Grayed out
White being too pure
Black being too defined
To hold my falling state
Fitting no shape
Round pegs
Square holes
Hammers crumble in confusion
No thing and no one
Can see truth
The flame you follow
Thinking it a beacon
Is a spoon bent by my mind
In my hungered turmoil
Created for tomorrow
Reflected weakly in today

Snake Skin

2011-02-02T20:23:00.003-05:00

I am shedding a skin. I feel blinded and disconnected. I am uncomfortable in this shell that I know will fall away, and I am scared of what is underneath. I am tense. I am ready to strike if my fear is provoked. I am waiting.

For what, I'm not sure. I don't feel like myself, and I haven't in months. There are moments that I remember myself, and it feels like butterfly wings against my cheek. Then, the "something" takes over. I've been here before. I'm transitioning. Because I'm someone who learns from my past, I recognize that my map has blown away. Because I'm someone who learns from my past, I let the map go when the wind picked up because I acknowledged my blindness rather than fighting against it. Only now, I feel like I'm grabbing at flecks of dusk kicked up by the same wind. If I grab the right one, maybe it will bring me back to me. Maybe not.

I know I have to create a new map, but I feel like I'm leaving a bread crumb trail rather than landmarks which I can point and say "It happens here." I keep thinking if I do A, B, and C, I will emerge from the other side of this transition and I will be me again. Unfortunately, nothing happens the same way twice and it is hard to determine how far along I am in the process of shedding this skin. I continue to learn lessons, but I also seem to come back to the same ones over and over. I apply my lessons and receive various different outcomes. I'm still learning, but I continue to think over the same issues on repeat. The largest issue for me is "Who lies under this skin?" Occasionally I will step out to retrace my steps for crumbs I've missed, lessons I've misinterpreted. But for now, I wait for the wind to die down and my skin to fall away.

Stardust

2010-11-18T22:52:00.004-05:00

She stood before him,
Blinding in her beauty.
She held out her hand,
And he reached out in awe
That she would deign
To choose a mortal so unworthy.
They made love
Wrapped in a night like warm silk.
Lying beside him
After the last beautiful gasp,
Her fingertips traced his back.
Instead of the flesh
She'd so lovingly taken to her own,
There was left cold stone.
Beautifully sculpted marble,
Immune to her love.
Her punishment for his mistake
Of thinking her to be the goddess
Who created such nights.
Stardust fell from her eyes
As she faded away
And took to the sky
To forever bring light
To lovers otherwise lost.

A Message from Single Dad Laughing

2010-09-25T11:27:00.001-04:00

A friend of mine just posted this blog on facebook. It kind of goes along with what I was trying to say in my last post. Please read. I know I'll keep reading "Single Dad Laughing." Be real.

Strength

2010-09-13T12:45:00.003-04:00

I am in the process of creating a "365 Project" in photography. The project consists of a self-portrait each day for a year. My sister asked me to do it since she was interested in doing one herself. I agreed because I have a love of photography, but have never learned to use a camera. I thought this would be a fantastic way to learn some basics without bothering people to sit for me on a regular basis. I was right! I've been learning to use my camera (a very basic point and shoot), and learning to edit the photos. It has been so much fun.

I have taken some spur-of-the-moment candids. I've taken some set up shots that have been thought through and arranged ahead of time. I've experimented with lighting and shutter speed and posted those pictures. I recently posted a photo entitled "Broken Toy." It is a picture of me, sitting on the floor in the corner of my living room. I am crying. I received more commentary on that photo than any in the 35 days I've been working on the project. Some have expressed concern at the cause of my upset. Some have said the image is simply disturbing. Some have expressed that they are surprised to see this image from a strong woman.

I think I must have a different idea of strength than these people. Strength is not in becoming a stoic. Strength is not in hiding your emotions, pretending you don't hurt when you do. Strength is getting out of bed after crying yourself to sleep at 3am. Strength is when your heart feels like all the glue in the world will never hold it back together again, and still loving your children with all the little pieces -- never letting them feel that you aren't whole. Strength is in offering loving kindness to yourself knowing you will be whole again one day. Strength is in feeling stress, heartbreak, sadness, loneliness, craziness, anger, and any myriad of negative emotions, and still facing life.

Hair Cuts and Goodbyes

2010-08-30T00:14:00.003-04:00

I took pictures to my hairstylist. Four of them. Each was a different cut that I liked for different reasons.

Me: I like these. Do something.
Hairstylist: Which one is your favorite?
Me: Ummmm . . .
Hairstylist: So, you want bangs. And you want short.
Me: Yep.
Hairstylist: Ooookaaaaaay . . .

An hour later, I walked out of the salon with hair so short, I could spike it. I was immediately mistaken for a lesbian. I loved the cut. I felt like I'd lost ten pounds, and some memories. And really that's the reason I'd done it.

Somewhere around four years ago, I ended a relationship. As I'd done every time I'd broken up with a boy since college, I cut my hair. Cutting my hair felt like a true goodbye, closure, a rebellion. It was a big "Fuck you!" to the men in my life who would say "Don't ever cut your hair." All of them, at some point, had said that to me. And so, as soon as I had stopped crying, I would call the salon.

I would get the initial hair cut, and then not go back. By the time I had another break-up, my hair would be long again. Somewhere in the last four years, that pattern has slowed to a stop. Partially, it is because I've decided to take more pride in the way I look, and go for trims more often than once a year. Partially, it is because I've stopped caring so much about what other people think. I've learned to care a little more for me. I still give too much of myself in relationships, but I get stronger with each one. Maybe a little harder. But I haven't cut my hair for anyone other than me in so long, I can't remember the year. That feels good.

Hairstylist: So, what are we doing today?
Me: Just a trim.
Hairstylist: Still?
Me: Yep! Still growing.
Hairstylist: So, you seeing anybody?

Single Yogi Parent?

2010-08-23T20:22:00.003-04:00

Two years ago, I would have smiled and said "You have to make time." Tonight, I would like to punch that pretentious smirk into tomorrow.

I am a single mother of two children, aged seven and nine. Today has held an overwhelming feeling of defeat for me. My children are nearing the end of their summer vacation, and their boredom has become toxic. After a weekend of hearing complaints about every thing from each meal I've cooked to taking them to the playground, I am deflated. I feel beyond beat up. I feel empty.

I took a break from housework today to check my email, and to check Facebook. On my Facebook wall was a post from Yoga Journal. It was a link to a blog called "Enlightened Motherhood." The title of this particular entry was "Home Alone," and the blurb accompanying the post was "Though we of course bow to our own inner strength, it is equally important to let go of some burdens and be able to lean on a trusted someone. Who's yours?" I have an email subscription to Yoga Journal's "Daily Insight." They are often exactly what I need to hear at the right moment. When I saw the link to the blog, I thought the universe was sending me another message.

I was quickly disappointed. I read yet another article from an upper-middle class mother who has the luxury of staying home with her one child. Not only does she have the luxury of staying home with her child, she has the luxury of being able to hire a sitter to come over while she is at home so she can focus on housework and her yoga practice. Her article begins with a whine about how her husband has to travel for work every couple of months and how each time he leaves, she feels as though she has "entered a parallel universe. A universe where nobody comes home to 'rescue' me by making me dinner and giving me the time to take a shower after I've taken care of [her son] all day . . . a universe wherein if I put a pot in the sink to soak, I'll most certainly be scrubbing it myself, a world where I am responsible for early morning wake-ups AND late nights with [her son] -- not to mention the many hours in between." She goes on to say, "I used to try to manage on my own but that led to some serious exhaustion -- and resentment -- by days three, four, and five of [her husband's] trips." She acknowledges that she has no idea how single parents do this every day of our lives, and goes on to say that while sitting and feeling sorry for herself, she decided to count her blessing to make herself feel better.

Instead of inspiring me to count my own blessings, this post made me angry. I couldn't help but think the world is set up for mothers like her. She has the money to have a comfortable life and regular yoga practice. How dare she be resentful of her husband for those things? I am a single mother. I do this alone every day. I have for eight years now done this alone every single day. My yoga practice has severally suffered because of it. I wanted to shake this woman, rather than taking her advice and counting my blessings.

Two years ago, I worked from noon to 8pm, Tuesday through Saturday. I would wake my children at 6:30 am, and push them through their mornings to get to school. As soon as they were out of the door at 8:20 am, I took out my yoga mat. I practiced for 30 minutes to an hour, with a meditation at the end of each practice. I would then get ready for work and walk a mile to the bus stop. Taking the bus allowed me to read, and I would read things like "City Dharma" or "Peace is Every Step" -- reminders and guidance for my every day. Even though I still had total responsibility for my children, housework, cooking, errands, the list goes on . . . I still found time to keep healthy and stay in touch with my spiritual life.

Since then, my schedule has changed at work due to restructuring in response to the economy. I am now working ten hour days Tuesday through Friday. I now have to get my children up at 6:30 am and off to school, but I must immediately get ready for work. Some days, I am still able to catch the bus. Most days, I have to drive in order to be on time. I have no time for my practice on these mornings, I am too tired by the time I return at 8:30 or 9 in the evening and must immediately get the children into bed. Not only have I lost my practice and mediation time, I have lost my reading time.

The weekend provides no relief. Any mother who has ever tried to practice with her children around knows just what I mean. They do not care that I am holding a pose and need to breathe and that my practices are supposed to be a mediation in themselves. No, still I hear chants of "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mooooooooooom!?" I am not given the quiet to meditate. I have tried to encourage my children to practice and meditate with me. They quickly lose interest, and walk away only to come back a few minutes later. "Mom! Will you . . . "

As a yogi, I am told -- as I would have said myself two years ago -- that I must make time for my practice. I must. However, in order to do that, I would need to wake up at 5 or 5:30 am. I come home between 8:30 and 9pm. I then get to clean my house and do chores after putting the kids to bed. I need to unwind and prepare my mind to settle in for sleep. I do not get to bed until midnight, at the earliest. In order for me to have a regular practice at home, I would have to survive off 5 or fewer hours of sleep.

I often think it would help if I could go to classes on my days off. However, the world of yoga studios is also set against a single parent. I am a one-income home, not even receiving child support. I work in non-profit performing arts and do not receive a salary that makes going to a regular class affordable. I will admit, that if it were a matter of simply paying $15 for a class each week, I would make sacrifices elsewhere. Do I really need a chai tea three times a week at $4.05, plus tip? It wouldn't be a question. However, I would need to find a sitter for my kids, which then takes the $15 class to about $35 a week. Add to that the cost of gas and parking, and I am paying at least $40 for a class once a week. That is not possible on my salary.

Not one to take no for an answer or give up easily, I've looked for studios with child care or a class for children while the mothers can enjoy a practice. I've found Mommy-and-Me classes. These are not the peaceful practices I am hoping to find. Aside from that, the hours are always at a time only convenient to stay-at-home mothers, and my children are too old to take them. It bothers me that the subculture of yogis has left single parents in the dust like the rest of society. Despite the fact that there are many single parents who would love to benefit from yoga, there aren't any studios around who take that into consideration. Yogis preach acceptance of all, and are supposed to ensure peace through the path. I am searching, and finding nothing to help me in any real way. I receive pretentious smiles with "You have to find the time."

Find the time. Find the sitter. Find the money for it all. I was once told that I practice yoga in a way that is awe-inspiring. Now, I feel like my yoga practice that used to keep me so grounded is a luxury just like the other luxuries of the blogger from above. That is not a happy or peaceful feeling. I am certainly not centered.

Not one to take no for an answer or give up easily, tomorrow I will start my campaign to local studios asking for an affordable class for parents. Perhaps with a child watch for the duration so that for an hour we can be yogis. Just yogis.

Silence

2010-06-02T21:18:00.002-04:00

Drifting through a life
Built on want ads
Remembering things
Yet to come
As the ceiling crumbles
Revealing the sky
My voice flies away to meet the blue
With a broken wing
Guided by a compass
That only knows South
Leaving me with silence
As my only defense
Against the piling rubble
Do you remember the names
Of the hearts you've stolen?
They are buried here with me
Casualties of your private war
But I cannot stay to mourn
Not finding the key
To the door
I climb the debris
Chasing my voice
Adding another brick to the pile
With the thought of "I want . . ."

The Breaking

2010-05-30T20:22:00.002-04:00

Light is breaking
Breaking apart the shadows and secrets
So I pack my bags
With photographs never taken
Memories never made
Words never spoken
Happiness never known
Clothing that smelled like you for mere moments
With one last look
At the bed where you slept
But never shared
I turn my back
Bags heavy in my hands
And walk into the breaking

If today were my last

2010-05-26T21:38:00.002-04:00

Over the past month, I've had several vivid, strange dreams. Dreams that do not leave me; details will pop into my waking thoughts. A little more than a month past the first dream, I can still recount many of the full details. Most of the dreams are very different from one another. However, there is one recurrence in the bunch.

In this particular dream, I am attempting to see someone. I have to tell this person that I am dying, but I want to see them one more time. I don't want to say this over the phone, but the person will not see me and gets angry with me for not coming out and saying what I need to say. Finally, I cut in with a simple "I'm dying." Silence. There is a different ending every time I've had this dream. I've dreamt that I then explain into the continuing silence how my cancer was discovered too late. In another version, the person thought I was lying and continued to be angry with me. In other versions, the person then wants to see me and various outcomes have come from that scenario.

While thinking about this dream and what it means in my life right now, I also began thinking about what if I knew tomorrow would be my last day. What would I do? Who would I want around? Who would I tell? I thought of the people in my life. I thought of the people I would want to see before I left this world. There are many. I thought of the things I enjoy doing, and what would be at the top of the list. My real answer came without much thought at all.

I would very simply want to lay in the grass under warm sunshine holding hands with my two babies. I would want to calm my soul. I would want my energy to be as peaceful as possible when it left my body. I love my children before any other person on this planet, and I would want them there for that reason. But also because they have such loving, joyful and playful energy. I would need them to lend that energy to me during a time I know I would be sad to leave. Everyone else in my life would be bringing their own projections of sadness, guilt, regret, personal loss. I couldn't bear to have my dying energy influenced by those things. My children would simply bring joy and as a result, my energy would leave joyfully.

This dream made me remember that I do not want to live with regret. I need to live my life with the most integrity I can muster. I have to remember to do my best in each moment, and live in each moment. I do not want to bring projections of sadness, guilt, regret or personal loss to my moment. I want to bring a childlike joy to my life. It's funny how a sleeping dream could awaken me to a beautiful day.

Shanti
Shanti
Shanti

Deep in the Shadows

2010-05-19T20:35:00.002-04:00

The past month has been a sad one for me. I've been trying to get a grip on my life, wondering where I am and where I'm going. Trying to understand myself. Trying to understand other people. As usual, the universe surprised me with a revelation.

I was walking home from the bus stop a few days ago. I had my iPod going, my mind full of unhappiness and my heart very lonely. I noticed my shadow walking ahead of me. For some reason on this night, my shadow was so dark against the sidewalk that it looked separate from me. It looked like an entirely different being.

Looking at the black form walking just ahead of me, I felt a wave of absolute loneliness. It was an intense loneliness like nothing I'd been feeling five minutes before. This loneliness made me feel as separate and cut off from the universe as my shadow looked at that moment. I had a sudden feeling of my soul being trapped in my body, trying to connect with other souls. But my body was getting in the way, trapping me, and it always would in this life. I had an overwhelming sense of terror at the thought of being forever lonely, lost in my own head, and constantly searching for a way out.

This feeling was the exact opposite of everything I strive for in meditation and yoga. It was against my fundamental belief that we are all connected to the universe, to the divine, through our energy. Because of that connection, we will never be truly alone.

Just as suddenly as I felt this hell in my mind, I realized two things. The first was that the universe had just allowed me to understand someone else that had been on my mind that night. Walking home in the dark, the universe opened an energy to me that made me understand, soften my heart, and forgive. It made me wish to heal, but the universe also showed me why I would not be able to do so. The jail of our own creation is the hardest to unlock, and we all hold individual keys. I also realized I needed to use my own key to walk away from the unhappiness I'd been feeling of late. That night, I turned the lock, opened the door, and peeked out from the shadows. Baby steps are still steps.

The Celibacy Experiment

2010-05-15T22:00:00.004-04:00

Warning: This blog may contain too much information.

Sex is not hard to come by. As a fairly attractive woman, I am aware that I can walk out to the street, point at a passing male, call out "Hey you! Now!" and be having sex in my backseat five minutes later. (Disclaimer: I have not actually tried this. At least not with strangers.) However, I have not had sex in 39 weeks and 6 days as of the time I am writing this entry. This has been a conscious choice. I have 12 weeks and 5 days left of my vow of celibacy. Yes, a year of no sex.

Last August, I went through a break-up. It both broke my heart, and relieved me at the same time. I knew I hadn't entered into the relationship for the right reasons, but because we'd been friends for so long before trying anything romantic I wanted to try to make it work. After we broke up, I had no sex drive whatsoever. I had no interest in men whatsoever. I decided to take some time, not date, and think about my reasons for getting into the relationship in the first place. I've often said if one is getting the same results, even trying different things, one has to look for the common denominator. The common denominator was me. I didn't want a repeat, and I've slowly come to realize that no matter how different are the men I choose they are all damaged in the same way. It was time for some reflection.

For five months, I didn't date. I rebuffed offers of dating, casual sex, and everything in between. That's when someone I care for a great deal admitted he was avoiding me because he was so attracted to me, it got in the way of being friends. I offered to be his lover. He turned me down. This, again, set me thinking. I wanted to be in this man's life. I wanted him in mine. We were attracted to each other. So, what was the big deal? I can analyze him for hours, but I won't. I needed to figure out my role in it all.

I made two decisions. I usually made the first move, and this time I would not. The next man I would date would be brave enough to talk to me first, and perhaps then I would also find a man who wasn't afraid to be in my life. The second decision was to wait a year to have sex. This one had conditions. If I met a man with whom I was genuinely interested in pursuing a relationship, then I would allow myself to abort my experiment after a suitable waiting period. I wasn't really sure why I'd made this decision. I just knew I needed to figure out how sex factored into my life and my relationships. I kept hearing a good friend telling me that I should treat men like an AA program. He said I'm too wonderful to be alone, and the men I date don't appreciate what they have. He also said "But you choose 'em, babe." Yep, I sure do. Maybe he was right. I should take a full year without temptation. I'd made it five months. I could make it another seven.

I am now entering into the last quarter of my year. I was beginning to wonder if I had learned anything or if this had been a useless experiment. The last week has showed me that it has been worth it. My libido has picked up again. I look around and see men everywhere. It's almost like every one in two people are male! Who knew?? I know there are men who would gladly oblige. In the past, I would have picked up the phone. This time, I haven't. I realized that in the past, sex has been a bodily function for me. I sometimes had sex just because it was part of my health regimen. It had lost its meaning to me, and I'd become frustrated with men who would begin to have feelings for me simply because we'd slept together. While I do still feel that sex is a healthy life function, I want it to have meaning as well. I want to share that energy rather than being selfish about it.

I also realized that I have tended to jump into sex too quickly within a relationship. I always took the attitude that I enjoy having sex and we're both adults, so let's not play games and pretend we don't both want it. I'm now rethinking that attitude as well. It comes back to my mindset of sex just being a function for me. I realize that maybe, just maybe, I should get to know someone better. When it wasn't an intimate experience for me, knowing his favorite author didn't matter to me. Now, I want to have a friend who will make love to me. Soon, I will be able to say "I've gone a year without. I can wait." I've taught myself to have willpower and found a lost significance.

And now I wait . . .

