I decided to clean out my file cabinet today because the desk area is overrun with financial papers and tax papers and receipts of all sorts that I can no longer control. I stumbled on a wedding invitation and opened it. It was mine. Don't get me wrong every time I clean out the cabinet I discover things I once knew well and now no longer associate myself with. Inside the invite was a picture of my first honeymoon. He was far away on the beach and crouching on an erosion barrier, the sunset in the background was God showing off. It was 12 years ago.
I found the ticket stubs from the Ani Difranco concerts and the playbill for plays I once loved. Paintings the kids brought home with these tiny hand prints that no longer exist were in the mix; so was the card my grandmother wrote me when my grandfather died. She wrote me a comforting card. A manila envelope of letters that first husband sent from rehab it was full of empty promises.
I also found the sealed envelopes addressed to Seth and to Drew. Inside these were my suicide letters to them. I opened them and read the depth of my depression just 6 years prior to now. How desperate and alone I was just 6 years ago. Thank God I never had the guts.
While cleaning all of this out my 7 month old was having a blast in the debris on the living room floor and I saw this glimpse of my past there scattered all around her. All of my dark, alone, scared, hiding was there on the floor and she, my present and future, was just tossing it over her tiny head and giggling as though it was the funniest thing.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
In Transition
Things I do not know:
How our money will hold up once my husband begins his program,
How I will handle not being in classes for a whole year,
How to help my best friend heal her broken heart...again,
How to make sure my daughter learns to write and count with her "issues",
How to make the choice to hold her back a grade or send her on,
How to keep the neighbors dogs from using our yard as a potty,
How to relax,
How to breathe deeply,
How not to gain anymore weight with 12 weeks left in pregnancy,
(the cookies are so good),
How to stay out of the yard area at Lowes.
Things I know:
We will be ok, We will be ok, We will be ok...better than ok actually but for now I have to tell myself "ok".
How our money will hold up once my husband begins his program,
How I will handle not being in classes for a whole year,
How to help my best friend heal her broken heart...again,
How to make sure my daughter learns to write and count with her "issues",
How to make the choice to hold her back a grade or send her on,
How to keep the neighbors dogs from using our yard as a potty,
How to relax,
How to breathe deeply,
How not to gain anymore weight with 12 weeks left in pregnancy,
(the cookies are so good),
How to stay out of the yard area at Lowes.
Things I know:
We will be ok, We will be ok, We will be ok...better than ok actually but for now I have to tell myself "ok".
Monday, January 3, 2011
Thinking about baby
The water as hot as my body can tolerate.
Drops whisk away all.
My children, my husband, my sickness, aches, and pains.
Bubbles hide all the imperfections.
And I think about you, what you will look like,
How your voice will sound, if you will have daddy's freckles,
Boy or girl, I think about the pearls of toes on a newborn.
My newborn, our newborn.
Drops whisk away all.
My children, my husband, my sickness, aches, and pains.
Bubbles hide all the imperfections.
And I think about you, what you will look like,
How your voice will sound, if you will have daddy's freckles,
Boy or girl, I think about the pearls of toes on a newborn.
My newborn, our newborn.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
letter to bob
I dreamed of you the other day and you were the you before all the chaos.
You wore a shirt that I bought you as a gift while we were dating, soft, deep purple.
I had forgotten the shirt until I saw your twenty four year old self wearing it.
You smelled of Grey Flannel.
You were in my home and I was the me now, not the eighteen year old me I would have been with you at twenty four.
Your skin was unblemished, your face full, eyes not wrinkled and puffy.
You came to me and asked why it wouldn't work.
We held each other and wept.
I told you that "you broke me inside."
You pointed to my head and asked "in here?", then my heart and asked "or in here?"
I answered both. and I told you that you had died. I explained to you that you had taken your own life in a way and it was over now.
You evaporated then, into thin air, gone, just gone.
I stood there thinking you voice was gone, your handwriting, your laughter, your yell, your arrogance, your cocky walk.
I woke up beathing heavily and with tears on my face and I wept again for you, for me, for your mother. I did not weep for your children.
And I wept with happiness thinking that it was over, I need to let go now.
You wore a shirt that I bought you as a gift while we were dating, soft, deep purple.
