Quiet streets, quiet house

It's just so much to overcome...

That each of them would say to this day (had one of them not finally died) that they loved me. And I have to sympathize with their confusion and anger, because I KNOW they think they do . . .or did. That they will lie until they believe themselves. That they can't step one foot towards compromise or discomfort for my benefit. But what's grieving me most today is their being so deluded by arrogance or ego or habit that in their minds I became the perpetrator, the rebel, the disruptor. Because I 'did not accept' what they offered as love.

I do not accept that I am less than. I do not accept that he and his priorities always come first. I do not accept that sharing your penis shows compassion or joy or even affection. I do not accept that this is the best any of them had to offer. They let themselves off far too easily, these so called men. I do not accept it.

And for that, I must be cast out. Tossed aside. Left. Alone. Still.

The overcoming takes knowledge and power, fortitude, courage, patience, stamina, strength, agility, time. I have developed a few of these. I had become dependent on there being someone with whom to share my heavy cargo. That may have been my fatal mistake. And my energies are waning with each blow that comes. What if I can't keep going? What do they win? What will I have lost? A chance to be used again? What if I can't get to the other side? What if I'm afraid that what is there is more of the same? The answer is - I just do, they don't win, I've lost nothing, I will be strong enough, I can, and if there is more of the same for me, perhaps I'll have taught my daughters to declare with every fiber of their beings, "I do not accept this!"

The cargo was always mine and the someone became too tired? overburdened? disinterested? Or was it that they never intended to help? I had delusions of my own: that we wanted that future together. I did not see that only those willing to tiptoe daily past the sleeping giant, dressed in emperors clothes would be granted refuge in the comfort we had depicted.

The overcoming means destroying illusions, letting go of dreams, forgiving oneself and others and accepting what is real.

So. . .

I am more than. You are incapable of recognizing things that threaten your comfort and safety. My priorities, once they're established are equally as valuable as anyone's and require compromise for the rewards to be shared. You should try harder to be the person you want to be because I'm sure if you could see clearly, you would know that this is not it. There is no giant and I will not tiptoe.

The house is quiet because I have no cable. I have to keep my phone calls to a minimum because I could only commit to the smallest plan due to a limited pool of money, an unspecified amount of time to live on it. The streets were quiet last night because I was out on them alone. Alone. Still. It could be worse, I could still be believing in any one of those 'men'.

ABCs of Coping - before & after

Aching Abundant
Bored Beginning
Cry Charisma
Deal Divorcing
Endured Endeavoring
Flailing Fierce
Groveling Grateful
Hindered Happy
Idle Independent
Jostled Joyful
Keening Keeping on
Longing Learning
Maddened More
Negated New
Oppressed Open
Pushed Peaceful
Quiet Quality
Rankled Renewed
Stung Singing
Tested Triumphing
Undermined Unshaken
Victimized Validated
Waiting Walking
Yearning Yes!

At Least 82 Reasons It's More Than Miraculous I Haven't Caved on the Lenten Sacrifice of Chocolate

Last Monday there were 6 inches of snow on the ground and we had yet another Snow Day.

Yesterday it was 80 degrees - no we haven't moved and yes, I am so on top of this housekeeping that my children had appropriate attire on both occasions. Yes, thank you, thank you very much!

I'm dogsitting my in-laws 2 crazy-a** dogs. That makes 3 dogs, 2 kids and one parent this week. Husband out of town, in-laws usually spell me on Wednesdays with the pre-schooler. So that's 4 days with 3 dogs, 2 kids and one me. Yes, thank you, thank you very much!

Even today, the GYN office hasn't received notification from our insurance that the $3605 they billed was reduced and paid out at $416, therefore, they're perplexed at my request for the refund of $1700 we paid out of pocket before they would perform my surgery - back in January. I spent enough time on hold the phone to ensure that the insurance company would fax the statement to the Dr. AGAIN in order that they can better understand. I will now call them every other day until my refund is received. Because I wouldn't want to treat them any differently than I know they'd want to treat me. Besides, we owe at least twice that to the anesthesiologist, the hospital, the lab, etc...due to our mid 4-figure deductible and I want my money!!!

