Insanity Is My Plea

The Talk...

2010-02-15T20:47:00.000-08:00

So why is it I don’t get to decide when these topics should be discussed.. they just come up… unplanned… unscripted… no time to prepare…

Today I pick up the My Daughters, we are in a rush to get home, do chores, eat dinner and get back out the door for PTA Math night… My oldest is sitting in the back seat and says, “Mama…when we get home, can I talk to you? Alone?” I answer, “yeah – yeah – just get your chores done first then we will talk.”

I’m in my bedroom changing clothes after a hard day at work when I hear tap tap on the door. I realize I forgot that we needed “to talk”… I tell her to come on in and the conversation goes something like this…

My Daughter: Mama…? (looking really scared… I mean freaked out scared…)

L O N G P A U S E….

Me: What?!

My Daughter: (sniffling…) I think I have breast cancer!

I am STUNNED!! – and a thousand thoughts running thru my head… What did she just say? How does she even know about Breast Cancer? Could she have breast cancer? Coming to my senses I say…

Me: What? Why do you think you have breast cancer honey?

Daughter: Because I have a knot on my boob.

Me: Where exactly?

Daughter: Right here. (point smack dab to the center of her boob).

Me: Oh, honey it’s okay… I’m sure it’s not breast cancer… let me look at it.

Daughter: It hurts.

I notice a little bump… a little misquito bite sized bump starting to form under her well.. you know what.

Me: Honey, you are starting to grow boobies.

Daughter: Huh? But it hurts!!!

Me: Yeah… it does sometimes.

Daughter: But I thought it wouldn’t hurt… like it doesn’t hurt when I grow taller… I figured they would just grow…

Me: Nope… sometimes it hurts a little.

Then she had lots of questions on why it was only one sided…?? would the other side catch up ??…. Is one always bigger than the other…?? Is that why there are padded bras to make up the difference??

Y O U G E T T H E I D E A!

Finally, I decided I better ask her some questions of my own… I needed to find out just how close she is on some other things so I know if I need to start doubling up on my purchasing of tampons or not…

Me: So, er.. ek hum... did you ever check to see if you have hair growing anywhere?

Daughter: Yeah.

Me: And??? (I’m dying here… help me out a little girly okay!!!!)

Daughter: (hiding a grimace grin…) it’s fuzzy & soft!!!

OMG! WHERE IS THE VINO! Mama needs a Merlot! That one put me RIGHT over the edge!!!

Divorce Recovery: Take Two

2010-01-11T19:13:00.000-08:00

Two down doesn’t look so good on a resume… So at what point do you stop – and wonder what happened? At what point do you realize what it will take to not make the same mistakes again? At what point do you truly understand what recovery means?
Webster defines “recover” as:
1. to get back or regain (something lost or taken away).
2. to make up for or make good (loss, damage, etc., to oneself).
3. to regain the strength, composure, balance, or the like, of (oneself).

Why is it that we feel we must join a group, go to therapy, find some outlet to heal ourselves? It all begins inside – way deep in the core of whom we are truly designed to be. We are all unique – no two souls alike, so how can one cookie cutter therapy class work for all people?

It must begin within you.

That is where you learn to recover, to regain your strength, and find who you truly are. However, it is a place most of us don’t want to go. We all have demons. We all have skeletons. If you think you don’t, you are a liar; and most of all, you are lying to yourself and robbing your own self of a promising future, of a road to true contentment and satisfaction.
It takes courage to look deep within yourself with a critical microscope. Frankly, it is something I have avoided for most of my life. I don’t want to be reminded of the flaws, the failures, the mistakes and misguided attempts to lead ‘the good life’. However, it must be done. Only by doing this have I been able to truly recover.

One failed marriage landed me in the arms of another failed marriage. Had I only taken the time to truly evaluate myself, my needs, my wants, my desires, my failures, my mistakes… maybe I wouldn’t have made the same mistakes over and over again… and maybe… just maybe my children would not have had to suffer as a consequence of my lack of maturity to see how my own selfishness put them in harms way.

Yes, I take full responsibility for the mistake of marrying my second husband – and honestly – I take full responsibility for marrying my first husband as well. I had a choice. My hand was not forced. But I allowed the peer pressure of my lover, of my friends, of society, and of my own selfish demons pressure the decision for me, when honestly inside my heart I knew both times it was not love... it was ‘want’.

Want what you ask?

A need to feel needed, valued, loved. I had a need that I wanted to be filled… The fairytale… that’s what I’m told… but honestly… ask yourself that question. Who doesn’t want the fairytale? We all want it. It is not realistic. To want is realistic… but to realize that wants and desires are like a burning fire that can never be fully satisfied – that is reality. And to accept that reality… well… in my opinion, that is where love comes in. You can only love when you accept the whole deal… the good with the bad and it must come from both parties. If you don’t feel you are accepted just the way you are… if you feel like you have to be someone you are not… READ THE SIGNS for Pete’s sake and move on!

I am not a pessimist by any means. In fact, my positive attitude is what makes me who I am. But I am a realist. And in reality, no one or nothing is perfect. It is what it is, as the saying goes… unless it isn’t. Until I can see myself for what I am, and until I find someone who can see me and themselves the same way, I don’t think any relationship of any kind will ever work.

So the point of this whole blog… Divorce Recovery: Take Two… who needs it?

I don’t need anyone else to tell me what I did wrong – what he did wrong – what we did wrong. I already know. Where I go from here is what matters. What I learned as a wife – as a mother… that’s where I go. I cannot blame my marriage on his behavior – I tolerated, enabled, or fought it… all three are no way to make a marriage work.

Any relationship – be it marriage, friendship, or co-worker – there must be understanding and a willingness to accept flaws in each other and accept criticism of your own flaws. There must be willingness to want to make the other person happy, and not be selfish or self-centered in doing so. So don’t come to another with your bowl thinking that person can fill it up – fill the voids you hold in your heart.

It will not happen.

But if you can look into yourself and fill your own voids and be satisfied when you look in the mirror and think, “I do like who I am”, then you are on the road to recovery. And that is exactly where I am... no expectations of anyone else. Only expectations of what I can do for myself and in return, what I can do for others – but only after I see it within myself.

All I Want For Christmas...

2009-12-12T21:24:00.000-08:00

“You girls need to make out your lists for Santa; Christmas will be here before you know it!” One would think that two children wouldn’t need a reminder to make a list of what they want… I mean, it’s present time for Pete’s sake, who stalls on a Christmas list?

When I was about 10 years old my mother would hand me the JC Penney’s catalog and ask me to write down everything I wanted out of the catalog. It took me about a week, but I remember handing her my completed list, complete with page numbers, item numbers and cost. If we only had the technology back then that we have today, I could have just copied the darn book, because I don’t think there was a single page in the toy section that didn’t have something I wanted on it. The years following that one, she just handed me a highlighter and I just handed her back the book with my name written on the front. My mother and I still joke about it today.

So it’s the week of Thanksgiving and I realize I need to do a little Christmas shopping for my own two girls. I really want to get them what ‘they’ want this year for Christmas. It’s not been a good year; they deserve the best the world can offer. I wish I could give them all they wanted, but I know reality… that I can probably only get a few items or so… and actually, so do they.

They amaze me.

“Here’s my list Momma. And it is okay if I don’t get all of that because I know you can’t really buy all that stuff.”