I had forgotten the shirt until I saw your twenty four year old self wearing it.
You smelled of Grey Flannel.
You were in my home and I was the me now, not the eighteen year old me I would have been with you at twenty four.
Your skin was unblemished, your face full, eyes not wrinkled and puffy.
You came to me and asked why it wouldn't work.
We held each other and wept.
I told you that "you broke me inside."
You pointed to my head and asked "in here?", then my heart and asked "or in here?"
I answered both. and I told you that you had died. I explained to you that you had taken your own life in a way and it was over now.
You evaporated then, into thin air, gone, just gone.
I stood there thinking you voice was gone, your handwriting, your laughter, your yell, your arrogance, your cocky walk.
I woke up beathing heavily and with tears on my face and I wept again for you, for me, for your mother. I did not weep for your children.
And I wept with happiness thinking that it was over, I need to let go now.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Future Story
I want to write a story
I'm not sure where to begin.
Do I start with the day I said that I loved you
or the day, years later, you told me the same thing?
Do I go into detail about the chivalry you displayed?
Do I describe having to go to the doctor to fix what you did?
Do I tell about your arrogance and ignorance when you told me there was no God?
Do I talk about your preaching the gospel with relish?
The story would become a book, maybe too much for my mother to read.
She would have to turn away from the pages and gasp
Others would say "No one knows what she lived through."
Or maybe, "There is no way that is all true."
But it is.
I could never make up all the ways you changed me, shaped me into who I am.
There is no fiction like this.
I want to describe it all so I can read myself and then I will know how to feel
about you and life and death and survival.
I'm not sure where to begin.
Do I start with the day I said that I loved you
or the day, years later, you told me the same thing?
Do I go into detail about the chivalry you displayed?
Do I describe having to go to the doctor to fix what you did?
Do I tell about your arrogance and ignorance when you told me there was no God?
Do I talk about your preaching the gospel with relish?
The story would become a book, maybe too much for my mother to read.
She would have to turn away from the pages and gasp
Others would say "No one knows what she lived through."
Or maybe, "There is no way that is all true."
But it is.
I could never make up all the ways you changed me, shaped me into who I am.
There is no fiction like this.
I want to describe it all so I can read myself and then I will know how to feel
about you and life and death and survival.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Troll under the Bridge
Those times you lay on the couch and I on the love seat and our hands would touch and we left them that way because we wanted to.
I thought you'd always be there for the rest of my life.
I didn't know I had more time than you.
The sand in my car there weeks after,
Simpsons every night,
Sundance films,
I'd slap your face even though I knew you'd hit me harder,
It still felt pretty good to slap you.
Jokes always, even not funny ones,
Grey flannel and Polo,
Edisto Island, always Edisto.
Signing that petition like it mattered.
Peaches and boiled peanuts.
I knew you'd never be the same...
Suddenly I allow myself to remember the good things that were overshadowed by your devastation path before.
I forgot so I could survive and now I remember...
Like a troll in my head that only comes out when the town stops trying to crucify him.
That troll is out.
He sits on his bridge and weeps and mumbles
all the things that were good about us.
I thought you'd always be there for the rest of my life.
I didn't know I had more time than you.
The sand in my car there weeks after,
Simpsons every night,
Sundance films,
I'd slap your face even though I knew you'd hit me harder,
It still felt pretty good to slap you.
Jokes always, even not funny ones,
Grey flannel and Polo,
Edisto Island, always Edisto.
Signing that petition like it mattered.
Peaches and boiled peanuts.
I knew you'd never be the same...
Suddenly I allow myself to remember the good things that were overshadowed by your devastation path before.
I forgot so I could survive and now I remember...
Like a troll in my head that only comes out when the town stops trying to crucify him.
That troll is out.
He sits on his bridge and weeps and mumbles
all the things that were good about us.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Definition of Gone
Gone
Wind through the fingers, riding in the car.
Eyelash you wanted to wish on.
Stone you decided to skip.
That one sock.
Book you loaned to the wrong person.
Necklace you dropped in the wave.
On the tip of your tongue.
I am the soul rememberer.
I am all that knows what the picture of the feather means.
I am the survior of you.
I am all the stories now.
Because you are gone.
Wind through the fingers, riding in the car.
Eyelash you wanted to wish on.
