Look mom, Bailey said this morning. There see, those ladies are giving away free coffee N donuts. You should go there. I wonder if they have sprinkle donuts?
(As an aside, I love how literal six year olds read. The N, was just an N in her mind.)
Nah love, that’s a church, I won’t be going there, I said to her. I waited for the next question, but then she saw a dead raccoon and I got to hear a five minute story about the dead raccoon. Thank god for six year olds with short attention spans.
I’d of been honest with her if she asked. I am just not completely sure I could have made my point in the five minutes it took us to drive the rest of the way to school. I’m not sure I could have even touched the subject matter in five minutes. YAY dead raccoons. Ahem.
I don’t have an issue with free coffee and donuts. I don’t even have a problem with churches. Not in general. I do take issue with a church having women stand outside for a couple hours each morning, waving their hands around, holding signs for free coffee and donuts.
Those coffee and donuts aren’t free. They come with a price. I know what that church is. It’s false advertising, that sign outside. Their regular sign is generally filled with some weird saying that takes me days to figure out each week. Once I finally figure out it’s a sneaky way to call everyone who doesn’t attend evil, I tend to get angry. That church is more a fire and brimstone, you are evil if you don’t believe what we believe, type church. They beileve a woman’s only place is cooking, cleaning and raising children. They have a small school attached to the church, because they believe pubic school is evil. Mark my words. You will never see a man outside that church holding a sign.
I promise you, those donuts come with a price. One I’m not willing to pay.
How do you explain that to a six year old though? How do you explain to an inquisitive six year old, that some people believe their way is the only way? How do I explain religion to her, when I don’t understand it myself?
Every fight, every war, every major argument it seems, somehow goes back to religion. After how ever many thousand years, we still haven’t figure out as a species, to let people believe in the god of their choosing. You’d think we’d of gotten it by now, but we just haven’t. All those articles, blog posts, tweets about the mosque being built near the World Trade Center, all go back to the simple fact that we can’t just allow each other the right to choose. You choose your god, I’ll choose mine…most likely they are all some form of the same. Who knows? Do you know? I surely don’t.
I also know I don’t have the answers for my children. I am the child of a very lapsed baptist and an atheist Jew. I was not raised in religion. Any religion. Were their pieces of the traditions from both in my childhood? Yes. Mostly it was just holiday traditions though.
I don’t know what I believe. Honestly, I don’t. I love that many of you do. I just don’t. I almost wish I could be an atheist. It seems too final for me though. Too easy. Maybe too hard. Like I said, I have no clue what I believe. Makes it hard as a parent to explain things to your kids.
I do know though, that church isn’t giving out free donuts.
At first it just made me mad. He forgot. What kind of person forgets their six year olds first night of gymnastics? She’s only been talking about it all summer. I realize that is harsh. I’ve forgotten things. He’s forgotten things. We have three children. He’s not the first parent to forget something important to their child. He surely won’t be the last. It just as easily could have been me. I recognize that.
Then I just got sad. Sad for my little girl who was upset and angry. I was upset at him. I was upset at me. I could have texted him again to remember to take her. I could have made this easier for him. I could have just gone and taken her, even though it was his night.
At some point though? As hard as it is for me? I have to let him sink or swim on his own.
It kills me to say that, yet I know it to be true. He left me. Our divorce will be final in October. It is no longer my job to make sure he does what he should. It’s not my job to nag him. It’s not my job to save his ass. It’s just not my job anymore.
He has the same calendar I do. The dates and times for Morgan’s dance classes. The dates and times for Bailey’s gymnastics. Doctor’s appointments. The school schedule. He has it all too.
It’s not my job. It’s my mantra this week. Not my job man. I may need that tattooed on my arm. But it sucks. It physically pains me to have my child that upset for something he forgot to do. I can’t save her pain, I can’t make it better, I can’t tell her it won’t happen again. I just don’t have that control anymore. I can only control what I do when with them. I can’t control what he does.
I am just a spectator in half of my own childrens lives now. There’s not a dam thing I can do about it. Just watch and hope for the best.
Why does it feel so horrible though?
***He knows he screwed up. Trust me, Bailey let him hear about it allllll night. He admitted it. He’s apologized for it, to Bailey and to me. This isn’t a bash my ex post. Really. I just don’t know what to think today.