I take the wide-ruled loose leaf paper from my daughter’s hands in expectation of Toys R Us inventory. I scan the list. It doesn’t take long. Lip-gloss, a hairbrush, makeup.

Seriously? “Oh honey… is that all you really want for Christmas?”

I know this 12 year old must want more! Where is the X-Box? The cell phone? iPod? Surely she wants iTunes or CD’s, clothes, boots, and more… She is in the prime of her life… clothes and accessories are a must at age 12!

“Yes Momma, that’s all I want and need..."it’s on my list.”

“But baby, you must want more than just this.” I say.

About this time her younger sister hands me 3 pages of goodies she wants. Now that’s what I’m talking about! Let’s pretend money isn’t an issue – let’s dream big and hope big! I scan her list …

And again… three pages of items that probably cost $2 or less each.

Mom is perplexed. What is with the lists, I wonder. I ask if that is truly what they want for Christmas… several Dollar store type items… and that is all.

Silence.

Exchanged glances.

“Baby girls, I know it’s been a tough year, but I want you to pretend we had a million dollars and tell me what you really want for Christmas!” I finally exclaimed. Surely these two girls wanted more and were in cohorts to ‘go easy on mom’ with their never ceasing list of desires.

Finally my oldest breaks the silence.

“Santa can’t bring me what I want for Christmas.” She said.

“Oh baby, never underestimate the power of Santa!” I said, with a wink and a big grin. “Put it on your list if it is something you want!”, as I silently think to myself, “God bless my babies who have been through hell and back this year”.

“No Momma… he can’t.”

My younger daughter pipes in and adds, “He doesn’t make these in his workshop.”

“What is it that you want baby?”

Again… silence.

Exchanged glances.

A deep breath… “I want a Daddy.” She finally said.

Silence suffocated the room as the three of us exchanged glances again. I grabbed both of my baby girls and clutched them deep against my chest. I buried my tear stained face in their hair, hoping to wipe the tears before they even noticed.

Those four words still haunt me. They remind me of what my daughter has been through, what she has lost, what she has desired for years, what she has been denied.

But those four words tell me so much more...

“Let’s dream big and let’s hope big”. Words I said that I thought had fell on deaf ears, really had penetrated deep into the heart of my daughter. A young girl who has been through more than some twenty year olds… and she is clinging to hope.

Hope.

Never give up on hope and always dream big.

If you love something

2009-08-13T10:12:00.000-07:00

let it go free
if it comes back
it was meant to be

Not enough...

2009-08-06T10:46:00.000-07:00

An Artist can articulate beauty with the stroke of a brush.

Musicians can tug heart strings by the soft tunes that flow from an instrument.

Singers sing songs that can make your whole heart swell with emotion.

Actors can portray intimate parts of our lives on a screen ten times their size.

How then can we find words to express our feelings?

For some it is easy, it flows like a lazy river.

For some it is not so easy.

When the feelings surge inside I suddenly become speechless. I find it hard to breathe, let alone articulate the description of emotion rising in my pounding chest. Communication becomes a wall that I can’t seem to scale.

Words are not enough - paintings are not enough - songs and movies can’t portray the emotions I feel seeping through every pore of my skin.

Yet, sometimes they do.

Sometimes less is more.

Sometimes it is enough

to just plainly say, “I love you”.

Just a painting...

2009-07-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

“I don’t want to impose, but if you have the time, I have a special request.”

“Sure.” I answered. “What is it?”

“I wanted to see if you could do a painting for me, but uh… I need it by Tuesday.”

Three days notice? I know the tone of this kind of request. I understand the urgency and motive behind it. I’ve heard it before. The motive is one of wanting to do something special for someone else, or for one in need. A painting is special and well, more thoughtful than a gift certificate. These requests come randomly, always unexpected. The choice is mine, to do or not to do. It is very short notice, but the choice is easy.

Before I said yes, I knew there was something divine about this particular situation.

It wasn’t until AFTER I said yes, that I found out what.

A friend of friend… that’s who this is for. Her name unknown, but her story has been lived by a million women over and over. The wife of an alcoholic, battered by the storm that only vodka and whiskey can create. She prayed unceasingly to be rescued. She cried out in the depths of her sorrow for her children to not witness their father fallen completely victim to his addiction. She did everything in her power to save and to piece her marriage together… the man she loved. At some point during this tumultuous storm, the waves surged and levy broke.

At some point, you must realize the situation and make a choice.

A choice. We as humans are the only creatures God created of free will. We get to choose. Sometimes those choices are easy. Sometimes those choices cloak our hearts with guilt and grief.

“Could you put her life verse on the painting?” my friend asked.

“Of course”, I said.

Her choice was not easy. Stay with her alcoholic husband, her love of her life… or leave for her children and own sanity of a better life. I do not envy the choice this woman had to make. I do not know her at all. But I do know she is a strong woman. I do know she has a love that is deeply embedded in her heart, and that this love was what motivated her choice.

“Okay, here it is. It’s weird I know, but it’s what she wants.”

“That’s fine”, I said. “Shoot!”

“For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, that flow out of valleys and hills” ~ Deuteronomy 8:7

I wish this young woman happiness, peace and joy as she begins her new journey. I have no idea where she is headed, or the plans she has made. But I do know that she will be just fine, because she is strong... because her life verse gives away what is hidden in her heart.

I wonder if she has any idea how her story, her verse, her life… her choice, has touched a part of me? I understand her choice and I understand her hope in a promise that can come from only One.

I have been blessed...

2009-07-07T12:03:00.001-07:00

It's the ride, not the final destination...

2009-07-07T11:57:00.000-07:00

525,600 minutes

2009-06-22T16:48:00.000-07:00

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

How do you measure a year of life?

I love this song from RENT. I’ve never seen the movie, but I love this song. It screams “Live your Life and cherish THOSE you love, not the ‘stuff’ you love!”

Stuff is just stuff. It’s generic, it’s bulky, it is nondescript. Stuff is just anything, nothing really important, that fills the voids, the holes, the insecurities of our lives. Why spend our time, our precious minutes given to us in this world on stuff? Why stuff our time, our schedules with nondescript things that will have no impact or enhance our personal lives and relationships?

“Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.” ~ James 4:14

So why waste the most precious gift given to us – our lives, which translates into time – on stuff – that just fills the empty holes?

I’m told I’m a busy person. It drives my family crazy sometimes. “A fly by the seat of my pants” kinda gal. Schedules can drive me nuts, but without them I go nuts because I’m constantly on the go. Constantly doing something and I have a hard time saying no. But, I do carefully choose what I spend my time on. It’s not random nor is it without purpose…

And here is why…

Way over Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes ago, God started cleaning house on me. Some days I feel my life is a written script of 'WHAT NOT TO DO'... In the last year, I’ve lost most material possessions that I used to cherish. I got to the point where I was beyond the point of worry, grasping to hold on to the temporal things of this earth. The only ‘thing to do’ was trust in my Lord to meet my needs.

So, I took a leap of faith and dove right in…

He met my needs, but not exactly how I expected or wanted at the time. He met my needs by repossessing my ‘dream’ car I had worked many years to payoff, only to put it up for collateral on a dream home I had always wanted, in order to appear I had ‘arrived’ and lived in a big girl house. I played the role of the happy, successful wife and mother well… but it was just STUFF and God had even bigger STUFF in store for me.