Stone you decided to skip.
That one sock.
Book you loaned to the wrong person.
Necklace you dropped in the wave.
On the tip of your tongue.
I am the soul rememberer.
I am all that knows what the picture of the feather means.
I am the survior of you.
I am all the stories now.
Because you are gone.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Drew Eden and how to forgive your attacker
My sweet child has the fifth upper resp. infection this year right now. Her immune system is weak due to paternal drug use prior to conception. It really upsets me hearing her wheeze and cough and be ill all the time. It is really not fair as life too often isn't. I get very upset every time she gets sick because I feel it is not needed.
Which reminds me to insert here that my ex-husband called last week and apologized to me for all that he had done. It has been 4 and a half years since we were together and I have been married one and a half of those to my second husband. I responded badly to the apology.
I knew at some point he would realize that he screwed up. He was explosive and violent when he used drugs. I lived with him for 7 years behaving the way he did. I never knew which end of the spectrum he was on, going up-going down-high-with drawl. And no women who live through this, and God be with the ones that don't, ever speak of the torment they live in. He went through 4 rehabs while we were together and lost 5 jobs. I never really knew him at all. He hid his addict side until absolutely necessary to tell me. He left bruises visible and not, his favorite thing to do when angry with me, because he was convinced I had an affair with anyone that crossed my path, was the choke hold. Never mind the other women he had affairs with. He also adored the spit in the face when she doesn't expect it. I was so afraid of him. The really sad part is he could be wonderful too. He could be so sweet and romantic and just really great. That is the scary thing, it kept me there, waiting for him to notice that I loved him. He never did.
He calls for the first time in 6 months- yes 6 months- he has not even called to check on the kids in that amount of time. So he apologizes and I was very offended. I just ask how do you apologize for all the heartache you put me through? The kids were too young to remember living with him. They only remember their "REAL" Daddy- my second husband- not the biological real but the "REAL" Daddy. To apologize was really upsetting to me. You just can't take that back.
After calming down I called back and I apologized and I told him I was glad that he was a terrible husband/father/man. Because I wouldn't be here now if he'd been good at it, and here is really good. Here is chocolate fudge brownie good. I forgive him if I get to be here.
Which reminds me to insert here that my ex-husband called last week and apologized to me for all that he had done. It has been 4 and a half years since we were together and I have been married one and a half of those to my second husband. I responded badly to the apology.
I knew at some point he would realize that he screwed up. He was explosive and violent when he used drugs. I lived with him for 7 years behaving the way he did. I never knew which end of the spectrum he was on, going up-going down-high-with drawl. And no women who live through this, and God be with the ones that don't, ever speak of the torment they live in. He went through 4 rehabs while we were together and lost 5 jobs. I never really knew him at all. He hid his addict side until absolutely necessary to tell me. He left bruises visible and not, his favorite thing to do when angry with me, because he was convinced I had an affair with anyone that crossed my path, was the choke hold. Never mind the other women he had affairs with. He also adored the spit in the face when she doesn't expect it. I was so afraid of him. The really sad part is he could be wonderful too. He could be so sweet and romantic and just really great. That is the scary thing, it kept me there, waiting for him to notice that I loved him. He never did.
He calls for the first time in 6 months- yes 6 months- he has not even called to check on the kids in that amount of time. So he apologizes and I was very offended. I just ask how do you apologize for all the heartache you put me through? The kids were too young to remember living with him. They only remember their "REAL" Daddy- my second husband- not the biological real but the "REAL" Daddy. To apologize was really upsetting to me. You just can't take that back.
After calming down I called back and I apologized and I told him I was glad that he was a terrible husband/father/man. Because I wouldn't be here now if he'd been good at it, and here is really good. Here is chocolate fudge brownie good. I forgive him if I get to be here.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Inside my Head Today
Invisible weight
so hard to carry
Visible weight
leads to more invisible weight
Quiet solitude with
people all around
Singing in the car
to myself
No phone calls
only bills in the mail
Working
for way too little
Still here in this house
not home anymore
Desire for sleep
although I obtained plenty
Urge to be alone
the want for only myself
Depression
takes me in waves
Comes back
undulating with chemicals
Leaves me gasping for freedom
at times
Leaves me happy inside my head
at times
Must try to remain as normal
as possible
At least as normal
as I ussually am
My definition of normal
is blurred
Maybe it's not me
just the dictionary
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Feb 6
Somehow it doesn't seem like a year-a whole year since that day.