We are playing some perverse game of musical beds in my house. It has to stop, I am just not sure how to stop it.
It started out all innocently. See, when Harrison was born, we had a scare in the hospital. Nothing big, but scary enough that I was a neurotic mess the night he came home from the hospital. When the choice came to put him in his crib, I hedged. The girls had always slept in their cribs. But that was a different time and I was a different me. So….I brought him to bed with me. Logan raised his eyebrows at me, but didn’t say a word. It just sort of worked. Harrison was a great sleeper as an infant.
Fast forward about nine months and he stopped being a pleasant bed baby. We transitioned him into sleeping in the crib. Which worked out okay. However? He’s not a great sleeper. At nearly two years old (Sigh. When did that happen?) he still wakes up and cries out for me a couple times a night. He’s lost his bink. He’s gotten caught up in his blankie in a way he doesn’t like. He…well whatever, he just doesn’t sleep through the night. Or he won’t and he screams, which isn’t pleasant for me or his sleeping sisters. However? In January when Logan moved out, I started going to get him when he woke up. Bringing him into bed with me. Partially because listening to him cry, made me weep. Partially because I already wasn’t sleeping, so what did it matter.
Also, Bailey has pretty much slept with me non-stop since January. I put her to bed in her bed. Most nights at least. However, as soon as I leave the room, she gets up, takes her blankies and goes and gets in my bed. Two or three hours later, when I go to bed, I’m not willing to move her, so I generally leave her.
I don’t mind her in my bed. She’s like the perfect sleep buddy. She rarely moves. She barely makes a peep. She’s cuddly. I do mind Harrison in my bed though. Yet, I don’t seem to be able to stop it.
Reality is, it’s hard to say no at 2am. I know he wants me. He knows he wants me. I am weak. It’s hard, this single parent gig. Some people do it non-stop. I don’t. We share custody. But still, there are three of them and one of me. at night, when I’m tired? I loose the will power to be strong.
I am also very, very tired. He’s rolly. He’s like a baby steam roller. He’s a blanket thief. I don’t even think I can explain to you what happens to the sheets. He’s insane. He’s a toddler blanket dictator. Bailey and I wake up shivering. He kicks too. Some mornings, I play, where are my children. It’s a fun game. Where fun equals weird.
This is a night/morning example from a few days ago: (I copied it out of a chat with Liz from last week.)
At midnight maybe, Bailey came into bed with me. At 1am Harrison woke up.
I brought him into bed with me. At 3am I know Bailey got up and went to the bathroom, at 6:45am I woke up, I was alone. Went to see where my children all were, can only assume Bailey got tired of Harrison kicking and left. She was on the couch. Maybe Harrison went to sleep with Morgan for some ungodly reason, because that’s where he was. He Probably kicked her too many times she got up and slept in Bailey ‘s bed? Is insane. No fucking wonder I am so tired today.
Yeah. That was a few days ago. Last night? I slept with the little two in my bed. I woke up on the edge, with Bailey basically huddled right next to me…probably for warmth, since Harrison had stolen all of the covers.
Is it a wonder that I’m tired all the freaking time? I should know how to do this. But I don’t. It’s hard to break a habit that I started. I never started it with the girls. The reason Bailey sleeps with me, is solely because she was just too sad when her dad and I separated and needed me. She may still, which is why I’m not willing to kick her out of my bed yet.
I feel bad that I’m okay with her in my bed, but not him.
He’s gotta go. I just don’t know how to be a hard ass at night. I’m great at it during the day. At night though? I’m a big ole wuss and he knows it.
Halp? Any ideas? Tell me I’m not alone. Please someone. Anyone?
For you at thirty,
Today you are six years old. If you want to be honest though, you aren’t really six yet. Not until 11:47pm. It’s about 9pm. I tried to tell you this multiple times today, but you just didn’t want to believe me. No MOM, I am six. Okay fine. Bossy. It’s okay, I remember saying the same thing to your grandma when she would tell me, you aren’t really this old until 2:26pm. One of those joys of being a mama, we get to harass our children. Trust me, you’ll do it one day. Maybe by the time you read this, you already will be. Who knows?
I am writing this for you, for your thirtieth birthday, because I am thirty. Welcome to thirty baby girl. Guess what? It’s not as scary as you believe. Or as scary as some of those around you would have you believe. I’m thirty. I have very little figured out. It’s okay. Hopefully by the time you read this, I will have figured out what I’m doing with my life. One could only hope you will have as well. If not though? It’s okay. You have time.
