Christmas Blues

Christmas is my favorite time of the year.  Especially since my son was born.  I get to relive all of those magical childhood memories through my son and see those through my son’s eyes.  I love it.  I love surprising him.  I love the oooohs and the aaaaahs and the oh my goshes.  I cannot get enough.  It does not seem to phase him that he hasn’t spent Christmas with his father since he was two years old…so it doesn’t phase me either.  However, I am missing my father this Christmas.

I do not remember the last time I spent Christmas or any holiday with my father.  I venture a guess at maybe when I was 16 years old.  I traveled to Iowa from California on Christmas day.  There was no special Christmas fanfare.  Just me and him watching television, basically.  He may have made fried chicken and milk gravy, my favorite…but I do not remember.

The one tradition my sister and I had with my father was to call him on Christmas Eve so he could sing “O Holy Night” to us.  It was our favorite and he was great at hitting those high notes.  He was a great singer.  He came from a family of singers…had I told you that before?  Yep.  They sing.  Mostly in church choirs, but most of his siblings do indeed sing and sing well.  Anyhow.  That was something that my sister and I did.  We would get on the phone with him and he would sing to us.  We wanted so badly to include him in our Christmas even though we lived far apart.  The last time he did it was quite some time ago.  He got mad about something and he didn’t want to sing it.  So, we stopped requesting that he sing it.

Other than that, my dad sent us cookies every Christmas.  Chocolate chip, peanut butter (my favorite) and chocolate oatmeal.  I will miss getting those cookies this year.  I will miss his Christmas cards too.

Last night, I was talking to my mom on the phone.  I told her about the new tradition I am starting with Max by taking him to a Christmas tree farm to cut our own tree, like we used to do with dad.  I remembered going with the whole family and the last time we did that it was just my dad, my sister and I.  I remember it to be fun.  My mom reported otherwise.  She said my dad made that a miserable tradition.  He wanted us to get the first tree we saw and if we didn’t he made us miserable.  But I don’t remember that.  My mom made it special so we didn’t have to remember it.  That is what moms do.

After my parents divorced, my mom got tired of covering up for our dad and his bad attitude and his propensity to consume alcohol on the reg.  Even after his death, she still can’t bring herself to cover up his true self.  But that is okay.  We all get tired of something every now and then.

My dad had changed some and had learned some hard lessons in life.  His drinking ceased upon his diagnosis with cancer and his “oh well” attitude continued.  He was okay with what life had dealt him and I think deep inside he probably thought he deserved it.  I do wonder if he had any regrets.  I wish I knew.  Would he have done anything differently with his daughters?  He definitely favored his son which is most likely because they are both male and had stuff in common.  My sister and I didn’t have much in common with my dad.  But that didn’t stop us from loving him and it didn’t stop him from loving us, flaws and all.

So, this Christmas, I am mourning my father, my dad.  I miss him dearly.  I mourn what could have been.  I mourn the fact I don’t remember the last time I spent Christmas with him.  I mourn that I had no real traditions that included him or I carry on because of him.  This will be a difficult Christmas to get through, but I will.  My family will.



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Breaking Down

It has been six months to the day that my dad passed away.  I keep telling myself that I made peace with him and our issues when I visited him in March of this year.  But I don’t think that was really the case.  I do think I am kidding myself that there are no unresolved issues.  And those issues are slowly rising to the top of my emotional, scattered brain and heart.

I have been feeling wrong about the way I left things with my dad in March.  I should have sucked my shitty shit up and visited with him and my family on my last day.  Instead, I stayed holed up in my hotel room, by myself, sulking.  I really hated his wife.  I still hate his wife.  She is a despicable person and I treated her as such.  This was not fair to my dad.  Damn the regrets!  Damn them.  Damn me.  Why did I have to behave that way?  I actually did suck it up on that last day.  I was being very cordial to his wife.  I started playing with the boys indoors, which was a no-no for her.  I messed up.  I knocked a table, which knocked her mom’s knick-knack and that knick-knack crashed to the floor and broke.  It didn’t break into pieces, rather a little piece broke off that could easily have been glued back on.  She way over reacted and pitched a fit, I apologized, my dad got pissed at both of us and ran out the sliding door screen.  Actually, he ran through the screen, not realizing it was closed.  My brother and sister both chastised me.  I felt as small as an amoeba.  Instead of staying and facing the music and eating my dad’s fried chicken and apple pie for the last time in my life, I ran away.