Control

2010-05-12T13:20:00.004-04:00

When my sister and I were young, we made fighting part of our daily routine. Wake up. Fight. Eat breakfast. Fight. Brush teeth. Fight. Get dressed. Fight. Fight while walking to the bus stop. Fight while waiting for the bus. Get on the bus. Go to seperate schools. Come home. Fight. Do homework. Fight. Dinner. Fight. Brush teeth fight. Go to bed. Fight. Fall asleep. Wake up. Repeat. I'm surprised my mother had two more children after us.

When my mother would try to intervene, we would point fingers and blame the other for wrong-doing. My mother would always say "The only person you can control is you. So, worry about yourself." Still, we would argue our own sides, trying to convince her that we were right. Why couldn't she lock my sister in a closet where she clearly belonged?? So that I would learn a lesson.

It must have worked. In the midst of my midlife crisis, looking around and realizing that I needed to make changes, I heard my mother. In the sadness of the past few weeks, I've heard my mother's voice once again. "The only person you can control is you." I've learned the lesson and lost it many times over. But every day is a chance to start again. Today, I am remembering this lesson in regard to words. I do not need to argue. I do not need the last word. I do not need anger. I do not need hurt feelings. I do not need to explain or defend myself. I am controlling my voice, and remembering that surrender is indeed sweet. Funny how much smarter my mother gets every day.

The map leads where? (Part 2)

2010-05-10T23:56:00.002-04:00

On the plane home, I was seething with rage. I found an outlet in the unconstitutional jobs held by assholes all over the airport. One migraine, a nap, a connection, and fourteen hand-written journal pages later, I was completely spent. I felt there was nothing left in me. I went home to sleep and snuggle with my children, and returned to work the next day, mellowed.

I had not stopped thinking about how I needed to cut my love loose. I did not base this on a tarot reading, but I did believe it was possibly the universe reaffirming what I'd known in the car driving through the desert. I love a man who has been so hurt that he is closed off to healthy love, who pushes me away, who continued to operate in patterns from which he, at one time, admitted he needed to break free. It brought me physical pain to observe, and the more energy I sent to him, the more hurt I took on. I saw how my pattern of self-study had been interrupted in the first place. I had stopped observing myself because I was observing him. I knew that trying to force him to see his patterns or to force myself onto him would be unfair to both of us, and would only invite more pain into both of our lives. The only fair thing would be to walk away, and hope our maps would lead to the same treasure one day. Even that hope, I am trying to shine more light on. It is holding me back from flying, and it is making me squirm.

The day after I returned, I received a call from a man whom I'd loved in a past life, when I was younger and still bleeding from my marriage. I am grateful for him for many things, but I had left behind any love for him several years ago. There were so many things wrong with our relationship, and I spent most of it in a pain that he refused to see. On the other end of the phone, I heard him announce that he was still in love with me after all this time, and asked me to travel halfway around the world to marry him. I refused him. All I could see was my love's face, and how I would loose him forever to an endless empty ache. I would give up the life I'm in the middle of building, and for what? After a few days of phone calls, text messages, and emails, I knew I would need to cut the tie with the man on the other side of the world. Painfully, I removed him from any form of communication. My thoughts turned back toward my love.

I wrote him an email asking to meet with him in person. I was not at all sure how to explain why I needed to see him, but I knew I needed to speak to him face to face. I needed to create true closure. I needed him to hear my voice, and see my eyes, and know I meant every word I said. Then, I knew I would be able to walk away and allow my heart to heal. Unfortunately, he would not allow it. He threw projections on to me, claiming I was trying to manipulate him. I can't say that I kept my calm. I squirmed in the darkness of my pain and I cried out like a wounded animal. He wouldn't see me.

I resolved myself to creating closure in my own heart. Eight hours and many tears later, I had an email that said what I needed to say. I sent it off into the ether, having faith that he would read it and not allowing myself to believe otherwise. I witness when I feel his energy, trying to shine light. Trying to not feel him, to not know what I can't know but do anyway. In tears, I removed him from communication. I cried myself to sleep that night.

The next morning, I felt better. I felt calm. I knew I'd done the right thing, and I tried not to think thoughts of "If it's meant to be, he'll come back to me." Then, the third man beat me before the bruises had healed from my love. The third man was also a past lover. I have honestly missed having him in my life, but also honestly haven't tried to understand why. He wasn't right for me, and he left me hurt and angry much of the time. He told me recently that he was still in love with me, but the woman he married fits his life better. He has had a hard time maintaining a friendship with me since taking his vows, and that evening it manifested in some of the most horrible words he has ever used toward me. I begged him to stop. He wouldn't. Continuing to send me text message after text message railing about what an awful person I am, I was in tears once again. Unable to sleep, I removed the third person in a week from all communication.

Sobbing and depressed by all the loss in my life within a week, feeling beat up and tired, I sat in my darkness. I let it wrap around me like a blanket and I cried every tear I could summon from my body. What did all of this mean? Three in one week seemed like an excessive sign from the universe, but it was most definitely a sign. When I was done crying, I laid limply on the bed and fell asleep for a few short hours. The next day, I allowed my sadness to walk with me through my day, but I did not allow it to take over as I had the night before.

That was two days ago. Today, the kids left for school. I left for the park. I sat in the grass in the sunlight, feeling the chilly air and the breeze touching my face. Twelve hand-written journal pages later, I got it. The universe has been telling me for several years to let go of my baggage, but I've clung to it for life. In my third decade, it has decided to rend it from my white-knuckled fists. The men whom I'd just been forced to cut from my life had all held me back in some way, and I needed to let go of them in order to move forward. I still need to let go of my love. I sit with him in the darkness, and I can already feel myself growing still around his presence. We are perfect as we are. Breathe. I know the universe is telling me to get up, to follow the map as it is slowly drawn for me. Now that I've purged my heart of the pain I've held on to for years, I have plenty of room for the new happiness that is on its way. Whatever that may be.

The map leads where? (Part 1)

2010-05-10T17:27:00.003-04:00

My twenties had been hard and sad and lonely. In the late half, I discovered a beautiful thing: Myself. I'd been living with this person for 27 years, but I didn't really know her. I knew the hopes, expectations, and conditioning projected on to her by everyone around her and I'd taken those to actually be me. Pealing back the layers of paint and dirt, I have slowly revealed myself. Over the last three years, I slowly discovered many things about myself. It hasn't always been easy. It certainly hasn't been painless. In fact, getting to know myself has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I saw the most beautiful light and the ugliest dark contained in one body. I set about nurturing the light in order dispel the darkness. I had to learn to sit quietly in the dark, to witness it, to allow it to be part of myself without judgment. Slowly, I found that I didn't squirm so much at the sight. She is part of me, perfect as is. Breathe.

As 30 approached, I became excited. I knew that my third decade would offer something completely different from the last one. I knew it would be magic. It hasn't let me down.

To usher in age thirty, I took a trip out to Sedona, Arizona. I wanted to hike. I wanted to feel the energy there and reconnect to myself. I'd been slipping in my self-study, and I knew it. I'd been squirming at the sight of darkness. I needed to get away from the normal routine, unplug, and search my soul. It worked. At times, out on the trail, I lost myself in thought. The walking and climbing became a moving meditation. I rejoiced in that feeling. It was as though witnessing all of these thoughts wrung out my stress and unhappiness.

One day, my travel companion was ill and needed to rest after our morning hike. I left him at the hotel and took the car a few miles through the desert to do some shopping. I walked around, picked up gifts for my kids, and got back in the car. We'd rented a convertible. I put the top down, and headed back toward the desert. Wind through my hair, treating the curves in the road like a lover, I lost myself for a moment. For just a moment, I was back in college driving with the windows down, not knowing where I was headed, and feeling like I could fly if only I could go fast enough. With that feeling came the sudden realization that I had to let go.

Yes, I wanted to fly. But I found I wanted to fly to a particular person. I realized that this person had been crowding my thoughts. On the edge of a cliff, I wondered if he felt me on the wind. Seeing a beautiful lone flower, would he marvel at it's strength to grow alone among the rocks the same way I did? Would he feel the energy flow through his heart the same way I did, standing on top of Cathedral Rock? Would he see the pictures of me and wish he'd been there with me? Witnessing these thoughts, driving with the wind through my hair, I allowed myself to feel the loss of something I never had. I leaned into one last curve, not wanting it to end. Not wanting to get out of the car. Knowing when I did stop, I would have to let a love go in the same moment I discovered it. Instead, I turned into the hotel parking lot, and continued with my trip. I hiked my feet raw, punishing myself, unsuccessfully trying to hold in my anger at the universe.

On our last day, we had several hours to kill before we had to head to the airport. I decided that I should get my tarot read. After all, Sedona, is the New Age Capitol of the Universe. I followed a woman wearing a crescent moon crown upstairs to a tiny room with a plush chair and a card table covered with a cloth bearing Wiccan symbols. I was amused by the whole thing, and decided that I would not volunteer any information. She asked what questions I had for the cards. And she stared at me with kind eyes as she shuffled them around the table.

"Will my business venture succeed?"

She moved through the cards to tell me that it would not happen this year. She informed me that I needed to unblock myself, that I was giving too much energy to something other than my business and that I had to find a way to move past that before I would make my business succeed. She asked if I had an idea of what that might be. I laughed and asked if it might be a man. She shuffled the cards again, flipped five cards and looked sad.

"I see that you have a past life connection with someone in your life. You need to cut that tie."

She seemed to want to say more, but didn't. She reshuffled the cards and wanted to move on to the next question, so I let her. I asked a few more questions about different paths I've been considering. She began to tell me things about myself and my life that she couldn't know from anything I'd said. The conversation turned again to whether I would find a good partnership. She assured me that I would meet someone that will offer me a fulfilling loving partnership, and I will be happy. But he won't be my one. She explained that the past life connection she'd seen was my twin flame, my soul mate, but we are not meant to be in this life. She said he has too much to learn in this life for us to be together this time around, and reiterated that I needed to cut the tie.

I walked out of there chewing over everything she'd said. I believe that our energy is recycled, if you will. I believe we have soul mates, but I also believe we have more than one in a lifetime and that they are rarely our lovers. I believe I am in love and need to cut the tie. I believe the universe sends us signs, even in ridiculous ways. I entered laughing, and left with a sign that weighed heavy on my heart. I wanted to be back in the car. Soon we were. And soon I was on a plane heading home.

Fundamentals

2010-04-05T20:10:00.003-04:00

For many months, my yoga practice suffered. There were as many reasons as days I did not unroll my mat, but no real excuses. I realized that as much as I have cherished my home practice, I also need the group energy of a class. The healing, positive nature of a group energy is hard to explain. It must be felt. Those who have felt it, smile a knowing smile and nod a knowing nod when I've talked about feeling the need to get back into classes. Unfortunately, classes just aren't in the budget right now. I was bemoaning this fact to a dear friend right before Christmas. I was feeling lost and unhappy, wondering why the universe seemed to have left me stranded on a back road with no map. My friend decided to ruin my Christmas surprise by telling me a twelve-class pass to a local yoga studio was on its way to me.

I couldn't wait to get back to class. As soon as I got the pass, I made plans to go to a class on my day off. I went to a heated vinyasa flow class. I sweated. I was adjusted. I worked hard. I was jelly by the end of the 90 minutes. I was in heaven, and couldn't wait for my next class. Still, my energy did not miraculously return to a happy place. I was still too stressed, and getting on my mat was a chore rather than nourishment. I was unhappy.

A few days later, I hurt my foot. I spent a couple of hours in the emergency room to learn it wasn't broken. I was thankful for that. I was sent home on crutches and told to stay off my foot for at least three days. Oh, and no doing yoga for at least ten days. I was told I would "know when" I could get back to normal activity. On day four, I gingerly put weight on my foot and walked with a noticeable limp. I decided I should drive to work rather than walking the mile to the bus stop.

A week later, I realized I could walk without a limp if I moved very slowly. Still in pain, I was still driving to work, and still my stress levels were too high. My reaction to those levels was still poor, but I was trying to have a good attitude. I kept thinking to myself that my experience with my foot injury was a lesson in mindfulness. It didn't help much, but it did help. My foot seemed to want to take its own sweet time healing, and it was only a bruise. Periodically, I would test my foot to see if I could get back on my yoga mat. No luck. Until yesterday.

Yesterday, for the first time in month, I did not feel pain when flowing through a sun salutation. I decided to venture into a class. I looked at the schedule for Mondays, and decided to attend the first class of the day. It was a fundamentals class, listed for beginners who have never practiced yoga before. I was both sure that I needed to attend this class so I would not re-injure my foot and sure that I would be disappointed by the class for being too beneath my level. I told myself I would go and make the most of the class by modifying some of the postures and just trying to enjoy the energy in the room.

I learned a lesson yesterday. Fundamentals are not just for beginners.

The teacher began with a reading about purity. She spoke to us about the purity of honoring ourselves, of honoring our bodies. All that we need to do to be pure is to practice yoga. When we practice yoga, she explained, we don't need to worry about quitting smoking or what watching what we eat or stressing over whether or not the house is clean. When we practice yoga and let yoga in our lives, we naturally want to take care of our bodies. We will nurture and honor ourselves, and in that way become pure.

Thank you, universe. I needed to hear this.

The teacher moved on to breath work. This is something I rarely get to practice. Even though the postures are important, the breathing is the most important part of yoga. It helps your movements become a meditation. Each breath is connected to each movement, and a flow is created for both the mind and body. Every yoga instructor I've had has reminded their classes to breathe, but most never tell us how. This teacher focused on only the breath for several minutes until my lungs felt clean and my head felt clear. I found myself smiling for no reason. She moved into the asana practice from there, reminding us periodically to bring "joyful awareness" to our movements. In order to honor our bodies, we needed to be aware of our limits and not push ourselves to far or be competitive even in our own minds.

Finally, she asked us to take whatever pose we would like to end our practice and said when and if we felt ready, we could go into savasana. I did a shoulder stand, feeling the blood flow backwards through my body and noticing my toes. After several full breaths, I lowered myself into corpse pose. The teacher came over to me and gently massaged my neck and head, whispering to me "Just let it go." Tears welled up in my eyes while she continued to gently pull stress from my still-tight neck.

I laid there for several minutes after she moved away from me. I was accepting of my tears. I felt a release in my heart center that I have not felt in a very long time. It was surrender. With that feeling of release, came a rush of positive energy. I could feel the prana of the practice flowing through my body, welling in my chest, shooting from my palms and feet, and flowing through me and everyone else in the room. I felt connection to the universe. I thought I'd lost it, and suddenly there it was.

Today, I woke up early and smiling. I did not do yoga. I cleaned my kitchen. I helped my children with unfinished homework. I guided them in getting ready for school. Once they left, I got ready for work. Leaving the house, I turned toward the street and walked the mile to the bus stop. I found myself smiling for no reason. I carried that feeling with me all day. At times, I felt the same overwhelming connection - a flowing positive energy - that I'd felt while laying in savasana the day before. Somehow, I'd rediscovered joy through a fundamentals class.

Thank you, universe. I needed to feel this.

I learned a very powerful lesson. Sometimes, we need to go backwards to move forward and rediscover our joy. Sometimes, going back to the beginning is the best thing for us. Start new, honor our truth, and become pure.

Ephemeral (edit)

2010-03-31T00:25:00.002-04:00

I can't leave this alone tonight, and I probably should. This piece will forever be linked in my mind with Beck's "Broken Drum" (the remix by Boards of Canada). So, after some commentary and discussion with a very talented writer friend of mine, I've done the following with this piece:

Tonight, I am haunted by dreams. The memory of your eyes, in the sunlight through snow. Color shifting iris. Who's to know what's real? The memory of your hand grazing my waist. I'm wearing a dress you've never seen. But you'd love it on your bird. Nothing is sure, but the joy is constant. The joy as great as the fear as great as the anger as great as the questions as great as the love. Do I know you? In songs we shared like secrets on pillows. Trying to find peace. But disinfecting a wound hurts. And running makes us strong. I dance to wring you from my mind. My soul. From every place you've touched. It doesn't work. Produces only fire that won't be put out by my tears. Your dream shade won't leave, weaving and twisted. Wrapping around me. We touch without touching. Do I feel you? Or just want to feel you? The light shines through your color shifting iris. Do I know you? Dance.

Ephemeral

2010-03-30T21:27:00.004-04:00

This post is going to be a little different. It may help if you listen to this song while reading: http://lala.com/z7vo. I know it made me feel like I needed to write this, in this way.

Tonight, I am haunted by dreams. The memory of your eyes, in the sunlight through snow. Color shifting iris. Who's to know what's real? The memory of your hand grazing my waist. I'm wearing a dress you've never seen. But you'd love it on your bird. Nothing is sure, but the joy is constant. The joy as great as the fear as great as the anger as great as the questions as great as the love. Do I know you? In songs we shared like secrets on pillows. Trying to find peace. But disinfecting a wound hurts. And running makes us strong. I dance to wring you from my mind. It doesn't work. Produces only tears and longing. Your dream shade won't leave, weaving and twisted. Wrapping around me. We touch without touching. I can feel you.

This End Up: Or what label?

2010-02-24T16:35:00.002-05:00

When my son was twenty-two months old and I was eight months pregnant with my daughter, my son caught his very first stomach flu. Never have I seen anyone with a stomach bug that bad or that lasted as long. I spent ten days holding his little head over the toilet, rubbing his back, giving him hugs, keeping wash clothes warm and wet, making sure he had sippy cups full of Pedialyte and a constant supply of crackers. Then, I got it.

I don't remember a thing about being sick. I'm sure it was awful. What I do remember is my son. I remember sitting on the bathroom floor after being sick, and my son opening the door. He toddled toward me with a sippy cup in one hand and a half-chewed cracker in the other. He held both out to me and and said "Sip, Mommy." I took the cup, but did not drink. He proceeded to rub my back with his tiny hands and say "Shhhh, Mommy. It's okay. Sip." That is what I remember.

Seven years later, he is at my feet as I type. He is doing his doing his homework. He is failing school, but I won't let him give up. He becomes frustrated with me, and tells me "My brains are turning into failing brains." I tell him he has very smart brains. He does. But there is clearly something different about my son. He cannot focus in school. He is easily stressed out. He cannot communicate like a normal child. His social skills are regressing.

For the second time in his life, potential labels are being thrown in his direction. Autism and Asperger's are at the top of the list. The school administration, doctors, and psychologists are in the process of poking and prodding to figure out exactly what is "wrong" with my son. They practically whisper these labels to me as though they are telling me my son has a terminal illness.

What they don't seem to understand is that I don't care how they label my son. Whatever label they stick on his file will not affect who he is as a human being. He will be the same child. He will still be my beautiful little boy so full of love that he would bring his sick Mommy his cracker and juice to share. No label will ever change that.

initiation

2010-02-08T19:43:00.002-05:00

treading water
as black and thick as oil
watching a faceless wall of hands
moving in all directions
to push
to pull
to drown
to save
I bear my teeth
smiling a jackal smile
releasing
into the abyss
more shallow than the eye can see
and fill my lungs on my own
buoyed up
by the stones tied to my ankles
I emerge
fearless

This is for you

2010-01-09T10:54:00.000-05:00

Om Shanti

Standing on the Edge

2010-01-01T21:14:00.003-05:00

I am sitting at my desk. My hair is disheveled. I have a pen hanging from my mouth. Books, papers, notebooks, websites all pointing to the research I've been doing to open my performance space. And I want nothing more than to have a cigarette and to get in my car and drive with the windows down. I take the pen from my mouth as though it were one of the cigarettes I used to smoke and I sit back, deeply inhaling the beautifully clean air around me. And I smile. Yes. This is what it was like.