I was very nervous because I was singing in the wedding, not because I was getting married.
He worked that day and then came to the church around 2:30 or so and shaved in the church restroom. We wore purple- my favorite color- an eggplant version. The kids wore a icy green color- his favorite. We hired a photographer, it was her first wedding shoot and she was more tore up than anyone there. I made the cake, it was fabulous. Peanut butter fugde cake and icing, them swiss vanilla, then black forrest choclate. We used a big cookie and a glass of milk on top instead of a bride and groom. I made a miniature banner that read "We go together like..." to go over the cookie and milk. We did not decorate the church.
We wrote our own vowes. I vowed to me the cookies to his milk, the cheese to his mac, and the right to his left. We went away for the weekend, the kids stayed with my parents.
I am sure that the physical part of marriage never came with emotion until him. Before it was always an act, a duty, not it is not.
It's funny because about 2 years prior I would have sworn I'd never get married and that I throughly hated men. Everything changed, life became right side up suddenly.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Busy Making Other Plans
There are days the bed beckons me.
I want to sleep and dream and drift for days.
I must fight the Darkness and stay awake...
There are days I will weep if that James Taylor song comes on.
The song about Carolina... I can feel the moonshine, even in December.
On those days I can hear the voice of ocean, it's been so long...
Not enough days of just us two,
Somedays I miss just us two, I want to be alone with him so I can accidently brush by...
Oops, sorry, did I touch? Please forgive...or don't. Oh no- did it again...
Days I just want to read a good book,
wearing clean pajammas and cozy socks,
while a movie is on cable that I am not watching.
There are days I want my Pap paw like no one else.
Days I ache for his conversation...his laugh...his bias love for me.
There are days I get lost on the way.
I hear that older boys voice in my head and can't shake it out.
Sometimes I sing really loud so not to hear him, angry songs.
There are days I witness our children get older.
Those days I give away the "now too small" clothes.
Days I pray to just hold on.
There are days I need a cigarette- and I don't smoke.
A drink- and I don't drink.
A joint- and I haven't smelled it in years now.
There are writing days, when I can't focus on conversation
for the words in my head.
Singing days, when I can't not at least hum.
And quiet days, when I hope to go unnoticed.
Planning days, phone calls, home work, paper work, checkbooks, bills,
School days, Work days, exhausted at the end of the day- actually before-
but can't do anything about that.
Life is what happens...
I want to sleep and dream and drift for days.
I must fight the Darkness and stay awake...
There are days I will weep if that James Taylor song comes on.
The song about Carolina... I can feel the moonshine, even in December.
On those days I can hear the voice of ocean, it's been so long...
Not enough days of just us two,
Somedays I miss just us two, I want to be alone with him so I can accidently brush by...
Oops, sorry, did I touch? Please forgive...or don't. Oh no- did it again...
Days I just want to read a good book,
wearing clean pajammas and cozy socks,
while a movie is on cable that I am not watching.
There are days I want my Pap paw like no one else.
Days I ache for his conversation...his laugh...his bias love for me.
There are days I get lost on the way.
I hear that older boys voice in my head and can't shake it out.
Sometimes I sing really loud so not to hear him, angry songs.
There are days I witness our children get older.
Those days I give away the "now too small" clothes.
Days I pray to just hold on.
There are days I need a cigarette- and I don't smoke.
A drink- and I don't drink.
A joint- and I haven't smelled it in years now.
There are writing days, when I can't focus on conversation
for the words in my head.
Singing days, when I can't not at least hum.
And quiet days, when I hope to go unnoticed.
Planning days, phone calls, home work, paper work, checkbooks, bills,
School days, Work days, exhausted at the end of the day- actually before-
but can't do anything about that.
Life is what happens...
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Sweet Little Girl
When i look at her baby pictures i see all the wonder in those gorgeous little eyes. She still is full of wonder and full of delight and a magic imagination that seems to come from no where.