I was an emotional wreck when I was there.  So emotional I could not see past it.  It consumed me.  My body felt the emotions and it felt like it was eating my insides.  I couldn’t control my emotions.  I couldn’t.  I was such a mess.  I tried so hard to keep it all together, but I couldn’t.  I failed.  I failed my dad.

I had dropped my son off at my dad’s house the next day so they could go fishing.  I went back to my room and cried and cried and cried.  I am not even sure why I was crying.  Everything just hurt.  When I picked up my son, I didn’t want to go inside.  I stayed outside the door waiting for him to come out.  Then I thought better of it.  I went inside and gave him a big hug and told him I was sorry.  I was sorry that I couldn’t stick around and sorry for the way I felt.

It wasn’t enough.  I still feel horrible.  I regret my behavior.  I miss my dad so much and I will never see him again and I will never get to eat his fried chicken with milk gravy or his apple pies again.  He made the best fried chicken.  Goddammit!  I fucking hate this horrible feeling.  I let my dad down.  I always have let my dad down.

So today, I am crying it out and I am writing it out.  I do not want to admit this wrong doing to anyone in my family or anyone else.  I am ashamed of myself.  I squandered my last chance to make peace with him in the end.

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The Death of an Era

It has been a little over a month since my dad passed away.  Yes.  He died.  He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  He received chemotherapy.  He had the cancer surgically removed.  He was cured.  He died.  It went so fast.  He died June 16, 2015 in the early morning hours.  My heart is broken.  As many issues as my dad and I had…I loved him.  He was and will always be my daddy.

I received the call from my brother just before 7:30am eastern standard time.  I was just finishing up making my sons lunch for the day.  I thought it was odd he was calling that early, but it happens on rare occasions.  I answered, “what’s up?”  I had a feeling something was up.  I just didn’t think it was my dad.  “Dad died this morning.”

“What?  What did you say?  No.”

“Dad died this morning.  He got up because he had to go to the bathroom, except he couldn’t walk or get out of bed or anything.”

“What?  No. No.  No.”

That was the conversation before all I could do was cry.  We discussed the remaining details later that day.  Him and his family were having a nice family vacation in Florida.  They rushed back so I would have family around.  The rest of the day was a blur.

Since I bought a home and moved in just three days prior, I decided I would try to get some things done.  I had some plumbing issues so I decided to head to Lowe’s to get what I needed.  I picked up a few things; some paint, pvc pipes and elbows and then I went in search of a spigot.  I stood in front of all the damn spigots searching for the right one.  They did not have it in stock but that didn’t stop me from being in denial that they didn’t have it and continue searching.  Lowe’s employees would walk by me, asked if I needed help and I responded.  It wasn’t the response you would think.  I did tell them I needed help but they couldn’t hear me because I was just standing there, looking at the spigots and crying.  Finally, I nice man that didn’t work there, but was a vendor came to my rescue.  He looked for the one I needed and could not find it either.

My good friends had been texting and sending me messages all day.  I stood in Lowe’s reading them as I shopped for my things.  I just shopped and cried.  I went home, sat on my patio and thought about how my dad would have loved my patio and the house I bought.  He was so proud that I bought a house.

June 16th was a Tuesday.  He had gotten out of the hospital on the Thursday before that after his successful surgery.  He was in a good amount of pain, but he said he was getting better by the moment.  The last time I had talked to him was Friday.  I was a little distracted because I was finishing up packing because we were moving the next day.  I gave him my undivided attention anyways.  I am so glad that I did.  I am so glad I did not rush the conversation.  I am so glad that I stopped and took a break when he called.

My brother was at his side when my dad went in for surgery.  My Uncle was there too.  His wife was there sometimes.  She made sure that everyone knew that she has a concert to be at the day he got out of the hospital so he was on his own.  After that, my brother and I knew he was going to be on his own.  I asked him if he wanted to come live with me, but he declined.  I am glad I asked, at least.  He knew I wanted him there and loved him, even if we had our stupid little issues.  Which folks, everything seems like a stupid little issue now.  All of the time that was wasted because he was mad at me or I was mad at him.  We were too much alike and our tempers usually flared at each other.  We hurt one another’s feelings but never spoke to one another about it.  It was what it was and it is what it is.  I am glad that we made our peace during the visit to Iowa…even if it was a tumultuous visit.