I figure by the time you read this, you will have lived enough of life to understand the things I am going to tell you. You will hopefully have forgiven me for my faults by then, or at least come to understand them a little more. I hope by the time you read this, you have a baby, or two. Hey even three is nice. Somehow I bet I’ll make a great grandmother. No pressure though.
Today was your birthday. Today you turned six. I wish I could bottle you up at this age. You are so entertaining. You are sweet and kind. You are extremely loving. You are a totally cuddle bug. In all honestly though, you were born that way, so it may never change. I hope it doesn’t. I hope at thirty you will still being willing to hug your mom in public, hold my hand often and cuddle on the couch while we watch movies. (Hey, a mom can dream right?)
Two weeks ago you asked me for a birthday gift that I wasn’t sure I could give you. Not the puppy you’ve been asking for months to have. (Sorry love, but no.) Not the new bike you are convinced you need. (You don’t.) Not a toy you saw on a commercial. (Mommy can you get me that? What is it? I don’t know, but it looks fun. Um, I don’t think so. Not now. Okay how about one day? Sure, when you can tell me what it is and why you need it.) Not even the iTouch your daddy gave to you from us today. No, you asked to go to an amusement park. With me, your sister and your daddy.
I’ll be honest, this gave me pause. I think it did your daddy too. We had to think about it and discuss it a few times. We decided we could both do this for you.
I’ll be honest with you my love, this was not an easy request to fill. I had to think about if my heart could take it. This year has been tough. Your daddy and I are in the process of getting divorced right now. I know that at 30, this is old news to you. But honey? It’s still new for us. For all of us. I understand why you asked. You love nothing more than to have your whole family with you at all times. You miss us together. Truth is, I do too. You wanted one adult per kid for rides. Logistically it made sense. Like I said though, it was a hard thing to do.
We did it. We had fun. You and your sister had an absolute blast. I had fun. It was hard though, I won’t lie to you. It was hard for me; it is hard for me, each time I do something like this. Something that involves a day spent with your dad. It won’t stop me from doing it though.
I fear you won’t remember us together. (It isn’t lost on me, that you were the exact same age as I was, when your grandma and grandpa got divorced.) Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe all you will remember are days like today. That is okay too. I don’t have memories of my parents like this. I want this for you. I promise you more days like today. Days filled with light hearted conversation between your dad and I. I promise you more day adventures with your family. All of us. I promise you more days filled with face paintings, funnel cakes and rides. I promise you this, because you deserve it. I promise you this because I adore you enough to make it a reality. Because I never want you to look at a picture of us from before and say to me, I just can’t picture us together. I never want you to wonder what we all looked like in the same room.
I can’t give you back what we used to have. That, is just not possible. I can however swear to you, that your dad and I will continue to put aside our own feelings for each other, for the good of you and your siblings.
Today is your birthday. Sixth and thirtieth…because I am printing this out and saving it for you. It will go in the box for you for someday. Filled with letters, pictures, strange mementos from over the years and the outfit you came home from the hospital in. One day, it will be yours.
You are currently laying in bed asleep next to me. This was something that started when your dad moved out, something I’m not sure I’m ready to stop yet. You are so beautiful. I can still see a bit of glitter on your face, from the butterfly you insisted you needed pained on you today. You are so full of life and love. You care about people and animals more than anyone I know. You are one of the most empathetic children I’ve ever met in my life. You are also the funniest child I’ve ever met in my life. Each day, I am blessed to have you in my life. I’d give you the world if I could baby girl. I’d hand it to you right now on a nice pink glittery platter next to a huge stack of Silly Bandz. I know that it’s not possible though.
What I can give you is my promise. My promise to try to do this right for you, Morgan and Harrison. My promise that I’ll keep putting my feelings aside from time to time, to make sure you have memories of your family together. For you.
I love you to the moon and back. I love you more than all the stars in the sky. Happy birthday Bailey.