But the only way for me to see what he had in store for me was to strip me from the stuff I had been placing so much value in. It was a painful process, but once I got there, I found peace… a peace that can only come from a divine spirit. And I quickly realized that there are so many other things that I should be focused on, like focusing on HIM and relationships of those people He so divinely placed in my life.

Yes, I believe everything happens for a reason and paths do not cross by fate, but by divine purpose

So, now I try to listen more, talk less. When I say I will pray for others, I mean it. I don’t volunteer or offer my precious time unless I see a way it can glorify my Lord. I’m not stingy with the only free resource God has given me. Time. So, I try to give more and take less, love more and gripe less, be available for my family more and spend my time doing things I love, not dread for the sake of filling empty holes. In exchange I focus more on filling up empty hearts full of love. Build up instead of tear down, lift up instead of step on for personal gain. Plainly do the right thing.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' ~ Matthew 22: 37 – 39

So although I tease that it is ‘ALL ABOUT ME’… it really isn’t. But shhh… let’s just keep that between us, ok?

Pursuit of Happiness...

2009-06-22T13:01:00.000-07:00

I watched “The Pursuit of Happiness” with Will Smith this weekend. I have to admit, I didn’t have it on my radar as a must see movie. It appeared that the scope of the movie was already played out in the trailers. I already knew how this movie would end. But it was on, so I watched it while I did a little computer work and laundry.

To my surprise, I was drawn in… completely captivated by this character, Chris Gardner. The portrayal of this man’s life was moving… truly a man tested and purified through fire. From losing his wife, risking a new career, facing social and economical prejudices – this man held me in awe for the love of his child and his actual pursuit to find happiness. Each time he turned around there was another obstacle, as if he played the role of Job himself. What more could a man take, yet hold all composure in the eyes of his son and his employer.

It’s probably true for most of us, that when trial presents itself, we go into self pity mode. Chris Gardner had every right to – yet he fought it and prevailed. He did not let cynical remarks flow off his lips, which could have been so easily justified… yet he thought before he spoke – never lied to cover his personal issues – yet deflected them in a witty manner, which landed him a new career.

So I ran into this guy at the River Market one day…

A true hippy, I thought, as I noticed his long hair, pony tail, dirty nails and tan skin. He had his table set up to sell stones and minerals that promised healing powers and supernatural protections. I’m not into all the ‘hocus-pocus’ behind the power of a rock, but as an artist, I have always been drawn to the symbol of a rock for strength and power, especially in my faith as a Christian. Brooks babbling over rocks, cliffs and bluffs have always stimulated my love for beauty in nature. So, I stopped to see what he had laying about.

I was intrigued by the beauty of each stone. They all had meaning behind them according to him, but their beauty was captivating. The way some glistened and reflected the light – the way some held such a bold defining brilliance. Some were laying about just scattered on the table, while others had been caged in copper wiring to hand delicately as a necklace.

Time was running short, so I thanked him for letting me indulge my eyes in the beauty of his rocks and went about my business.

Several hours later, as I was returning to my car, I walked by his table again. The sun was not beaming hot and most other vendors in the River Market had already closed up shop. But the Rock Man… He was still there. He said, “Hello”, and was again drawn to the beauty that sprawled on the table.

“How much?” I asked, more in a manner of being polite than of actually wanting to purchase. He said, “For you, $4 dollars”. Wow – only four bucks… I could swing that. There was one rock in particular that held my gaze. I asked how much for the pendant and the single matching stone, and he said, “For you, $5 dollars”. Wow, what a bargain. The rocks reminded me of an old friend, so I decided to purchase the pendant and the loose stone. He thanked me kindly, and delicately wrapped each stone in a piece of old worn cloth. I took my treasures and went merrily on my way.

So what does “The Pursuit of Happiness” and the Rock Man have to do with each other?

Well… about 2 weeks after I had purchased the rocks, I saw the Rock Man. But this time he was not at the River Market. He did not have his loot sprawled out for all to see, there was no beautiful sunlight glistening off his display. He was hunched over a bag that appeared to weigh more than he. It was obviously clear that what I had mistaken as a hippy appearance was that of a homeless man living on the street.

My mind instantly raced back to the day I saw him at the River Market. He was gentle and well mannered. He was as clean as clean could be, I thought… and to think he was carrying around his income, home, and food wherever he roamed. Chris Gardner came to mind, as he too was homeless at one time. But you never would have known it; just I never suspected it from the Rock Man. I give that man a lot of credit, to preserve these tough times right now. I hope that $5 I gave him provided a hot meal for his belly. Something that seemed so frivolous to me, gave more to him, I am sure. I wish the Rock Man well and do hope that he lands on top through his trials he is facing.

“If you're going through hell, Keep on going, Don't slow down
If you're scared, don't show it, You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there”
~ Rodney Atkins song If You’re Going Through Hell

Love Conquers All

2009-06-18T09:55:00.000-07:00

Forgive and forget… they say time heals all wounds.

I’m not sure these wounds can be healed. It was one thing when you abused me verbally, emotionally, and mentally. It’s a whole different story when you did it to my daughter. She was a baby – only seven years old when you started in on her! Blaming, Yelling, Calling her Stupid, there was nothing she could do right in your eyes, and oh how she tried. Oh how she wanted to please you.

You say you love me – if that is true, how could you hurt something so dear and tender to me? Those are my babies! A mother’s love! There is NOTHING ELSE LIKE IT! Were you jealous? Were you envious? Did she have something you wanted, so you used your manhood might to crush her spirit, her self esteem, her value? She watched you, she learned from you. All she ever wanted was a Daddy.

She started treating her friends the way she saw you treat others. She couldn’t understand why it was so wrong, when it was done to her. You are an ADULT – she is just a child. Embarrassing her in front of friends? Ridiculing her in front of family members? When she would come to you with news of accomplishments you stole her glory by dismissing it. You withheld love from her. You have SCARRED HER FOR LIFE! DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOUR WORDS HAVE DONE? You have stolen an innocence from her that she was entitled to… you used your booming voice and hefty size, making her feel smaller and smaller inside – worth nothing.

You said what you felt – nothing. She felt what you said – nothing!

I’m mad as hell! You should have known better. None of us ever treated you that way! Do you feel like a big man now that what you have done is exposed? Do you feel good knowing you broke the spirit of a child?

For the life of me, I don’t understand why… I’ve asked it a million times!

You treated us all like we meant nothing. We meant nothing, and we felt it. I tried so hard to soften your heart. I prayed daily for your salvation that you so pridefully defended you had! I prayed that your heart of stone – that grumpy old man – would see how lucky he was to have us. I just knew that love could conquer evil. I was hopeful that you would be swayed by my love. I forgave you day after day. I forgave you morning – noon and night. I forgave the mocking, belittling me in front of family and friends, leaving me stranded, not caring how or if I could get home, never leaving a light on, keeping me away from family and friends, mocking me as I talked to friends, telling me I was acting stupid when I used humor or wit to cheer someone up, guilting me into doing things I did not want to do, guilting me into doing things I found morally and unethically sound.

I believed you when you said you loved me… I believed you. I gave you chance after chance, pleading for peace in my broken soul and spirit. I was in a constant state of confusion during our entire relationship. I never knew what to do to make you happy. Your actions did not align to your words. However, for several years, my heart was telling me to leave, my soul knew there was something not right, but I never felt led to leave you. I felt that God still had work to do. I begged God to release me from this marriage – to not endure anymore of your belittling, cowardish, bullying words and actions.