My brother and his family arrived back at home and we went straight to their house with beer.  We toasted my dad…I cried some more, still in disbelief.  It was a heartbreaking day.  The crying has not stopped, although it is less.  It is not every hour, day…but once in a while it hits me.

I miss my dad.  I love my dad.  If you have the chance, do not lose any opportunity to make peace with your loved ones.  10425415_10153245256707948_8616388910769444094_n 11064664_10153257176147948_8406429520230937156_n 10351528_10153460159222948_5658206813470222164_n 11428010_10153452257097948_204812723385421833_n 11666199_10153487318267948_3636048188578516850_n 18027_10153483561027948_46089443000543362_n 10857970_10153460166847948_1912780656486359593_n

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Oh, Woe! Happy Siblings Day.

For the months, days, hours, minutes leading up to my trip to Iowa to visit my father, my stress level was high and my emotions were all over the place.  Most of the time, when I would find myself alone and nothing to do but think, I would cry.  I did not necessarily know why I was crying…just the sheer weight of everything that this trip meant.

I had to face the fact that my dad is very sick and dying from pancreatic cancer.  When I saw him, he looked so frail and old.  I don’t think he’s old at all, he’s just 72.  I also had to face being in Iowa, a place I hated, after about 15 years.  The last time I went was for my fathers wedding.  In fact, it was events at that wedding that made me not want to return, ever.  Then there is that whole thing of not having a home to go back to, literally.  The house I spent the majority of my formative years is gone.  It was burned down and the land was converted to hunting ground.  Even all of the trees were gone.  It is where we laid to rest my dog Kitty…the best damn dog in the whole damn world.  She was my best friend.  My siblings were older and didn’t always want to play with me, but she never ignored me.  She was always there for me.

To go with all of that, I hate flying.  HATE.  It’s not the flying in a plane in the air thing; it’s the lack of control thing.  I have been late for my share of flights and it is the worst feeling ever.  I don’t sleep leading up to the flight.  I plan and replan my schedule.  I check and recheck my tickets for take off time. Ii check traffic.  I left four hours early for the airport, just in case.  I had reserved discount, off-site airport parking and had no clue where it was and wanted to get there early enough to get lost.  I had a small child and plenty of luggage in tow.  And I didn’t know how long it would take the shuttle to retrieve us and get us to our destination, not to mention the fact that Atlanta airport is frickin huge.

So yeah.  Stress.  I talked to my mom several times before i went.  She knew I was stressed and told my sister to look out for me because of my emotional state.  My brother and sister also traveled to Iowa.  My brother and his family drove from Georgia.  My sister and her son flew from California.  My dad wanted my brother and his family to stay with him, so he got me and my son a hotel.  My sister stayed 45 minutes away with a cousin.

It was a mess from start.  We were all there, but separate.  It didn’t feel like a family gathering at all.  When my flight arrived, my sister and her son met us at the airport and we decided to go to my dad’s together…after a long leisurely lunch.  When we arrive, my dad greeted us and so did his wife.  I hugged my dad and I turned to greet his wife and she was giving me the meanest, nastiest look but quickly replaced it with a huge smile when I turned to her.  She had to know I saw that shit.  I decided at that moment just to say “Hi” and not hug her.  There is some bad blood between her and my sister.  I stand up for my sister to the end.  Blood is always thicker.  Anyhow, I believe that set the scene for the rest of the time we were actually at my father’s wife’s home.  Yes, her home, not my dads.  The first afternoon, she bitched at my dad the entire time.  She bitched because the dogs were barking and they weren’t used to “all these people being around” which she said loudly about 50 times in an accusatory tone.  But all that was just a queue for my sister to take a timely nap and my dad and I went to the basement to look for some of his old stuff.  She came to the basement to bitch at him about that too.

The rest of that day and the next were no better.   I tried to stay outside and show my son the wonder of exploring a farm.  It was pretty awesome.