This week, I was somewhat hornswaggled into signing my non-competitive 7 yr. old daughter up for soccer. K's Mom was going to coach and K wanted Maris on her team. Even though M has never played a competitive or team sport, we "should sign her up 'cause we have this whole friend & friend's Mom support structure around it"...And the clincher for me was that K's Mom would pick them up from school on practice days and keep her at their house until dinnertime. (That's once a week for 9 weeks!!!) So, I sign her up, buy the equipment - which she immediately tried on and took outside to get dirty check out - and then find out that due to a number of converging unfortunate circumstances, K's not signed up, K's Mom isn't coaching and now I'm committed to the driving, killing the time during practice and then single-handedly cajoling the kid to go to practice, meet some new people, play the games, just do your best and have fun!, and heaven forbid consoling her because she's not the fastest, scoringest, whateverest player. Oy! I'm such a good Mom and they will be SO grateful when they're 30!!!

I was guilt-tripped into dinner with my formerly estranged father this evening. Another fabulous and enjoyable repast at every gourmet's mecca - the Olive Garden - with Mr. Matt and my two young children. Proving once again that kids like nothing better than lingering over appetizer, soup (2 rounds), salad, the entree & then a nice coffee. The man has no idea that there are people out here and none of them particularly interested in continually revolving around his massive gravitational pull!! Especially when there's still reading homework and bedtime looming at 8. I'll expound on this further with some episodic postings of Mr. Matt experiences. Anyway, in an effort to stave off bloody mutiny, I allowed the little critters to order dessert. The dinner to sugar ratio was going to be BAD, but Mr. Matt was deep in discussion about - no, it's too good, I have to save it. The younger one, who's always had a 6th sense about impending danger, ordered the lemon cream cake ($5.95 a slice), which is fine. The older one, my first born, the 7 yr. old teenager?? Yea, she ordered the death by chocolate thing.

And yet, I have not been swayed in my resolve!!! I am STILL chocolateless after almost 2 weeks. Is that it??? Tell me it's 3 weeks.

*daaah*

where's that lemon cream cake???

2 Things on Tuesday - wish I could rap

1.) What is it with these young, podunck town law-enforcement types that makes them say shit?
Driving the girls home from Grandma's house the other day I came to the bottom of the hill & noticed emergency lights at the intersection. After stopping at the stop sign, I edged forward to see which direction the lights were coming from (they were bouncing on the abutment of an overpass), stopped again to make sure I wouldn't be interfering with any law-enforcement type procedures if I proceeded on my planned right turn. Please bear in mind that the speed limit coming down the mountain is 25. Ah, only a routine traffic check (there's a crack house on grandma's hill in the mountains...). So I join the line of (3) cars and start digging for my license. When I roll the window down, the 25 year old 'officer' says to me, "d'y always approach stops signs that fast? You'da rolled right through that one if we hadn't been here." To which I responded, "Fuck you, has been!! Couldn't get into ITT Tech? I have NEVER rolled through a fucking stop sign, ever! Never had a speeding ticket, freaking never had a parking ticket. I've never driven drunk, always wear my seat belt, and if you think for one second that I would ever roll through a stop sign in a Southern state with my children in the car, you must be one of the dumbest ones they've raised yet! Moron!"

...in my head. Actually, I said the Moron part as he was checking my rear license plate - imagine he was checking to verify me as one of those lawless types that hasn't dusted her 'tags' this season, either - and M asked me how I knew he was a moron. I told her I'd explain it when we rolled up the window & drove away.

I seethed for a while as I drove away, waiting for the meds to kick in and settle my rattled nerves - I have authority figure issues and a evolutionary-Irish distaste for coppers of any ilk, especially smug, young, powercrazy, male ones - and then started wishing that my heritage was different. Instead of being an upper middle class stay at home mom driving a minivan, I wished for that moment to be a strong ethnic urban chica rollin in a blazin lowrider. 'Cause then, instead of stewing my temper for a few days down to a blogworthy frustration reduction, I could have amped it on some Red Bull, juiced it with a scary beat and rapped my way to fame about how the 5-0 ain't worth sh*t. Yeah, I wish I could rap about the injustices carried out on me by the POlice...


and wait....here's a good line I might have come up with and used, but actually found when looking for a satisfying slang term to use for police (I'm still not happy with the "5-0", but the dryer's about to buzz and I didn't want to waste too much time...) - "a government-funded butt-picking fucktard addicted to donuts" NICE!!!!

