Little Kid Logic

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."

Who I am . . . or Who am I?

From the myspace archives. This is one is from when I was just starting to think about being vegetarian, and had only cut out red meat.

Who I am . . . or Who am I?
(written December 20, 2006)

This week, at work, I nearly got into a tiff with a co-worker. It was really stupid. I mean, REALLY stupid, in this woman's humble opinion. She's a vegan, and really passionate about it. I personally try to avoid the whole subject because I don't understand anyone who can't dig some charred animal flesh. Yummy! Anyway, I make a killer vegetarian chili - a vegan recipe to be exact - and was offering the recipe to her if she would like to try it. So, don't ask me how this very innocent conversation turned into my making a comment about how gross pigs are. She got offended and said that they aren't that way naturally. I disagreed. If you look at history and some of the laws being passed in the colonies to prevent pigs from running wild and destroying property, I don't see how anyone could say that. She came back saying she's studied animals. To see the look on her face, you'd think I just called her sister a whore. I immediately said I was not going to have that argument with her. My first thought was "Well, if you studied animals, what are you doing running a music education program?" My second thought was "I'm not half that passionate about anything in life." It really got me thinking.

My friend informed me the other night that I am a very intense person. I don't get it. Maybe I am. I have been told I'm a passionate person, and it shows through in everything I do. I don't get it. Maybe I need someone to follow me around and point out when I'm being passionate or intense over something. Or not. Because knowing might change who I am or how I act. Which might be a good thing, but maybe not. Because I am how I am, take it or leave it.

I was thinking too, that this woman is the office vegan. Everyone feels they have to be politically correct around her. It's horrible. It is what defines her. So, another thing she had me thinking about is what would define me. I have come to realize that I'm the "theatre chick". I can't help it. I have a degree in it. I work in it. Most of my friends are in it or around it. Theatre people do tend to be a breed of our own. While most people have a job and hobbies and friends for each thing, theatre is a job and a hobby and its how you meet most of your friends. It is all intertwined. This idea of my being the office "theatre chick" was recently manifested in being introduced to another of my co-worker's friends. Her friend gave me a compliment on the dress I was wearing, and my co-worker said that I was in theatre and knew how to add a little drama to everything. Theatre is what people remember about me. Theatre is what people find interesting about me. I suppose it is because theatre is the first love of my life and it has never let me down.

But there is so much more to me. I once dated someone for almost a year, and when we were breaking up, he said he still felt like I was a stranger sometimes. Why? Because he was always learning something new about me, hearing a new story. I think that's a good thing. Maybe that means I'm not totally defined by theatre. I know there's a lot more to me. So, how do I show that? Maybe I need to start showing what I'm about by shutting up.

Thanks for letting me ramble on.

Warning: Proud Mommy Moment

This is from the myspace archives. Dealing with your own internal mess is a hard enough job. Add to that the responsibility of two other little lives, and it is exhausting. It is exhausting physically, mentally, and spiritually. Before I learned to live in a healthier frame of mind, I would get to points when I felt I couldn't go on anymore. I couldn't give anything else. Then, my children would show me different. They kept me going at moments like this . . .

Warning: Proud Mommy Moment
(written November 29, 2006)

I am a strong believer that one of my many jobs as a parent is to help my children become strong and independent adults. So, I started try to teach them in small ways from the time they could follow through with directions. At around 2, they both received responsibilities and had to begin helping to dress themselves in the morning. Of course there are times they get frustrated. Buttons, snaps and zippers are hard for little hands. Forget socks and shoes.

This year, my son entered kindergarten. Now, my son has some slight fine-motor delays which make the getting dressed in the morning tough. Even worse, he's as stubborn as his mother. The snaps on his jeans became a stand-off. But I can't do it for him anymore. What will he do at school when I'm not there? My daughter (also as stubborn as her mother) was not to be outdone by her brother, and decided that her socks would be her stand-off. Every morning, from each of them, I hear "Mommy, I can't do it. You have to." And every morning I reply with what has become my mantra:

"If you feel like you can't, you try harder."

Well, I guess it's true that if you hear something enough, it will sink in. In the morning as usual, I laid out the kids' clothes while they were eating breakfast. As usual, I gathered my clothes while they were putting their things on.

I had my back to the doorway, when I heard little feet in the hall. They stopped, and I heard two little voices say "Mommy?" I braced myself for the usual "I can't do it" battle. I turned to see my daughter lift her foot. It had a sock on it. "I tried harder." My son smiled and said "Me too," as he lifted his shirt to show me that he had snapped his own pants.