This is what it felt like the year before I got married. It was a magical time in my life. I discovered a lot about myself. I had an amazing set of friends. It was an insanely creative and productive period for me. The world was open to me, and I knew great things were coming. After several years of detours, great things are finally coming. It is as though history is repeating itself to show me a better outcome. The vibe returning from ten years ago is so intense, I can almost taste the smoke.

Ten years ago, I would have gone outside to smoke. I would have run my fingers through my hair and felt like screaming while sitting on my apartment patio. I would have felt some unnamed, pent up intensity and I would have felt like I would burst. So, I would get in my car, and drive. I never knew where I was going, but I would drive. I would drive fast, and take corners like I was in a race car. I would drive to music that was too loud, but I could imagine my driving to be a ballet. Sometimes a scream would escape, and allow a sense of relief for a moment. I would smoke some more, and eventually head back home to write while soaking in a bubble bath with a glass of whiskey.

Tonight, I sit at my desk. I feel the unnamed intensity. I run my fingers through my hair. I will not smoke. I do want to drive. But now I don't want to drive to run away from feeling like a mad woman. I want to drive because I feel like I can fly. The faster I go before leaving the ground will only give me that much more momentum in the air. I look at my books, my piles of paper, the research. I don't need to scream. I don't need to purge. I know now I just need to finish building my wings, and then . . .

This Christmas . . .

2009-12-25T00:12:00.002-05:00

I may not be a Christian, but I still believe in miracles. I believe in the beauty and love of this time of year. I believe in the beauty and love inside of you. I believe you are a miracle. And I wish a miracle for you.

In Love with Potential

2009-12-20T22:31:00.005-05:00

To be honest, I don't really want to date a man who would choose me while I'm lost and low. I'll get better, but I want a man with the confidence to take me when I'm strong.

I was emailing back and forth with a friend. The topic: Why I haven't been dating in the last four months.

From a guy's perspective, we would never consider the fact you wouldn't want to date someone when you're down (and all the ramifications associated). But to be completely honest (from a guy's perspective), I would think finding someone that would not only tolerate a "low" but also help out would be worth the effort, no?

No.

No. And no. While a knight in shining armor may be the epitome of romance, it never works out that way. In my experience, beginning a relationship while I was lost or going through a hard time in life has always been a bad idea. Yes, a man who would choose me while I was in a low point may help me to get to a better place. However, I have found that the stronger I become, the more insecure they become. The best relationships come when two people can grow together, and if one person is growing while the other remains static it becomes hard on both sides. My changes were always in a positive direction, but change, being what it is, always left me a different person. When the person I was with wasn't ready to grow with me, or even accept my differences, we parted ways. The person we choose is an indicator of what we think and feel about ourselves. If I date someone who has chosen me when I am not emotionally healthy, what does that say about them?

A man who is unafraid to be with me when I'm at my strongest will be unafraid to help me weather a low.

The conversation ended there, but I continued thinking. My thoughts had traveled to someone I'd thought had the potential to be unafraid and strong enough for me. The universe seemed to bend itself backwards to bring us together. Odd timings, coincidences, premonitions. As soon as I met this man, I just knew things about him. He felt comfortable to me. I knew what he was thinking and feeling. He admitted to the same with me. On the other hand, the universe has always thrown a wrench into the mix. I was in a bad place when we met, and had only just begun to take the steps I needed to fix my life. So, after a couple of nights out with him, the universe sent another woman. I suddenly stopped hearing from him. This kind of thing happens. In the past, I've just walked away and shortly after found someone new. Not this time.

This time, I focused on me. I got my energy to a wonderful point, and was truly happy for months. Still, I had thoughts of this man. I just knew he wasn't really gone from my life. I knew he'd be back around. I was right. More odd coincidences and we began to see each other. Neither of us were sure we were ready for a relationship, and we decided to take things day to day. If something came of it, great. If not, we'd deal with that. I enjoyed him. Being around him made me feel calm in a way I've never felt. He was an intense presence, and an equally intense absence. I could see in his eyes that he was beginning to have feelings for me, and I knew he would run away. I was right.

He and I had a conversation in which he projected a lot of feelings onto me. He said he thought I wanted a relationship now, and he couldn't handle one. He admitted that we could have a very strong connection and something wonderful together, but that he just couldn't handle it. I told him that I didn't want to be his girlfriend. He was working through changes in his own life, going through his own low point. I told him that when he got his head on straight, that I would have considered a relationship with that person but that I didn't want to be the girlfriend who had to deal with his current "bullshit" everyday. I meant every word. Still, I was devastated. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I did nothing but write for hours on end all through the night. I would say my heart was broken, but I knew I wasn't in love with him. Yes, I cared for him, but I wasn't in love. So what made me feel all the effects of a broken heart? I couldn't figure it out.

But here I was, almost a year later, having a conversation that made everything fall into place. I had been in love with his potential. I saw the man he could be, and that man made me fall to me knees. The potential this man holds still makes me weak. This man could be the most amazing person I have ever met, and I would choose this, as of yet, imaginary man. A year ago, I had been willing to wait for him to realize this potential. That's because I was waiting to realize my own.

I am still working on my energy, on my spiritual life, keeping a positive outlook. Those things will be an on-going process until my last breath. In the outside world, I am moving on school. Applications are due in February, and I am already gathering my recommendations and transcripts and making appointments with admissions. Plans for my performance space are moving forward, and gathering support in the community. I am trying to name my company so I can move forward with applying for nonprofit status. I'm going to look at a building in January. I am moving toward realizing my own potential. He started making steps to improve his life, and I was overjoyed. I was proud of him. Lately, I've been feeling something off in his world. He can't seem to break free of old patterns, and it does nothing but hold him in a static position in life. I realize now the mirror this man had been holding up to me, and I thank the universe for him in my life.

This is for you

2009-12-14T01:25:00.000-05:00

Love

I Am a Child of the Universe

2009-12-11T19:55:00.005-05:00

Today, the Universe acted like a lovingly stern parent. It spoke in an austere voice, but hugged me too.

I had another follow-up with my dermatologist. I've been very upset that what my PCP has been pointing out as a fungal infection was not clearing up. No matter what I did, it looked the same. Gross, huh? Yeah. Try being me. At my follow-up today, I asked the dermatologist about it. She said that it isn't any kind of infection. It's completely normal skin. The bad news is that I seem to have developed a sensitivity to elastic. I've been looking for an excuse to buy new underwear. Sounds like I have a pretty good excuse now.

Leaving the doctor's office, I was feeling better than I have in a week. It's amazing how finding out that one doesn't have an incurable fungus can lighten one's mood and make one's stomach calm down. So, I decided to take some time for me before heading back to the kids. I drove toward my favorite place to write - The Coffee Exchange. Parking is always bad on Wickenden Street, so I always head straight to the back and park on one of the back streets. A car was coming toward me, and deciding to cut it rather close to my car. I was paying so much attention to this other car, that I wasn't paying enough attention to how close I was to the line of parked cars. You see where this is going, right? Yes, I side-swiped a parked van.

Just last week, I'd been thinking about how it has been three years since I've so much as been in a fender bender. I was thinking how proud of myself I was. I used to almost expect these things to happen. What I came to realize is that my mind was too often divided among too many troubles and stresses to fully pay attention to my driving. Even when the little accidents were not my fault, I was a magnet for negative workings. I'd been thinking to myself that even if I have lost my center, I have at least not gotten so lost as to fall back to that negative space.

Today, I had an accident. I cursed the driver who had not left me enough room on the road to navigate. Then, I realized that instead of wasting energy and anger on a driver who was probably paying too much attention to the parked cars on his side and not enough to me, I should get out and survey the damage. I had a scratch down my passenger side, but that just added to what was already there from someone side-swiping me while I was parked downtown. No big deal. The van had no damage. I stood there for a moment. I thanked the Universe for the lesson and decided that this would not ruin my day. I walked to the Coffee Exchange to enjoy my chai, my journal, my dharma talk, and a pretty face before returning to my children who were very happy to have me home.

Soapy Shadows

2009-12-10T20:55:00.003-05:00

I lost my center somewhere. I've looked everywhere. In my closet. Under the bed. In men's arms. In music. In silence. Driving my car. In the woods. On my yoga mat. In the dark. I feel like Peter Pan looking for his shadow. I find my center for a moment and try to stick on with soap. Alas, it only makes the damn thing more slippery and I lose it again.

In the moments I have my center, I feel a beautiful peace. I feel a connection with the Universe that escapes me other days. It is this connection I most miss, and I'm fighting to get it back. But then, the point is not to have to fight, just to slip into like a silk robe on a hot day. A moment of cool slow motion awareness, body singing. Then gone and the heat is back. It has been a long time since I've felt that awareness, a connection to everything around me. Perhaps part of my problem is thinking too much on what is gone.

One of the hardest lessons I am still learning is that of impermanence. During hard times, it is easy to say "This too shall pass." I can think of change as a positive entity. Things will change for the better because the energy of the Universe ebbs and flows, and I keep in mind that I am simply in an ebb. The energy will flow soon. The harder part is to not look back at the good times, and wonder why they had to change. Or even worse, to try to go back to those times. There are things I used to do to keep up a positive outlook. I went to yoga class and reveled in the group energy. I went to the gym and worked up a sweat and endorphins and felt good about my health. I called my girlfriends who came over with ice cream and movies and all night chat. I got outside. I meditated in the mornings. Summer was an important recentering time in my life, and the heat sustained me at least through February. This year, I'm learning the impermanence of all of these things in my life too.

Summer was much cooler than usual, and did not inspire my body to respond in the usual way. My work schedule has changed, and not left room for much in the way of meditation in the morning, morning rambles, or random drives. My most important ladies have moved away, and I am sorely feeling the lack. Salary cuts have cost me the means of going to yoga or the gym. I've tried to make the best of these things. I've looked at each change as an opportunity. I began to build my home practice and meditate on my own at 6am each day. For awhile, it worked and I was very happy and connected and centered. Slowly, that melted away . . .

The stresses of life have somehow begun to outweigh the positive energy. As a friend put it, I'm in a place where my energy is being sucked out at a faster rate than I can build it up. My son is failing school because he is bored, and doesn't care to do the work. My daughter is trying to get attention by playing stupid and landing herself in remedial reading. I hate my job, more so with each pathetic paycheck. I'm scared to death of the application process looming in a month, and how on earth I'm going to manage to finish school and pay the rent at the same time. I can't seem to let go of a person in my life who needs to be let go. I'm putting too much into caring for those who don't care back and not enough time into me. My health has not been wonderful. And I miss my group yoga. I am in love with too much potential and not enough reality. No one thing is a big deal. All together, they send me into tears.

Lately, I've been thinking back to a last year, when I was in a good place mentally and spiritually. I was trying to remember what I did that made me feel so light and so carefree in the middle of so much stress. How did I float on the faith that everything would work itself out? I made time for me. I wrote in my journal every day. I drank herbal tea with tinctures put together by an herbalist after talking with her about myself. I baked and cooked and made things from scratch. I went to yoga class every Monday. I took the time to wander alone and wander with friends. I made sure I had some time to myself each week. I read books on yoga, Buddhism, Hinduism. I actively gave my problems to the Universe with complete faith that those issues would be made right, even if it isn't how I expected. During that time, I felt cool silk every day.

Now, I go back to these things. And they help. Little by little, things will right themselves. I still have faith that the Universe will untie the knots in my life. I have gone back to journaling. I have gone back to having Mondays off so that I can wander and wonder and write and sit alone in a crowded space and meditate. I'm trying to get back into my daily yoga routine. I'm still trying to meditate at home. All of these things are just a little off right now.

I decided to pick up a written dharma talk entitled "the taste of freedom" by Sangharakshita. In it, he talks about three fetters of which we must break ourselves in order to truly walk the path. One of these fetters is that of habit. I realized in reading that all of my steps to reconnect to the Universe have become habit. I am not really connected to my connection. I need to embrace impermanence, and truly find the lesson in it. If I do not find the joy in my home yoga practice, what is the point? If I am simply writing down everything that happened to me that day and not letting my creativity flow through me or using the free-write to delve into my soul, what is the point of the journal? I've created habits, and lost the meaning of them.

Peter Pan not only found his shadow, he found Wendy to help sew it back on. I'm not sure what that means for my life, but I do trust that the Universe will provide the answer. In the meantime, I have my soapy moments.

Untitled

2009-11-24T22:21:00.002-05:00

i sleep in you
recklessly waking
to your image
in tea leaves
signs, omens, and old wives' tales
bind me
returning me to dreams

Monkey Bars on a Cloudy Night

2009-10-17T12:42:00.003-04:00

Last night, I was on my way home from work, and noticed that the Lippitt Park playground is reasonably well lit after dark. I've driven past this playground many times. It's my family's favorite playground to visit. We often attend the farmer's market there. But I saw it for the first time last night. It was one of those odd moments of something familiar becoming new for just a moment. I continued home. I put my children to bed, and left again to meet some friends for a night out after the stress of the past couple of weeks.

After a fun night out, I purposely headed home in the direction that would once again take me past Lippitt Park. Once again, it was well lighted. This time, I pulled over. I took a walk around, feeling the happiness of childhood there, and decided to climb to the top of the monkey bars. There I sat. I only spent a few minutes on that dome. It was cold, and the breeze simultaneously cut through me and caressed me. The silence was both lonely and beautiful. I suddenly felt happy and free, a feeling I'd needed for weeks. I climbed down, and went home feeling as light as a laugh on the breeze.

I learned two things last night. Sometimes we need to let go of the seriousness of life and embrace our childhood, even if we are well beyond those years. The other thing is, if one decides to sit on top of monkey bars in New England in October at 2am, one should be wearing socks . . .

Who Does This Song?

2009-10-01T22:31:00.002-04:00

That song played today.
I forgot that I'd even added it to my iPod.
But I stepped off the curb,
and that song came on
while I was crossing the street.
The song you played for me
on my birthday,
at any celebration --
really anytime I'd wink
and say "Hey! Who does that song I like? You know the one."
And you'd roll your eyes and laugh
and play it again.
For me.
I heard it tonight
and almost stopped in the middle of the street
because I could almost see you.
I was pouring a beer the first time you played that song.
You were standing
on stage
in the middle of those horrible, garish flashing lights
like you were something.
No one was paying attention.
I stood there
with a beer in my hand
and I watched you.
I saw you.
Dancing that little dance you do --
The one where you tap your heals instead of your toes.
You were rocking out
Like you were performing to a packed house
instead of a nearly empty bar --
in your skinny jeans
and long hair.
You looked horrible with long hair,
but man, you thought you were cool.
You had both hand stuffed in your pockets,
head down,
shoulders hunched,
legs wide.
Lip syncing with your whole soul.
I thought you were the cutest thing I'd ever seen.
. . . . .
"So don't just stand there tell me I'm something
So don't just stand there tell me I'm something
So don't just stand there tell me I'm something
So don't just stand there
Just stand there
Just stand there
'Cause I'm something"
. . . . .
And we were almost something.

My "This I Believe" Statement

2009-09-21T21:04:00.003-04:00

One of my friends loves the NPR segment, "This I Believe." He wrote a note on facebook saying he's been meaning to write his own for about a year, and is only now getting around to it. He tagged several people, and challenged us all to write our own statements. He then left a message on my facebook wall saying that he expected me to write one because he knew my statement would be awesome. I don't know if this is awesome, but it is what I believe.

I believe that what does not kill us makes us stronger. Yes, it is a cliché, but there is a reason the phrase is overused. It is simply true.

Seven years ago, I sat huddled on my shower floor crying. I had just been thrown through my glass storm door and locked out of my house in the dead of winter with no shoes and barely any clothes. I had asked my husband to stay home with me and our baby for once. This was how he showed his disapproval. He let me back in the house when his friends arrived to take him for a cocaine run.

It did not kill me.

After what could have been hours or minutes, I composed myself. I got out of the shower. I went to bed. The next morning, after my husband left for work, I packed the important things and I left.

It did not kill me.

I discovered that I was pregnant with our second child. I re-entered college as a full time student. I worked full time through my son’s illness, two of his surgeries, and my own high-risk pregnancy. My estranged husband disappeared from our lives, not even meeting his new daughter until she was three months old.

It did not kill me.

I did battle with my college over discrimination against single parents. I lost, and I lost my chance for a degree through that school.

It did not kill me.

I packed a single suitcase of clothing for all three in my little family and a small box of toys. I drove 500 miles away from everything I knew to work for a temp agency in Providence. My first apartment had a mattress on the floor and a blanket where we had “picnics.” I had to choose between rent, child care or groceries most months.

It did not kill me.

Illnesses. The aches and pains of children growing up. Love found and lost. Friendships made and broken. Cars breaking down. Bad neighborhoods. Never having enough money. Changing paths. Finding myself.

It did not kill me.

Over time, the good times have come to outweigh the bad. I’ve found strength to keep going when I thought I couldn’t stand anymore. I only continue to grow, and love myself and my life more everyday. I plan to re-enter college by Fall of 2010. I have a plan to open my own non-profit business. I have a plan to better my life and the lives of my children. I have a vision, and it will not kill me. It will be a hard road, but I am strong.

Untitled

2009-09-13T20:56:00.002-04:00

Days like today make me wish with all my heart I were a visual artist. I get images in my head, and I want to share them. I don't draw or paint. Sculpture seems beyond my grasp. I am not a photographer or videographer. And yet, I have these images that I would like other people to feel. So, I am left with words. The words that follow do not do my image justice at all. I hope you enjoy anyway.

Footprints left
in dust
still covering my feet
from the walls crumbling
around my shoulders
Hand prints left
in paint
still drying over cracks
ever widening
Finger paint marks
your stone body
from my blind attempt
at escape
when the roof caved
under the weight of my sigh

Mine to Bear

2009-09-13T03:41:00.002-04:00

I gave birth to my own crown
one thorn at a time
carefully nailing each into my forehead
and perfectly arranged hair
stepping back from the mirror
to admire my handiwork
my new red pearls
before climbing onto my cross
of splinters
of glitter
of tiny white lights
and memories
I stretch my arms
to embrace the ghosts
to be beaten and whipped
until my skin fell away
and I was released
raw into the world
to wander

This is for you

2009-09-06T22:50:00.000-04:00

Yes

Familiar Chords

2009-08-28T18:25:00.003-04:00

I returned home yesterday from a road trip. I was mostly in Virginia with weddings and baby showers and celebrations of a changing life. Before I left, I was dreading going down. By the time I arrived, I was excited to be there. Watching familial scenes play out made me happy. It also made me feel separated from my other life. Familiar chords suddenly seemed more like desinent reverberations in an empty room.

I moved over 500 miles away from everything I knew in order to better my life, my children, and myself. My relationship with my parents was almost immediately made better with distance. At first, I went back three or four times a year to visit. In all honesty, I knew it wasn't all about my parents. Of course I wanted to see them and my siblings. However, I have come to realize that the more frequent trips were more about my exhusband. My children were not-quite-two and four when we moved away. In some ways, I was still holding on to hope that we'd be some kind of family. I wasn't hoping we would get back together, but I also hadn't let go. I wanted him to be a father, and I wanted help raising my kids. It's a hard job to be a working mother with no help at all, and I was tired.