On the third day, I decided to take my son to see the smglorious treeall town where I grew up and see the vacant, barren lot where my childhood home once stood and that glorious maple tree.  That tree.  I think it had my lifeblood running through it and when it died and was cut down, a part of me died too.  My dad had build a tire swing on one side and a rope swing with a wood slat for the seat on the other.  Some of my favorite childhood memories were spent with, under and hanging from that tree; usually accompanied by Kitty.

The only thing that remains on that land is the stump of that beautiful, majestic maple tree.  Sstumpitting above it was the apex of the tree, hollowed and rotten.  Honestly, I was glad to see my old friend.  I thought all was gone and lost.  I took photos.  I stood with her for a moment.  I showed my unimpressed son.  (He was ready to go after 5 minutes.)  I took my time, even with my child pestering me, “I want to go.”


That night was the blow out.  I do not do well with minding my manners with assholes such as my dad’s wife.  She is a loathsome person.  And apparently I am an asshole.  I am not going into the sordid details…it’s a long story.  Suffice it to say I was wrong and so was dad’s wife, but i was the only one to apologize.  My apology was not good enough for anyone, including my sister.  My brother didn’t hear me apologize, but he has always been open about his disdain for me.  Especially lately.  And apparently, blood is not thicker than water.  I know they are trying to protect my dad and his level of comfort, but as my dad pointed out so many times, he is okay and feeling great and happy and doesn’t want to be treated any differently.  I didn’t make his life any more difficult…or any less.

I realized that I needed to get out of there.  I left before dinner and apple pie was served.  I didn’t say goodbye.  i just grabbed my son and left unceremoniously.  My brother and sister yelled at me.  My brother thinks I am selfish, self centered, a bitch…and who in the hell knows what else.  He doesn’t have much of anything nice to say about me.

I let my son hang out with them the following day, since it was our last.  When I went to pick him up, I hugged my dad and my nephew (my sister’s son) goodbye.  I was glad to get home.  Even though Georgia doesn’t feel like home.  I have a great job and my son is happy here.  I am about to buy a house which was my main goal of moving here in the first place.  I am so incredibly lonely.  I still have no friends.  The only family I have in the area hates me.  I am alone.

I guess my brother telling me that I like to be the center of attention got to me.  I really like to prove people wrong so I have been incomunicado.  I don’t even want to talk to my mother.  I am just so incredibly sad, depressed and lonely right now…I don’t even know what to do.  My sister has unfreinded me on facebook for whatever reason.  My brother finally emailed me today just to check on my son.  I deleted it and went on with my day.  He can see how my kid is by viewing my facebook.  But I am pretty close to unfriending him.  If he doesn’t like me…well then he doesn’t have to see me.  I am tired of this bullshit.

And then the cycle starts over.  I begin to wonder if I am trying to be the center of attention by not wanting any attention at all and wanting to be left alone.  I think my motive is just to isolate myself with my feelings.  I am just hurt.  I have never wanted attention.  I like being a wallflower.  I have always been shy and socially awkward, even around family.  I could analyze this all to death, but I think in the end…my brother will still dislike me.  My brother has been gone since I was 12 and after that, he only came back for brief visits.  We have nothing in common anymore.  Now I see him for the mean person that he is and always was.  He has a nice side, but that is only reserved for friends and his immediate family.

But with all this fuckupedness, I remember when we weren’t.  We were cute little shits.  Happy National Siblings Day.  Enjoy your family, if you get along and if you have a family.

sibs 2 sibs 1

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Mortality and Regret

It’s funny. All of the issues I had with my marriage came from my upbringing. Being the child of an alcoholic wasn’t easy. My father was an easy target for the small-minded townspeople that I grew up with. I heard about it at school. I heard it from my so called friends, but mostly kids that weren’t my friends.

When my mom finally left my dad and, the following year, we moved away from that small town and those small people. I was so terribly sad that my dad didn’t want me. He didn’t beg us to stay or ask me to stay with him. You know that scene in “Hope Floats” where the little girl has her suitcase packed ready to go with her dad. Then he pushes her away and tells her “I’ve gotta go” and then he drives away and she’s left sobbing hard. I felt her pain. I know that pain. That scene has always struck a chord with me. It always made me sob.