Love, mama
-The way he looked at me and said: mama, I pway wain? He cocked his little head and gave me the dimple smile, just hoping I’d say yes. Sure bubs, I said. Go play in the rain. He took off outside, running and jumping and kicking a soccer ball in the pouring rain. After a bit he came in. You wet enough yet smoosh, I asked? He patted his shirt, his shorts and his cheeks before saying: no, I pway moar wain and running off again. All boy. This kid is all boy. He likes to be dirty. He like to throw balls. Play with trucks. Run in the rain. I adore him.
-The way she comes in at 2am. I hear her coming from down the hall. (Oh the joys of being a light sleeper.) She comes in my room, lifts up the cover and sneaks in. She gets as close to me as possible, some nights even lifting my arm up over her. I listen to her breath. I wait as she falls back asleep. I kiss her head and play with her hair. I smell her shampoo mixed with the smell of little girl. She won’t always want this. She won’t always want me. She will one day decide she is too big to come into bed with me at night. For now? I enjoy it.
-We went and played mini-golf, just the two of us a few weekends ago. She kept writing down one less number for herself than she should have. Most days I won’t let her cheat. I know for her, being called on it, is generally the way to go. Her competitive nature gets the best of her. That day though, I let her cheat. That day, I played worse than I would have on purpose. We laughed and told each other jokes. I watched her watch the teenage girls in front of us play. I watched her listen to their conversations. Watched her watch them joke around with each other. I silently thanked them for being seemingly nice, polite, well behaved girls. When Morgan said on the way home, when I’m big, I’ll be like those girls, I said, yes my love, I’m sure you will. Then I stopped and bought her a Slurpee at 7-11. Just because. At the check out, since she didn’t ask, I offered to buy her a bag of Silly Bandz. Just because.
I admit, I stole this idea from my friend Emily at Wheels on the Bus.
My new bebe: Stella. Born yesterday, May 24, 2010. 10 inches, 1.5 pounds. She’s amazing. I luff her.
Isn’t she beautiful?
I have downloaded some apps. Although, I’m still looking for suggestions of any you love. I had to force myself to stop playing around on it last night, after three solid hours. I also put it away this morning, so that I’ll work and clean some and not spend all day trying to beat someones score in Bejeweled or playing Words With Friends. My name is Issascrazyworld if you’d like to start a game. Just note, I won’t be on it until tonight.
I buy things for my kids all the time. But it’s really been a long time since I bought a toy for myself. This? Is my toy. I am in love with it. I told my kids I’d share it some, but not for a week. Even then, it’s still my toy. Although, I will share with my tiny son now. He’s too cute and little to not get to play a few games. Gotta start them young, you know?
I really have the funniest kid ever. Proof:
Bailey: Mama, you know, you shouldn’t put Stella and Edison (my Kindle) so close to each other.
Me: Why?
Bailey: They may have some tiny babies.
Me: SISTER!!!! Seriously. *covers Stella and Edison’s ears* They are tiny newborny’s. They won’t be having any babies.
Bailey: Stella and Edison sitting on the table. K.I.S.S.I.N…um G?
Me: *looks of horror*
Bailey: They could though. Little tiny iKans. Yeps, that’s what we’d call them. With a K mama. Cute baby iKans. We could sell them and get so rich. Then mama, I could have a new puppy right?
Me: Stop it. You’re a weirdo. There will be no puppies and no little baby iKans. The end.
Bailey: *evil laugh*
Me: *walks away to not bottle her and keep her at this age forever*
Half hour later in the car, as we pull up to the school.
Bailey: Mama?
Me: *pause* Yes?
Bailey: If we put Stella and Edison next to each other and got them a bit wet, maybe little iKans would just pop out of them. Like Pop, Pop, Pop. Three little babies.
Me: DUDE, no. WE ARE NOT GETTTING THEM WET. NOOOOOOO.
Bailey: If that happened, me and sissy and bubs could all have our own wee baby iKan.
Me: STOP IT. There will be no iKans. Go to school. You never get to even look at my iPad or Kindle. EVER again.
Bailey: Mama, you are so silly.
Me: Good-by, good luck. Nice knowing you. GO.
Bailey: Bye mama.
*throws her outta the car and drives away* Or something. Truly though, the kid is awesome. Who says that? Wee baby? Come on now. That’s comedic gold right there.
-Note to self: Gremlins was a bad choice of movie. Also? Have the no water near electronics talks again. For the millionth time.