She was sick for the first three years of her life. in and out of the ER, constant fevers above 104 degrees. Throat, nose, eyes were always sick. her immune system so weak that three separate times I was told to keep her inside and that a common cold may kill her. I cloroxed everything. it was a common occurrence for her to throw up three or more times per week for absolutely no reason.
Many nights ilay awake and held her burning hot body praying that she'd survive the night. Once she blacked out and wet herself. The hospital gowns were so tiny they broke my heart. The first time I saw one I thought, "No, this cannot be something we need here in this world. That is for a toy doll, not my sweet, funny, loving child." Her perfect cheeks would turn red, her beautiful lips would blister up in these horrible bubbles from her fevers.
She weighed twenty pounds for about four years, never more and sometimes less. she wore impossibly small clothing and at times I thought to myself I should buy better quality clothes because they would have to last her more than 2 warm or hot seasons.
The doctors threw out words like -underweight, failure to thrive, and undernourished. I would never speak of home life, I left him while she was a baby, but he saw her still and I am positive in her lifetime she has witnessed some sort of abuse by her biological father on some part of my body. I never dreamed he could have that effect on her or I would've left sooner.
When school started and she began kindergarten there were issues. She can't remember things properly, she can't hold them as well as she should. Her writing is terrible and she does not care that she can't do these things.
I was made aware that all of her issues were related to the biological fathers drug use before i got pregnant. I was aware that he used but had no idea it happened so soon before conception. As with all addicts you never know when or what they use, or how much. I was in shock when the news settled in. I pretended to be ok, and took it like a trooper. I accepted the challenge of helping her after school everyday and told her teachers we would work on what we could. I was broken inside though, worried that he had given her this gift- this lovely package- great shiny box and huge perfect bow, helped make her beautiful. The only gift he has given her aside from the occasional visit and check. How nice of him to give her this- father of the year.
She doesn't care if the other kids are her friends or not. She doesn't care what they say about her, or if they don't say anything. She wears crazy clothes and wants her hair to be crazy and tells me they say she looks like an alien or a weirdo and she doesn't care. She is like me in those areas. If I make friends it's great and if I don't then I enjoy the personal quietness when they all talk to each other.
Then there is her Daddy- technically step father- whom earned "Daddy" and does a fantastic job at it. He knows my heart is broken about her little delay and has not said anything other than, "She'll come around, she is smarter than what everyone gives her credit for. She's amazing and we'll do our best to help her. She needs some extra, that's all." I could burst with love for this man who bathes, feeds, loves her. Who can just look at me and knows that I'm exhausted, I have a algebra test in the morning and I've been told that our daughter may be developmentally delayed.
This gift of her future from her genetic donor, this lovely package is all I can think of. I watch her sleep now, the undulating breath a miracle. Please, I beg God, do not let this package be empty, give us a shot. Please, let her be more than a pretty box.
Monday, August 31, 2009
House
I have this image of the previous owners of our "new" house- not yet a home because it is under construction. They were distant relatives and they sold to another family in between our time with the house- this signature of the family though sort of make me think of 75 years from now other people- possibly our kids tearing out things we did to the house and putting in new, if the house is still worth the saving that is. I am talkin to it when I work, "Hello house," as I enter, "Oh wow house you are looking good," and "we will fix it old house..." I have done some work to know if anyone gave birth or died in the house and no one had, seems they already had all the children they had when it was built and that everyone moved out just fine and all, I am a bit creeped out about that death thing. Yet I talk to the house and I know I can't keep that up once we move- Dave already worries about my very vocal relationship with our cats, but still I touch the house and give thanks frequently to God aloud so she can hear me, so she knows she is special.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Pappaw
He was rough on the face almost the entire time. He was nearly always sweaty and damp in the hollow of his back. Yet I could not resist a hug, not ever. His laughter was magic, His sneeze was dramatic and his mouth was brutaly honest.
He smelled of Old Spice and sawdust and tomatoe vines and rich earth. He always wore suspenders- fire engine red ones, and american flag ones. Later he coughed alot, also over dramatic.
He would give me ice cream money if I'd ask Mammaw for extra gingerbread and a cold Dr. Pepper. Then I'd sneak it to him in the greenhouse. Later he'd say the machine that took his blood for sugar readings was crazy and he knew better and then he'd wink a private wink in my direction and I'd wink back.