I remember crying into my pillow at night… begging for forgiveness of whatever I had done to be in the hell I was living and watching my children live. But, I continued to trust in God – he has a plan – I begged for him to reveal it to me.

I turned it over to Him to control, because you were out of control. I trusted God’s plan and endured my own little private hell for years. I continued to say I love you, which I thought I meant… and actually I do mean, but not as a wife.

You always had the last word… it was an ‘or else’ statement every time. A threat – no… you meant it! I remember the first time you said it… and I challenged you, being the feisty woman I am. Boy did you put me in my place real quick. Everyone that knew me couldn’t believe I was broken down as low as you broke me. But, for that I take responsibility, because I had a choice, and I chose to stay put. I had faith and love big enough for all of us to turn this thing around. But you won, as you always did. Every fight, every game, every debate… you always came out right and on top.

I’ve never in my life met anyone as cruel, heartless and manipulative as you. I thought it was an act, to protect a soft heart hidden inside. I searched for years for a glimpse of it… I begged for you to show me that heart. To share with me – to be intimate… but in my most humble, vulnerable and transparent moments, you took advantage and knocked me to my knees. Your words were not like a knife, but more like salt being grinded into an open wound. But I wasn’t enough. You had to move on to my children – the things I valued and loved. You had to tear them apart too. My parents, my dreams, even down to my dog, who you scolded and kicked. You kicked a wounded dog down, just like you kicked me and my daughter down.

I had a spirit that could fly like the wind – passionate and deep… you broke me. You broke my daughter. It took a life changing event to make me see… to lift the scales from my eyes to what you were – what you were doing to me… to my baby.

Now, you are out of our lives. And honestly… it is liberating! None of us miss you. This home is so much more joyful – so much more at peace without you in our lives to beat us down with your words day after day.

My prayer, even when we were together, was that our house would be a home… a safe haven for our family. A place to feel safe, at peace and rest. I wanted nothing more than to hear echoes of laughter and joy bounce off the walls, instead of fists and doors slamming.

For years I felt God did not answer my prayers… that his answer was “No”. But, God did answer that prayer. Our home is now a safe haven – a refuge – full of healing hearts, no longer afraid. No one is afraid to speak anymore. No one is afraid to show love anymore. This house is warm again. A family lives here again. We now have, what you proclaimed you so badly desired.

And now… well – you crossed the line. There is a consequence. Yes there is a limit to how many chances you get in life.

I remember you saying that the opposite of love is not hating… it is nothing. That’s what you gave us – nothing… So I guess that means, you never did truly love us.

Nothing. I don’t love you. I don’t hate you.

At times I feel sorry for you, but then again, you made your choice, you will have to deal with the consequence. I tried to warn you that you had crossed the line. I wrote you letters in hopes they would get through since my words were never heard– you would not listen. I begged and pleaded to be heard, you ridiculed and mocked me.

Recently you said you still loved me and that you are a changed man. You said that I can’t say you don’t love me, because you can’t tell your heart who to love. Well that is true; however, you can’t force your heart to love someone either. When you lived here, love didn’t live here. Now that you are gone, love has come back to heal and restore.

I loved you unconditionally during our marriage. You know it is true. Love. Love conquers all, not you, not your crafty manipulative ways. And the love of a mother, to rescue her child has saved us all. Hopefully love has saved you, and you are a changed man… but you are not a man I could ever spend the rest of my life with.

Forgive you? I have. .. Forget? Impossible.

It’s time for this broken wing to heal and fly again…

It's the Little Things

2009-06-16T04:13:00.000-07:00

It’s the little things in life that affect us day to day.
The little things in life that mold us like clay.
The little things that speak volumes to our hearts
The little things in life that can tear souls apart.

It’s the smile you see reflected in another person’s eyes
Quietly lending a tissue to a friend with crying eyes
Standing by the side of a loved one in need
No words are spoken, your emotions they can read

It’s the laughter of your children as they giggle and they play
The smile from your spouse at the end of a long day
The gentle look across the room that puts your heart at ease
It’s these little things in life that not everybody sees.

But it is also little things that can wound over time
Like interrupting others, not letting them speak their mind
Discarding someone’s dream as ridiculous or dim
Casting careless comments on an unforgettable whim

Going to bed at night with your spouse just feet away
Longing to be held – knowing right there they lay
Rejection and withholding kill all good things in life
Especially when it is between a husband and a wife

The little things in life must be handled with utmost care
Not taking for granted the gift of love that two people share
If the little things are given attention to each detail
The big things in life go smoothly – and love will never fail.

Trish
June 2009

First Ride...

2009-06-12T04:30:00.000-07:00

A bit uneasy

Intimidation could win
I jump on this bike
To try her out for a spin

A virgin driver
As I turn the key
The power I feel
Rising up into me.

Maneuvering clutch
Throttle, no brake
My first take off
No room for mistake

Adrenaline rush
Clutch, shift, throttle
Click it up higher
Excitement unbottled

Round for the turn
Wind on my face
Incredibly awesome
This virgin’s first taste

It’s not just the rush
It’s confidence inside
So open and free
Let’s go for a ride!

How Far Do You Let It Go...

2009-06-11T18:52:00.000-07:00

“The abuser engineer’s impossible, dangerous, unpredictable, unprecedented, or highly specific situations in which he is needed, depended on or considered the only source of authority, knowledge, skills, or useful traits. Consequently, the abuser generates his own indispensability. In his/her mind and yours, you are completely dependent on him and you should never forget it. The moment you do, he will find someway to put you in your place again.”

Crafty and Manipulative
Strategic and carefully planned
Overt or Covert… it’s all about control
Sly and underhanded
Not easily recoginized
Intimidating
No visible scars
Only Scars on the heart
Unpredictiable
Walking on eggshells
Fear of failure
In a fog, just going through the motions
No direction, no sense of purpose.
Withholding
Rolling eyes
Heavy sighs
Mumbled sarcasm
Like a hot burning iron pressed to the skin
Is that how love is supposed to sink in?
Raised voices and anger over simple little things
Impossible situations
The complete authority over all things.
Dehumanizing, unsympathetic
Relationships are replaceable, unneeded or wanted.
So Together, but so broken inside…

Calling all Angels

2009-05-29T21:56:00.000-07:00

A lady I work with told me I should write a book about all the things that happen in my life. You will not believe what has happened in the last 24 hours. I’m still in a bit of shock myself…

Last night 10PM…

The setting: Game night with kids… all are home except my youngest daughter who spent the night with a friend.
The phone rings… (When is it ever a good time when the phone rings late at night…?) My friend is on the other line. Chaos sounds and shrieking in the background…

“Trish, you need to come over right away. your daughter has gotten her finger jammed in the door… you need to come over!”
Not another word is needed, I grab my keys and purse running out with my just my house shoes on and fly over to her house.

I take up the entire driveway and open the car door. I can hear my daughter shrieking from the driveway. My heart and mind are racing… I opened the front door and my friend’s oldest daughter is screaming in hysterics, bawling like crazy, just screaming and pointing to the kitchen saying, “She’s IN THERE!!” I rounded the kitchen to see my dear friend holding my daughter amongst a blood bath - my baby shrieking and shaking - my friend crying and shaking - trying to keep it together and calm her down.