I wanted to cry because I was so proud. It's the little things. And they thought I was a crazy woman because I picked them both up and hugged them and kissed them and kept telling them how proud I am of them. It's one morning battle down. Baby steps, but the first steps are the biggest deal.

The Penis Has Returned

This one is from the myspace archives, and goes with "The Things They Say." When my daughter was three, she had a hard time understanding that she did not have a penis like her brother. It was pretty amusing.

The Penis Has Returned
(written November 21, 2006)

You may recall that I wrote about my daughter's "penis" injury awhile back. Well, her talk of having a penis dissappeared since then. Thank God! And many sighs of relief were issued forth from the mother.

Only, it's back. As of yesterday, the mystery penis has returned.

Yesterday, the children were playing Superman. Both of them tied capes around their necks. Naturally, they needed to fly. My son decided that to be considered in flight, their capes had to be blowing behind them. And in order to do THAT, well, of course they had to run. While running at top speed through the house, my daughter falls. Even after my repeated warnings that if she continued to run, she would end up getting hurt, she still seemed suprised when it actually happened. Coming to me in tears, she sobs "I hurt my penis."

I can hear the cheesy horror movie music screaching in my head. "Honey, you don't have a penis," I reply. "Where does it hurt?" Pointing to her right butt cheek, she says "Right here." (Pronounced "Wight Heeeeeeeeeeeyaaaaaa") "Honey, that isn't a penis." If I thought she had been crying before, I thought wrong. Way wrong. "Yes, it is!" (Only it came out as "Yesitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssss!" in a high-pitched little girl scream.) With a migraine coming on, I asked her what made her think she has a penis. The crying stopped. She looked at me like it was the stupidest question she'd ever heard. "My bruda has one."

So, I try to explain that boys have them and girls do not. She looks at me as if I'm the biggest joke in town. "You're so silly, Mommy." And she walks away laughing.

A minute later, I hear her telling the story to her brother in the next room. "Isn't Mommy silly?" she asked him. "No!" he yells at her. "I'm the only one with a penis!"

Oh, God.

Random Shorts

From the myspace archives.

Random Shorts
(written September 18, 2006)

Here are some random thoughts for your amusement or thought or both.

1. I spent an hour drive to the Boston area flipping radio stations. I couldn't find anything I was happy with. Finally, Joe Cocker is singing, and I am happy. Two lines in, the radio station becomes full static and morphs into another radio station playing lite favorites. Why do radio stations only seem to do that in the middle of a great song?

2. When I think I can't stand anymore, the kids give me smiles and hugs and kisses and everything is all better. There really is something to "kiss it and make it better".

3. Never trust a minister who A) Drives a BMW B) is going through a midlife crisis or C) is both A and B

4. The more okay I am with me, the younger my boyfriends have become. I can't wait until I'm 50. Hehe.

5. I saw a college girl once who had her hair in two pigtails with ribbons. She had on jeans and a pink t-shirt with mary janes. It was slightly raining, so she was carrying a Winni the Pooh umbrella. She was smoking a cigarette. That was 7 years ago, and I can't get rid of that image.

6. I love how no matter how far away my best friend is, I can pick up the phone and we can still sing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."

7. Sometimes, I get so restless that I just want to get in the car and go. I don't care where I head or where I end up. I just want to go. I used to do that before I had kids. I would leave my apartment at anytime of night, keep the windows rolled down, and feel lost in the wind going through my hair. I miss that feeling. The funny thing is that no matter which way I went or what road I took, I always managed to find myself parking in front of a theatre.

8. Someone recently told me that I need to be spontaneous. One time in VA, I was sitting with a friend and we were talking at about 1:00 AM. We decided to go to the beach. In February. We left 5 minutes later. An hour and a half later, we were on the beach. As we continued to talk, he told me about his time in Switzerland. We decided to head to the mountains. Five minutes later, we were headed west, hoping to get to the mountains before sunrise. An hour later, as the sun began to come over the horizon, we looked at each other and simultaneously said "We ain't gonna make it." So, we stopped to buy another carton of cigarettes and some coffee and we headed back to the theatre where we started. That was me. That was just one example of flying by the seat of pants. It was fun. I hope that part of me never goes away.

9. I am a rock star in my own mind. Aren't we all?

10. I'm sure I have much more to say. I always have a lot on my mind. Right now, I'm tired and I think I'll go to bed. Good night! Thanks for reading!

I Need an Energy Transfer

From the myspace archives

I Need an Energy Transfer
(written September 15, 2006)

There is a deep-rooted Southern side of me. Oh, yes. It is there. Lurking under my skin, in parts of my brain I try not to use. In the end, I can't control it. It is the side of me that says I have to perfectly perform every function in my life, know my priorities at all times, and look good doing it all. Forget breaking a sweat.