He was pain. He was hurt. He was emotional, physical and mental damage. He was instability. He was chaos. He was every tear I cried. He was familiar. The unknown was terrifying, and I clung to the the familiar even if it didn't allow me to better myself. I traveled more than 500 miles to visit my parents and spent more time taking the kids to see him and his family than I did my own. I knew he'd look at me with sad eyes. I knew he'd give me the same lines about being sorry that he destroyed our family. I knew he'd tell me how beautiful I was. I knew he'd still introduce me as his wife, even though we'd been separated for three years. I knew he'd cook for us and get us to spend extra time at his mother's house. I knew he'd try to hug and kiss me goodbye after strapping the kids into the car. I would hate being in Virginia. I couldn't wait to get back home to Rhode Island. A few months later, I would be back on the road heading South. It was an addiction to pain from which I had to ween myself.

Being home this time was completely different. I hadn't been home in two years. In that two years, I've come through a time of tremendous personal growth. I no longer hope that my ex will come around and be a good father. I've stopped trying to make his family see that I am not a bad person. I've stopped trying to justify why I moved so far away. I've stopped everything that was causing pain, and decided to work on me and my children. It's been wonderful. While I have definitely felt the effects of my work on myself, I didn't realize just how profound those changes were until I was back at my parents' house. I felt like a stranger visiting a past life, with feelings of deja vu at every bend in the road.

My parents argued at the kitchen table at breakfast my first full day there. Instead of it upsetting me the way it used to, I smiled at the familiar chord being struck. Dad got up to go to his music room, and Mom stood beside me to grumble about him under her breath. The same tune still plays in their kitchen as if time stood still. One of my sisters was miserable and complaining about everything she could think to complain about while I was there. Her life is better than it has ever been, and yet she complained. I listened and smiled. The house has the same feel. The land has the same feel. The air was the same. The smells were the same. I wasn't.

When my exhusband tried to sweet talk me into having the kids over to his house, I was polite but firm in my no. When he asked to bring his girlfriend and her two children with him to see the kids, I was firm in my no. When he visited the kids, he gave me sad eyes. I didn't acknowledge him, and focused on my kids. I barely said hello and goodbye and kept my distance the entire time I was around him. In response, he didn't introduce me to anyone as his wife, and didn't try to be affectionate. He kept his distance. I felt nothing seeing him. No love. No anger. Just a void. I was glad for that. My tie to a familiar pain had been cut.

I continued to practice yoga in the mornings. I meditated. I didn't hide my nose piercing or my tattoos when I went to visit family. I didn't go to family prayers, but met everyone after for a visit. I didn't talk about religion and how the world is going to hell. I smiled. I talked about my plans for college, which fell on disapproving ears on the part of my grandfather and aunts and uncles. I didn't care. I've come to realize that they need to love me for who I am. I don't need to try to please everyone. I need to be who I am. As my grandfather sat grumbling about what a mess I was making with my life and my aunt encouraged me to find a nice man to marry, I sat smiling and quiet. The last out-of-tune chord faded away somewhere in the distance.

I recognized quite some time ago that I was afraid to leave the familiar behind. Even though I'd moved 500 miles away, I still chose the same kind of people for friends. I chose to date men who may be lovely human beings, but were too close to what I'd had in the past to be good for my mental and emotional health. I made many decisions based on what other people thought of me, especially my parents. Even though I watched myself do all of these things, I wasn't ready to let go. I was too afraid to learn to be me. Now, I feel free. I am me. I like me. Love me for me, or walk away.

We all have the choice of who to have in our lives, and sometimes what's best is the most painful. It is painful that I have tried so hard to please everyone but me. It is painful to know I've fallen in love at times for the wrong reasons, and been afraid to walk away even though I knew it was bad for me. It is painful to know I will not ever be in sync with my family. It is painful to know that my children will never have the father they deserve. However, it is even more painful to not be who I am, or to feel afraid to know myself better. Getting to know myself has been the hardest thing I've ever done, but the most rewarding thing too. My decisions are smarter, and I'm at peace when I make them. My inner turmoil fades more and more with each new lesson about myself. I realize this process will not end until I do. Instead of being afraid, I am looking forward to it. I'm ready to write a new song.

Back to Introspection

2009-08-17T22:30:00.003-04:00

I've always said my best writing comes out of my sadness. It isn't that I necessarily write any better when I'm sad. I write more. I attempt to force all of my pain out of my heart and into the paper, where I can close the cover and leave it. Knowing this, I suppose anyone who reads my blog can see that I've been rather happy the last few months. I've virtually abandoned my blog. My journal is sporadic at best and contains entries that include insights such as how sweet E was to me, how my kids were fighting too much, comments on the rain, what I ate for breakfast. In short, my journal went from being a dissection of my soul to a boring recount of daily life. I did this just to keep myself writing something. I had nothing to say. I was happy. Sort of.

When E ended our relationship, I couldn't understand. I had specifically chosen to be with him thinking I was making a good choice. For the first time in a very long time, I chose a man who I wanted as more than just a lover. I wanted a partner. He was already my friend. I thought the universe had finally smiled on me, and was granting me a gift.

It was. Just not how I thought. I realize now, in the midst of my manic writing phase, that I haven't felt this energetic in months. My yoga practice had fallen aside. Meditation forgotten. My writing disappearing. My room barely cleaned. No thoughts. Music wasn't making love to me anymore. Life was just life, and things were just things. Stuff happened. There was no magic. I was happily bored, and allowing the important parts of me to fall away. The universe delivered me from my own neglect.

It hurts in ways hard to describe that someone I considered a good friend could abuse my trust the way he did. But I'm seeing the silver lining. He's right that we have no future. Not for the reasons he described, but his bottom line is correct. He's gone, and my soul is back. I sing again. I might be crying while doing it, but I can hear my own voice. I'm writing. I've been on my yoga mat every morning for the last few days, and adding a short meditation to the end. Today, for the first time in months, I took the time to touch others with positive energy. It was sent back to me.

In the years E and I were friends, he would comfort me at every break-up and ending saying I deserved better and I was worth more than I'd been given. I do and I am. I have things to do. Each time I get a new college catalog in the mail, it feels more real that I will go back. I have a space to open. I have a purpose in the world. I have a positive energy to cultivate. When I am situated with a college degree and my own business, I'm sure the universe will then send my partner my way. A partner who won't let me forget my inner life. I feel him out there. But I have things to do. The universe had to send me some sadness to make me remember that.

This my inspiration

2009-08-16T21:50:00.002-04:00

Keys are not always made of metal.
Epiphanies don't always happen in the rain.
But a broken heart will always inspire.
Beauty comes from pain.

Paralyzed

2009-08-16T21:00:00.002-04:00

I'm not really one to write rhyming poems. It seems so stilted to me, but here I have one. I'm not in love with it. I'm still playing with it. It just sounds so forced to me. I'd love feedback.

it only took a look
to wreck it all
I asked you to wait
I passed you by
you watched me fall
The set of your shoulders
paralyzed me in flame
with no voice left
to scream in pain
you'll never own this blame
you saw barren waste
I saw hope cloaked in gold
my pain is written on you
our story closed
my own left to be told

Pouring Rain

2009-08-15T19:15:00.003-04:00

This is not the sound of a new man or a crispy realization
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Your love will be
Safe with me

Re: Stacks, Bon Iver

I've been listening to Bon Iver all day. I've needed the sad strains to drawn poison out of my heart, even while I know the sad strains will be poison to me when it is done healing me. Your love will be safe with me. The floodgates finally broke. I knelt by my bed, in tears, thankful that the tears finally came.

Yes, this is a story of a man. I've been friends with E for more than two years. In that two years, he has watched me go through being hurt many times. Each time I've been hurt, E has comforted me by saying the guy was an idiot and that I deserved better. E and I have been circling around each other for at least a year, and finally this summer we gave in and just let us be. E is far from the typical man I date, and I smiled from a different place while with him, just happy to be with him. Two weeks ago, he told me he wanted us to be something, go somewhere, and he wanted me around for a long time. On Wednesday night, he told me he didn't want a girlfriend and couldn't do this. Being me, I wrote an email to him saying I think we've care about each other for far too long to give up this easily, and asked if we could talk. He avoided me until Thursday, when we spoke on the phone. Finally, he admitted that he isn't ready for the complications of having another man's children in his life. Because of this, he says we have no future. He isn't willing to give it more time, and he says he feels good about the time he's given it. He claims this is something he has thought about the entire time we've been together, and it isn't a rash decision. I never saw this coming.

Once again, I am punished for being a mother.

I seem to have this ability to trust that the next time won't be like the last and that there is someone who will love me for me and not let life or their insecurities or my children get in the way of the beautiful, easy things we could share. I have faith in the universe that there is a reason for all the pain I've felt, and a reason for every lonely moment. The problem is that I'm losing faith in myself. How many times can my trust be broken before I can't piece it back together again? How much of myself can I give before there's nothing left of me? I watch these men move on to happy lives, happy relationships. I'm left alone.

I've heard from every last man I've cared for how amazing I am. At this point, I quite literally feel like vomiting at the sound of that word. As soon as I hear it, tears come to my eyes. I know it's over, and I'm alone again. As soon as I hear it, I know that man will be back around in my life to tell me how sorry he is that he ever let me go. Sometimes, it has taken years. Sometimes, only a few weeks. Yet, I am alone.

One of my philosophies in life is that if I am getting consistent results in any given situation, I need to take a look at what I am doing to create those results. I realized that I wasn't choosing the right men, and I was sabotaging myself. In the back of my head, I didn't really think I deserved to be loved. I chose men who were never going to give back to me the way I gave to them. With E, I made a decision to stop that. I thought I made an incredibly good choice, and his smile when I walked into a room only continued to reinforce that feeling. Only now is the hurt setting in from being so wrong.

So, I wonder what the universe has planned for me. I wonder when it is my turn to leave my love safely with someone. I wonder if I will break beyond repair or if someone will take the time to piece me together. Will I recognize it when the universe answers me? I am very shaken today, and I am afraid.

This my excavation and today is kumran
Everything that happens is from now on
This is pouring rain
This is paralyzed

Dream #3

2009-08-15T01:29:00.002-04:00

In my dream, it is so dark, I can't see anything. My eyes are open. I'm staring, trying to see something, anything. I'm not afraid. I'm not sad. I'm not happy. I am only aware of my being, that I have a body, even though I can't see it to be sure. My body is being rocked gently, as though I were laying in the palm of a giant who carried me around like a child might carry a robin's egg that has been thrown from the nest. All of a sudden, I feel the sensation of falling. My stomach goes into my throat, like it does of the first hill of a roller coaster, when the bottom drops out and you are free fall. Still all is dark. Still I feel no emotion. While still falling, I wake up. My stomach is still in my throat, and nothing daylight offers seems to fix it.

Dream #2

2009-08-15T01:21:00.002-04:00

In my dream, I couldn't hear anything. People were talking. I knew this, but I couldn't hear a word of it. I was walking through a crowded room, and people were talking to me, saying hello. I couldn't hear them. I became increasingly frustrated with the pats to the back, the grabbing my shoulder, and smiles and moving lips. I was confused and I was trying to tell people that I couldn't hear anything they said. I couldn't even hear my own voice, and the people went right on smiling and laughing and greeting me as though I'd said nothing. And I stood in the middle of this room, crowded with happy people all telling me hello and I screamed at the top of my lungs I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I DON'T UNDERSTAND! But they swirled around me, still laughing. Still smiling. Still patting my shoulder. Still saying hello. As if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Dream #1

2009-08-14T23:06:00.004-04:00

This is not a real dream. This is something that came to me, and may go into my play. I've had a rough couple of days, and this piece (monologue?) came back to mind.

And in my dream, I was flying, but I didn't want to be flying. I just couldn't help it. I couldn't stop. I kept going higher and higher. I looked down and the treetops were getting smaller. All I could think of was how I would return. What would happen if I just ceased to fly? I could imagine the fall and my body being broken by the trees, falling into a thousand pieces on the ground, unrecognizable as me. All of my pieces and all of the parts of me I keep hidden, visible to anyone who might walk through the trees and find me. Or the pieces of me. So, I closed my eyes and just tried to feel the wind against my face, but I could still see the treetops through my closed eyelids. Still getting smaller. And I let go.

Wishing Better

2009-06-17T20:41:00.002-04:00

I watch
my own innocence
run away
in the trail of the skirt you insist upon wearing
cream
gold
filmy
trailing behind you
as you run for the school door
and away from me
I press my hand to the window
willing you not to leave my sight
and I wonder
if all the hope
I crowd into your tiny body
hurts your heart
as much as it hurts mine

Seeking: SWTrain wreck

2009-05-28T19:17:00.005-04:00

I should have put Male somewhere in the title of my ad. Something like "Seeking: SWM." However, I thought "train wreck" was more accurate. I should also point out that the "W" is optional. I've simply found, in my experience, that white males make the most exceptional train wrecks. If you are a train wreck with the particular combination of being a tall, thin, bassist with dark curly hair, I will instantly fall in love with you. If you possess that particular combination and also drive a VW, I will not only instantly love you, I will take you home on the first date. Clearly, you are my soul mate. If you possess this particular combination and the thought of a woman loving you to the point of obsession after the first date is disturbing to you, even a little bit, clearly you are too healthy. Please do not respond to this ad. I know a healthy man when I see one, and I am not interested. You can't fool me. If the thought of love at all, even after months of togetherness, is disturbing to you, you may be the one for me.

I enjoy long, philosophical conversations that focus primarily on our former marriages. I would prefer that you do not have children from said former marriage as I prefer a man who cannot understand the pressures of being a single mother and will get annoyed when I cannot change my plans based on your golf game or fishing trip. I cannot resist a man who openly belittles my work in nonprofit theater, but will tell me several times in a ten-minute span that I am "hot" and/or a "MILF." I find this line of compliments especially charming when used to interrupt a discourse about the book I am currently reading or something important going on in the world, or after I've used a "big" word in conversation. I find it exceptionally captivating when you periodically disappear. This includes not responding to phone calls, text messages, or emails, and avoiding being physically present until you want to have sex. I love a man who only communicates through text messages. It gets right to the point when you are making a booty call after a disappearance. I find the element of surprise exhilarating, and keeps the relationship fresh. However, I prefer we not call it a relationship, and that we never talk about it or our feelings.

You should be planning a move, preferably out of state. You get extra points if you are a busy workaholic. Please be a ball of neurosis I will never be able to unravel, obsessive about your hair and clothing, and enjoy eying other women in front of me. If you are up for running away when you start to have feelings for me, please email me. Send an amazingly intelligent email, use correct punctuation, and give me hope that this time I've found a man worth putting faith into. Please include a picture of your VW.

Losing Hope

2009-05-27T23:04:00.002-04:00

I was hoping I'd lose it.
That's why.
That's why I couldn't -
That's why I didn't tell you.
I couldn't be -
I didn't want to be -
That bitch.
The one who would say you can't leave
because of some life-altering event.
When, really, every event is life-altering.
Where do you draw the line?
I was worried right before you left.
Or whatever you did.
We never really talked about what "we" were.
I liked it that way.
I liked just reading the way you touched me.
I liked seeing it in your eyes,
In your smile.
My god your smile -
I suppose it's only appropriate that
We didn't talk about what we weren't going to be.
Deny what you want,
I saw it on your face -
All over your face -
The morning I woke up
With this baby inside of me.
Our baby.
I opened my eyes to you smiling.
Your eyes couldn't hold all the love inside of them.
And it scared you.
I felt so many things
Laying in your arms that morning.
I knew I'd found a man
Worth loving
If only I knew how.
I knew you'd found a woman
Worth loving
If only you knew how.
I knew you were scared enough to run
by the way you held me close
for so long we were both late for work.
I knew you'd run.
I knew I'd let you.
I knew we'd created something.
I just wanted to stay in your arms
In that patch of sunlight
Watching the snow fall.
I wanted to forget the future.
I knew when you kissed me goodbye
I wouldn't kiss you again.
You didn't know it.
But I did.
A week later, I still hadn't heard from you.
I was worried then.
About being late.
I was worried.
Two weeks later, I saw you with her.
And I knew.
I couldn't tell you.
I couldn't be that bitch.
I couldn't pull you back in.
I couldn't be her.
I couldn't tell you.
You didn't want me.
You chose a familiar, well-beaten path
Rather than to let us grow.
So, how could I tell you we were growing together anyway?
I know I'm not easy -
I'm not a woman who is easy to love.
And I know why you were scared.
I knew this baby would scare you even more.
And I have prayed for three months
That I'd lose it.
Her.
It's a girl.
I didn't want -
I don't want to trap you.
But I had to tell you.
That's why I asked you here.
So, I could tell you -
The way your eyes told me -
Only I'm telling you -
In words -
Because that's all I have now.
Words
And her.
I'm taking our chance at love
And I'm walking out of that door with it.
I'm giving you warning -
The warning you didn't give me.
Don't worry.
I'll hold her close.
And keep her in the sun.
I hope she has your smile
So I'll never miss it again.

Enforced Ignorance

2009-05-10T20:45:00.004-04:00

Mahatma Gandhi famously said, "I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."

Being a former Christian, I agree. It has taken me years to admit that I am not a Christian, but I began my journey into leaving Christianity behind the year my sister went into foster care. I was 17. She was 14. Soon after my sister moved in with her foster family, I made plans to visit her. First, I visited my grandmother, who I loved dearly and who was a fanatical traditionalist Catholic. As I was leaving, I mentioned to her that I was going to visit my sister. My grandmother was appalled and said I should not associate with my sister anymore because she was leading an un-Christian life. She also said that Jesus said we should choose our friends wisely. When I retorted that Jesus hung out with sinners and whores, and didn't turn his back on anyone, my grandmother responded by walking back into her house without a goodbye and not speaking to me for a month.

Just, as I am positive, Jesus would have done.

When I went off to college, I settled in to a largely gay circle of friends. It was a pretty stereotypical college theater crowd. It was the first time in my life that I was able to have an open conversation with a person about their homosexuality. For my entire life, I'd been taught that it was a "lifestyle choice" and they they were perverts and sinners and would burn in hell. My friends taught me differently. Not by preaching at me. Not by shunning me or threatening me until I saw their side. They just were who they were -- good people. They were people with whom I could talk and ask questions. I think back on some of my stupid questions about being gay, and I'm surprised they still talk to me.

The most important thing I learned from them is that it is not a choice any of them made. It is something they knew from the time they were children. I had a hard time reconciling what Christianity told me I should believe about the homosexual population, and what I knew to be true. As one of my friends pointed out, why would anyone choose a life of hiding who you are and of dealing with ignorant prejudice every time you turn around? I also wondered that if we are all created in God's image, how could he create a person designed to go to hell?

I was told recently that if I love my friends, I would preach to them and lead them to the truth that is Jesus Christ who can save them from hell. I don't share this truth. What I know to be true is that most of my gay friends lead more moral lives than any Christian I know. I have watched a homosexual man buy a homeless man breakfast in the same week I watched a preacher of the Christian faith turn away a single mother who came to the church because she couldn't afford clothing for her children. Christians have no idea who Jesus was or what he was about. Jesus preached unconditional love for everyone. This, all four gospels in the Bible agree on. However, I have a problem with the Bible being thrown at me as the "true word of God."

First of all, it should be pointed out that the earliest gospel we know of was Mark. This gospel was written sometime between 70 AD and mid-second century. At the earliest, the gospel was written down 40 years after Jesus was crucified. The other gospels were all written down after, and all contain differing versions of the same story. These stories were all oral traditions passed on for years before anything was set in writing. That means, the Apostles did not write any of the gospels attributed to their names. It should also be pointed out that it depends on which version of the Bible you read as to what is actually included. Since the earliest surviving manuscript of the entire Bible dates back to the Eighth Century, we can't be sure just what the original manuscripts said. There is also the issue of men deciding what would go into the Bible. Yes, men decided what the "true word of God" would include, which may account for so many discrepancies and contradictions within the text. I don't personally know anyone who has spoken to a burning bush and received an answer as to what God was really thinking. Early Christians couldn't even decide what it was they were supposed to believe. The First Council of Nicea in 325 AD set up a uniform Christian doctrine. So, again, a group of men got to decide what all of Christianity should believe. By the way, that uniform code has changed an overwhelming number of times in the 1,684 years since it was introduced. The Second Council of Nicea, the Vatican Councils, the Protestant Reformation all changed the Christian doctrine, the "true word of God." With each change in doctrine, the Bible has undergone changes.