Then I grow up, meet a man. He’s great. Wonderful. Miserable. And I was in love. He was just like my dad. My therapist gave me insight after I had my son. I asked her why I married someone just like my dad. She simply said, “because you want to change the outcome.” How incredibly true…and sad.

Now, today in fact, I find out my dad is dying. He has inoperable pancreatic cancer. He has three to seven months to live. I am terribly sad. But I also find myself hurt and angry with him, just like the day we left him. But my daddy is dying. I will never be able to change the outcome. Never.

I have always had my head full of words and thought up conversations I would have with him. Expressing my feelings to him and whatnot. But my dad is not someone you can really talk to. Or maybe I could have and I just didn’t feel comfortable. Maybe I didn’t trust him with my feelings since I was hurt so often. But whatever, it is pretty painful to know that I will not be able to have that conversation with my dad. I so wanted our relationship to be better, closer.

There is no moral to this story. There are no winners. Just some losers, including me. I am losing a dad. My dad is losing his life. This is sad. No matter what, I still love my dad and I know my dad loves me.

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You know what I said in A New Journey…

Well, it has happened.  I have given J until the end of May to find a job and leave my home.

Saturday morning, about 8:00am, he came into my room to lay in bed with my son and I.  We were just about to get up anyway, so I did not make a fuss.  We left the room and him.  I made my coffee and prepared breakfast for my son.  Finally, I got to go to the bathroom.  As I was heading down the hall, I heard him talking…in English.  The people he mainly speaks to he speaks to in Spanish.  I knew something was up and I knew then that I could not trust him.  I tried to listen at the door, but I heard him say “Just a minute” which was my queue to step away, he must have heard me.

I have become more patient since all of this mess began three years ago.  I didn’t rush in and confront him.  I let it lie.  I would wait for my moment.  M had a soccer game Saturday morning and we would be soon getting ready to go to that.  But I wasn’t sure I should wait too long, the evidence might be erased.

After I got out of the shower, I got J up and told him he needed to shower quick, as we were running behind.  Apparently my mind was elsewhere and I lost track of time.  After he got in the shower, I found my chance to look at his phone.

Since it is locked, I figured it might take me a while…but it didn’t.  My third try I had his code entered and the phone unlocked.  I looked at his call log.  There was a “415” number and someone named Nosila.  Ah, clever.  Nosila…Alison spelled backwards.  I did not care about the calls.  I decided to take a look at his messages…that is where the content lies.  And boy, did I find me some content.

There were numerous messages between them.  Professing their love for one another.  “miss my ally”.  Ugh.  My head began to burn with anger.  I scrolled up a little further to see two pictures of her tits.  Yep.  Her tits.  I can appreciate a nice rack as much as the next girl, but this chic.  Nasty.  Her boobs sagged to her stomach and she had, what I like to call “bologna nipples”.  You know the ones…the boobs with quite large aureola that cover most of the breast itself.  I wanted to vomit.  I wanted to kick him in the gnads!  But alas.  I plainly stated to him that he needed to get out of my house.

And then I told him what a disgusting human being he was and the like.  You know, stuff.  The kind of stuff that was true…

He is sober now, but that has not fixed his lying.  He still lies.  Lies pretty bad too.  I told him that I can not trust him.  Ever.  He apologized.  Begged to stay.  Then found some way to blame me for him doing what he did.

The weekend is over and he is still apologizing.  Still finding reasons why it is my fault.  One of the best ones thus far…it’s my fault because “I am here and you just treat me like your maid…doing your dishes, cooking, cleaning.”

Yep.  ‘Cause he has a shitload of other things to do.  But alas, I didn’t ask him to do any of that.  He wanted some projects, so I asked him if he wanted to organize the storage closet and take down the Christmas lights.  I told him he didn’t have to, but if he wanted something to do…it was there for him to do.