This week, I'm all off. My energy is off. I feel nervous. Not sure about what, but something isn't right. And trust me, I don't look good. Ever have one of those weeks? Monday was a typical Monday. Traffic was bad. I had to print out almost 700 subscription packages. Funny thing, my printer wouldn't work. However, my ticketing software thought every single ticket had printed. The ticketing program won't let me print out the group again. So now what happens? I have to go into all of the individual accounts to print out the packages one by one. That was just Monday.

Stupid me had to go make a joke about how Monday was over, unless I stepped into some kind of time vortex where it is always Monday. Well, cosmic energy can be a bitch! And I'm talking a bitch with PMS! Because it stayed Monday for me all week long!!! My printer and server took turns malfunctioning everytime the IT guy walked out of the front door. I think all of the 700 people on my list called to ask why their tickets had not been mailed yet. The only people that have called to purchase tickets in the last two days have been people that have vouchers for free tickets. Everyone one of them got nasty with me because I wouldn't give them fifth row center. Let's think BUSINESS here, people!! According to them, I should only consider making money when I'm talking to everyone else. Right. My daughter has been horrible! And I mean horrid! I don't remember what her smile looks like because she's only been in tears this week. I have managed to flub up every personal interaction I have had with anyone this week. Now, I am sitting at home because my babysitter had to cancel last minute. Why? Because I thought it into being!

That's correct. I thought "With my luck this week, I won't have a sitter." And guess what? I have determined that every problem I have had this week goes back to my own energy, my own thoughts. If I think something is going to go badly it will. Now, I didn't think the printer would be evil like it was. But did it really have to throw off my entire week? No. I should have thought "Okay. This sucks. Move on. Better things to come." Instead, I think "Oh, God. It's a Monday. I hope I don't have a horrible week." I made it negative, and it didn't have to be. My favorite phrase this week has been "I hate people." (Okay, so after "F*#% this printer!!!", my favorite phrase has been "I hate people.") But I don't. I love the people I work with. I love my family. I love my friends. I love the people I actually interact with in person. The phone people need attitude changes. But I can do that. Instead of picking up the phone expecting to be yelled at by some monster with fangs, I should expect a regular human being who is as stressed as I am. Maybe instead of being so stressed out that I end up slurring my words and stuttering, I can speak confidently and clearly because I refuse to be a nervous wreck. I'm sure that would get a much better response from the caller. I need to go back to loving people. Well, maybe that's a little far, but at least like them again. I need to curb the energy around me, and bring it back to positive. Maybe then, my klutziness will dissipate. Maybe then my daughter won't cry so much either.

Fathers Teach Your Sons Proper Bar Etiquette

From the myspace archives. I failed to mention in this blog that I was at a strip club. I used to work at one (cocktail waitress), and I go to them sometimes. I used to feel funny telling people, but I've gotten much more comfortable with the fact now. They are just like any other club, they are just more honest about what's going on inside.

Fathers Teach Your Sons Proper Bar Etiquette
(written September 3, 2006)

So, I'm at a club. I'm having fun. This kid comes up to me. I do mean kid. I don't think he's ever needed to shave. I'm wondering how he snuck out of his mommy's house and past the bouncers. The conversation went as follows. Anything in parentheses are my thoughts, not anything actually spoken.

Boy: "Look, girl, look. . ." As he's doing the classic thumb to the nose, slight tug to the tip and looking to the side.

Leann: (Oh, brother.) "At what?"

Boy: As he puts his arm around my shoulders "Look, right. I'm 21, and I have more money than I know how to spend. What do you suggest?"

(Oh! Somebody got his allowance. How sweet.)

Leann: "Bar's over there. Maybe they have soda."

Boy: "Naw, naw. I'm serious. I got money to spend. I want to spend it. I didn't graduate, but I am making more money than anybody I know."

(Say it with me now: CLASSY! First honey, you're wearing a shirt and tie that are too big for your 12-year-old frame at a club where everyone else is pretty casual. Don't try to tell me you just got off work, because it's midnight. You feel you have to announce that you are 21 at a club you have to be 21 to get in to? And you need me know you have money? That is the first sign that you don't really have the money you say you do. You're trying too hard. I love a liar. Game on.)

Leann: "Then why is your friend buying all the drinks?"

(Hot friend, who appears 30-ish. Strange. There is also a 3rd man, buying his share of drinks for the threesome. He also looks 30-ish. Hmmm. . . Are the older men are trying to get him laid for the first time?)

Boy: Ignores my question and moves on to his next thought. "So, you wanna lift your skirt a little for me?"

