February 28, 2012
February 26, 2012
I woke up this morning to find that 783 people have viewed by blog. Since I went to bed last night at 10:30. They LIKE ME. A man from Nigeria likes me. Christ, do they even speak English there? It turns out there are all these big cliques of bloggers out there. Who knew? I’ve spent a good part of the morning browsing a lot of very funny blogs. I so wish I would have started this on the sly, without my photo sitting up in the corner of the page. It’s just that it happened so innocently. My friends kept texting and emailing and calling, asking how I was doing. What did they want me to say? Fine? I was so sick of lying because maybe they didn’t really want to know. But the truth is that I want people to know. I want people to know just how much this sucks. I want jerks out there who have thought about killing themselves to read my blog and feel like slime. To be ashamed of themselves. And to tell somebody or get help. And I want spouses and friends of people who seem depressed and withdrawn to do something that I didn’t do. Drive that mutha to the hospital and drop them off!!
After Dave died, I uploaded all his photos to shutterfly. Every photo ever taken of him. Shutterfly automatically puts your photos in chronological order. Let me tell you something. Looking at those photos in chronological order was a true awakening for me. What the heck was I thinking? What a fool I was. It was my fault! I pressed the slideshow button and I watched him die. Over and over and over again. I watched him die quickly on my screen. I had a conversation with my dad about this. He assured me it wasn’t my fault, because it happened in real life time, not 2 minutes of slideshow time. If Dave had taken a trip for a month and come home like he was in the end, detached, withdrawn, silent, sad, skinny, etc., I would have driven him to the hospital. I would have. But that’s not how it happened.
Unfortunately, it was just our real life. Day in and day out. Me, noticing he just wasn’t himself. Him, denying repeatedly anything was wrong. Me, asking if he was taking drugs or drinking. Him, with his best lie face, perfected over the years, calmly saying no and fooling even me. Who the fack fools me? No one. That’s who. I knew something was wrong. But an army of psychic seers could not have convinced me he would DO THIS.
He renewed his driver’s license that morning. We were texting from the eye doctor’s office where I sat complaining about the wait. We talked about dinner and about how much longer we would be. And then, he just quit answering. Because he was standing in our garage with a loaded .38 caliber touching his chest. So accurately did he blow his heart away that he surely must have felt for the beautiful vibration of his beating heart to place the gun just so. My 16 year old stepdaughter was standing at the top of the outside stair landing holding my 18 mos old son and also holding hands with my 4 year old. They were coming to ask him if they could go swimming. They saw him walk into the garage. They heard a noise. Didn’t know what it was. Cause surely it wasn’t him killing himself. But it was. Because this world is not at all what we think it is. Because we don’t control anything. Because in an instant….BOOM. Your ass is handed to you.
I worry sometimes that people will think I don’t love my kids or that I’m not good to them. I don’t really care. It’s precisely because I love them so much that I am brutally honest about how I feel. Because I think other parents feel like this sometimes too and they feel it even though they are getting a $%#@ing break and don’t have their spouse’s suicide note in their drawer! I never ever ever wanted to be a single parent precisely because I was quite sure I couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t pass muster. I was right. Don’t get me wrong. I am doing it. One day I might even be good at it. But I doubt it. I’m too selfish. I need breaks. I happen to love myself. A lot. But I never get to. And I miss me. Profusely.
Tomorrow I swear I will write about just how much I love my kids. About how they rip my heart open, so full of love it becomes when I just even look at them. I wish this wasn’t their life. I know deep down it’s not the best it can be because I remember another life. And I think that’s what I hate so much. I know what a better life it could be…how having a daddy would be like a soothing balm just being massaged all over them. But I’m just a mommy. I don’t have that daddy balm. No matter how much I do, say, overcompensate….I can’t be a daddy. Just yesterday I passed a woman in the grocery who beamed at my darlings and said, “Oh your husband must be so proud.” I hope so is what I mumbled.