He did that and he has been cleaning.  He even kept asking me if he could do my laundry…I kept saying no.  I am particular about my laundry.  Well, he did it anyways and needless to say, all my white shirts are now blue and/or grey since they were washed with the dark clothes.  Oh well.  Nothing a little beach won’t fix.  I let him know Friday that I appreciated everything he has been doing…and just wanted to let him know that.  I used to feel I did not appreciate him enough…so I thought I would make sure he knew…

Through all of his apologies, he kept bringing M into it.  When I would tell him to leave…he would ask M…”do you want daddy to leave?”  That is pretty low.  I had to take my son aside and have a long talk with him.  It’s difficult with a five year old.  What do you tell him that is going to make sense?  M was beginning to stand up for his dad even though he saw me sobbing.  Well, whatever I said…it worked.  I finally got J to stop talking about the issues in front of him…and I have it set up so that if he does, M knows to run to my room and shut the door.  He knows that mommy’s and daddy’s problems are between them.  He knows not to take sides and he knows that we love him no matter what. I explained to him that mommy needed to stop hurting so she can take care of herself and take care of him.  So mommy needs to eliminate the source of the pain and hurting.  That mommy and daddy do not get along…and we still love him.  But we are better being apart.  It helped.  He stopped accusing me of punishing his daddy and he stopped taking his dads side.  He is silent on the issues and he runs away if J begins talking about our problems in front of him.

And…ugly tits.  That is how he repays me.  Betrays me.  His excuses.  His lies.  Why!?  To what end!?  Well, he got his end.

The end.

Oh, and by the way…I think I just found a new nickname for his trampy girl that likes to date married men.  Ugly tits!



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A New Journey

Once again, it has been a while since I posted.  Life has been great, peaceful, quiet, all is in order.  When life is good, I fall off the writing wagon.  But alas…a new journey has just begun.

J has finished a rehab program.  He is clean, he is sober, he is apologetic.  He admits he should have been there for me and M.  But whatever.  He has come back to be a father, as he should have been for the last three years.  He also wants me back in my life.  He has even begun wearing his wedding ring.

We are not on the same page.  I told him that I still don’t like him.  I don’t.  I have good reasons.  I have great reasons.  I refuse to give in to hate, but having him here makes it difficult.  Having him in the distance was much easier.  It made it easier not to hate him.  He is still friends with his girlfriend on facebook, she still exists on his phone.  He keeps his phone on silent.  He brought coffee for me from Hawaii.  Wait.  She just came back from Hawaii.  The coffee is from her to J.  Not for me at all.

I asked him to not be friends with her.  I have asked him to turn his phone volume up.  He makes excuses.  “We don’t even talk anymore.  We don’t even message each other.”

Then what does it matter if you still have her on facebook or your phone?  No answer.

I told him I want her out of my life if he is going to be in my home.  He has not heeded my pleas.  I broke down into tears.  He came to my side apologizing.  He threw the coffee in the trash.

His phone is still on silent.  He is still friends with her on facebook.

And so begins a new journey.  If he continues to disregard my feelings, he will not be in my home much longer.  That is just how it is going to be.

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Anxious for the Holidays

Who isn’t anxious around the holidays?  They are stressful, even when everything should be fun, happy and not too crappy.  Since having my child, I have found the holidays to hold that “magic”, once again.  It has been nice, really nice.  The last couple of years, not only have they had that magic, they have been very stressful. 

I can find stress in anything, I really can.  This Thanksgiving is no different.  We are staying with my mother this week.  She lives about forty minutes away.  I still have to work, so I am commuting eighty minutes everyday.  I enjoy the decompression time of the commute.  I miss a good commute really, but I do not miss the cost of gas to get me there and back.  Not only that, I am going home on my lunch breaks to feed the fish and to grab things I may have forgotten or that my child has requested I bring.  Yesterday was my first day going home at lunch.

Leading up to lunch time, a horrible, freeze of anxiety fell over me.  I felt like I was back in my postpartum depression days….it was that deep.  I did not want to go home if my child and my dogs weren’t there.  I imagined that going to an empty, quiet home would be much like none of the “noises” actually existed in my life.  No child.  No dogs.  Nothing.  They are my life and they are my center.  My home is my center.  I can’t imagine a life without.  This stressed me out more than not having enough money to afford the kind of Christmas we deserve. 