I look around me, and I see the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community struggle with discrimination that infuriates me. While I recognize that this country was largely founded on Christian principles, it was also founded by a group of men who were trying to escape the tyranny of oppression. They knew that a theocracy created tyranny, and they created a secular state based on the separation of Church and State. That means that this country can not be run on Christian principles. Our Constitution is based on the premise that all men are created equal. There have been battles fought to maintain the integrity of that equality. Women had to fight for the vote. Blacks had to fight to be treated with basic human dignity. The Irish had to fight for work. Now, homosexuals have to fight for things that heterosexuals can take for granted. It is disgusting that these men and women can be discriminated against for something as private as their sex lives. In the United States, as far as we have come, I am shocked by how far we have to go.

This week, a friend posted as her facebook status that she "Is TICKED that the hate crime bill passed thru House. We are getting closer and closer to being censored as Christians. I'm sorry, but a crime is hateful no matter what the intentions. Praying that the left sided liberal agenda slows down quite a bit!" Now, while there are reasons to oppose the hate crimes bill (namely the legality of equal representation by the law), simply opposing this bill because it gives homosexuals protected status is offensive. She is worried that this bill being signed into law will bring Christians one step closer to not being allowed to preach in church against homosexuality. She was simply repeating the words of Bob Knight from the Culture and Family Institute, and it is a ridiculous statement. One of the beautiful things about this country is our First Amendment right to Freedom of Speech. Christians will not be silenced by our government because of this amendment, and the separation of Church and State which forbids the government from interfering with worship. It cannot interfere with worship even if it includes hate speech. I'm sure Jesus would stand behind a preacher saying that "God hates fags" because that teaches us all the unconditional love that God has for straight white men.

I also have to disagree with the statement "a crime is hateful no matter what the intentions." Scenario A: A man is poor and starving and breaks into the home of a wealthy couple. The couple wake up, and the man gets scared and shoots one of the homeowners, resulting in a death. Scenario B: A man plans ahead to mislead and kidnap another man because the second man is homosexual, and for no other reason. He buys supplies, and gets the second man alone pretending to be a homosexual himself. The second man is beaten, tied up and left to die in the middle of nowhere. In these two scenarios, the result is the same. The intention is not, and intentions do matter in a court of law. There is a reason that there are different degrees of murder set up in our justice system. Even the beloved Christian Bible says intentions are important. God will judge each based on what is in their heart, right?

This friend also posted a note on facebook, taking a stand on homosexuality being a sin. When I spoke up about both her note and her status, there was debate. It was heated, and there were other voices who opposed her stand as well as Christians that defended her argument. She deleted every comment that did not agree with her opinion, while saying the beauty of this country is that we can all say what we want. She is worried about Christians being censured, yet she will censure those of us who think she is wrong. She is upset that friends have deleted her because for standing up for what she believes. I applaud them for standing up for what they believe.

And what I believe is this: If you believe what the authors of the Bible say, Jesus did not preach intolerance and hate. My homosexual friends are beautiful people. They are some of the best friends I could ask for, standing by me in times of hopelessness when my Christian friends and family turned away. They are better parents than I could ever hope to be. They are in more committed relationships than most heterosexual marriages I know. Before you preach hate and intolerance and prejudice, take a look in the mirror and examine your own soul. Make sure your God is on your side. I for one, am not.

To My Grandmother

2009-04-12T16:50:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

To My Grandmother
(written November 17, 2008)

I still remember
white bed
blurry at the time
due to watering the pink roses
that you stitched on the spread
with a prayer in each
for me

I still remember
gentle hands
smoothing my hair
stroking my face
rubbing my back
hands that smelled
of cigarettes and lotion
and pearlescent polish

I still remember
shh, shh, shh softly
never telling me
not to cry
to stop that mess
or you'd give me something to cry about
just gentle clucking
I call my daughter Chicken
My little Chicken

I still remember
pride in your voice
the way you would say it
as you held me close
letting me smell
a hint of magnolia
from the blossoms
always in a glass bowl on your table
flowers bloom
from cracks left behind in rocks
you saw one forming
in your arms
under your hands

I still remember
confusing you
with the Virgin Mary
wanting to call you Mother
to always breathe
cigarettes, lotion, magnolia
to always hear
clucking
to always feel
warm
soft
now I only hope
the cracks left behind
grow pink roses

Sarcasm Explained

2009-04-12T16:49:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Sarcasm Explained
(written October 21, 2008)

I like to stay in my room while the kids are first awake, getting breakfast, getting ready for school. I love to listen to them when they think I'm not listening. This morning, I caught a gem.

Girl: I'm telling.
Boy: Nooooooo!!!!

My daughter walks into my room with her nose in the air. My son walks in quickly at her heals. He's carrying a rod from a set of blinds I took down. Uh-oh.

Girl: Mom, T__ just put that curtain stick thing in his cereal.
Me: Gimme the curtain stick thing.

The kids leave my room to go back to the kitchen.

Boy: Thanks a lot, M___ .
Girl: (sweetly) You're welcome.
Boy: I didn't really mean thank you. I meant something else. I meant you're a meanie.
Girl: Mooooooommmmm!!!!

Good morning, kids.

Streams

2009-04-12T16:43:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Streams
(written October 20, 2008)

Tonight, attempts to shut down thoughts only create more thoughts and sleep escapes me. I read the same three pages over and over, and I still don't know what they say, but my thoughts interest me more. Even though I'm not sure what the words on the page say, I wonder why I can't write like Kerouac. Not that his style is much more than what you'd read in my journals, minus the bad poetry and rewrites. For some reason, I think of the color pink but I see strange shades of lavenders and greens. My walls behind my closed eyes. So, I get up. I write. I can't find my journal, so readers of my blog get to suffer this evening. No funny anecdotes to relate this evening. Just want to sleep and hope that exorcising my thoughts will bring me just that. The problem is the thoughts run so fast, I can't quite remember them all from moment to moment, and in just the time it took to search for my journal, which I now remember I threw in my purse in a just-in-case moment, to fuckthejournal, turn on the computer and get here . . . Where was I going with this? Sleep. Funny. It's early for me. But I fell asleep on the couch tonight, 8ish, son snuggled onto my hip, DVD with animated animals who talk and I've seen it so many times I can recite every animal's inner dialogue. But I think he needed mom's hip tonight. They spent the weekend away, and I loved the quiet, the peace, the clean, the doing yoga in my underwear in the living room hearing only my sounding breath and feeling my own smile. Sometimes, it's nice to not hear "MOM!!" or feel the tug on the leg or wear a bracelet that says I can be interrupted during my class because I am Mother. Infuriating. And then he asked to watch TV with me. Of course. And all is well. At times I see that smile and I can't breathe. The universe, God, higher power, whatever name you want to give it, gave me that smile. And it put me to sleep on the couch with a smile on my own face. They are both sleeping now. There is quiet, but the quiet is filled with something I can't explain, not even to myself. And I can't sleep. And I have thought of things that have nothing to do with my children, but thoughts of a universe filled with magic because I'm not sure what else to call it right now. My universe. Overlapping other universes. Waves in all directions. People, amazing things that they are. Amazing energy in my life. Exciting and terrifying. And I wonder how I am calm and smiling when all I want is sleep that I'm not meant to have right now. I wonder how other people can ignore or deny or make fun of the energy surrounding us all. I have only begun to learn to follow where the universe is pointing, and I'm getting better all the time. It keeps a calm smile in my soul. Maybe other people would be happier if they did the same. But it's kind of hard to follow something you ridicule. Like the government. But those are thoughts I can't deal with now. I'll never sleep. Responses to questions could have been better, but somehow I think my disjointed monosyllables or notquitesentences were understood and taken to heart. I think of my grandfather sitting in the chair in which my grandmother used to sit. And I think of her blanket that I pulled out when the chill came into the air. And I wonder why thoughts of her keep me awake, among other things. My nephew is two and I heard his little voice say "Hi Aunt Leann" in the phone today, and I wonder what it must be like to be so tiny and to be handed a voice and told to tell that voice named Aunt Leann that you love it. I miss him. I've only met him 3 times for a couple of days at a time. How do little people imprint themselves on you so quickly? I worry. And it keeps me awake. I remember a time, I ran myself to death with work, school, babies, love, hate and I never had trouble sleeping. Now, life is calmer, happier, more love and I can't say I hate. So, why does sleep escape me now? I have more time to think, maybe. And thoughts lead to more thoughts. But I think I am too tired to relate anymore of mine tonight.

Life Lesson 3249874

2009-04-12T16:41:00.000-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Life Lesson 3249874
(written September 18, 2008)

The following conversation was held this morning while getting ready for school:

Boy: I wish I could be a dad forever.
Me: When you have kids, you will be a dad forever.
Boy: But I need a wife!
Me: Yes, you do. But go to college before you get married.
Boy: I know! But when I get a wife, she'll get babies in her belly. And then she will pop them out. They will pop right out of her tummy. But I won't get babies in my belly because I'm a boy.

Does this really need any extra commentary from me??

My Ugly Day

2009-04-12T16:39:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

My Ugly Day
(written August 24, 2008)

Lately, I've been getting more attention than I'm used to. In part because I've been working out like mad, and look great. In part because I'm newly divorced, and men can smell the single on me. In part because I've been in a happy place and am putting out lots of positive energy into the universe and I'm getting it back. In part because I'm confident and finally becoming my own person. It's been nice for the most part. I'm not entirely adjusted to it, and I've had to dodge a couple of cars. But hey . . .

Today, I got a lot of attention when I was walking the public streets. After my words above, you may be wondering why today is special. Two words: Savor Providence. I was working the event today. So that the staff and volunteers stood out, we wore neon green t-shirts. Medium was the smallest size they ordered. When I was handed mine, I asked if I could just wear a belt and stilettos with it and really rock it out. I was told no. Sigh . . . So, I show up in my huge bright green shirt and jeans. I was a pair of tapered acid wash jeans and a scrunchie away from being the coolest kid from 1989! As long as I was in the box office, I was fine. People understood why I was wearing it. Ordinary civilians, on the other hand, had no idea what to make of the hideousness that was The Savor Providence Uniform while I was roaming the streets for icecream.

My friend, who never fails to point out that he can't believe I have two children, said "Oh, my . . . Don't you look . . . earth-friendly today." I ran over to the mall today, and was not stopped by the T-mobile guy this time. I guess he didn't want me too close to the merchandise since I was obviously on break from my community service. The chick in front of me on the escalator did the turn around to get a better look at me but pretended she wasn't looking by continuing to look around over my head. You could see the "Oh, dear God," go through her head. Trust me, love, I felt the same way. The guys who are always sitting out on the street and call me "the pretty intellectual girl" looked at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears. Traffic did not stop to let me cross today. The street cleaners looked at me with pity.

Next I should see if I can sneak into prison with this thing.

Ghosts

2009-04-12T16:38:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives. I don't really like this poem. I like the idea, but it needs massive work.

Ghosts
(written August 23, 2008)

I miss the man
who wrote songs
while stroking my naked belly
and loved me
enough to fade away
but left his tortured soul behind
to make me cry.

A Moment

2009-04-12T16:36:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

A Moment
(Written August 10, 2008)

Clothed in liquid silver
sewn of sunshine and raindrops,
I stand under a canopy
of ever deepening purple
perfectly positioned by a god
whose many faces I see
through various shields
poorly positioned for a defensive battle.
I turn my face
to the gently falling rain,
accepting the kisses given,
and I embrace the universe
overwhelmed by the importance of being.

Today was beautiful

2009-04-12T16:34:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Today was beautiful
(written August 8, 2008)

I took today off from work. I had lots of stuff to get done. So far, I only accomplished one thing on my "To Do" list. Since it is now 5:45pm, I doubt anything else will get done. And that's okay with me. I had such a beautiful day.

I dropped the kids off at daycare, and went to the gym for a training session. I got to learn new cardio equipment that I'm pretty sure will try to kill me just like the current equipment. My trainer also took my weights up. I now have 10 or 12 pounds behind these guns. Watch out! I also had a nice conversation with him about going into a wellness field. He was very encouraging, and thinks I would be great at it. We talked about ways to get me into a wellness field without having to go back for an entirely new four-year degree. He's got me seriously considering being a yoga instructor.

Next, I went home to shower and dress for the day. I put on some jeans and a tank top, got ready to leave. Then, I decided that I wouldn't wear the jeans. Today was a red dress kind of day.

I went over to drop someone else's belongs where they should be. I checked item one from my list, and attempted to move on to item two.

That would be going to the Social Security Office to change my name with the federal government. God forbid they have a hard time tracking me . . . Anyway, I got lost. I know. It's very shocking, with my uncanny sense of direction, to think I would get lost in a town as easily navigable as Pawtucket. However, I did indeed get lost. And gave up on my quest. Hell, I have the rest of my life to change my name. I decided to go look for a table.

I'm looking for a table to use as a desk. I would like to paint it and possibly texture it. So, I visited the Salvation Army. I didn't find anything like what I was looking for. But I needed coffee at this point. And since I was on the East Side, I thought I'll go to the Coffee Exchange. Which is when my day turned from ordinary to nice.

I bought my coffee and sat down on the porch to read. It was lovely. I happened to look up to see a friend disappearing off the deck with his coffee. I got his attention and instead of reading more of my book, I had a lovely conversation. It was nice to see him. Totally random since I never run into him. But very nice. I then wandered down Wickenden Street to enjoy the beautiful sunshine, and wandered back to my car.

I decided to head home to track down directions to the Social Security Office. As I pulled up to the house, it began to rain. When, I stepped out of the car, I stood on the sidewalk to enjoy it for a moment. The sun was shining so bright and the rain was lightly falling, covering me in silver. I just turned my face to the rain and let it wash over me, breathing deep, smiling. And suddenly, my day was magical and beautiful. Moments like these should be cherished. It's moments like this one that I can truly feel something larger than all of us, and I want to hold moments like that in my heart forever.

I Wanna Be a Rockstar!

2009-04-12T16:29:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

I Wanna Be a Rockstar!
(written August 7, 2008)

I usually have music going in my house. I'm usually singing along. If there isn't music going, I'm still singing something. My daughter has picked up that habit.

This morning, she announced "I wanna be a wocksta."
I said "Me too!"
"But Mommy, you don't know no wocksta songs. But I do! Wanna hear?"
"Of course!"

And she sings My Wocksta Song:
I'm a wocksta
yeah, yeah, yeah
I'm a wocksta
yeah, yeah

"Wanna hear my other wocksta song?"
"Yes!"

And she sings the best song I've ever heard. I was writing fast and furious to get this down, but I missed parts. This is what I got:
I'm a wocksta
yeah, yeah, yeah
I wish I could be a wocksta now
yeah, yeah
but I don't know how
I just know how to sing wocksta songs
I don't have any wocksta clothes
I guess I should buy some
yeah, yeah, yeah
'cause I really wanna be a wocksta
yeah, yeah, yeah
I wish I had a daughter who wants to be a wocksta
but I don't
I only have a mommy
I wanna be in a wocksta band with her
but she always says no, no, no
but it would be fun to be in a wocksta band
yeah, yeah, yeah
so I should start one at school
So please bring your wocksta clothes
and your wocksta glasses
and do everything your teacha says
please, please, please

Anyone want to sign her now? Too cute!

While on "vacation" . . .

2009-04-12T16:25:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

While on "vacation" . . .
(written August 3, 2008)

I just got back from my "vacation" from myspace and facebook. It was amazing to me how much drama and BS they brought right to my home, and a week away from it was fabulous! I think I'll be doing it more often. So, don't be surprised if I disappear for a bit sometimes. If you want my real email address, I'm happy to give it out! Anyway, I had a lot happen in my week away! Quick update:

My car broke down twice. Fun times! This caused two things: Leann being highly pissed that she missed a week of the gym AND Leann having to learn new bus routes. This I am highly excited about! Now I worked out the math, and if I took the bus on a regular basis, it would cost me less than just my parking! And I get the added benefit of not adding my car's emissions to the rest of the air pollution! Rock on!

Thinking about how I could help the environment got me thinking of other things my family could help with. I've got the kids helping me recycle more. I even found myself reaching for my bag sewn of old clothing rather than my leather briefcase. I've been interested in sustainable living for some time, but don't know a lot about it. I started reading up this week. There are lots of ways I can help make a better place for my children to grow, and I'm very excited about it! Not only will I be supporting my local artists, I will be supporting my local farmers now as well. Anyone want a date to the farmers' market?? I also realize that I am the reason stuffwhitepeoplelike.com exists.

I read a graphic novel. And I liked it. Holy crap!

I got my official, certified copy of my divorce decree! I can officially change my name on everything now. I'm annoying my coworkers on a regular basis by pointing Heath out to them every time it pops up anywhere! (Sorry, Brian. Really, I am. I just can't control myself. It's so exciting!!) This new development caused a strange dream. Since I don't typically remember my dreams, I find it amusing that this one is one I would remember. I was getting married. Actually, I was already married. I was at the reception, standing there in my beautiful white gown, ready to give my toast to the groom. My beautiful groom is smiling at me, and I am horrified to see that my groom is a friend (he will remain nameless to save him the embarrassment of me dreaming about him. LOL). Everyone in the room is smiling at me. And all that comes out of my mouth is "What the hell am I doing? I mean, I'm glad I have such a wonderful person to spend my life with, but seriously, what the hell am I doing?" Everyone just keeps smiling like I'd made the sweetest speech ever, and my groom is looking so proud, and I wake up in a sweat. WEIRD.

I got my nose pierced. After years of saying "Well, maybe, but . . ." I just did it. Lauren held my hand, quite literally. I'm in love with it! Now on to my tattoo!!

I decided that I want to start singing again. For real. I'm tired of talking about how we want to do something, and we never do it. Let's do it! You know who you are! Anyone with me?

Now, I'm thinking I just need a day at the beach . . . Anyone up for it?

On Today's Nervous Breakdown

2009-04-12T16:19:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

On Today's Nervous Breakdown
(written on July 25, 2008)

This morning I found myself sobbing on my bedroom floor. I was wearing a pretty sun dress and only minutes before had felt fabulous, checking out how nice my legs are beginning to look in heals. Then, I broke down. I slammed the door, fell to the floor and sat in a heap sobbing. The kind of sob you can't control. The kind of sob where your cheeks are sheets of water, and you don't know where it's all coming from. My bag was thrown across the room, the contents scattered everywhere. It sat there flopped dejectedly over itself, embarrassed to witness my breakdown.

Why was I in the middle of my room sobbing? Not easy to say. My car broke down. My son was playing in the sink, getting his school clothes soaked. We had 5 minutes to leave. My daughter was still standing in her room dripping wet from her shower, with no thought of getting dressed. And we had 5 minutes to leave. I couldn't find my earrings. The man I like doesn't like me. Every exboyfriend I know has asked me for a divorce fuck. I can't find a better job or a second one. And we had 5 minutes to leave. The money I'd saved is dwindling. The child support didn't come this week. It's looking like I won't make it down to Virginia to see my family or old classmates in October, perhaps not at all this year. My boss looked at me funny yesterday. Providence smells like garbage and I had to walk through it today. I know walking through it, I'm going to be cat called like I have been everyday for the past week because apparently men can smell the single all over me. But the nice ones won't talk to me. And we had 5 minutes to leave. My back hurt. I have bruises I can't explain. Pawtucket stinks like the river. And we had 5 minutes to leave. My daughter can't find her shoes that I'd told her to get 30 minutes before. The car is going to cost me another $400. I forgot to pay the phone bill. I talked to my mother on the phone last night. I haven't finished the writing for my grandfather and family members are up my ass about it. MOMMY!! Where are my keys? And we had 5 FUCKING minutes!