February 25, 2012
Today marks the 11th day of not having so much as a 2 second break from my kids. At various times I may not have had all 3 kids, but I have had at least one of them. We’ve had some pretty good days during our Mardi Gras break. We had fun at parades, had some really fun days doing other things, had a blast at Global Wildlife, etc. But yesterday was not fun. It was rainy and cold and super windy and we were all cooped up inside. Fighting. And screaming. And being negative. And mean. When my sister got here last night for crab cakes, we ate and then I asked her to drive me to an insane asylum. I told her I wasn’t cut out for motherhood, let alone single parent motherhood, and that I was sure I had a psychological problem. I declared that summer would indeed be horrible, and that I was having visions of deserting my family. I thought last night about what I’m teaching my kids. How I’m teaching them to be frustrated and aggravated. I was so focused on everything I’d done wrong not just yesterday but every day. I should know better than to go there. Because I’m really, just naturally an eternal optimist. I am the Queen of Spin. I’m the Queen of other things too, but none more than SPIN. I couldn’t spin it last night. Just couldn’t.
February 23, 2012
A long time ago, women did as they do now—they held the family, they held the power (life-force) for the family, they held the happiness and joy, they held the sorrow and disappointments. After time, the negative emotions and heartache that the women took upon themselves on behalf of their families would begin to weigh them down. The women would become sick and finally, could no longer take on the burdens of the family. Yet the nature to do so had been imbued into them by Creator.
One day, a woman was out in the forest, crying because the burden had become so great, when Raven heard her and asked, "Mother, why do you cry?"
The woman responded, "I love my family so very much. I hold my family in my heart and soul, but the pains of life have filled me up. I can no longer help my family. I can no longer take their burdens from them. I just don't know what to do."
Raven responded, "I understand the pain you feel, as I feel it also. I will go and ask Grandmother Ocean if she knows what to do." So Raven flew to the ocean and shared with Grandmother the plight of the women.
Grandmother Ocean responded, "If the women will come to me, I will wash their pain from them, but this won't help the ones who are far away. Let me ask my sister, Grandmother Moon, if she can help."
So Grandmother Ocean spoke to her sister of the women's plight. Grandmother Moon responded, "I am the power of the feminine. I will send into the women, my sisters, your waters carrying my power. Once every moon cycle, you shall come into the women through me and purify them." And, she did this. So ever since then, every woman has a time each moon cycle when she embodies the power of the moon and flows the cleansing of the ocean. We call this the woman's time of the moon, or moon-time. (originally published in Sacred Hoop magazine, Winter 2000/2001) copyright by Nicholas Noble Wolf. Please visit nicholasnoblewolf.com. He is a shaman. I love that word.)
February 22, 2012
February 20, 2012
Exactly what is it going to take for me to stop caring about whether my house is filthy everywhere? Tell me right now, you messy house people. ‘Cause I fear I’m going crazy over it. Often I feel this way. See, here is the problem. And it’s huge. I can’t be happy if my house is messy. I just can’t. I don’t know if I’m miserable BECAUSE my house is messy, or because I’m miserable, my house is messy. Does it even matter?? I know I will be much happier when it's clean. But goddamnit I'm sick of cleaning!!!!! I know I talk about auras and acupuncture and now I’m about to get all ranty about feng shui…but I swear maybe I was a Chinese person in another life. Because I hate shit. I hate when it’s all over. I hate plastic stuff. I hate how it smells. I hate Mardi Gras beads. I hate how they make you slide and almost fall when you step on them on a wooden floor. I hate toys all over. Toys in my bed. Toys in the shower and bath tub. Legos. Legos imbedded in the shaggy zebra rug in the playroom. Do you understand that a small lego can take you down….make you wonder if you’ve been shot, if you step on it barefoot while walking briskly? Have I mentioned my all time biggest pet peeve…..stepping on cheerios with my flip flops? In fact, if you were to ask me what is my least favorite thing in the world, I might not even say famines or war. Sadly, I might say the sound and the feeling of stepping on a cheerio beneath my shoe on my kitchen floor, especially if I’m already in a bad mood and my kitchen is messy and the counters are sticky. I realize this is something small. I do. But it bothers me. When I was little, there were 4 kids in our house, and it was sort of…messy. I was the neat one. My bedroom was so neat. Family and friends love to poke fun at this…love to joke about how neat I was. I remember how I used to wish, even as a small child, that I had a refrigerator in my room and then I wouldn’t even have to leave my room and go into the messy part of the house.