I tell ya, there was a guardian angel telling me what to do, because I don’t remember consciously making a single decision to move. It just kinda happened. The grace of God in a mother’s heart…that’s all I can think of it to be…

I ran over to my baby girl and gently pulled away the blood soaked towel… I truly cannot type into words to describe what I saw…
I looked up at my friend who just kept saying over and over through tears, “Oh Trish, I’m SO SORRY… I’m SO Sorry!”

I said, “It’ll be okay… where is the rest of her finger?” My friend's daughter immediately ran to the bedroom and met me in the hallway holding the top part of my daughter’s middle finger.
I asked her where the baggies were and dumped ice into the baggy, not caring about how much had fallen into the floor. I threw the tip of her finger into the baggy, and then ran to take my baby from friend's arms.

I just remember saying, “Don’t look at it sweetie! It’s gonna be okay!”

My friend drove my car to the hospital with my daughter and I in the backseat…her little body shaking and hot and sweaty and her head buried into the crook of my neck. My husband met us there.
Two weeks ago I threw my back out, but I really didn’t think much about the pain as I heaved my 70 lbs seven year old baby up in my arms through the Emergency doors, my friend at my heals.
We were immediately taken back. The staff at St. Vincent’s couldn’t have been any sweeter or helpful. After a drip of morphine, my baby girl had settled down. Our ER doctor called Children’s Hospital for a recommendation… as luck would have it, there happened to be a hand surgeon specialist working at Little Rock Children’s Hospital last night.

PRAISE GOD! ...was all that would go through my head… Thank you, thank you Lord!
We were taken by ambulance to Children’s Hospital. My girl was feeling no pain now with the morphine drip… in fact she had become quite the chatter bug and captured every nurse and doctor’s attention.

By 2:30 AM, about 4 ½ hours after the incident, she was taken into surgery. Her odds for survival of her finger are 50/50. Now at 24 hours past the shock. The nurses at the first hospital, (St. Vincent’s) had asked that we call them later to let them know how my daughter was doing.
I just got off the phone with the nurse, who was so appreciative of the phone call. I thanked her, because the staff at the hospital couldn’t have been any kinder. She told me what a brave and sweet little girl I had, I told her thank you, but she wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.

Then she told me how well I did. Quite honestly, I didn’t realize I was doing so well… I was just being a mother and trying to not let my baby see any fear. The nurse said that another family that was waiting in the emergency room overheard our story. She said that the mother of that family said, she could not believe my composure…that she would have been on the floor as a basket case.

Oh, but I did break down… I broke down at 1:30 AM when I called my mother to tell her what was going on. To put words to what had just happened, broke me. I couldn’t speak… I know it could be so much worse and I’m thankful that it wasn’t… but it was still a horrific ordeal. I’ll be on my knees asking for a miracle to break the odds of 50/50… I want the 50 good! And if you are reading this blog, send one up to the man upstairs for my daughter’s finger to survive and for my friend, who is holding overwhelming amount of unneccessary guilt on her shoulders. It could have happened to any one of us…on any one's watch! It was an accident. That’s all it was, and we will all survive.

Sunday May 6, 2007 - 12:26am

All Roads Lead Here: Part 6 - Killed in the Line of Duty

2009-04-19T14:53:00.000-07:00

I had known David for five years. We met and became friends after working together at Dillard’s. When I first met David, he was an undercover security officer. Oh how he loved to bust a good shoplifter! His dream was to be a police officer. In 1988 his dream came true. He signed on with the Little Rock Police Department.

David still worked off hours as security, but now he was in uniform. He strutted that uniform proudly. He knew the pretty girls liked men in uniforms and he worked it! He could always be counted on for sound advice…especially the advice he gave me on sucking a penny if I’m ever out drinking and driving.

David would always dance with the girls that went stag to the company Christmas party…I think it was his highlight to go stag himself, just so he could flirt with all of them, and not be tied down to just one date. The last time I saw David before he died, we were working at Dillards and he brought me a Diet Coke and package of Cheez-its. Not because I asked him to, but because he knew I’d be craving them later.

On February 13, 1991 at 2 o’clock in the morning my phone rang. I stumbled to the phone, still in a fog and groggy. I said, ‘hello?’ The voice on the other end was a familiar one. It was Barry, an officer with whom I had been dating. Barry told me a police officer had been shot. I could hear the fear and emotion rising in his voice. He said the officer was not dead as of yet, but it didn’t look good and they were not expecting him to survive. Barry did not know who the officer was who had been shot…his name was not being released to the LRPD yet. Still in a fog, I felt I needed to be more supportive than concerned right now. I did not think the officer would be anyone I knew. I hung up the phone and went back to bed.

Around 3 o’clock in the morning, one hour later, the phone rang again. I knew it wasn’t good. I hesitantly picked up the phone. I didn’t even say, “Hello”. The voice on the other end of the line was Barry’s. He said, “I wouldn’t have called you back this late, but there is something you ought to know.” My stomach knotted up and I took a deep breath. “The police officer died. Trish, he was very close to you. It was David Barnett.” Silence. “Trish, David was shot and killed at Waffle House.” I could not speak. I could not cry. I hung up the phone and lit a cigarette. I felt exhausted, yet could not sleep. I felt numb…I felt like I was floating and watching someone else’s life play out in front of me. Still, I could not cry.

Two days later, I attended the funeral. Elizabeth walked up to me and handed me a card as we were walking into the church. She said it was the Valentines Day card David had picked out for me, that she and he had been shopping the day before he died and he said this one was perfect for me. I opened it and read it. It was one of those hilarious cards. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Elizabeth said, “David would have wanted it that way.” My tears turned into sobs as I began to cry for the first time. I could not speak or breathe. I felt I might hyperventilate. I tried to stop but couldn’t. I did not want to cry now…not in front of all these people.

The ceremony was beautiful. Every possible officer from all branches attended. Police, fire, MEMS…they were in their ‘Dressed Blues’. It was very proper and respectfully. A guard stood at attention saluting David at the foot of his casket the entire time. David was dressed in his ‘Dressed Blues’. A Medal of Valor was pinned to his breast, and in his white gloves he held a Harley Davidson patch. A flag covered his casket. The Chaplin spoke of hard regards on how this man laid down his life to save a stranger. On the left sat the officers…to the right were the Harley Davidson dudes from his bike club, and in the middle were all the pretty girls that David charmed so well. The horns played “Taps” as the officers slowly exited.

I made my way through all the cameras, television, and news reporters. Finally, I got to my car. Slowly, we assembled our cars in line for the procession to the gravesite. What an unbelievable experience this was… Police cars, fire trucks, MEMS and wreckers all drove with their sirens blaring and lights flashing. State troopers blocked all exits on the freeway for the processional from West Little Rock over the river bridge to North Little Rock. Five o’clock traffic had come to a halt. Some of those in traffic got out of their cars and stood saluting the processional as it went by. Chills ran down my spin. As I rode with Nancy, Wendy and Becca, I looked behind me and saw three miles of procession…and it was still going.

At the gravesite, David’s precinct stood at attention saluting him. On the other side of the creek, stood seven officers holding rifles. I was too far away to hear any of the Chaplin’s words. But I saw and heard the seven officers as they raised their rifles and shot three times. This was David’s twenty-one gun salute. Behind me, men were playing “Amazing Grace” on the bag pipes. The slow eerie-like sounds from the bagpipes chilled my soul. My heart felt heavy and I was having a hard time breathing. I could not bear the thought of David actually being dead, but it finally began to seep in as I saw them lower his casket… was he really in there? This could not be… David was really gone. It was not all a dream.