2.) How will we ever know when Nip/Tuck has jumped the shark?

Mommy and Me - paper towels and the paid workforce

wherein I attempt to write snippets from my Mommy mind

&

something pithy and intriguing from the real Me

so no one starts thinking I'm one dimensional

Mommy -

My younger sister does not believe in keeping anything except a few decorative items on her kitchen countertops. The part of me that has taken interior design classes loves this and has great admiration for her adherence to aesthetic priorities. Until we visit with the 3 & 6 year olds who invariably and frequently spill stuff...and I discover that paper towels are kept somewhere in the cabinet under the sink. Not right there, standing at the ready when you open the door, but literally just tossed somewhere in there where you have to get down and look past the dishwashing detergent and the brasso and the window cleaner and hope you find them before whatever you just heard splash down in the other room soaks in and becomes a permanent stain or warps the hardwood or disappears altogether only to be found late at night or very early in the morning as you sneak through the living room for another hit of those homecooked leftovers and your socks get wet, so then you have a stain to clean AND more laundry...Isn't that cute? She keeps paper towels under the sink. Just anywhere under there...Not on either end of the counter - equidistant from the redline phone to poison control - within easy reach at a split second's notice. I love that for her!!!

Me -

Very distressed lately about the prospects for "returning" to the paid workforce at any point in the foreseeable future as:

1.) I have no career to go back to having spent the last 6 years mothering exclusively and the decade before that at piddly jobs which proved to be tangential to a career path.

2.) My college education is so out of date as to have included DOS

3.) What I envision being available to someone with limited relevant experience and hours outside of drop-off and pick-up from school pretty much points to daylight prostitution or janitorial work.

4.) This terrible sensation that I'd be "taking" a job from someone who really needs the money - like for food or necessities higher on the list than laser hair removal.

5.) I worry (hopefully disproportionately) about the whole having-to-actually-show-up-somewhere-on-time-dressed-and-ready-to-deal-with-stuff issue. Mostly what I worry about is what is says about me that I worry about it. I could totally get back into the swing of an adult professional life, right?

Well, all this and more can keep me wondering for a while, I guess, as I'm not running out to get just any old job. I have the luxury of waiting until the kids are well into school and the right opportunity comes along to get me back on a career track. Getting back into the paid workforce is just high in my mind lately 'cause mid-winter for Mommy can be a trifle monotonous (note to self: add diplomacy & exceptional communication skills to resume). The worry and wondering gives a Mommy something to do in the long, cold moments between spills.

Open Letter to Jerry Seinfeld

Today I had the privilege of watching Bee Movie and I wanted to thank and congratulate you. As the mother of a three and six year old, I'm often forced to endure movies that are supposedly geared toward their age but are sappy, syrupy insults to the senses or movies marketed to them that contain subject matter, humor or dialog that they're just not ready for. Bee Movie was dead on!! Entertaining, educational, moral, humorous - well done!!!

I can only begin to imagine the effort it took to stay within the lines on this one and honor the talent it took to get it done that way. Some nerve it took, to make a good quality family movie in an era where schlock sells so well. To not succumb to the lower standard in story, talent, and message is really to be commended! And is so very appreciated.

Having never served as a movie critic, I certainly wouldn't offer this as such. While watching the movie, I couldn't help but think back to the Seinfeld nights of my college years. Good times!!! And innumerable catch phrases, some that survive to this day. To think the same brain could contribute creatively to and act so energetically in that genre and this many years later come up with such a phenomenal children's flick... It's extraordinary!!

This is the only method I have to share with you my tremendous admiration for your talent and respect for your professional credibility.

While I do really mean this and hope it finds its way to Mr. Seinfeld, I realize that my urgent need to write this the minute the movie ended was my real self crying out to my Mommy self to get out and do something!!!!! Soon back to our regularly scheduled somewhat mature blogging schedule.