February 18, 2012
February 17, 2012
Damn you, Dave. Damn you that we never miss Muses, and this year you are not here. And you never will be here again. I hate you for that. I hate that so often we hurdle another ‘first’. I secretly panic that it won’t just be the ‘firsts’ that slice me open each time like a knife. What if it’s the seconds and thirds too? What if it never goes away? Today I feel proud that my little family is marching on, albeit sadly. Not sure what we should call our little satirical marching club….but I may amuse myself today by trying to think of a name in between changing diapers and holding the bucket while middle darling vomits.
I imagine myself as the Muse Melpomene, with three kids on my back, in birth order, wearing a pair of 4 inch heels and trying to climb a mountain of pea gravel. Exhausting? Impossible? Absurd? All those things. I pray I can be in a good mood. I pray we can find some fun things to do. I feel like this is my test for summer. Seriously…how will I survive summer? I don’t even remember last summer. It was a fog of…death. So horrible and so black and so hideous. I’ve always loved summer, and now summer scares me. We need things to do for the anniversary of ‘the incident’. I want to go to Disney. Yes, I’m posting on the blog that I’m taking a vacation to Disney. Rob me blind you fuck heads. I don’t give a shit. Believe me, this is the least of my worries. I wasn’t even phased to be robbed at gunpoint while I was home, you think I care about being robbed when I’m gone?
The Nine Muses were Greek goddesses who ruled over the arts and sciences and offered inspiration in those subjects. They were the daughters of Zeus, lord of all gods, and Mnemosyne, who represented memory. Memory was important for the Muses because in ancient times, when there were no books, poets had to carry their work in their memories.
Clio was the muse of history.
Erato was the muse of love poetry.
Euterpe was the muse of music.
Melpomene was the muse of tragedy.
Polyhymnia was the muse of sacred poetry.
Terpsichore was the muse of dance.
Thalia was the muse of comedy.
Urania was the muse of astronomy.
February 16, 2012
February 15, 2012
February 14, 2012
This morning, all my boys were super sweet, telling me Happy Valentine’s Day and dishing out the extra love. I love that. Everyone woke up in a good mood for a change. The baby didn’t fight with me to get dressed or change his diaper or even brush his teeth. Thank God. It’s the small things, I swear. While I was putting away breakfast dishes he was standing in the kitchen with his shopping cart, just quietly talking to himself. “yeah, bedause Daddy died. Daddy had to go to Heaven. And the baby died too.” The big darling and I were somewhat alarmed. When this kind of talking ensues, a hush comes over the whole house. “What baby?” we asked. When he realized we were both crouched down next to him looking very curious, he got sort of quiet and just said, “The baby outside.” I have no idea what that was about, maybe nothing. This is how he processes things, though, and ‘they’ tell me this is good that he is actually processing it. I wish it wasn’t out loud on Valentine’s Day.
Tonight, we will dine on steak and lobster and chocolate dipped strawberries. We will listen to Mardi Gras music, loud, and throw beads while cooking. My cousin, who is too good for men, is coming over, because she wants to be with an awesome chick who is also too good for men. So there. We are too good for you and our party will be funner without you.
I got the blues, the red and the pinks.....all I know is.......LOVE STINKS............J Geils Band
February 12, 2012
I just don’t get it, I never will get it, and frankly the topic’s been swirling around in my brain for 7 months and I’m freakishly tired of trying to get it. How can some people ‘almost have it all’ and just throw it all away? It’s such a tired cliché but damn, girl, why would you give up being a diva? A real life, true, rock star diva? From having it all to drowning in the bathtub after taking off your dirty black designer dress with champagne stains all over the front, blood dripping down your leg, your hair looking all ratty and sweaty. We almost had it all too…well....minus the millions and the diva status. But it was certainly good enough for me. All I ever wanted was for us to be happy. And now we have this…this…life? But I’m still not running out and getting addicted. I don’t think I CAN be addicted. I’ve never been addicted to anything in my life. Why? I can’t even answer that. I assume it’s because I CHOOSE not to. Why didn’t Dave choose this as well? Why didn’t Whitney choose it too? Why can I choose it, but they can’t?