(Ding! Definitely his first time around women!)

Leann: Laughing too hard to even answer him, I dance away.

Fast forward about an hour. Now, I have noticed this kid trying his luck with other women in the club. It's pathetic. The same disgusted look from every female. I try to stay in other areas. As I am headed to get a drink at the bar, I notice him close to where I am headed. Too late to detour, he spots me.

(DAMN!)

Boy: "Hey, sexy! Look, look."

Leann: No response other than a stare back.

Boy: Walks up, and puts him arm around me again. (Keep in mind, I am from the South and I work in theatre. My sense of personal space is virtually non-existent, but this was making even me uncomfortable.) "You are hot, baby."

Leann: "Thanks." (Oh, God. Where is this going? I want my beer.)

Boy: "No, baby, I mean it. You are gorgeous."

Leann: "Uh-huh." (And I'm not into children.) I move to go away.

Boy: "No, wait, girl, wait. Let me see your tits."

Leann: (No he didn't. Oh, please tell me he did not just say that! Hahahahahahahahahahaha!) "Why would I show you my tits?"

Boy: "Look, girl. I could see any woman's tits in this place, but I want to see yours."

Leann: (Sure. That's why you are still putting such suave moves on me. There are way hotter women with much better chests here. You're bothering me. I want my beer!) "I am not showing you my tits. Move on."

Boy: "I'm serious. Show me."

Leann: "So am I."

Boy: "Oh, come on, baby."

Leann: (Okay. I'm going to bring out the big guns. He's young enough to buy it, be grossed out and leave me alone.) "Baby boy, I have two children. You don't want to see this."

Boy: "Whatever, girl. You look too good. Show me. I got money."

Leann: (Jesus! Where's my beer so I can hit him with it??) "No." With not even a hint of my usual amusement. "What makes you think you can just walk up to a woman you don't even know, tell her you have money, and expect her to show you her tits? Does this line usually work for you? Excuse me." Moving away.

Boy: "You're cocky. But I like that. Name your price. Seriously, I will pay you whatever you want to see your tits."

Leann: (Do I have "whore" written across my forehead? I don't dress like I'm advertising. What the hell is with this kid?
Was he kept in a closet until now, and he's meeting people for the first time? Where's my beer???) "I'm cocky? Hahaha! I don't get paid for that. I don't have a price. Move on, little boy."

Boy: "Fine. Say no more." He walks away.

Finally. My beer.

Remembering My Lover

Oh, how pain will give rise to either the most beautiful things I can think of, or the worst. I was very angry with an ex for a long time, and wrote this. I don't like the poem. I like the concept, but not the execution.

Remembering My Lover
(written August 5, 2006)

There is a stench
Coming from my soul
As I dream
In 3D
Watching with colored glasses
My life on the screen
Like home videos
Dug from a grave.
I release
Seeing you dance.
You fade
As credits role
With no one to give credit to.
Which character will I play today?

Five Million Dollars

More myspace archives. This made me smile.

Five Million Dollars
(written August 4, 2006)

My son has been asking if he can go to work with me. I can't imagine why. But I have no idea what runs through the mind of a five-year-old child. So, off to work we went this morning.

He got a tour of the office and met all three of the other people that bother to go in on Fridays. We had adventures with the copier and the stapler. Then, we got down to serious business. While I checked email and played on myspace, he showed everyone his "cool new dance" and "kung fu guy moves". I caught the occasional phone call. He drew pictures of me in green, yellow, and orange highlighter. I cleaned up a few customer records. He ate cookies.

After lunch, he discovered my spare change pile in my desk, mostly pennies. He stole all of it and said he'd found five million dollars. Then he began giving out pennies to the other people in the office, telling them all he was giving them a million dollars. All said, he must have had about $15 million in that pocket.

At the end of the day, we got ready to leave. He showed one of my co-workers that he still had lots of million dollars in his pocket. She asked if she could have one of them. He said "No. The rest is for my mommy."

It was a good day.

What the hell is going on?

From the myspace archive. This was the head space I lived in most of the time before I had my midlife crisis and allowed myself to get better.

What the hell is going on?
(written July 16, 2006)

I'm packing for my trip to Virginia. I'm listening to some great music. I'm dancing around my house. For a minute, I feel young and totally irresponsible. Then my sadness sets in.

There was a day I could pack and go with no planning. There was a day I felt young and beautiful and totally irresponsible all the time. There was a day that I would turn on my stereo, crank it up and dance naked. I didn't care who was watching. There was a time I could laugh like I had never felt pain.