It was very difficult to talk about David after his death…and it was hard to remove myself from it, as I tend to do sometimes to cope. The media and newspapers kept daily updates on the two men who shot David. We were given interviews from the cook who was working at Waffle House that night…as he recounted the entire event on live T.V. I could not escape the depth of grief that seemed to consume me, of losing this very dear friend.

David was an incredible man. What I remember most about him was his pursuit for happiness and his dream. He dreamed of being a police officer. He thrived and he lived his life to the fullest. He also didn’t think twice about helping those people at Waffle House. He laid down his life for a stranger…something not many of us could or would do.

~“God hath no greater love for a man who layeth his life down for another.” ~

Thank you David for being the man you were and showing me through your life the purpose in pursuing our dreams. I’ll always take that with me.

(Below is one of many articles that appeared in the newspaper after David’s death.)

Slain Little Rock police officer David Barnett was honored posthumously Friday night with the department's highest honor, the Medal of Valor. The award was presented to Barnett's mother, Rita Barnett of North Little Rock, by Police Chief Louie Caudell. The ceremony was held at the lodge of the Little Rock Chapter of the Fraternal Order of Police. Barnett was killed Feb. 13 at the Waffle House at Interstate 30 and Scott Hamilton Drive when he tried to stop a robbery. Two Little Rock teen-agers were arrested within two days of the shooting and charged with capital murder. " None of us wants to dwell on the incident that took David from us," Caudell said. " But tonight we want to focus on a different aspect David's bravery. " The Medal of Valor is the department's highest award for service above and beyond the call of duty, and there certainly can't have been a situation where it was more deeply deserved.(" The FOP also honored Barnett with the Supreme Sacrifice Medal of Honor, the highest award given by the FOP. Sgt. Farris Hensley, FOP president, presented the medal to Rita Barnett. " The police officers have been absolutely fantastic," Rita Barnett said after the ceremony, which she attended with Barnett's brothers, Allen and Phillip. " They've been there for us every single day. They've helped the whole family," she said. Barnett was buried wearing his Medal of Valor ribbon, and his mother said it was a fitting tribute. " I first saw it when I saw David at the funeral home, and they asked me if I wanted the ribbon," she said. " But he lived and died for that medal, so his valor ribbon stayed where it belonged, on his shirt.I was proud of David. We were all proud of David.(" Rita Barnett said that David died doing what he always wanted to do be a cop. " I remember when he was a senior in high school and he came into my room one night and I asked him what he was going to do with his life," she said. " He said he was going to join the Marines to get all the skills he could, and when he got out he was going to join the police force.(" After 4 1/2 years in the Marine Corps, where he became a sergeant, he worked different jobs, including being a paramedic, before signing on with the police department in 1988. " He was thrilled to death when he was finally able to do what he always wanted to do," she said. Rita Barnett said that it had been hard to accept the loss of her son. " You try to do what the person would want you to do," she said." We've all tried real hard to be what David would want us to be. " It's difficult to talk about. It's hard to describe to people the things that you're feeling inside and put them into words.(" Phillip Barnett said that news stories about his brother that quoted his co-workers and friends had done a good job in capturing his brother. Rita Barnett said that even though David was only 33 years old when he was killed, "he lived a lot in his life and he did a lot of good for a lot of people. And a lot of people did good for him. He had a lot of good friends.”

What Just Happened? Originally Posted December 8, 2006

2009-04-07T14:14:00.000-07:00

It’s been a whirl wind since Chicago… and I’m just now coming up for air…

I’ve not taken a moment to face the demons from Chicago…I’ve buried them so I can get through all the school, PTA, catch up at work, Christmas Parades, home décor, and garage sale things going on the past week. It’s been busy… but I’ve kind of made it that way on purpose.

Last night, for reasons I cannot explain, I broke down. I literally fell apart... I don’t remember the last time I’ve done this… perhaps when grief overtook me at my grandfather's funeral…which is what scares me to death.

I remember in s lo w m o t io n, but in a blur... taking the stairs two at a time to my bathroom upstairs...but for the life of me, I don’t remember what triggered the surge of emotions that sent me up the stairs in the first place. I felt the overwhelming grief hit me in the stomach like a semi-truck. A hollow, bottomless pit… my chest tightened up… my breath shortened up…my eyes started to water…then the flood gates opened up wide… I found myself gasping for air.

I don’t cry easily. I’ve been called a Steel Magnolia before.

So why did this happen? I remember getting angry with myself for even having this self-pitiful moment in the mirror… I took a hot shower and was fine.

So I thought.

Laying in bed, it hit again… out of freaking no where… a complete overwhelming urge to cry…to bawl… a rush of loneliness, disappointment and isolation flooded into my body. I flipped over onto my stomach and buried my head into my pillow, so my kids and husband would not hear me. My pillow was soaked when I woke up… It’s all still a blur…what just happened to me?
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Friday December 8, 2006 - 02:43pm (CST) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 13 Comments

It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To! Original Post: November 20, 2006

2009-04-07T14:01:00.000-07:00

I can make a celebration out of anything and I do tend to make a celebration out of everything. Sometimes it drives people around me nuts. I love making celebrations! And holidays, although they are commercialized like crazy… I still love ‘em. I love to decorate…to put my creative spin on things in an artsy, funky, “you are special to me” kind of way.

Family birthdays will call for a special birthday breakfast - like chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate sauce, whip cream, syrup and powdered sugar with curly candles on top. Cakes will be that person’s favorite, with candles exploding on it. I’ve been caught singing “Happy Birthday” on many answering machines and voicemail boxes for friends and far off family. And…at my house…we always hang the “Happy Birthday Banner” in the kitchen window which can be seen as soon as you walk through the front door, announcing the celebration of that person’s life!

At Halloween, I’ll have spider webs and pumpkins galore - fake creepy family photos on the wall - the whole nine yards. My kids will make spiders out of egg cartons to hang from the dining room chandelier, and black bats with purple glitter to tape to the kitchen windows.

When Thanksgiving rolls around, I’ll purchase 6 ft. corn husks to adorn both sides of my walk way leading up to the house, with bushels of mums bursting with autumn color at their base! Brightly colored fall garland with leaves and berries are strewn over the front door frame. A big burly red berried wreath gracefully hangs as a signature of Thanksgiving as you walk through the door. Cornucopias overflowing on the table and mantel scream abundance and thanksgiving! The warm colors of orange, brown and yellow welcome you into my home and YES pumpkin and cloves are in the air…

At Christmas, I’ll have a tree in my living room, a tree in my family room and the girls will all have trees in their bedrooms. This year I even bought ornaments specifically for their interests for their own trees. One daughter has cowgirls, cactus, boots and barbed wire for garland. The other has shoe and purse ornaments, crystal beads, and a fluffy boa strand for garland on a pink tinsel tree. Green pine garland and velvet stockings will adorn the mantel with glittered name tags for all five kids, mom & dad, as well as both dogs and the cat. And… you are guaranteed that the scent of cinnamon and pine will fill the air as you come through the door.

Yes, I love making celebrations out of celebrations.

So that brings me to this year.

Thanksgiving this year is different. This year, my birthday falls ON Thanksgiving. I’ve known this for over a year, since I calculate the number of days to my birthday and announce it to all who know me for months ahead of time. I love the count down and anticipation. This year, you would think since there is a Birthday AND Thanksgiving it should be doubly bubbly with holiday cheer and celebrations. This year you would think tiny presents would be tucked inside the cornucopias. You would think candles would adorn a pumpkin cheesecake, or something...
or so you would think.