And I end up on the floor, crying my eyes out. All I wanted at that moment was to be held. "When is it my turn?" I kept repeating that phrase over and over. "When is it my turn?" I wonder sometimes, especially at the times I just can't take the shit life throws at me, why no one is here to take care of me. Why do I always have to be strong? Why do I always feel like I should be taking care of people around me? Where is someone to hold me and pat my head and tell me how stupid I was being because it always works out? My bedroom is empty. Except for me. I look at the mirror. I am alone.

But as I think of my man - who is out there somewhere, who will hold me one day - I think the man I want would never see me like this. Why? Because the breakdowns will be gone. I'm not saying he'd never see me sad or crying or in a manic writing phase. He would. But I've said before, it would take a strong man to be with me and let me figure him out. It would take a strong man to take the time to figure me out. I haven't found that man yet. What I have found is inner strength.

There was a day I actually believed that I had to put up with my husband's infidelity and abuse. When I would threaten to leave, I was told on several fronts I was crazy. There was a day I believed that I had no right to have dreams because I'd had babies. During that time, the fits came almost nightly. They were uncontrollable. I felt like I was drowning, dying. I think maybe my breakdowns were part of me trying to live. I went through hell. I left my husband. I spent my second pregnancy without him, with only Andrea there (God love you. I always will). I drove myself around while I was in labor. I worked a full 40-hour week, and took 15 credit hours in school. My son got sick. My divorce got nasty. I got ridiculously financially in the hole. I had to fight.

I went into battle screaming. It was dirty and muddy and filthy and bloody and painful. Somehow, little by little, skirmish by off-shore police action, I fought for a life. I'm poor. I don't have a man around to hold me. I'm still trying for that degree. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But I've got a life of my own, and for the most part I'm happy. My children are amazing. I no longer cry when I have to write a rent check. The migraines are less and less frequent. I have a beautiful network of friends. I have many scars and am still screaming, but life is good and getting better every day.

Today was a rare day, and I look forward to a day when I can look back and just say "Oh, well."

Star Shine and Sweet Dreams

2009-04-12T16:13:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Star Shine and Sweet Dreams
(written July 20, 2008)

Stars shine
exposing my imperfection
cowering in the dark
in amazement
over the muscle of your thigh
as it rests next to mine
afraid to touch you
terrified not to
frozen with indecision
I wish on the brightest star framed in the window
until it moves away
in frustration
beginning to feel
the dark will suffocate
and the stars take pity
a small miracle
you sigh in your sleep
reach out as though you lost something
roll over
finding me
pull me into the curve of you
so every inch of me
touches every inch of you
the beginning of your beard scratches my back
making every nerve sing
I suppress my shiver
not wanting you to wake
not wanting to ruin this moment
thanking the stars
feeling the beginning
learning your imperfection
knowing it fits mine
the way your cheek fits the space of my back
where you lay

Winter

2009-04-12T16:11:00.003-04:00

From the myspace archives. Even though it is a sad poem, it is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy.

Winter
(reworked and posted on July 17, 2008)

I hate these cold winter days
gray and lonely
reminding me of you
and the cold, lonely way you loved me.
bitter, biting cold
It was love nonetheless
that blanketed me
like the snow enshrouds my flowers now.
Through my breath on the glass
my angels call to me
with open arms
asking me to join them
before they too are buried
in the gray and lonely.

Male Secrets

2009-04-12T16:09:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Male Secrets
(written July 10, 2008)

So, I went out to lunch with some friends today. This was mainly because I haven't seen one of them in months, and the other I haven't seen in weeks, and we haven't all three been in the same room since . . . well, since a long time ago. Anyway, Girl 2 and I are friends with Girl 3's boyfriend. He decided to tag along on our girls' lunch today. I am so very glad he did!

The unfortunate state of my life is that I go out on a lot of first dates that go nowhere. I'm not interested, he's not interested, we're both not interested, whatever. It happens and you move on. Well, because none of us have seen each other and gotten our girl talk in, that's what lunch was about. So, Girl 3 was asking me about the guy I had started seeing the last time I talked to her. And we moved on through a few months of first dates with occasional questions for clarification from Girl 2.

I was saying how there was one I was actually interested in, but I never heard back from him.

Me: So, a girl has to assume at some point he's not interested and move on. Right?
Girl 2: Or you waste five months on his loserdom.
Boyfriend: Well, maybe he's busy.
Girl 3: Stop playing Devil's advocate.
Me: Yeah!

Boyfriend asked about a few things concerning the potential interest and our outing. I answered. The girls clarified along the way.

Boyfriend: Okay, so he's probably not interested. BUT if he actually told you that, this conversation would be about "He's such a jerk! Oh my god! He actually said that?"

Now, I will admit here that he's right. I would have been saying something quite similar. Probably much more colorful with lots of adjectives thrown in. However, I was not going to admit defeat before I'd even been able to look at a menu!

Me: But I would at least appreciate the honesty! I mean, why do men tell you they want to see you again, and never call? What's the point? Don't do that! At the end of the night, you could just say "Yeah. Had a good time. Good night."
Boyfriend: Did he slip you tongue?
Me: What does that have to do with it?
Boyfriend: Okay. Well, if he slipped you the tongue, he's obligated to tell you the truth.

Why don't I know these things? Seriously, is there a rule book, an instruction manual, anything?? Because I need to know more of this stuff!

Not Such Babies Anymore

2009-04-12T16:06:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Not Such Babies Anymore
(written July 4, 2008)

I watch my children growing up everyday, but some days it really smacks me in the face that they really aren't babies anymore. Today, as early as it is, has been one of those days.

The first thing that happened today was my daughter asking if we could go to the Miracle Grow Ground. The wha?? It took her several tries before she got frustrated and said "You know! The thing that goes around and around with the horsies!" The Merry-Go-Round!! Aha! And the stupid Mommy understands.

It just goes to show how long it's been since I've had to understand baby speak on a regular basis. I was looking through some of my older blogs and my journals, where I've phonetically written out my little girl's speech. I didn't realize how much I've missed hearing the W's substituted for R's. Or the cute little things she would say to try to get her point across. Or saying things like "I put my dirty clothes in the hampster." It's just all part of growing up - not only for her, but me as well.

The next thing to happen was my son talking about when he grows up. He snuggled up next to me on the couch and was telling me how he would grow up and have a house of his own and M would have a house and neither of them would live with me anymore. He wanted to assure me that he would still love me, but he wouldn't live with me anymore because he wants to be a daddy and live with his kids. I wanted to cry. This very touching moment was interrupted by my daughter calling from the next room.

Girl: But Mommy said we have to take care of her when she gets old!
Boy: How do we do that?
Girl: We have to go to college.
Boy: (Rolls his eyes at his sister) Mommy, how do we take care of you when you're old?
Me: Well, you'll have a house when you get big and get married and have kids, and when I get too old to live in my house, you build an apartment in your house so I can come live with you. (I laughed.)
Boy: (Smiles) That's weird.

Yes, it is. I completely agree with you, my love. But I just smiled at his little body disappearing into the kitchen.

Return of the Ordered Universe

2009-04-12T16:01:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Return of the Ordered Universe
(written May 30, 2008)

Recently my universe went totally off-kilter. I have many theories about why. However, I took some time to really think things over, and decided that I had allowed too many other people's stress and drama to invade my life. I have enough of my own, which is carefully balanced with beautiful, calming energy. I allowed too much outside negativity to throw my universe into a tailspin.

In my out of control existence, I did not handle a lot of things well. I was out at night too much - when stress invades, I get almost claustrophobic in my house. I feel like I can't breathe. My once-a-week outting turned into three, sometimes four. I would come home from work, put the kids to bed, and leave again (don't worry - I had a sitter. I didn't get that out of control). This caused other problems - lack of sleep, lack of money, etc. I felt like I needed constant companionship, happy people around me all the time. I was hoping their good vibes would help my bad vibes go away. Instead, it backfired. I saw negative in everything. I was angry or sad or both on a pretty consistent basis. My already faulty self-sensor system went on total meltdown and I would say whatever to whoever and not think about the outcome before the words floated in the air. Thus, I put negativity, stress, and drama into other people's universes.

And for this, I would like to apologize to anyone who had to deal with me.

I have said many times in a not-so-joking manner that I am much better at running other people's lives than I am at running my own. One thing I tell people who are having a pretty consistent or repetitive problem in life is that they have to take a look at what they are doing to perpetuate the problem. In the end, no matter what is going on, I am the only one who can change anything in my life. I decided it was time to take my own advice.

I have recently dealt with the outstide stress and negativity that was coming into my life. I won't go into details since it involves other people. Part of a drama free life is not putting negativity into the universe - it will only come back to you. I definitely don't want it back. I will say that I came to the conclusion that I no longer want people in my life who do not contribute to it in a positive way. A friend is not a person who only contributes bad vibes, stress, and negativity. I'm not saying I want an all positive all the time streaming radio station. That is impossible, and part of a friendship is to help each other through tough times.

Peace and a calm soul are too important to lose sight of. Thank you to everything and everyone who reminded me of that. I do feel peace. I do feel the calm coming back. Being at home has been lovely. Thank you. Thank you to my friends who gave me a verbal bitch slap in order to make me see that I was becoming one of those negative-infused people that I have no use for. Thank you to my children for reminding me what true beauty is. Thank you to my universe for having a way of putting me back on track even when I am lost in a dark wood.

Raising Children

2009-04-12T15:59:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Raising Children
(written May 13, 2008)

There are many things in life that make a person stop think "Am I doing the right thing?" And the right thing is so subjective for each person and situation and circumstances at that point in life. As a mother, I think about it all the time. Am I doing the right thing? It's scary to think how large an influence I am in shaping two people. Today they are happy children, but one wrong move on my part and they could be damaged serial killers. It's a tough burden to bear.

I love my children. I do the best I can for them. But I worry. I work too much. If I take a night for myself, am I spending too much time away? I need to clean the house, but they need to get outside. We haven't been to the park in a month. They are filthy from playing outside, but they are falling asleep and really should get to bed - no bath tonight. They won't touch the tofu I cooked; McDonald's for the kids - and mom has failed again. These are the small things, the everyday things. Can you even imagine the big things that come up?

Yesterday, my kids were out playing with some of the neighborhood kids. There's a boy who is a bad influence that I've told my kids they aren't allowed to play with anymore. But of course, when I poked my head out of the window to check on the kids, they were not only playing with him, my son was joining him in throwing things at the cars. Great. My son is on a path to delinquency. So, I called them inside. They both came right away, and my son said he was sorry for doing it. I reiterated that he was not to play with that boy and never to do bad things with him. Nevertheless, Mommy Worry set in. What is the right thing to do??

This morning, my daughter woke up very early with a fever and a nasty cough. So, I called my neighbor downstairs to see if my son could walk with her son to school this morning. I can see him from my kitchen window the entire way to school. He stopped to look both ways before he crossed the street. He walked, then ran, then dawdled to cut down some high weeds with a stick (fighting some imaginary foe, I'm sure). But he went straight to the school yard and when the bell rang, he immediately got in line to go into class, and I could see him smile when his teacher opened the door. My son loves school.

I'm raising a good boy. Am I doing the right thing to worry so much?

Work in Progress

2009-04-12T15:56:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Work in Progress
(written May 4, 2008)

After admiring my soul in the mirror
and comparing it to my new haircut
I remember a bitch in a bathroom
saying "I wouldn't remember you"
Then I think of the guy
hoping he'll put a check in the box by the "YES"
I look back at the mirror
Wishing my stomach were flatter
My thighs were thinner
My stretch marks gone
and that I could wear my soul like my new haircut

Funny Kid Moments

2009-04-12T15:54:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Funny Kid Moments
(written April 14, 2008)

I realized that I haven't posted child humor in a while. And they've been pretty funny lately. Here are some of my favorites:
_____________________________________________________

The kids are playing in the next room and I overheard my son say to his sister, "Hey, kid!"
My daughter gets puffed up, and yells back to show her indignation, "I am NOT a kid!"
Boy, in his best you-really-are-a-moron voice: "Yes, you are."
Girl, still yelling: "I'm telling! MOM!!!!"
Me: "You're a rotten kid. And so is T___."
T. just laughs, but the girl deflates, pouts and walks away to sulk.
"I'm not a kid. I'm not rotten eda."
____________________________________________________

I am forever telling my daughter how beautiful she is. If you need proof, just take a second to look through my pictures. One thing I say on a regular basis is "Who's my pretty girl?" She, of course, replies "Me!" and gives me a big hug. So, last week, she walks into my room as I'm getting ready for work. In appreciation of my chosen outfit, she puts her hands on hips, smiles, shakes her head in approval and says "Who's my pretty mommy?"
____________________________________________________

My son comes home from school, and pulls a piece of paper out of his backpack. He says "I wrote you a love note." My heart swells for a minute as I take it from him. Then, I read:

DEAR mommy
WHen YUO BUY A caR I AM gunA WAnT A blue caR.

What more could a Mommy ask for? That's true love right there.

So I'm reading this book . . .

2009-04-12T15:47:00.002-04:00

This is another one from the myspace archives. This one is special to me though. I hated the book, but his section about Molly really struck me. I've often been Molly, and I've often had those looking over their shoulders return to tell me what fools they've been after I'm past caring enough to let them return. It's heartbreaking in a way I can't even explain. Not only for me, but for them. I was forced to miss out on wonderful men, but they missed out on me.

So I'm reading this book . . .
(written January 11, 2008)

. . . and I dislike it. It is Journey to the End of the Night by Louis-Ferdinand Celine. This is my third attempt to read it. I have simply been unable to get past the first 50 pages up until now. It has taken me a good six weeks to arrive at page 199. I'm trying. I hate leaving a book unfinished once I've picked it up. Unless it is anything by John Reichy. But I digress. . .

The first 50 pages are rather amusing in their cynicism, delving into the horrors of being a soldier during WWI. After that, you feel beat over the head with his hatred of and scorn for the human race. There are many, many passages I could highlight to illustrate my point, but why bother. If you open the book and point to a random passage, you'll understand.

Arriving on page 199, I read the following:

"Molly and I avoided elaborate confessions. She knew the score. She was too sincere to say much about her grief. She knew what went on inside, in her heart, and that was enough for her. We kissed. But I didn't kiss her properly as I should have, on my knees if the truth be known. I was always partly thinking about something else at the same time, about not wasting time and tenderness, as if I wanted to keep them for something magnificent, something sublime, for later, but not for Molly and not for this particular kiss. As if life would carry away everything I longed to know about it, about life in the thick of the night, and hide it from me, while I was expending my passion in kissing Molly, and then I wouldn't have enough left, I'd have lost everything for want of strength, and life - Life, the true mistress of all real men - would have tricked me as it tricks everyone else."

For several pages, he's gone on about what a good woman Molly is and how nice she is to him and how he trusts her (something he points out that in fearful people takes the place of love). And yet, he won't let her be enough. And it makes me wonder how often we all do it. Beautiful things happen everyday. Love is something to cherish, and sometimes the best things for us are right under our noses. Yet, we turn from it, often very willingly. I know I have been guilty of that myself.

I suppose I take issue with his last line. I don't think Life tricks people into expending their passions on what they have presently. I think we trick ourselves into not fully cherishing what and who we have in our lives now. And that is how we let life slip away from us. I believe that time and tenderness spent on a person will only be given back to you. And when it is given back, it renews the tenderness you can give again. And when the "inside" is focused on, love grows. And where there is love, there is more life than anyone could hope to find elsewhere. So, why bother looking over your shoulder? Just look under your nose.

Why?

2009-04-12T15:42:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Why?
(written December 14, 2007)

I get excited about Christmas. I do every year. I always spend too much money on gifts. I spend a lot of time cooking. We decorate. We send cards. We take pictures. I get so excited about waking up to see what Santa brought the kids.

And then I get frustrated. I have spent SO much time cleaning this house the past few days. I've spent a lot of time wrapping presents. I woke up this morning hearing presents being ripped and fighting. When I ran into the living room, my children had donuts and oranges all over the floor. They had moved the couch. And they had taken every present from under the tree and piled them up in the middle of all of this mess. The ripping I'd heard was one of the presents being torn through by another gift. But why did I bother?

Yesterday, New England had its first snow storm of the season. I had to go to the laundry mat. Why? Because my son came home from school with lice. Fun. So, now, not only do I get the joy of cleaning my house AGAIN. I have to wash all of the laundry AGAIN. I know it isn't his fault. But I'm working my butt off to make sure the lice are gone, and they get to destroy what I'm doing right behind me.

While I was at the laundry mat, I decided that I would get pizza for dinner last night and donuts for breakfast today. I knew school would be canceled today, and I wanted them to have a good snow day. So, I thought I would have donuts and hot chocolate for breakfast and they could go play outside until they froze and then come in for more hot chocolate. But that didn't work out. They got to the donuts before I even woke up. They finished those off and pulled out the left-over pizza to eat. Which was one of the boxes in their tower. They had pulled out a couple of oranges and left the peel all over the floor. There is something sticky on the floor. I'm sure it's poorly wiped up juice. Nevertheless, it is disgusting.

I'm so frustrated. I work so hard to make sure they have everything they need. I can't afford to get them everything they want. So, when Christmas comes around, I buy too much. I'm so tired, and they don't get it. Don't get me wrong, I don't expect them too understand. They are too little. But it is depressing. And Santa stopped granting my wishes a long time ago.

In 1996 . . .

2009-04-12T15:38:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

In 1996 . . .
(written September 12, 2007)

. . . Cristen Leann Heath (that's me, folks) got her driver's license. When that was taken away two months later because of a reckless driving incident, that license ended up getting placed between two pages of the 1996 New Kent County High School "Iliad", better known as the yearbook, right beside a picture of the first play I was ever in. I played a slut. And I was dressed appropriately for the part in a mini-dress that would have made Britney Spears blush. Or rub chicken grease on something. But that's beside the point. That yearbook was packed away to rot in my parent's basement until I moved to Rhode Island. At that point it was taken out and put on a shelf to be ignored for two years.

Tonight, for some reason, I decided to start looking up old classmates on the internet. I'm still not sure what made me decide to do it. But I pulled out my senior yearbook and just went backward through books. Nostalgia set in. I had cards from Mr. Cashin asking what he did wrong this time. I had notes from Jay to "Momma". Linka Linka has little birds drawn in those books that can still make me laugh. My best and most loved friend, Jeff, posing like an asshole in all the Forensics team pictures. In every picture, you could tell we all thought we were so cool. So, when I got to 1996, my old license fell out, and I see that I put it beside my picture of me on stage in the slut costume. I study the picture first. I'm trying not to laugh while saying my lines. God. My acting got so much better. And Wow! My body was awesome! Why did I think there was so much wrong with it then? Then, I study the license. I stare at my 16-year-old face. It is pretty. Much prettier than the one I remember looking at in the mirror every day getting ready for high school. The face is hopeful. The face is nervous, even a little scared. I look at Cristen Leann Heath. Before I hated high school. Before the rape. Before my family turned insane. Before college. Before I lost my best friend and found myself. Before the marriage, 2 kids and divorce. Before a lot of struggle and loss and hardship. Before I really knew who Cristen Leann Heath was. Now, I'm well acquainted with her. I like her a lot. My life has become a full place, spiritually and emotionally. This year is the first I can say that I have been truly happy in several years. And I look at this first driver's license. And I think Damn it. My nose HAS gotten bigger.