Now, as I step back from all of my trip planning, I think about all the old friends who I'll see on this trip. I think of seeing my ex-husband and all of his family. I think about being back in the little place called nowhere that I grew up in. I think how crazy it is that I ended up a single mother of two. I think of the one person I loved in my life that I will always love but never hold. I want to cry. When did my life become a series of dead-end roads? I sit on the floor of my bedroom, and it seems like memories surround me like ghosts. They become this vortex that surrounds me, sucks me in, and tries to drown me.

Occassionally, I manage to fight my way out and I touch a piece of true happiness that feels like silk. They only seem to last a minute. Why can't those moments haunt me? So, I kick and scream and fight my way out of this vortex that doesn't want to let me leave. I start running. I will keep running until I can feel like I'm dancing naked all the time.

Lover Man

This is yet another from the myspace archives. I found this funny, especially given my current situation.

Lover Man
(written July 7, 2006)

Okay, I said that I would tell more about why I thought I would change my song to Billie Holiday's "Lover Man". So, for everyone to enjoy, here is my hilarious joke that has been in my own head until now.

As all of my friends know, I was in a relationship up until about 2 months ago. Has it been that long? Maybe not. But whatever. The relationship is now over. That means, my sex life has come to a screeching halt. Now, we've all been there. The more you have sex, the more you want it . . .

So, for about five minutes, I contemplated the idea of interviewing a f**k buddy. Okay, so maybe for 10 minutes, I thought about it. Key word here, is thought. As in past tense. So, don't even THINK about it. And yes, I mean you. You know who you are.

When the thought passed, I found myself wondering how I would have gone about the interview process. Would I take applications? Resumes? What kind of experience was I looking for? Would I be an equal opportunity buddy or discriminate in every way? What kinds of questions would I ask at the interview? Is it legal to ask for blood samples and health records?

It was all too much. So, I will forgo the interviewing and until then:

The night is cold and I'm so alone
I'd give my soul just to call you my own
Got a moon above me
But no one to love me
Lover man, oh where can you be?

Untitled

Untitled Poem, November 2, 2005

i love the way
Your eyes watch me
dancing naked in my mind
i am the goddess
You wish i were
in places You'll never see
i can soothe
Your hurt
i can love in ways You'll never feel
because i am best
at pushing away
so You can find
the One
to see
to touch
to ease

Late Night Writing

I am now on my fourth rewrite of this same play. I still think this description rings true.


Late Night Writing
(written June 18, 2006)

I am in the process of writing a play. I have written it. Rewritten it. And am now attempting my third rewrite after having some friends rip it to shreds. I really want it to be a good play.

I get on a roll with it. I get in "the zone". Then, nothing. It occurs to me, as I sit at the computer with writer's block, that late night writing is like a failed orgasm. Yes. Yes! YES! . . . Was that it?

The Things They Say

Again, from the myspace archive. This blog was written when my daughter was three. I love writing about my kids.

The Things They Say
(written June 18, 2006)

I'm standing in the kitchen having a perfectly lovely phone conversation. Then, it starts. I hear crying from the kids' room. I didn't even have time to hang up the phone, when my three-year-old daughter comes running in, tears running down her cheeks and screaming something unintelligible.

I ask her to calm down because I don't understand anything coming out of her mouth. I then get "I hurt my. . ." I still didn't quite understand the last word. Finally, "I hurt my penis!"

"You hurt your penis?" I ask. "YEEEEESS!" comes the pained wail.

At this point, I had to turn away so that I could laugh. It is bad enough that she was in pain, I didn't want to laugh in her face. What is a mother to do? When I could control myself, I asked her where it hurt. She pointed to her butt, repeating that she hurt her penis.

I explained "Honey, that's your bum." The cry stopped. "Oh," she says, and runs away to play.

Mommy Butt

Here is one from the myspace archives. I wrote this before I really got back into fitness and being active. I made things sound worse than they are. But mommy butt really is a state of mind.

Mommy Butt
(written June 16, 2006)

So, last weekend, I took the kids to the zoo. My son had to go the bathroom at an inopportune time. So, I rush him to the nearest bathroom, which is, naturally, crowded. Since he is little and cute (but more likely due to the fact that little boys have amazing aim and it made them step back in fear), the other women stepped aside to let him pass. I, on the other hand, had to wade through.

I followed my son to the last stall in the row. As I twisted and turned and contorted my body past the sink, I caught a glimpse of my butt in the mirror. And in that moment, my soul collapsed. I no longer have well-rounded firmness. I have this mysterious trapezoidal lump. I have a mommy butt.

I have prided myself on the fact that I work out and stay slim. If truth be told, I look great and get comments about not looking like I have children. In fact, I have been asked if my children were my niece and nephew. Now, I wonder how people could ever imagine that I didn't have kids, what with my mommy butt and all.