Usually take one last pass through town, Stop the car and touch the ground, Watch those streetlights swayin’ in the breeze, Decorated store fronts, Rusty old gas pumps, Try to fill my mind up, With somethin’ before I go, Picture postcard memories, You know they always make for good company. –Turning Home, David Nail
Picture Postcard Memories. Somehow that line has stuck with me for days. Just a silly line in a song, but I can’t get it out of my head. In a lot of ways, I think like that. In postcard memories. Have you ever seen the movie, Elizabethtown? The girl, played by Kirsten Dunst pretends to take photos of people, of places, just to remember. When I saw that movie, I realized I’ve done that my entire life. Although, I do it in my head, so as not to end up in a round padded room, being asked to find the corner.
I have been thinking a lot about this lately. When I’m having a bad day, I try to search through my mind for happier times, simple times, just memories that make me smile. I’d like to write some of these memories down. For me to remember, for my kids maybe one day. Just so I never forget. Thought I’d try a few today. Maybe I’ll keep doing it. We’ll see. You all know how I say I’m going to do something and then I never bring it up again. But it’s a thought.
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We told Morgan for months that she was going to have a baby brother. Each time we told a random person and that person said anything to her, she’d say: nopes, no baby bruder. We thought she was just having trouble adjusting. Turned out she was right. Bailey, despite the doctor being SO SURE she was a boy, was born a girl.
She was born near midnight and it was around lunch time the next day, when my mom brought Morgan in to meet her new baby sister. I can picture her little eyes sparkling and her screechy voice when she came in the room and saw me. HI MOMMY!!!! All decked out in a new outfit from my mom; red shorts and a red striped Dora shirt. She suddenly seemed like a full grown child, compared to her teeny tiny, new baby sister.
She got up on the bed with me and held her baby sister. This Ian, she asked, because we’d told her for months that would be her brothers name. No baby, it’s not, I said. This is…well she doesn’t have a name yet, but she’s your baby sister. No brother. Sorry honey. No Ian? Okay.
A little bit later, she got off the bed and started looking around. She looked under the bed, in the bathroom, heck, she even looked in my bag that was by the bed. When she walked out of the door, I called her back in the room and asked her what she was looking for. I looking for Ian mama. He’s lost. I will find hims for you.
She thought we’d misplaced him. Like he was a shoe or something. A missing item to find.
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The pool was shaped like a kidney bean. We were in Waikiki, Hawaii on the last day of our vacation. In the deep end there was a weird window, about two feet down. We’d been going down and making faces at it for a good hour. My step-mom was in the room with her eighth migraine of the week. My dad was somewhere.
I bet my brothers to moon the window. Told them, I’d pay them a dollar each. I could have offered them a piece of gum, they were easy marks. Eight year olds are easily buy-able. At ten, I could pay them next to nothing, or just dare them to do anything and they’d do it.
They each took a turn, going underwater and mooning the window. Seconds later my dad showed up. He rarely yelled, but he yelled loudly that day. Get out of the pool right now. Come with me.
Turns out, it was a bar. With a window. To the deep end of the pool. Weird, huh?
He made us apologize to a bar full of hysterically laughing people. The bartender gave us each a Shirley temple. Even added extra cherries. Little tiny boy butts are nothing. I’ve got kids at home. You have no idea the things I see, he told my dad. Whoever thought of putting this window in, was smokin something crazy.
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Our last night in Las Vegas. We’d been there for three days. Three fun filled, easy days. Neither of us really wanted to go back to the hotel. It was admitting the end of our trip.
Sitting at the Bellagio. In a back hallway, in comfy chairs, eating gelato for an hour and a half. Talking about nothing and everything. Being shocked that we couldn’t hear a single sound, except the few other people doing the same thing. We could have been anywhere. In fact, from the second we went into that hotel, until we left it, we never heard a casino. It was a perfect end, to a perfect trip.
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I was fourteen. Summer. Camping. Half Moon Bay. I got up at dawn to go to the bathroom. It was cold and foggy and the sun hadn’t even considered coming out yet. I knew I couldn’t get back in the pop-up trailer without waking everyone else up, so I decided to go on a walk. I walked and then sat and watched the fog roll off the ocean. Listened to the waves crash. Peace. I felt more at peace in that moment that I had in years. I sat there alone and watched the sun come up. Then I walked back to the camper, where no one had even gotten up yet.