But…

This year, my kids will be at their father’s house for Thanksgiving.
This year, my mom and dad will not be cooking dinner, it’s her “year off”… (whatever!)
This year, I won’t be home at all for Thanksgiving. There are no decorations, no cornucopia, only leftover fall leaves from the Halloween decorations last month.
This year, my husband is taking me to Chicago – the windy city – for Thanksgiving and my birthday.
Neither of us have family there… it will be just the two of us.
Some people would kill to be in my shoes… to get away from family and traditions…

But…I’m a little uneasy about it all.

As spontaneous and full of life and energy that I am… I’m a woman of traditions. Chicago - for me - is totally untraditional. I will be totally dependant on my husband to meet my expectations of birthday and Thanksgiving, which I already know will not be met. He is complete opposite of me. He would rather not make any ‘ta-do’ about anything. I’m trying to prepare myself so I won’t be disappointed… I’m trying to not focus on the fact that there will not be any small feet coming into my bedroom singing “Happy Birthday” to me with a cup of orange juice and a pop tart on my birthday morning. I’m trying not to focus on the fact that there will be no sloppy wrapped Dollar Store presents of what ‘they’ picked out for me on my birthday. I’m trying not to focus on the fact that my mom won’t be wearing her apron hustling about with her little limp, barking out orders in her loud Portuguese Yankee accent to all of the family, as she does every year, before we sit down for our Thanksgiving meal. I’m trying to not focus on the smell of the turkey as my dad carves Big Tom and I sneak a piece out off the platter as he carves. I’m trying not to focus on the little “I caught you” look we exchange every year as he playfully goes after my fingers with the carving knife. There won’t be any off color jokes made by my brother in law as he, my sister-in-law and myself drink a little too much red wine before dinner. And I won’t be able to watch the expression on my brother’s face as he quietly sits back and kicks back a few beers - taking it all in - the ‘Family Thing’.

I wonder what it will be like to wake up in Chicago on Thanksgiving morning, my birthday morning, and realize it is a holiday.

I’m sure it will be just fine. But I know it will be different… it will be quiet… and I’m trying be okay with that.

It’s not my hearts desire. Celebrations mark me. They speak to me. I love the noise and the family oddities. This year will obviously be quiet. This year, I will be forced to be alone, without all the hustle and bustle to occupy me. I’ll be forced to be alone with my husband… just us. I know it’s not fair to him, and it puts a lot of pressure on him. I hate to be alone, especially on holidays. He doesn’t mind it. He actually prefers it. I’m actually a bit scared – a tad bit uneasy. I won’t have anything to hide behind... no one to laugh at my witty jokes or another family member to deflect the attention off us and the fragile state of our marriage. The thread that it hangs from will be totally exposed… and I don’t know how either of us will deal with it… miles away from home…

Tags: extraordinary | Edit Tags

Original POST: Monday November 20, 2006 - 02:43pm (CST) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 15 Comments

I am Extraordinary!!!!

2009-04-06T22:52:00.000-07:00

I am Extraordinary

if you ever get to know me...

Yep... Trish's Mojo is Back!

(enjoy the 'extraordinary link')

Hot Mama!

2009-04-06T22:20:00.000-07:00

The story you are about to read is based on a true story. The characters are not actors.

About nine years ago, I had a newborn and 3 year old at home. Life was a little insane to say the least. Trying to manage the two, along with my ‘not-so-organized’ life had its moments. One of my bad habits was/is to drop my dirty clothes in the floor and let the dirty laundry pile up. (It's a work in progress... what can I say?)

One afternoon after being a lazy mother - watching soap operas, eating bon-bons, and shopping on QVC (NOT!) … I decide I should probably go to the grocery store before hubby got home. I had less than 30 minutes to go and get back. Nothing like waiting til the last minute.

Since I was still in my PJ's at 4:30 pm, I ran upstairs, found a pair of cut-off blue jean shorts from yesterday on the floor (still clean) and threw them on with a T-Shirt. I threw my hair up as I descended the stairs, then tucked the kids in their car seats, grabbed my purse, and dashed out the door to the store.

Now, most women don't feel too attractive after having kids... it's a baby fat issue... nothing is in the same place... and sometimes, well you get tired of looking in the mirror or...
you are just too damn tired from sleep deprivation to care.

I parked, got out and proceeded to go to the back car doors to unbuckle my babies. I notice these two young handsome guys staring at me. They had to be in their 20’s (which I was not). My ego immediately sky-rocketed. I start to think, “Man, I do still have it!” Knowing my legs and ‘back-side’ can be considered one of my best assets; I worked it as I unbuckle my babies. I grab the nearest shopping cart and load up the girls. The guys are still gawking and smiling.

So here I am...

Thinking to self: "Oh yeah, I got it! I'm hot, that's right! I still got it! Yeah Baby!" Strutting into the grocery store, kids in tow, a woman out of no where comes up to me… and frankly I was a bit annoyed that she was interrupting my shining moment! She says, “Excuse me ma’am… you have a pair of underwear stuck to the butt of your shorts…just thought I’d let you know before you walk in the grocery store.”

Talk about an ego deflator! I wanted to die! At this moment I’m standing in front of the sliding doors of the busiest grocery store in our area. There are (what felt like) hundreds of people going in and out of the store, probably all snickering. I casually reach behind me and grab the panties that are stuck to my butt and place them in my purse - chin up and smile as I stride on in to the grocery store!

Oh, and to think I thought I was oh so HOT! Put me in check real quick! LOL! And don't even ask how I handled paying for the groceries when the panties in my purse were exposed!

Sad to say that this moment is only one of many... but that's okay...
I enjoy laughing through life, it's good for the soul!

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones...

2009-04-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

Sticks and Stones can Break My Bones but Words can never Hurt Me...

Whoever wrote that is a complete idiot... I believe words are the most powerful weapon we ALL possess. Words can lift up or tear down... be careful how you use them...

This has been around before, but I got it from an old friend this week and found it a good reminder...

As the father guided his son through the childhood years, he observed that his son supported a strong temper with much verbal abuse. So to teach his son the error of his ways, he told the lad that each time he lost his temper he was to drive a nail into the slats on the old fence out back. Placing his bucket of nails and hammer in the shed, the son agreed to his father's request. Each time he lost his temper during the next few weeks, he would go to the old fence and drive a nail. He became weary having to stop and drive a nail every time he would loose his temper and began to struggle to gain control. Finally the day came that he didn't have to drive a nail and he was so excited as he shared his accomplishment with his father. The father commended his son and told him to now remove the nails from the old fence. The obedient son agreed and had soon removed all the nails. His father walked his son over to the fence, pointing out the deep and hollow holes that were left behind by the nails. He explained to his son that there was no way to undo the damage and that each nail had weakened the link between the two solid posts. His words of wisdom rang clearly in the heart of his son as the father associated the post as family and friends and the slats as the love and respect that holds us together. The son then realized that his uncontrolled temper could do irreversible damage to the hearts and lives of those he loved. With a tear streaming down his cheek, he leaned his little head against his wise father's waist and warmly said, "thanks daddy".

I Paint...