So, now, I have taken to checking out my rear end in every mirror I come across. I have to check how bad it looks every five minutes or I go through withdrawal. Then, today, I checked it out and it didn't look so bad. My butt is still nicely shaped. I'm working on the firmness part of it. Yeah, I've put on weight in my thighs, but I haven't been so devoted to my exercise routine lately. I've only been back on it for about a month. I always had to work the hardest at my thighs, and they will take a little longer to get back in shape. When I realized all was not lost, my soul puffed itself back up a little.

What is the point, you ask? Mommy butt is just a state of mind.

So There's This Guy . . .

I have decided to get rid of my myspace account. I think most people on there have now migrated to facebook, and there is no reason to keep the account anymore. However, myspace was my first foray into blogging. I'll be posting some of those blogs here over the next few weeks in order to delete with no regrets. The first one I'm bringing over is a blog that many of my friends read and commented on. I even made a new friend because of this blog. This was a blog written in the middle of my midlife crisis, when I was just starting to realize that I was feeling the things I said here. I hope you enjoy.

So there's this guy . . .
(written March 13, 2008)

Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re thinking. Hear me out.

My girlfriend happened to see me and a guy together, and was swearing to me that he was completely into me. "You’re mistaken," I tell her. And the conversation begins . . .

We’re both single mothers. We both had horrible marriages that left us carrying the bag. Or bags depending on how you look at it. Neither of our exes support us or the children. Both of our ex’s only remember they have children when it is convenient for them to remember. Both of us work more than one job to support our children. We both wasted a lot of time and energy on men who weren’t worth it. Period.

And we are punished for it.

Now, I get really down and out about the fact that I will forever be punished for the two most wonderful accomplishments in my life. Granted, there are days that I don’t ever want to hear "Mommy" again. There are days I think I could run away and leave it all behind, and be perfectly happy. But those days are few and far between. On the rare occassion I do get a break - the sitter takes them for the weekend or they visit my parents - I miss them like I’ve never missed anyone. I feel like a part of me is gone if they are away too long. They are the most infuriating little people in the world, but they turn around and make everything wrong in my life right by just smiling at me. I’m putty for a hug, and to get kisses . . .

And I am punished for that.

Men take one look at my life - I got married too young. I had kids too young. I have a lot of stress and a lot of baggage - and they say "Thanks, but no thanks." I completely understand the sentiment. Trust me. I will never hold it against a man for not wanting to deal with any of it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt my feelings each and every single time it happens.

I’m tired of hearing "Well, if he can’t deal with it, then you don’t want him anyway." Because I do. I want him. And what I would like to say to every single man who would pass me up because you don’t like my history is this:

I have learned a lot through my journey. I’ve learned I am a lot stronger than I appear. I’ve learned that I am a beautiful woman. I have learned to appreciate my talents and my intelligence - and I use them, not only for me, but for those I love. I have learned to give. I have learned to take. I have learned to be understanding and patient and how to wait for you to catch up. I have learned to love without judgement because I have also learned that no one is perfect. I have learned to accept other people’s issues for what they are. But most importantly, I have learned that I may want you, but I don’t need you. I won’t want you to stop holding me. But I don’t want you to support me. I don’t want a father for my children. I want a friend. I want a lover. I want someone to journey with me. I am not an anchor that will weigh you down. Because I’ve learned that it is best to help you along your own journey - to rise above whatever is holding you down. And it won’t be my life. It won’t be my children. It won’t be me.

I think it would take a very strong man to hear that, to believe it, and to actually allow me the time to figure him out.

Eight Years Ago

Eight years ago, I was 20 years old. I had just given birth to my first child at 11:06am. I was exhausted, ill and bedridden. This was my first day as a mother.

My pregnancy had been difficult. I'd almost lost him in my first trimester because I was waiting tables and no one would help me lift the heavy trays. I was trying to finish some of the more intensive classes before I had the baby. My husband was having medical issues, which meant I was driving back and forth between school and his Army base, four hours away. My husband began his intense relationship with cocaine. My family is always having issues. I went through a period of homelessness. Finally, I came down with toxemia.

I had been having nightmares about giving birth. I would wake up crying, telling my husband that I didn't want to have the baby. I would hysterically shake him from sleep, saying "Don't make me have this baby. I don't want to. I don't want to do this." Never one to wake up well, he would just look at me and say "Too late for that." He'd then roll over and go back to sleep.