He held my hand alot and squeezed too much. He told corny jokes, and even cornier stories. I laughed anyway. We watched the discovery channel and jeopardy. He'd always say that I was special and I was gonna be somebody someday. He called me precious for a nickname and not as an adjective. I didn't believe him then.
He told all the others I was his favorite. I was so embarrassed and would hush him, then later kiss his sandpaper cheek and whisper that he was my favorite too. He left all the other grandkids nothing and he willed me the house that my Mammaw still lives in. Sometimes I wonder what he saw in me. Why me?
I followed him around, if it bothered him I never knew. He showed me things. Interesting bugs, big ripe blackberries, newborn kittens and puppies, how stubborn one man could be. How sweet and patient my Mammaw is.
He would've adored my baby girl. He would've said she had spunk. He would've loved my son, would've said he was too smart.
I miss him like a breeze. It comes from nowhere and envelopes me for a while, I cannot stop the flow. I visit his stone and sit on the ground in front of him for a while. I talk to him, I understand that he isn't there, it is for me and not him. I lean my body against that strong stone and often weep. I tell no one that I went, it is just for me and him. I stay until I stop rocking myself and heaving. Everyone else goes in groups and talks and laughs and sings songs about Jesus. That stone will last longer than my baby girl... I know that someday I will visit them both there and that breaks my heart even more.
There are times I can still hear him whistle...
He smelled of Old Spice and sawdust and tomatoe vines and rich earth. He always wore suspenders- fire engine red ones, and american flag ones. Later he coughed alot, also over dramatic.
He would give me ice cream money if I'd ask Mammaw for extra gingerbread and a cold Dr. Pepper. Then I'd sneak it to him in the greenhouse. Later he'd say the machine that took his blood for sugar readings was crazy and he knew better and then he'd wink a private wink in my direction and I'd wink back.
He held my hand alot and squeezed too much. He told corny jokes, and even cornier stories. I laughed anyway. We watched the discovery channel and jeopardy. He'd always say that I was special and I was gonna be somebody someday. He called me precious for a nickname and not as an adjective. I didn't believe him then.
He told all the others I was his favorite. I was so embarrassed and would hush him, then later kiss his sandpaper cheek and whisper that he was my favorite too. He left all the other grandkids nothing and he willed me the house that my Mammaw still lives in. Sometimes I wonder what he saw in me. Why me?
I followed him around, if it bothered him I never knew. He showed me things. Interesting bugs, big ripe blackberries, newborn kittens and puppies, how stubborn one man could be. How sweet and patient my Mammaw is.
He would've adored my baby girl. He would've said she had spunk. He would've loved my son, would've said he was too smart.
I miss him like a breeze. It comes from nowhere and envelopes me for a while, I cannot stop the flow. I visit his stone and sit on the ground in front of him for a while. I talk to him, I understand that he isn't there, it is for me and not him. I lean my body against that strong stone and often weep. I tell no one that I went, it is just for me and him. I stay until I stop rocking myself and heaving. Everyone else goes in groups and talks and laughs and sings songs about Jesus. That stone will last longer than my baby girl... I know that someday I will visit them both there and that breaks my heart even more.
There are times I can still hear him whistle...
Friday, August 21, 2009
What I've Overheard
"I told him to come on there are lots of cute girls and no one comes for any other reason... that and the extra cash from financial aid"
"Look at those tits..."
"I told him you can kiss my..."
"I don't care. I'm gonna park here, big deal"
"F*** my life"
"I was so wasted.... I was like Oh, sh*t, there was the cop..."
"My mom is such an idiot"
"I mean, come on, she knew there was no condom."
"What my husband doesn't know won't hurt him."
Going back to class for me is exciting and new. I enjoy knowing that this phase of my life is such an advantage that not every one gets. I have found a corner to "hide" in to eat and pass the 1 and one half hour lapses of time in my schedule, I can read and write and study. It also places me in a spot with a great echo, and my anthorpologist side is entertained, and somewhat disgusted.
"Look at those tits..."
"I told him you can kiss my..."
"I don't care. I'm gonna park here, big deal"
"F*** my life"
"I was so wasted.... I was like Oh, sh*t, there was the cop..."
"My mom is such an idiot"
"I mean, come on, she knew there was no condom."