Backseat Mayhem

2009-04-12T15:28:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Backseat Mayhem
(written September 4, 2007)

After our usual evening routine of leaving the daycare and going to the YMCA, the kids and I decided to go to the grocery store. While heading to the store, the kids started in on their usual arguments. I tuned them out. Thank god my ears turned themselves back on for the following conversation:

"I'm gonna call the police!" Says my 4-year-old princess in a huff.

She promptly starts dialing 9-1-1 on her Disney Princess cell phone. As it rings to horribly electronic versions of Disney songs, I have time to think "I'm so proud that she has remembered all of our talks about what to do in an emergency" before I hear:
"Hello. Police? Come get this stupid boy." Realizing that I may in fact be listening and that she would get in trouble for saying stupid, she quickly amends her request. "I mean, come get this boring boy. I don't like him."

Then, she deepens her voice so that her brother will hear what the police officer is saying to her and says "Okay. I'll come." She then hangs up her phone and I'm sure she gave her brother a nice example of how far her tongue can actually stick out of her mouth without detaching from her head.

Her brother will not be deterred by mere police coming to get him. Oh, no. "Oh, yeah? I'll call Superman. Superman?! Come get her!" He then deepens his voice so that his sister will know Superman means business, and has Superman answer "Okay. I'm on my way." He then turns to his sister to say "See? Superman's gonna get you."

I was disappointed that this argument had to end. But as Superman descended to pinch the princess on her arm, I pulled into the parking lot and declared that no one would be getting a treat at the store. Take that police AND Superman.

4-Year-Old Cat Calls

2009-04-12T15:23:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

4-Year-Old Cat Calls
(written July 26, 2007)

I just dropped my daughter off at daycare. As you enter the daycare building, you walk past a fenced-in outdoor play area. Beside the door three of the four- and five-year olds who were playing outside that morning, lined up inside of the fence.

As my daughter and I walked past, one of the boys said "Hi!" I said hello back, because it is not unusual for the kids to say hello in the morning. Then, one of the boys said to my daughter "Hey, baby." My daughter got really upset, and turned to me. Pointing at the offender, she said "He just called me a baby! I'm not a baby! I'm a big girl!" I ushered her in the door, assuring her that she was indeed a big girl. The way the boy said it, I wasn't sure if he really had simply called her a baby or if it was the typical male start of a conversation. I hoped for the former.

My hopes were dashed as I walked out of the building. Oh, yes. I was cat-called by the same group. "Hey, M___'s mom. What's up?" "Hey, baby." I just kept walking.

Funny Things Heard in the Atkins' Home

2009-04-12T15:19:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Funny Things Heard in the Atkins' Home
(written June 20, 2007)

While my children are a never-ending source of amusement for me, I must say they have been upping it a notch the past couple of days. Here are a few of my favorites:

Boy: Mommy, you're a pretty girl.
Me: Thank you, sweet boy.
Girl: I'm a pretty girl too, right?
Me: Of course you are, honey.
Girl: I was askin' my bruda. I'm a pretty girl too, right?
Boy: (Unitelligible grumble)
Girl: (sounding very small and verging on tears) T____? . . . I'm pretty too, right?
Boy: Yes. Now, leave me alone.
____________________________________________________________________

Me: Time for bed.
Girl: But we didn't have dinner yet.
Me: Yes, you did.
Girl: No, we didn't.
Me: We had pizza, remember?
Girl: That wasn't dinner.
Me: Yes, it was. And now its time for bed.
Boy: My sister is right. That wasn't dinner because I'm hungry again.
___________________________________________________________________

And the BEST:

Girl: Mom, I put my dirty clothes in the hampster.

Alone Time

2009-04-12T15:14:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Alone Time
(written May 6, 2007)

I have recently made a decision. I have decided that I need to learn to do things on my own. Well, not on my own, really. I do that already. But ALONE. For instance, I have never been to a movie by myself. Not once. Ever. That needs to change my friends.

I have come to this conclusion because of a stupid boy. I do not have trouble finding dates. However, since making a switch into Monogamy Land, I have spent the last three weekends at home. Needless to say, I don't think I'm liking my tenure in Monogamy Land, and I'm quickly approaching the border back home. Why? Because the more I sit at home, the more I hate the walls around me. The more I hate the walls around me, the more angry I am at stupid boy. I was bitching to another friend of mine about the situation, and he asked why didn't I just go alone or go out with my girlfriends or have people over to my place. I was speechless. Hard to believe that I would not have something to say, but it is true. He was totally, 100% correct.

I don't go out with my girlfriends because I am not specifically invited to go out with them. Now, I know that it isn't really an invitational thing when the girls decide to get together. That doesn't stop me from feeling like I am somehow crashing their good time if I decide to go. Only when someone specifically says "Leann, would you like to join us?" do I feel that it is okay to be there. Well, that has to stop. And what is keeping me from being the one to say "Hey, anybody want to go for cocktails?" Nothing. That's what. Absolutely nothing. Except my own irrational brain waves.

Same thing with inviting people over. I've just been lazy. And I hate to do my dishes and it is slightly embarrassing. That part can be hurdled. So, I think I will. Oh, yes, oh yes. People at my house. What a novelty! It would also solve the problem of having to find a sitter. Why didn't I think of this before??

But I think the most important thing is that I am terrified to go anywhere alone. Why is that?? I made my first endeavor last night. I went to Route 44's CD release party last night. It was a rocking party. Here's my problem: I get there. I don't know anyone. I become instantly shy. If you know me, you know I'm not really shy. So, how is it that I clam up in a room full of people celebrating that they have a common interest while that said common interest is totally rocking out the house on stage? I found I couldn't talk to anyone. Thank God, I ran into some friends of mine and I could hang out with them. Otherwise, I would have been the weird quiet chick in the corner all night. I have decided that I must face this fear, and make repeated endeavors out unaccompanied. I will be going on a weekend away in July. Totally alone. But before I do that, I think I will take in a movie.

Looking for Princes

2009-04-06T15:45:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Looking for Princes
(written on April 25, 2007)

I've written before about how my daughter insists that she needs to marry her brother because he is a prince and she is a princess and princesses must marry a prince. Well, I was getting ready for work in the morning, and the following conversation started with my daughter:

"Mommy, you's a beautiful princess."
"Thank you, baby. You're a beautiful princess too!"
"Mommy, princesses marry princes."
"Yes, they do."
"You need to marry a big, big, big prince betause you're a big, big, big lady."
"Gee, thanks. Uh-huh."
"And I need to marry a lil prince betause I'm a lil guwal."
"Well, you can wait until you're big to get married."
"But I tan marry my bruda."
From the other room comes an indignant "NO!" from the said brother.
"BUT YOU'S A PRINCE! I HAVE TO MARRY A LIL PRINCE!" screams back the little princess.
"NOOOO!"
"Honey, girls do not marry their brothers."
"But princesses do!"
The little princess ignores the last comment, saying: "You tan marry my daddy betause he's a big prince and you's a big princess."
"I don't think so, honey."
"But why? He's a prince!"
Not wanting to explain the why to my 3-year-old, I resorted to her level. "But Daddy's not my brother."
"Oooohhhh . . . Then you tan marry Pappy."
"But Pappy's married to Nana."
"Well, we got to find you a big prince." With that she left the room.

And off we go . . .

I'm so insulted . . . Kind of . . . Okay, not really.

2009-04-06T15:40:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archive.

I'm so insulted . . . Kind of . . . Okay, not really.
(written April 17, 2007)

My daughter is home sick today. It's been a fun day. She started antibiotics yesterday, so she is feeling well enough to want to play today. So, I let her play and watch movies in the living room while I gave in to my eBay addiction. I also allowed her to have a bowl of dry Kix in the living room to snack on while she watched her cartoon. Normally, I do not allow children to bring food out of the kitchen in my home.

Well, about 15 minutes into my vintage clothing online shopping session, my son comes into my office saying "You have to come see what my sister did! Come look! In the bathroom! The whole bowl! Look!"

Exiting my office, I come directly into the living room where I find that my daughter has stolen her brother's snack of Sun Chips. She was sitting on the floor with a bowl of Kix beside her, cutting up the Sun Chips into small crumbs with one of her plastic play-kitchen knives. She looks up with a radiant smile to say "Look, Momma! I'm making Kix Chip soup!" She scoops up some of the shattered chips, puts them in her cereal bowl, and stirs the chip crumbs into her Kix with one of her tea set spoons. My son stands on the other side of the room, still beckoning me out of the living room toward the bathroom. I shake my head at my daughter's soup and go into the bathroom.

Here, I find that my little girl had failed in her first attempt at Kix Chip soup. The shards of chip must have simply been too large for her texture pallet. How do I know this from walking into the bathroom? Well, I'll tell you. She had dumped the entire bowl of cereal and chips into the bathroom sink and run the water over it, leaving a sticky goopy mess of lumpy Kix and soggy chips. Instead of getting angry, I realized I should have kept more of an eye on the snacks in the living room and I declared that it was nap time.

My daughter did not want to take a nap. She got very angry. She cried. She stamped her feet. She smacked the floor. She screamed. None of this worked. I walked out of the room. Then, she started yelling at me.

"I don't like you anymore, Mommy!"
"I don't even love you anymore!"
"You're meeeeeaaaann!"

And then the best one ever: "You're not a princess anymore! You're a boy!"

Well, I couldn't stop laughing. And the poor girl was so mad that she had failed to insult me that she laid down and cried for 20 minutes straight. What's a Mommy to do?? It was FUNNY!

Four = BIG

2009-04-06T15:35:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archive.

Four = BIG
(written March 13, 2007)

My childrens' birthdays are coming up soon. In fact, my son will be 6 years old on Thursday. So, this morning, my daughter and I were discussing what we should buy him for his birthday and what kind of cake we should make him. But when you are a three-year-old princess, life revolves around you. So, the conversation, of course, landed on her birthday which is coming up in 6 weeks.

"Mommy, I'm going to be fowah years old on my birthday."
"That's right, honey."
"I won't be frwee years old no mowah. Frwee years old means I'm little. Fowah years old means I'm big."
"Four means you're a big girl?"
"Yes!"
"So, that means you'll have to do all the things a big girl does."
"Yeah."
"So, you're going to go to bed when I tell you to?"
"Yeah, betause a big girl would do dat."
"That's right. And you'll have to eat vegetables."
"But I don't like vegables," she says wrinkling her nose in horror.
"But big girls eat vegetables, honey. Are you sure you want to be big?"
She thought for a second, heaved a huge sigh, and said "Okay. I'll eat vegables. I like carrots."
"Carrots are yummy."
"Yeah. I like carrots and cheese and that's enough vegables. I can be a big girl."

Two Kid Stories This Morning

2009-04-06T15:27:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archive.

Two Kid Stories This Morning
(written February 19, 2007)

First Story:
A few days ago, my children were fighting over some mardi gras beads that I gave my daughter to play dress-up with. They both love to play with them for different reasons, and the other morning, they wouldn't stop over these beads. Well, I distracted them by making them get dressed. We were going to go to the YMCA. They were excited. The fighting stopped. We went on with our day. As the kids and I are leaving the Y, my son is complaining to me that his foot hurts. I ask him if his boots are rubbing him, or if his socks are bunched up. He says, "No, my necklace hurts." "Your necklace?" I ask. "Yes, my necklace," he replies, most irritated that I'm not faster on the uptake. "You put the necklace in your shoe?" Well, he looked at me like I was the craziest mommy on the planet, and comes back with "No. In my sock." How could I be so stupid??

Second Story:
The kids played this morning while I slept in a little. So, naturally, both their bedroom and the living looks like they were both sources of a natural disaster. So, I told them that I was going to make pancakes for them if they would help me clean. My daughter gets upset and says "But Moooommm! I only have two hands!" I mean, how do I stand up to that argument?? So, I tell her, "Well, you're just going to have to learn to make due. Or I'll make broccoli for breakfast." She learned to work with her disability pretty quickly.

I need to learn.

2009-04-02T19:11:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archive.

I need to learn.
(written February 11, 2007)

I was getting ready for work a couple of weeks ago, when I realized I hated everything in my closet. I was bloated, and nothing looked good. "Uuuugh," I groan, checking out the too tight jeans. "I feel so fat."

Now, the other day, I was planning my outfit around a specific pair of shoes. (Ladies, you understand, right??) Well, I just couldn't find the right shirt. "Uuuuugh," I groan, checking out the latest choice. My daughter walks up to me, and stands beside me observing the mistake.

"Mommy, are you fat again?"
"What?"
"You's belly?" she says, patting my abdomen. "Is you's belly fat again?"
"No, honey. Mommy isn't fat."
"But you were before."
"No, I wasn't."
"But you said 'Uuuugh. I feel fat.' You's belly was fat."

I tried to explain to her how bloating works, but how do you do that in three-year-old terms. She looked at me like I was crazy and simply said "So, you's fat." And promptly walked away to play.

Remind me to watch what I say in front of her.

Questions of Race

2009-04-02T19:06:00.002-04:00

My daughter went through a period where she was asking a lot of questions about skin color and gender. It was hard. I reached out for advice from friends, and I'm glad I did. I got lots of great advice. Here are the two blogs around that issue.

Help from other parents, please!
(written January 28, 2007)

Okay, I have an issue that I'm not sure how to handle. I would really appreciate some advice from other parents.

My daughter has been asking a lot of questions about her skin color lately. I suppose that's normal. She started by asking what color she was. I told her she was caucasian. She said "No, Mommy. I'm white." I pointed to the bathroom wall, which is white-white. I asked her what color it was. She said it was white. I held her arm up to it. I asked her if her arm looked white. She said no. I told her again that she was caucasian.

The next instance was with one of my friends. My friend keeps the kids on Saturday so that I can go to my stage combat class. My friend is Latino. My daughter asked me if my friend was black. I said "No, she is Hispanic." My daughter said "Oooohh, she's 'spanic." I asked her if it mattered what my friend was. She said "Yes. She isn't black."

THEN, the one that really made me angry. We were preparing to go to my friend's house once again. Now, my friend has a son about my daughter's age. They have such a great time playing together. He is darker skinned than his mother. I asked my daughter if she was excited to see my friend's son again. She said "Mom. I don't like black boys." I got very angry. I told her I didn't ever want to hear that out of her mouth again. I asked her if the little boy hit her or was mean to her. She said no. I asked her if he was nice to her. She said yes. So, I asked "Well, if he's nice to you, what does it matter what color he is?" She started pouting, knowing I was mad, and wouldn't answer me.

I just don't know what to do. Race does not play a part in my home. I have no idea who is talking to her about this sort of thing. She has many people of all different races around her on a daily basis. I am just not sure how to respond to this sort of talk. I know she has to be curious, and I know she is going to notice the differences between her and her classmates and teachers and so forth. But how do I respond?? Any advice would be much appreciated!!

Update on the Girl Issue
(written February 6, 2007)

In our last episode . . . My daughter has been interested in skin color lately, and finally said to me "Mom. I don't like black boys." Said Mom lost it.

First, I would like to say thank you to the parents who responded, both online and in person. You all gave great advice. You are all absolutely correct that I needed to remain calm and not settle for the "I don't know" answers I was getting from her.

On Monday, I started talking to her about it again. We were getting ready in the morning, one of her favorite times to hang out with me. So, I told her I shouldn't have gotten so angry and that I was sorry for that. I asked her if she remembered what she said and asked her why she said it. I got the "I don't know." I continued to ask if someone had said anything. I talked to her about reasons why she might not like someone, and how she might hurt someone's feelings. Finally, it came out that a little boy in her class has been very mean to her teacher lately. My daughter loves her teacher and has been very upset at the way this boy has acted. He is black. So, I talked to her about how she shouldn't say she doesn't like all black boys. I also talked to her teacher about it, and the teacher said she would talk to her.

So, thank you for the advice guys. This was a load off my mind.

Silence

2009-04-02T19:03:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Silence
(written January 23, 2007)

Blood is the gift I gave you
And in return
Silence
Like standing naked in snowfall
Waiting for God to arrive
To give me something
Anything to believe in
Besides the pain of each snowflake
Hitting my frozen, bloodless skin.
And I wait
waiting for you to feel my silence.
My silence
Like the sun burning a summer's heat
Melting, fusing me into the ground
So I can feel everything offered
Including you
My blood boiling over
I believe
It must melt your silence.
But all I see
Are footprints left in the snow from when you walked away
Leaving only silence behind.

I don't want to be awesome!

2009-04-02T19:01:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

I don't want to be awesome!
(written January 18, 2007)

Today, I picked the kids up from daycare and had to bring them with me to the performance hall. We had a concert tonight and I had a sitter issue (meaning, I didn't have one for the night). So, I'm talking to them in the car about how quiet they will have to be when the music starts. They start telling me how good they are going to be, and how they are going to listen to the music and be very quiet and help me because they love me. Then, they start arguing over who loves me more. This is not a real argument. This is a playful banter that we all get into at least once a day. So, I jump in with "HEY!" Silence from the backseat. "How did you get so awesome??" Again, a moment of silence. Then my daughter, near tears, says "But I don't want to be awesome. I want to be pretty." Was I wrong to laugh so hard?

Sometimes, I'm just not sure.

2009-04-02T18:57:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Sometimes, I'm just not sure.
(written January 17, 2007)

I should start this blog by saying, I'm very sad. If you aren't interested in why, stop reading. Seriously.

I have been trying to call my ex-husband for two weeks. Granted, in two weeks, I've only called twice. But with my first message, I guess I was expecting a call back.

Right now, I have not seen child support in about 6 weeks. When my ex changed jobs, he said that he had called the child support agency to let them know. I expected a delay. After a month, I called the office myself to see what was up. I was told he had never contacted them about a change of employment, and I was asked if I knew where he was working. I told them. Now, it will take another few weeks for all of that paper work to go through and for me to see any money. In the meantime, I'm not sure how I'm going to pay for everything I need to pay for. My bills have fallen behind in order to make sure the daycare is paid on time. That is just one "for instance." I don't think my ex understands that at all. He has no idea how much money it takes to raise two kids. However, the first time I called him, I didn't mention any of this. I kept it to myself because there is a bigger issue that I wanted to discuss with him.

My son is being evaluated for autism. Don't get me wrong, that doesn't scare me. I have been trying to tell teachers about some behavioral quirks that I have seen in my son since he was two years old. In fact, for a time, I worked at a school in New York for children with disabilities. One of the training classes that I had to take was all about autism. I sat through that class shocked that my son showed several traits for it. At the time, he was in speech therapy and I asked his speech therapist about how I might have him evaluated. She said he wasn't, and for me not to worry about it. Since then, I have asked every teacher, therapist and pediatrician he's had about his behaviors and what it might be. I have, at times, mentioned autism. No one has listened to me. I have always been told there is no way he is autistic because he is too social and loving.

Now, he is in kindergarten. He has a speech therapist, a resource teacher, and a regular teacher. He is up for re-evaluation for speech, and there is protocol that must be followed in order for the speech pathologist to do so. The first step is to have a meeting with all of his teachers, the school principal, psychologist, social worker, and the director of special education. After hearing the reports from the teachers and from me, the psychologist said he sounded like a puzzle and asked if she could evaluate him as well because of behavioral issues that seemed to happen frequently in the classroom. The psychologist and the special ed director both mentioned autism as a possibility. Now, they can only look for "red flags" and I would actually have to have him diagnosed by a doctor. But if they find these flags, it sounds like I am going to be on a long journey. Either way, I will be relieved to know for sure and I will know how to handle these behaviors. Like I said, autism doesn't scare me. But I would like the other parent to be involved.