The doctor came in from looking at the test results, and patted my belly. "Oh, honey. We need to get that baby out of you. We're keeping you today." She went on to explain that I was very sick, and my body was rejecting the pregnancy. Since I'd been walking around three centimeters dilated for weeks, they figured they would only have to break my water to get me going and things would be fine. No such luck. My contractions wouldn't start, my blood pressure was going up by the minute, and my platelet count was dropping. Finally, I was induced. Along with the Pitosin to start my contractions, I had IV's giving me saline and drugs to keep my blood pressure down and drugs to help ease the pain of labor. I was not allowed to get out of bed because my blood pressure was too high. They had to insert a monitor to make sure my baby was doing okay under all the stress. And I was told to sleep. Right.

It took my body hours to dilate to nine centimeters. The nurse told my husband to go get something to eat because it would take a long time for me to hit the 10 centimeters needed for anything to begin, and then it would be hours of pushing before any child would appear. He left the room. The nurse helped me to roll over so I could be more comfortable. And that was it. I was in hard labor. My husband had to be paged. I began to go into shock, and they called a doctor in. It wasn't my regular doctor, and I couldn't tell you what her name was or what she looked like. I would black out, and would shake. My husband held my hand and would put an oxygen mask on my face. When I received the oxygen, I would wake up enough to see him look scared and unsure of what was going on. A short time later, my son was born. He didn't breathe right away, so they ran him away from me. I was trying to reach for him, but they took him too fast. My husband didn't know which way to go - stay with his wife or check on his baby. It all had the feel of a surreal nightmare.

Finally, I heard a baby cry. My baby. My son. He was alright. I was weak and drugged. My husband had to help me hold my son for the first time. When I held him for the first time, my heart swelled and I couldn't help crying. It wasn't postpartem depression or anything remotely close. I've simply never felt love like I felt the minute I heard his cry, and he was okay.

We've been through some tough times as a family - my son and I. My daughter has been included in some of the hard times, but most of the really bad times came before she came into the scene. My son has always had a way of smiling that could make any situation seem alright. He's a gentle, loving little boy. Today is his eighth birthday. We did our traditional birthday breakfast this morning. He chose IHOP so he could have an icecream sundae right after pancakes. We then came home, and I spent time with him this afternoon, teaching him to ride a two-wheel bike - his birthday present from his sister and me. As soon as he saw it, he just gave me that smile. It was a tiring day. Both kids went to bed early tonight.

I just checked in on him sleeping. He still makes my heart swell to the point of tears. That little boy is my hero, and he is the one who makes me want to be a better person. I want to be the loving, gentle, compassionate person I see in an eight year old boy.

Karma Purges

I've always been one to turn a situation around and try to figure out how it relates to me, my place in the universe, what it shows about my character. Some call this self-centered, but it always tends to lead me to be a kinder person. It leads me to more empathy in my everyday existence. It leads me to be hurt by other people, but I also bounce back faster from practicing surrender to the universe. Last month, I wrote about being hurt by a man. It hurt, but I said my piece to him and let it go to the universe. I felt better for a little while. Suddenly, the situation entered my mind, and it didn't seem like any amount of meditation or active surrender would help.

One night, I was snuggling into bed and had just gotten comfortable when a thought hit me. I'd hurt other people in my own insanity. I've written before about my mid-life crisis. I went through the same dark place that the man spoken of above had gone through, and I couldn't seem to control myself. I was walking negative energy and I continued to date. I should not have. I brought my own craziness into the lives of men who didn't need it. There were two men in particular who dealt with a terrible version of Leann who I hope to never see again. I got out of bed and looked them up to send emails. In my emails, I told them I knew it was probably strange for them to hear from me so long after we stopped speaking. I told them that I wanted to apologize for being so crazy when I was in their lives and bringing chaos to their door. I explained that I've been through a year of amazing self-discovery and I'm not the person they knew. I wished them well and wished them peace and signed off not expecting to hear from either of them. I was rather amazed at how much better it made me feel to purge my karma in that way, and I slept better that night than I had in a couple of weeks.

One of the men, I had to look up through Myspace since I had long ago deleted his phone number and personal email account. So, the next day, I decided to check to see if the email had been read. It had. I felt really good just knowing he knew that I was sorry for the perception of me that he received from my own hand. The other actually responded to me. He was very kind, and said he couldn't even remember what had been so bad because it was so long ago. I think he was lying, and he was very sweet to do so.