A long time ago I was madly in love with a guy who had a coke habit. He didn’t look like a crack head, didn’t act like a crack head, didn’t dress like a crack head, didn’t drive a crack-mobile. How did I not know this? Back then people hinted to me that he was using drugs. I didn’t believe them. Why? For one he looked like a Greek Adonis, had skin the color of caramel candy, and he just seemed fun loving and adventurous to me. I’m a logical thinker and it didn’t fit squarely into the little box I wanted to put this guy in. In my mind, who would choose to do this? Maybe I just didn’t want it to be true.
Later I was in a relationship with a guy who was very obviously cheating on me. Why didn’t I know this? Why did I believe the lies? Because I turned up the heat and he told the lies and thus a little story was molded together until it fit squarely into the box. 20 years later he confided he was a cheater and I was stunned. Genuinely stunned! Who would cheat on me?! Why?!
Now, I look at my 14 years with Dave and I know how many lies he told me. And I know how insanely stupid I was for believing the lies. AGAIN. I mean seriously, I am a complete IDIOT. It's quite possible that my addiction is to ASSHOLES! The thing that is so damn ironic about all this is that I always thought I was such a good reader of people. I still believe this. I get a vibe from a person and I will not let them near me if it’s funky in any way. I can read them from across a room. But once a person is close to me, once they are in, they are in, baby. And this is my downfall. Loving too hard. Just throw down, out the box, all my might, don’t-care-what anybody-thinks loving. I see the people I love for their potential…not for what they are at the moment. And now I see this is terrible, really, terrible, and I fear I may have some sort of disorder. It has even been suggested that the ‘disorder’ may be codependency. Someone gave me a book called “CoDependent No More” a long time ago and suggested I may be co-dependent. I read the book, thought all the people in the book sounded absolutely dreadful, like wimpy door mats, yes-I-love-you-because-you-beat-me-kind-of-people and I knew that couldn't possibly be me. After all, I don’t let people walk all over me. This part is true. They may become addicted, they may be liars, they may be cheaters, but I am kicking their ass the whole way through. Each step of the way, I am turning up the heat. So much so, that in my presence, they are melted down and fitting perfectly into the box. Truly I should never let another person near me because of this.
Every single person, everyone, if they have spoken 10 words to me since Dave has died has said the exact same thing to me. You are young, you have so much going for you, you will love again. People, are you nuts? Has everyone lost their minds? I don’t want to love again. Love stinks. I am bad at love. I have a love disorder. I’m a train wreck. Not to mention, does not a one of you see what a tough sell this would be? Oh yes, Hi. I have a love disorder. It will be very hot and you would have to live in a box. My last husband was so happy in the box that he killed himself in the garage while I was at the eye doctor. Oh...who are they you ask? These three little darlings who are covered in snot and grass are my young boys. How good of you to notice that I have peanut butter smeared all over my shoulder and a red sucker in my hair. Now, don’t you mind the frazzled, crazy look in my eyes. I have a pill for that. And I’m a wonderful judge of character.
“The life with you was worth the fall my friend
Loving you makes life worth living
Didn't we almost have it all"............Whitney
- Shut up and live.
- I miss me
- Repairing the spin
- You can't change the tides
- Trying to love the messy life
- Seeking good air
- High Heeled Muses
- Your Pooch
- The heart has been stabbed with arrows. And this i...
- We almost had it all too
- Goose head
- Xiao Yao San
- The Sister's Prayer
- It is what it is....
- Fuck You, You Fuckin' Fuck
- "It's funner when the froggie listens to mommy"
- ▼ February 2012 (20)