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Morgan being held by my Grandpa on his 80th birthday. She was only six days old. Perfection she was, full of that newborn awesomness. I can picture everything he wore that day, her too. If I think hard enough, I can even smell them both. I ignored his words that he might not be strong enough to hold her and placed her in his arms. He was pale and shaky, one of the last few times I’d see him standing and walking around. She’s barely six pounds Grandpa, I said. She won’t break. I watched him take a finger and gently run it on her nose, watched him kiss her head. Angel kisses, he whispered. What, I asked him? Those red strawberry marks on her eyelids. Oh those will go away in a few weeks, I said. Or that’s what her doctor said.
Angel kisses, he repeated. This child was kissed by angels.
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I can’t live these memories a second time. I wish I could, but it’s just not possible. But the stories in my head? Are something I’ll never forget.
This is a hard time in my life. Very hard. In my trying to make it through each day, I find that I’m forgetting things. Small things. Things like, I’ve needed to buy more Tums for a week. (Can someone explain to me why I still get heartburn when the boy is nearly 16 months old?) Things like, my printer has needed ink for three weeks. Have I been places where I could buy these things? Oh yes, many times over. But I forget when I’m there, because my brain is on overdrive trying to figure out things, that it just doesn’t understand yet.
Where is my plug for my iPod? Why can’t I find my 2008 taxes? Did I give Morgan, Bailey’s lunch today? All very good questions. Things I’d normally be able to give you answers for. Right now though? You guess would be as good as mine.
Anyway, I have a few things that I wanted to remember. In case I forget later. I thought it may be good to write them down here.
-I’ve been having trouble getting Bailey to eat. It’s slowly getting better. She’ll eat for me, but she’s still not eating much when she’s with her dad. It’s the stress, it just makes her un-hungry. Also, she’s a complete mama’s girl. However, when you are only in the 4th percentile for weight, you can’t afford to miss many meals.
Anyway, last Thursday she came into my bedroom in the morning and we had this conversation:
Bailey: Mama, guess what?
Me: noticing that she is butt nekkid. Um, I don’t know, you forgot how to put clothes on?
Bailey: No.
Me: An alien ate all of your clothes while you were sleeping.
Bailey: NO MAMA.
Me: It’s nekkid day at school and I missed the memo?
Bailey: laughing. No silly.
Me: I give up love. What?
Bailey: I’M HUNGRY. Like super-dup really hungry mommy. I NEED pancakes.
Me: cries.
I took them to ihop for breakfast and then took them to school an hour late. Sometimes, it’s just the right thing to do.
- Harrison does this thing where he makes you get up from where you are sitting to follow him. He pulls on your finger and makes you follow him around. Sometimes it’s to retrieve his Mater car from someplace where he can’t get it. Sometimes it’s to show you the fridge. Or the mess he made of the dog food again. Sometimes, he wants you sit somewhere else. Like two spots over on the couch. Or on the other side of his train table. It’s very adorable. We call it, Harrison’s adventures. He’s taking us on an adventure. When he’s done with you, he lets go of your finger, but not until he is done. He’s a very cute little dictator.
-The girls and I have been watching American Idol. Although I’m a mean mom and I make them watch it the next night. I can’t handle watching it live. Commercials and I don’t really get along. I also need to able to fast forward during some of it. The other night, we were watching the second episode from last week. Morgan and I were both covering our face and plugging our ears at the same things. Go past this mom, she kept saying. It’s too painful. This person shouldn’t be on the show. Agreed baby girl. Agreed. Last year, she made me suffer through it all. This year? She’s come over to the dark side. The, I can’t stand to watch people make fools of themselves on TV side. It’s about dang time.
-I have posts that I’ve written. Posts that I’m unsure if I’ll post. Or if I do, I will try to give you guys some other stuff to read as well. I adore you all. But I know, that you worry. That I worry you. I know that I’m depressing to read these days. That honestly may not change for awhile. But I need you to know that I am okay. This space is my outlet. It always has been. I write things here, that I’d only say out loud to my mom, my best friend and my shrink. I promise you all, I am okay. Not great, not even good, but okay. I am taking care of myself and my kids. We are surviving. One day, we will get used to this. We’re not there yet. But we’re all taking the right steps.
-In other news, I’m going to be working on my blogroll for the next few days. It will be on the page marked friends. Right now if you hit the friends button, it just has the post I wrote about 31 unknown bloggers in it.