I've been dealing with a lot of stress lately, and it has brought me into bad moods. However, I have really tried to let go of the bad moods. I've actively given my stress to the universe. I've given my hurt to the universe. I've tried to take note of the particular circumstances of different situations. I've forced myself to connect rather than to disconnect, as is my natural tendency. I realized my own impact on other people, and have taken responsibility. This has come in several forms, the emails being one of them. More than a year ago, I would have dissolved into my bad mood and wrapped myself in it. I can see my own progress, and it made me feel for the man who hurt me. It also caused me to feel impatience that he come through his dark place and be able to speak to me again. It mad me feel hurt again, and to question why the timing had to be so off with this man.

I thought long and hard about these things, and decided it was best to delete him from my friends on facebook. Not because I dislike him, but because it causes hurt in my life and perhaps I cause hurt or confusion in his. I meant it when I told him that I am here for him when he is ready to talk, but I realized that I couldn't make it easy for him to check out what I'm doing in life. I had to work to find the two men I emailed, but I did it because my state of consciousness has evolved to a point where I felt it necessary to work to apologize. I hope that this man continues to grow in the same way, but constant bombardment through the chaos that is facebook was not the way to go. Hitting delete released me from a load I didn't even realize I'd been carrying. I cried for the first time over him.

Now my karma feels clear. I am waiting to see what tomorrow brings. For now, I'll get out into today.

Highlight of My Week

I've always loved Truman Capote's short story "Children on Their Birthdays." I love it for no other reason than it's opening sentences. "Yesterday afternoon the six o'clock bus ran over Miss Bobbit. I'm not sure what there is to be said about it . . ." Capote starts us off at the end of the story, so matter-of-factly it verges on comical. The bus ran over Miss Bobbit. Where do you go from there? Why do I say all of this? Because this week, I had one of the most amusing exchanges with another human being that I have had in a long time. Not sure how to begin this story, I will begin in Capote fashion.

While waiting for the bus to arrive on Wednesday evening, I was called a weird white chick by a black midget. I'm not sure what there is to say about that. He was already at the stop when I got there to wait for my bus home. After a few minutes, he asked if I knew what time the next bus down Main Street was since he just missed the one he wanted. When I informed him that it would be about another half an hour for that bus, he said he would take the next one that came. He said that he had been hoping to catch the one down Main Street since it lets him off closer to his house, but he supposed he just couldn't be lazy that night. I said I understood because I no matter which bus I took home, I still had to walk a mile to get home. He looked at me, raising one eyebrow, and said "You look to lazy for that."

I laughed, and said "As a matter of fact, I walk at least 2 miles a day, do yoga every morning, and get to the gym to do cardio and weight lift. Who are you to say I look lazy?" He said "Oh, yeah, yoga is actually pretty tough. That's pretty cool. I tried it once, but I got to lookin' at all the females and I couldn't concentrate. No, no. I can't do no yoga. But weight lifting? Who you tryinna impress?" When I informed him that I just like to stay healthy, and am not trying to impress anyone, he came back with "So, you got some man you're mad at. What'd he do? You wanna kick his ass bad. You're just waitin' for the chance." At this point I told a partial lie. "I don't want to kick anyone's ass. Actually, I'm Buddhist. I'm non-violent." Both eyebrows shot up this time. "Buddhist?? You are one weird white girl! I mean, I could see if you weren't white . . . You do yoga, you a Buddhist . . . What do you do for fun?" I vaguely said that I have lots of interests. I really didn't feel like listing my hobbies for a racist midget while standing in Kennedy Plaza. He starts listing things to which I gave answers of yes and mostly a bunch of no's.

Finally, he said "By the way, my name's Douglas."
"Leann. Nice to meet you."
"Leann?? That's kind of a hick name, isn't it?"
Amused, I said "Well, I am from the South."
"No. I could see it if you said you were from Maine or sumpin, but you don't have an accent."
"That's because I was treated like I was retarded as soon as I opened my mouth, and I learned speak without an accent."
"The South? Where?"
"Virginia."
"Man, that ain't the South."
I laughed, and said "Well, to a lot of New Englanders, it might as well be Georgia."
"Man, people are so ignorant from the South. They aren't educated. Racist and stupid."

At this point, a young man who had been generally annoyed by everything the midget had to say to me stepped into the conversation to talk about how far behind Rhode Island's public education was falling, and the man had no right to talk to me that way. I smiled my thanks, and turned back to the little man.

"I find ignorance everywhere I go."
"No. Not in Rhode Island."
I raised my eyebrow and stayed silent. The little man then started in on how he'd been to Virginia once and the food was so bad, and we steroided the beef and all the meat, and it was disgusting. Didn't I agree?
"I'm vegetarian."
"Oh, so you get all anemic and light-headed."
"See? Ignorance."

Several people who had been listening to this conversation laughed out loud because the midget finally had no come back, and had to shut up for at least 3 seconds.

"You are one weird white chick."
"Thank you."