About six months after M was born, I hit a wall of depression and anxiety.  It was a point when he began chomping on a few solid foods, like crackers or teething biscuits and he also became more mobile.  This added to the already heaping pile of stress on me.  I began going to groups and I confessed my deepest darkest thoughts.  What if I was living an alternate reality?  What if my child had choked on that cracker or cookie and he didn’t make it and he had died?  What if I was living as if he did live and I was just really crazy, moving through my days as if he were alive and he really wasn’t?  What if I was THAT kind of crazy?  I mean, I had day and night dreams about it.  I even thought that I had possibly accidentally drown him in the tub.  I was stressed and my imagination was working overtime to keep up.  I ended up taking Zoloft for about two months, I kept attending counseling and group sessions and I finally saw the light at the end of that tunnel.  Things were clearing up, I was able to leave the house and the horrible dreams were gone; however, the clarity of the stress I felt had just began.  I hated being married to the person I was married to.  I thought he would be different when M was born.  I thought he would shape up.  Be a great husband and father.  That never happened.  He fell short, way short.  But either way, I dealt with my stress then and I will deal with it now.

I am home sick even though I am only staying forty minutes away.  During these times of stress, I just want to be home, in my comfort zone and in the center of the noise that is my life.  Silence is golden, but the noise of my boy and those dogs are better than all of the gold in all of the world.

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I Will Be Your Guardian

Last year I rented “Rise of the Guardians” for my son to watch.  We both ended up watching it and it quickly became one of our favorite animated films.  I still cannot get enough of this movie.  It has such an awesomely, special message.  If you haven’t seen it, here is a short synopsis:

Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and the Sandman are all “Guardians” and appointed by the Man in the Moon to be guardians of childhood.  They all fight the evil “Pitch” who is the boogie man, basically.  Enters Jack Frost, newly chosen to be a guardian.  He fought the appointment and wanted to be rogue.  They all end up coming together to fight Pitch and his evil nightmares to save the day and children’s dreams.

It is really an uplifting movie and my synopsis does not do it justice.  I just love the message that it sends.  It is just a neat idea that these icons of childhood are the guardians of childhood.  Not only is the message phenomenal, but so is the animation.

Later in the year, I had the opportunity to order books through my son’s school Scholastic book program.  I decided to order a book called “Man in the Moon” by William Joyce.  The cover looked so fantastic and felt the illustration would be equally so.  When the book finally arrived, I read the book flap which revealed that William Joyce was also behind the Rise of the Guardians.  I read this wondrous book to my child at bedtime.  What an amazing book!  I highly recommend this book and the film.  I cannot wait to buy other books from the series.  There is another picture book called The Sandman and there are other chapter books that he has also written for the older book reader.  I hope beyond hopes that my child loves to read as much as I do and I also hope beyond hopes that he will enjoy the chapter books by William Joyce.

After reading “The Man in the Moon” to my son, he asks if I am a guardian.  I of course tell him yes.  I am the guardian of your childhood and I will watch over you, “guide you safely from the ways of harm and keep happy your heart, brave your soul and rosy your cheeks.  I will guard with my life all of your hopes and dreams, for you are all that I have, all that I am and all I will ever be.”  What better message from a parent to a child.  (the passage above is not necessarily verbatim, but you get my drift.)

I will always be your guardian, my boy.  Always!

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You Know That Guy?

You know that guy?  That douchebag that used to tell you multiple lies, get so lost and entangled in them, he didn’t know which way was up? The one that you knew was always lying, but you couldn’t prove it, it was in your gut? And even when you did prove him wrong he would tell more lies to get out of the ones he just told? Yea, him.

He just can’t help himself, but you can. Be confident you know the truth because you do. Your intuition IS RIGHT.  You don’t have anything to prove.  You knew he had money in his account to pay child support, but he kept telling you he had to borrow money from his poor family to pay you.  He did that to make you feel bad, to make you feel guilty, to manipulate your feelings so he could get out of it.

He has issues, you don’t.  You are strong, he is weak.  He wants to get out of paying his share for your child.  And what is worse, he doesn’t even pay his full share.  He pays a lot less than his share.  You accept less because there is less of a fight, fewer guilt trips and fewer moments of unrest.

It is amazing that I feel empowered by knowing this. His lies no longer have control of me or how I live. I took control.  I got what I wanted and what I needed by choosing not to believe or even be phased by his lies.

What a wonderful feeling.  He’s that guy.  The one that cannot take responsibility, the one that plays the victim, the one that lies.

Me and my guy say, “Fuck you!”

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