If you’d like to be on my blogroll let me know and I’ll make sure to add you.
I keep thinking that I should be doing better by now. That somehow I should be able to make myself feel better, be less sad, stop feeling as if my life has completely crumbled. I am constantly reminded by others that it is okay. Okay to be sad, okay to cry, okay to grieve. It’s okay. It’s not been long. It’s really only been two weeks. Tomorrow.
It’s only been 6 days since I realized this is permanent. I didn’t know that for sure until then. Six days. I lost all hope that day. Not sure why I still had some, but I did. Six days isn’t long, it’s not even a full week.
I wanted today to be the day that I stopped crying the second my kids go to bed. Or the second I drop them off with their father. The day that I stopped wanting to cry all day. The day that I’d start feeling like I may be capable of doing this.
I wanted today to be the day that I didn’t dread my day from the second I woke up. The day that I could see something good in my future. I wanted today to be the day that I answered all of the sweet emails and comments from all of you.
I wanted today to be the day I started actually reading posts again and engaging on Twitter. Doing more than opening and closing Facebook. Emailing people again.
Today is not that day. I am just not there yet.
Instead, this is what I know I can do for today:
Today I will remind myself that it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to not be okay. That there is no timeline on grief.
I will remind myself this afternoon, when my kids go to their dad, that they need him as much as they need me. That I will get used to this new schedule. That they will be home for bed.
Today I will rejoice in the fact that Bailey ate an entire donut and drank an entire glass of milk for breakfast, instead of worrying about the fact that she hasn’t eaten in a week. I will remind myself that she’s five and it’s been a week. They’ve only known for a week. That as long as she eats something, she will be okay.
I will call and un-enroll Harrison in toddler class. The last thing he needs right now is more change.
I will make more blueberry cobbler, because it made Morgan happy.
Today I will send you over to the Babble Top 50 Mommy Blogger list, which someone added me onto. Whoever did that, I adore you. To each of you who voted for me, I adore you too. Now, will you all do me a favor? Please go over and vote for Mamaspohr. Please. For me? Thanks.
Today I will thank each of you right here and now, for your sweet emails and comments. For offers to talk, for sending me your phone numbers. For text messages, Tweets and DM’s. Truly, you have no idea how much it means to me. I’ve read it all. I just haven’t found the energy to respond yet. Just know, you have made me feel so supported and loved and that is priceless.
Today, I will be realistic in my goals for myself.
Of everything, that may have been the one that broke my heart the most. Harder than sitting my babies down last night and explaining that daddy was going to live at cousin Ray’s house for a while. Maybe for a long while. That they’ll still see him, but most likely will never live here again. Harder than watching Bailey shut down. Harder than listening to Morgan scream and rage at me for half an hour, until I finally carried her and put her in bed. Harder than laying in her bed and eventually sitting outside her door listening to her sob, until she finally fell asleep.
Is it still real mommy, whispered to me at 2am, may have been the worst. I pulled her into bed with me and whispered the words that I knew she didn’t want to hear, yes baby, it’s still real. She laid there with me, cuddling and crying for about an hour and then went back to her bed. It’s too crowded in here she said. Yes, it was crowded, since her little sister and brother were already in the bed. Mostly though, she needed her space. I get it, but I wish it wasn’t like this.
It is though. Reality has set in and I don’t like it. My girls don’t like it. One is raging at me, angry, so very angry. Wanting me to fix it, wanting daddy to actually show up, so she can yell at him too. The other is shutting down and I’m helpless to stop it. Harrison, thankfully has no clue what is going on. Yet. One day, he will.
Their father and I have wrecked their world. We’ve inflicted pain on them; pain that they shouldn’t have to deal with at five and eight years old. Too much pain. I would do anything to take it back. To make their world innocent again. I can’t. I can’t make this go away. I wish I could, but it’s not possible.
I never wanted this for them. I know this pain. I know how horrible it is. Yet here I am, doing the same thing to them that I swore I’d never do.
Last night, I changed them forever. No matter what, I can’t change that. I just hope they end up okay. I just hope I can explain things to them in the right way, things that I don’t fully understand. This knocked our world out from under us. I pray that I am strong enough to rebuild it in the way they need me too. That I can do this better than my parents did.
That I can remember that this is about them now, not me.
Because yes, it is still real.
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