"What my husband doesn't know won't hurt him."
Going back to class for me is exciting and new. I enjoy knowing that this phase of my life is such an advantage that not every one gets. I have found a corner to "hide" in to eat and pass the 1 and one half hour lapses of time in my schedule, I can read and write and study. It also places me in a spot with a great echo, and my anthorpologist side is entertained, and somewhat disgusted.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Missing
I have been given two of the most wonderful children available. I know that sounds hilarious and wierd- given and available- not terms to describe children or motherhood. I was not in the best situation for life when I became pregnant with my son. I was not the best person to have a child at all. Then God changed me. I got up out of the mess that was strewn about my life and took my son and myself to a new life, new lifestyle, and a whole new perspective. After he was here for about three weeks I discovered that I loved him more than myself. Most moms will not admit that it takes time to fall for your baby, but I will.
Then I married and although I was taking birth control and my son was 6 months old I became pregnant again. Once pregnant my husband became distant and soon enough I discovered his drug addiction. Gradually our marriage disolved and I was single for about 2 and a half years. I mourned him, I mourned me, I mourned what I thought we were and mourned the fact that I was so blindsided.
I brought up two children less than fifteen months apart in age with the help of my wonderful parents. They allowed me to stay home with then until they were able to go school. They took the downstairs of the house and me and the kids invaded the upstairs of the house. We were happy that way. I was content with the three of us- the kids and myself. My parents worked all the time and disappeared to thier quarters as soon as the kids were in bed. It was quiet and I read alot. I was fine.
I met David, I fell hard, still am.
Now I want a baby. Alhtough I am blessed with two I did not want at first- and now adore, I want one for the first time in my life. This is a hard situation for me. We just bought a house- about 80 years old and will need to add another bedroom and a bath for the parents before we can have another- not to mention we need to triple our income. He is the Daddy now and they know no other way of life, won't remember before him, without him, or anyone else, no one ever took the role of Daddy for them until David.
I see babies in grocery carts and smile at them. I see my pregnant family members and I radiate the desire for a child. I hate pregnancy- not being gifted in the weight loss area- but I loved the feel of a baby in my arms. People laugh when I tell them and I think I have never actually WANTED a child before and I cannot say that aloud.
I know I have to finish school and I know I need my mom to retire first and me be working full time and have all this done to the house. But then I think of how sweet they are and how David missed out sort of on the two of ours and I get a little bit lonely....
Then I married and although I was taking birth control and my son was 6 months old I became pregnant again. Once pregnant my husband became distant and soon enough I discovered his drug addiction. Gradually our marriage disolved and I was single for about 2 and a half years. I mourned him, I mourned me, I mourned what I thought we were and mourned the fact that I was so blindsided.
I brought up two children less than fifteen months apart in age with the help of my wonderful parents. They allowed me to stay home with then until they were able to go school. They took the downstairs of the house and me and the kids invaded the upstairs of the house. We were happy that way. I was content with the three of us- the kids and myself. My parents worked all the time and disappeared to thier quarters as soon as the kids were in bed. It was quiet and I read alot. I was fine.
I met David, I fell hard, still am.
Now I want a baby. Alhtough I am blessed with two I did not want at first- and now adore, I want one for the first time in my life. This is a hard situation for me. We just bought a house- about 80 years old and will need to add another bedroom and a bath for the parents before we can have another- not to mention we need to triple our income. He is the Daddy now and they know no other way of life, won't remember before him, without him, or anyone else, no one ever took the role of Daddy for them until David.
I see babies in grocery carts and smile at them. I see my pregnant family members and I radiate the desire for a child. I hate pregnancy- not being gifted in the weight loss area- but I loved the feel of a baby in my arms. People laugh when I tell them and I think I have never actually WANTED a child before and I cannot say that aloud.
I know I have to finish school and I know I need my mom to retire first and me be working full time and have all this done to the house. But then I think of how sweet they are and how David missed out sort of on the two of ours and I get a little bit lonely....