When I left my ex the first message, I told him briefly about the meeting and that our son would be evaluated for flags of autism. That was two weeks ago. No return call.

I know my ex loves his kids. So, why does he back away from them? I know we're a long way away. But he could call. When I call him about something like this, he should at least respond. He should be more involved. Especially when his son thinks the world of him. Everyday, I hear about how tall he's getting - like his daddy. Everyday, I hear how strong he's getting - like his daddy. Everyday, I hear something about his daddy.

Before Christmas, I picked the kids up from daycare and began to drive to a shopping area. I asked the kids what they wanted to get their dad. My daughter immediately said "I don't know." My son thought about it for a few minutes and said "Daddy needs a house." I told him that Daddy had a house, and didn't need another one. My son thought some more, and said "Can we get Daddy a fence with some Christmas lights on it to go around his house?" I told him that Daddy already had a fence around the backyard, but we could get him some lights if that's what he wanted to buy. So, he thought some more. "Daddy needs a car." I told him that Daddy has a car. "What color is it?" "White," I replied. "Well, Daddy needs a green car, like us." I managed to talk him out of buying Daddy a car. So, he thought some more. My ex-husband had come up for Thanksgiving to see the kids. It is the first time he's ever visited here. When he arrived, he wasn't wearing a coat. We all asked him about it, and he said he'd lost it. Finally, I hear a very serious voice come from the back seat. My son said "Can we buy Daddy a coat? It's too cold for him to not wear a coat." My heart melted. "Of course we can buy your daddy a coat." I had to take him to three stores before he found a coat that he wanted to buy his father. I spent way more money than I intended to when we got in the car at the daycare, but it meant so much to my little guy to get a coat for his dad.

Now, when the Christmas fiasco happened, I only explained part of it to the kids. I told the kids that their dad had been in a car accident, which meant his car got hurt and he wouldn't be able to drive up to get us. On Saturday, the kids and I were leaving the gym and my son asked again if we could buy Daddy a new car. I again said that Daddy has his own car. My son said "But you said Daddy's car got hurt and he couldn't drive it." He was very upset with me when I told him that we were not going to buy his father a car.

This is why I'm sad. My son is concerned about his dad all the time. My son is so loving and sweet. My son is the kind of kid who breaks his donut in half to share with his sister because she gobbled hers up in a blink, and then breaks his half in half to share with his mommy who didn't get a donut. If my son had the money, I am positive he would buy his dad a house with a fence and lights to go on it and a green car and the warmest coat he could find. So, why can't his dad even call to ask why his son is being evaluated for autism?

I'm a Winner! (or not)

2009-04-02T18:50:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

I'm a Winner! (or not)
(written January 8, 2007)

Right now, I am sitting at my computer. I hurt all over, my hair is a mess, and I have five gold stars stuck across my chest. Why? Because according to my daughter, "You's a winna, Momma."

I hurt all over because I've been working out like a crazy woman, and I went to the gym with a friend. I've worked muscles that I don't get in my normal routine. So, I'm convinced that I need to join an actual gym rather than doing this at home all the time. However, that is beside the point right now. It seems like basic training for Mommy-hood. I need to be strong, fit, tough, have the energy of ten three-year-olds . . . Until you are lifting said three-year-old with sore abs, arms, thighs . . . groan . . .

My hair is askew because I have been snuggling in bed with my kids, reading and having quiet time together this evening. I couldn't take watching another Disney movie and I wasn't up for playing games after a full day of taking my daughter to work so I could leave and take her to a doctor's appointment then go pick up her brother and head home to make dinner and put away the laundry I folded last night and clean and . . .

Taking my daughter to work today was great on one hand. I love having the time with my kids. She is such a good girl, and played quietly by my desk all day. Still, I was constantly distracted by the "Mommy?" "I have to go potty." "Can I have a snack?" "Did you bring my other coloring book?" I got very little done in the few hours I was at work today, but I felt more exhausted than normal upon leaving at half day. Then, off to the doctor for my daughter. She's had a bit of a cold for about two weeks now, but it has been getting much better. In the last few days, I have barely noticed anything at all. However, she began telling me her ears hurt. Better safe than sorry, I took her into the doctor only to be told she's fine. Sigh . . . Since my girl was hungry and had been so good at both my work and at the doctor, I treated her to her favorite meal, pepperoni pizza. After we finished eating, we headed back toward home to pick up my son from his after school daycare. He was napping when we arrived. He was so knocked out, I had to carry him to the car. He's getting so big. I won't be able to pick him up like that much longer. And did I mention, I hurt all over? At home, we sat down to go over the contents of my son's backpack.

Afterward came dinner. I made omelets. Now, as far as I can remember I have loved omelets, but I have been largely unsuccessful at making them. They turn into scrambled eggs with stuff in it. However, thanks to a friend of mine treating me to breakfast last weekend (smooches! thank you!), I decided I needed to give it another shot. So, I did. And the omelets came out beautifully. I put them on my children's plates. My daughter says "What's this?" My son promptly replies "Eggs with stuff in it." I was crushed. My first real, beautiful omelet and it was still just eggs with stuff.

After that, we read quietly snuggled in my bed. I read a short story from a collection I'm reading right now. The kids flipped through their own books. When I was finished with my story, I read each of their books aloud to them. When that was done, I laid out toothbrushes and jammies and let them get ready for bed. My daughter got ready quickly and came to sit with me in the office while I was checking email. She got out a card and a pen and started scribbling, telling me she was writing her name. Then she starts singing a song about what a pretty, nice mommy she has. My heart melted for a minute. Then, my son reared his ugly anti-bedtime head. I went into battle. When I returned, my daughter was singing that I was a winner and started putting gold star stickers all over my chest. She handed me her fairy wand, telling me I was a winner and I got to keep her wand. My son stood in the office doorway, smiling. I smiled back. My daughter turned to her brother and said "Mommy is a winner. Isn't she?" My son just looked at me and said "No. I don't want to go to bed."

Sigh . . .

Bah Humbug!

2009-04-02T18:42:00.002-04:00

From the myspace archives. A rant from a really crappy week.

Bah Humbug!
(written December 28, 2006)

I am pissed. I really need a lot of shit off of my chest. So, right now, I'm going to rant. I'm going to rant like I've never ranted on this stupid blog. It will be a stream of consciousness blog, so ride the raft if you dare to. There will be white rapids crashing over huge fucking boulders. There will be lots of spelling mistakes and cut of sentences and no paragraph breaks. Because I am pissed and I am going to let it all out. Right here, right now. On the fucking blog. Blogging. What the fuck is up with the fucking BLOG anyway?? I mean, I can talk to all of you, or I can post a "private" blog on the internet? Oxymoron, anyone?? Anyway. How is it that I feel like I have no one to talk to right now, and yet I can talk to everyone on the myspace network with one little click on a button?? What is wrong with us? Where have we lost that connection to other human beings?? I interact with my computer more than I interact with the people I love. Why? Because they are all on the computer!! I find it much easier to write an email than to call. Why?? Because I don't want to bother them! WHY?? I DON'T KNOW! But I know when I pick up a phone, I feel like I'm suddenly a huge intruder into someone's personal space. I feel like they are cringing to hear the phone ring. I'm perfectly happy to have anyone call me at anytime. I don't get why I feel like a nuisance to everyone around me for using the telephone. But maybe that's why no one calls me. Does everyone feel that way now?? I'm begging, anyone who reads this, CALL! I miss you! I miss your voice! Just fucking call! I'm tired of knowing the font you prefer better than I can recognize your voice! If you don't know me, pick up the phone and call someone you DO know! Unless, of course, you are calling to yell at me. I've had enough shittiness this week. Christmas day in fact. I've had more than one woman should have to stand. While, I know that ex-husbands are EX's for a reason, I still find myself surprised at how shitty mine can be. First I should day that the Commonwealth of Virginia sucks goat balls. They can't get it right. They are half-wits. All government workers. If you don't live in a commonwealth now, for the love of GOD, don't move to one! If you are living in one now (that would include Virginia, Massachusetts, Kentucky and Pennsylvania) I strongly urge you to leave. Bunch of god damned socialists run it all. And if you study history at all, you know a god damned socialist government DOES NOT WORK. Communism is a hugely failed experiment. WHY?? Because it gets stuck in the SOCIALISM stage and bloody revolutions happen to bring it back to a democracy or some other dictatorship. Anyway, to get back to reason number 925467785874466492149 that the fucking Commonwealth of Virginia sucks is that I have not received child support in a month. This is not the fault of my ex. No, truly, it is not. He changed jobs. He alerted the Child Support office. He did everything he was supposed to do. It has taken them WEEKS to do the paperwork on it. So, no child support. We were supposed to travel to Virginia to see my family and then the kids were to stay with their dad for a week while I came home to Rhode Island. Because Rhode Island is my home! A STATE! Where we all know who REALLY runs things and money talks. In Spanish. But nevertheless it still talks. Anyway, my ex told me he would help me pay for said trip. He told me this a month ago. Now, while I was not initially excited to have to make that trip. I mean, who is really ever up for a 9 hour drive (and that's with amazingly good traffic, and no construction in Connecticut - snerk)? Not this woman! But I booked the car the day after my ex told me he would send extra money for this trip. And I started to get excited. My grandmother was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. She's held on longer than the time the doctor gave her. For all I know, she'll be around next Christmas. But the fact is, I hear her voice on the phone, and I know she's getting more and more tired. I know she won't be around next Christmas and I wanted to be there this year. I grew up with my father saying on a daily basis "Damn women. I can't wait to have you all out of my house." Lord knows, the road has been rocky with my father. But when it comes down to it. I love him. He's my Daddy. I called to wish him a happy birthday the week before Christmas, and he actually said to me "I'm really looking forward to having all of my children and grandchildren at home for Christmas this year." My father has never said anything like that to me, and it brought tears to my eyes. I got emails from everyone in my family about how excited they were to see me. And my favorite aunt and uncle decided to make the trip from Kentucky to be there at Christmas when I was supposed to be there. So, all this build up, and I'm sure you can see where this is going. My ex fell through with the money. Now, I have to say, that honestly wasn't his fault either, but how he handled it, I blame him for. He changed jobs shortly after he told me he would send me money. The new job held his paycheck until the second pay period. That put a major crimp in his cash flow. But did he bother to call me about what was going on? NO! I happened to try to contact him at his old job (the only number I had for him) because of my son's report card (that rant to come) only to be told he no longer worked there. So, I did the only thing I could think of and that was to email his mother. I told her that I needed to talk to him because if he wasn't going to have the money for the car, I needed to make other arrangements. The last thing I heard was that he would take care of it and for me not to worry. So, I didn't. A few days before we were supposed to leave, I was calling every chance I got to see what was up. He told me they were still holding his paycheck, but that he should be able to get a couple hundred to send to me. Next thing I know, he's telling me he decided to have a tire and rim put on his car so he wasn't riding around on the spare anymore, and he had to use the $200 he had to do that. Okay, I might be a woman, but I'm not a fucking idiot. I know damn good and well that a USED - not even NEW - tire and rim are NOT going to cost $200. Or he really got screwed. I mean, ass raped with no lube. End result: No money sent to me to go to Virginia. So, then, he gets into a car accident. WHY? Oh, Karma is a bitch. That's why. This solid gold used tire blew and he wrecked the car. KARMA. Fucking Karma. So, now he's just pissed at the world, but I'm the closest thing to lash out at. His mother offered to drive to meet me halfway and take the kids down to Virginia. I can't tell you how thankful I was. I have really been looking forward to this break for a long time. I have really loved the thought that I could finally trust their dad enough to keep them for an extended period of time. I really wasn't worried. I kept thinking how great it would be for both the kids AND their dad. Real bonding time that has been sorely missed, especially by my son. She told me she would meet me and that she would bring the kids back whenever I wanted and that she would make sure they saw my family. I was excited. But after missing Christmas at my parents' house, I at least didn't say anything to the kids. All kinds of issues came up in the meantime. It seemed like no one down in Virginia knew where the kids would be staying. His mother is really ill and when I stopped to think, was wondering how she would make that drive twice. But the major issue became when the kids would be back. No one could get them back or even meet me halfway again until January 6. My son would miss an entire week of school. Not acceptable. Especially after the report card he brought home. (Here is were I will have the report card rant.) My son is functioning below the appropriate level in 38 out of 39 areas. When I had a conference with his teacher about this, I find out that it is because she is giving him timed tests. Timed VERBAL tests. MY SON HAS A FUCKING SPEECH DELAY!!!!! How the fuck can this woman totally ignore that he has an issue like that?? He has an IEP and has two resource teachers. She is giving him literally ONE minute to name all of his uppercase and lowercase letters as she points to them. That's 52 letters. That's roughly 1 second per letter. My poor son can't get the words out of his mouth that fast! But I do flash cards at home with him. He knows the stuff she says he doesn't. We read together all the time. He's picking out small words. We were picking up pizza tonight and he said "What does p-i-z-z-a spell?" Don't tell me this kid isn't learning!! Funny thing is, the other two teachers both think he's progressing quite well and think he's a great kid. What do I hear from his classroom teacher? That his BEHAVIOR is improving. And she freely admits that she has taken to telling him that she can't understand him and doesn't have time for it. EXCUSE ME?? I had enough sense not to deck the bitch in the face. So, when she blew me off telling me she needed to move on to her next meeting (after a whole 7 minutes of her time had gone by), I decided to make an appointment with the principal. Until I have that meeting, it is important that my son be in school and continuing to work. When school starts back on January 2, he can't be out for that entire week! I said I would be willing to work with a day, but not 4. How can I go to the principal saying that the teacher isn't doing the right thing when it comes to my son, when they can turn right back around and ask me why I'm letting him skip a week of school? I can't. That's what. So, I ended up telling my ex that if no one could meet me earlier than that, we were just staying home. He was of course mad. But he took responsibility for getting us down there when I could have done something about it. He screwed up. I'm tired of covering for him and bending over backwards to make him happy. He hasn't done that for me, god knows! I just find it funny that I have managed to get down there THREE times this year and I've gotten down without a hitch. But the one time it is up to him, it is all messed up. Figures. But in his mind it is all my fault and I'm the one being unreasonable. He tells me "If this is the way it's going to be, Leann, we need to have something written in the court. . ." "EXCUSE ME??" I raise my voice at him. "How is this MY fault?" "DON'T YOU YELL AT ME, BITCH." This is where I hung up the phone. I also was so upset that I called back to scream into his answering machine "HOW DARE YOU! MAYBE IF YOU BEEN AROUND FOR THE LAST FUCKING FIVE YEARS, THINGS WOULDN'T BE THIS HARD, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Granted, this was not my finest moment. But I get threatened with court from a man who didn't even call us for over a year at one time? I get threatened with court from a man who I had to cover for when my two-year-old daughter came home from daycare holding a Father's Day craft she made and asked me "Mommy, who is MY daddy?" I get threatened with court from someone like that?? I have worked my ass off to raise these kids! I have done everything I can for them. I have worked three jobs at a time just to put food on the table at certain times. I have worked jobs I hated and hated getting out of bed to go to. But I did it for them! And he has the nerve to call me a bitch and threaten to take me to court on Christmas day?? HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THEY ASKED SANTA FOR!! How could I have ever loved him so much? And how did it all end up here? Where I can't stand the thought of him sometimes. Where I'm so hurt and bitter, I'm afraid I'll poison any other love I may ever come across. IF I can find anyone worth my time. Which brings me to another point I'm pissed over. MEN. They don't fucking get it. I mean, since my husband and I split, I have had two rather serious relationships. One, I was engaged to, and I knew when I said yes that I was making a mistake. I managed to grow a brain before that happened. Then, I shut myself off. My second relationship grew out of a fun time. We would go out, we would have fun. I thought nothing of it ever being more than that, until one day it was. I woke up in the middle of the night to hear him whispering he loved me. He thought I was asleep, and I pretended I was. I realized that I could love him back, so I started letting myself love him. And then it was gone. So, I continued to date. Now, I moved to Rhode Island with basically a suitcase of clothes and a box of toys. I now have an apartment filled with more crap than I need, and I'm slowly decorating it to my taste. I'm much more financially stable and my life feels as normal as you can get for working in the performing arts. I'm for the most part happy. I know I don't need a man in my life. But it sure would be nice to have one. I'm not talking marriage. I'm not sure I want to go there ever again. That may change, but I'm not ready and I'm not sure there's a man out there that I would want to be with until the day one of dies. I'd hate to be standing at the poor man's grave thinking "Well, thank God! It's about time!" But I do miss being held at night. I miss some to rub my back when I've had a rough day. I miss making love. Not sex. You can get a fuck anywhere. I miss love. But what I've realized is that because I do want it, I'm probably pushing to hard for it. I do like someone. No where near in love, please don't get me wrong. But like. Like I turn into a highly annoying giddy school girl. I commented on this to a friend last week who told me it was probably a good thing that I turn into someone with half of my normal mental capacity while around this man because I'm so intense I would run him away. Apparently, I am not for the faint of heart. Apparently, I have some intensity about me that I don't really notice. I've written about this before, so I won't go on. But I feel damned if I do and damned if I don't. I don't want a man who would want my retarded alter ego, and I don't think this man does. Really, there has been a massive slow-down in communication between us. I can't tell if it is the holidays or disinterest, but really IT FUCKING SUCKS! This goes back to where a phone call would be nice. A "Hey! Are you free Saturday night?" would be great! But even if I got a big "Hey, I read your blog and I'm just calling to say fuck off and leave me alone" I would be happy. At least I would know. I just don't get men. Or lack of communication. Or communism. I also don't get why we decided black matches everything or why I can't own a pair of shoes for every outfit I own or why people feel they have to be politically correct all the damn time or why people don't try to get to know each other. For those of you reading this far, I'll give you some random facts about myself so you can get to know me better. I love calla lilies. I love the ones that are read and fade into this lush yellow in the middle. They make me smile every time I see them. I never really made a decision to go into performing arts. I used take so many classes, I ended up with a major in theatre and I was behind on my primary major (English Lit), so the life kind of chose me. But if you know me, you know I don't regret it. My given name is Cristen Leann. I dropped the Cristen in favor of my last name because I have never in my life gone by Cristen. I have always been Leann. Why? Give me a call. I'll tell you

Little Kid Logic

2009-03-31T08:19:00.001-04:00

From the myspace archives.

Little Kid Logic
(written December 23, 2006)

Sometimes, I wish I could rationalize things like my children do. My son just came up to me with a piece of chocolate in his hand. The conversation went as follows:

Him: "Can I eat this?"
Me: "No, sir."
Him: "Why?"
Me: "Because you need to eat some lunch first."
Him: "But I'm full."
Me: "Then you don't need to eat candy if you're too full to eat lunch."
Him: "But it's little."
Me: "I said no. You eat lunch first."
Him: "Fine."

He walks away dejectedly. A few minutes later, he brings me three pieces of candy. Chocolate with caramel. My favorite! He says "These are for you, Mommy. All of them." Smart kid. He knows my weakness. And he knows if I eat them, I'll have to give him a piece of candy too. Fair is fair. So, I sit them on my desk and say "Thank you, sweetheart! I'm going to really enjoy those after I eat lunch."

Foiled again, his shoulders droop and he walks away with a tiny "You're welcome."