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Joy
Sometimes I just want to be Joy,
not momma,
not the negotiator between brother/sister,
the deciding choice between Wendy's or Mcdonalds,
not bathroom scrubber,
nor laundry doer
nor taxi driver
nor bed maker
I want to be where someone can enjoy my presence
my voice
my thoughts
my laughter
I want to lay down with someone who just wants to be next to me
not for sex
not for safety from nightmares
Somedays Joy is never there
all day long
Somedays I get time with her
just minutes
Somedays I need to see her
and I don't
Somedays I get her
and don't need her
Somedays it flows
perfectly
This summer I have craved Joy
not momma,
not the negotiator between brother/sister,
the deciding choice between Wendy's or Mcdonalds,
not bathroom scrubber,
nor laundry doer
nor taxi driver
nor bed maker
I want to be where someone can enjoy my presence
my voice
my thoughts
my laughter
I want to lay down with someone who just wants to be next to me
not for sex
not for safety from nightmares
Somedays Joy is never there
all day long
Somedays I get time with her
just minutes
Somedays I need to see her
and I don't
Somedays I get her
and don't need her
Somedays it flows
perfectly
This summer I have craved Joy
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Self
Self diagnosed eclectic gatherer of things,
holder of the universe in our children,
gardener, writer, only his vixen,
obsessed with radiant placing of all objects,
acceptive of others.
Self inflicted scars from years past,
sleepiness, size, stress, scrapbooker,
organized chaotic mess,
must balence the weigh, time, work, play,
checkbook, kisses between boy and girl, myself.
Self healing wounds deep within,
corners I can hide things in until able-
to bring them to light and let them scab, new pink skin,
aching muscles I should have excersized yesterday,
the want for another child.
Self satisfying warmth from his body in our bed,
the sound of the pool when you are under, deep water,
Our sons hair brushing my face, our daughters kisses,
sand in my sheets, chocolate, writing, the sun on my skin,
peace within me, growth, serenity.
holder of the universe in our children,
gardener, writer, only his vixen,
obsessed with radiant placing of all objects,
acceptive of others.
Self inflicted scars from years past,
sleepiness, size, stress, scrapbooker,
organized chaotic mess,
must balence the weigh, time, work, play,
checkbook, kisses between boy and girl, myself.
Self healing wounds deep within,
corners I can hide things in until able-
to bring them to light and let them scab, new pink skin,
aching muscles I should have excersized yesterday,
the want for another child.
Self satisfying warmth from his body in our bed,
the sound of the pool when you are under, deep water,
Our sons hair brushing my face, our daughters kisses,
sand in my sheets, chocolate, writing, the sun on my skin,
peace within me, growth, serenity.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Art
It is the curve of her hair along the nape.
His shaggy hippy hair
My toes painted
His smile, not the one for other people,
The one I am gifted with.
The curve of his ear,
That freckle
It is the 75 year old pine floors we found,
under the rubble
A tree, with prayers lifted
Light in all sorts of ways
It is a rock
It is the growth of moss
The pattern of ivy
The shore spread out for miles
Seashells of nearly every sort
Every first and last sun and moon of every day,
From the beginning to the end
It displays itself in words and in paint
In me
I am mearly a grateful vessel
Holding
Until prompted to pour
His shaggy hippy hair
My toes painted
His smile, not the one for other people,
The one I am gifted with.
The curve of his ear,
That freckle
It is the 75 year old pine floors we found,
under the rubble
A tree, with prayers lifted
Light in all sorts of ways
It is a rock
It is the growth of moss
The pattern of ivy
The shore spread out for miles
Seashells of nearly every sort
Every first and last sun and moon of every day,
From the beginning to the end
It displays itself in words and in paint
In me
I am mearly a grateful vessel
Holding
Until prompted to pour
Friday, June 19, 2009
the order of things
paint-so i don't ruin the hardwood
van-tek and wall
ceiling cover
tub
we have worked so hard
cabinets and sink
bigger sink
i get a lump in my throat
stove
removal of old chimney
some dry wall repair
hardwood
windows
without him i couldn't have done any of this
more paint
maybe by christmas we'll be there
maybe not
new door
furniture
rugs
lamps
curtains
us
van-tek and wall
ceiling cover
tub
we have worked so hard
cabinets and sink
bigger sink
i get a lump in my throat
stove
removal of old chimney
some dry wall repair
hardwood
windows
without him i couldn't have done any of this
more paint
maybe by christmas we'll be there
maybe not
new door
furniture
rugs
lamps
curtains
us
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