2009-03-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

Young Allie: Painting.
Young Noah: What?
Young Allie: You asked me, what I do for me...
Young Noah: What now?
Young Allie: I love to paint.
Young Noah: Really?
Young Allie: Mmm-hmm. Most of the time I have all these thoughts bouncin' around in my head... but with a brush in my hand, the world just gets kinda quiet.

~The Notebook

The past few months I’ve had all kinds of thoughts bouncin’ round in my head…just like Young Allie in the Notebook. I need a break… call in sick… I like to call them Mental Health Days… you know the days that you call in sick to work, when you really aren’t sick at t’all… but it’s cold outside or rainy or perhaps it’s sunny…but it doesn’t really matter… because your mind just can’t seem to stop bouncin… and you have no motivation to try to contain all those thoughts … or… organize them into something that makes sense… Those are my kind of days… the days I can pick up a paintbrush without anything in mind and let my mind carry me away to some distant far off place where the world IS quiet…where the world doesn’t have to make sense… where time and space do not exist. I love those moments… I love to paint... and when I’ve done just too much for everyone else around me and need to escape… I paint… just me… I paint.

March 19, 2000

2009-03-16T10:12:00.000-07:00

I remember the details of this day like it was yesterday…it is still all so surreal. It was a day that changed many lives forever - a day friendships stood firm - a day of overwhelming grief - a day that changed my view on life forever. It was the day I realized how short life really is, and that we really only have a vapor of time to make a difference.

It was Sunday afternoon about 1:00 pm on March 19, 2000. My ‘then husband’ and I had just returned home from church, put our daughters (then, ages 2 ½ and five months old) down for a nap. It’s a beautiful spring sunny day outside, but all I can think about is my plush pillow top bed after the horrible night’s sleep I had the night before from being up with my five month old.

My ‘then’ husband was downstairs on the computer. Both daughters were asleep. The house was quiet…

The phone rang…

In that moment life changed forever…

Our pastor called looking for my dear friend, Carol. Her husband was currently on a mission’s trip in Iceland and he needed to reach her immediately. He knew Carol and I were close friends. He knew my ‘then’ husband and her husband David were best friends. He knew I would know how to reach her. But he would not tell me why.
Perplexed and knowing something was wrong… we hung up as he tried to locate her by calling someone else.

The phone rings again…

His unsuccessful attempt to locate Carol led him back to me. He proceeds to tell me that we must find Carol immediately. I explained to him – again - that I thought she was getting Easter pictures made of the girls at the mall…reaching her would be difficult.
He then tells me David had a heart attack. He was in the middle of drumming the song, “I Walk by Faith” at a church in Iceland when the drums stopped and he slumped over. That was it. Just like that. In a matter of seconds he went from praising God here on earth, to praising Him at the foot of his glorious throne.

In that moment life changed.

Forever.

My dear friend Carol was left to raise three daughters and was pregnant with their fourth. David was always so proud of his little harem, but he would never lay eyes on Anna.

I was with Carol and helped hold her up when our pastor told her the news.

I was in her living room looking for the phone book while she took Ashley (her nine year old) up stairs to tell her that her daddy had died. I cringed as that little girl wailed her heart out as her mother held her in her arms. I took Tara outside so she wouldn’t hear what was going on and get scared.

I stayed by her side for the next days, which turned into weeks, and then into months, and finally years. I helped her get all the paperwork and ugly details taken care of, like getting on food stamps (she did not work – she had 3 children – she was pregnant with her 4th) - I helped her get Social Security – I helped her finalize her tax returns – I helped her budget and think through going back to school.

I was there when she gave birth to Anna, an incredibly tender moment - a moment that we all wished her father could be present to witness. A moment we all cried as Anna breathed in her first breath of life.

I helped Carol box up David’s clothes. I helped her sell his drum equipment. I cried with her as we pulled out the Christmas lights for the Christmas tree and saw how he had neatly labeled each strand on where it belonged.

I was there the day the U-Haul pulled up to load all her belongs into the truck. I kept busy…vacuuming and wiping down window seals… grieving in my own small way over my dear friend moving… but knowing the whole time it was for the best. She needed to be close to her parents now.

She and I had become like sisters. Our daughters were like sisters. People must have thought we were crazy when the two of us showed up at the park or pool with six girls! But… the time was here. The time for her to move on. For me to move on. She asked me to do her one favor - to keep flowers on the grave every March.

Even now that she has moved away and remarried – and I have divorced... remarried... seperated... we can still pick up the phone after months of not talking and pick up right where we left off.

Yep… a rare find.

A life giving – life taking – life sustaining relationship.

Each year on March 19th, I take flowers to David’s gravesite for Carol and the girls. Each year in March as the tulips are bursting and the daffodils are waking to life, I take a moment to realize how short this life on earth really is. And I remind myself to live it to the fullest. To take time to make a difference. To take time to touch a life… for in the end, it’s the lives we touch that matter. I remind myself to slow down… smell the flowers… follow a butterfly's flutter… and stare at a few stars…

The essence of a man is 'Strength'...

2009-03-11T19:51:00.000-07:00

I originally wrote this blog back in August of 2006. A fellow blogger poised a question to any other bloggers who would dare to answer...

His question: "So I'm reading this Christian book about being a strong man and it talks about strength. But I see men who are 'spiritual' and they seem like wimps to me. I don't want to forfeit my manly hood... is this really what a woman want?"

AJ - Here's my two cents for what it's worth...

“Isn’t this what makes our hearts beat more quickly, our knees weak when we watch Daniel Day Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans, William Wallace in Braveheart, Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings, or Harrison Ford in nearly any of his movies? Isn’t that what we, as women, long to experience from our man, and from the men in our lives? To experience the strength of a man is to have him speak on our behalf. For when men abuse with words, we are pierced. Their strength has wounded us. When they are silent, we are starved. They have offered no strength; they have abandoned us. But when they speak with us, hear us, offer their words to us and on our behalf, something in our hearts is able to rest. We long for the protection masculine strength offers. To have them shield us from physical harm, yes. But also to have them shield us from emotional harm and spiritual attack.”

~from ‘Captivating’… by Stasi and John Eldridge

YES! YES! YES! AJ!

A man is supposed to be burly and wild…That’s okay – personally, I find it incredibly sexy!

However strength in a man is not just physical and I believe you are confusing the two.

A man is supposed to be strong – the warrior, the protector. But a man shows even more strength when he is able to practice self-discipline with his words and not be abusive. He is even stronger when he contains his strength and power without blowing it out physically on a woman or child. He is a protector. If he doesn’t channel his God-given strength in this way, he is weak. He is weak at heart if he feels the only way he can be a man is to exert his strength forcibly onto a woman. On the same token… a man that is passive or sits aside idly as women take charge is just as repulsive, in my opinion. To not use this gift of manhood to its fullest potential would be quite a shame.

He is even stronger and more attractive when he steps OUT of his element - his natural tendencies to be brash – and set aside his desires for those he loves… For a man-I think- desires the sensual touch of a woman-the nurturing aspect of a relationship that come some so easily for most women.

I believe women want to be chased… pursued… it’s the fairytale we’ve all dreamed of… We want a man who is strong enough to pursue and protect us and strong enough to not give in to the lie that if you show emotion, love, cry, embrace or are passionate that you are not a man…I think a man that CAN do this and maintain his burly nature, is the strongest of ALL men. A man that can feel comfortable in his natural manly state, yet understand a woman and the value she brings. A man that can recognize the balance between the sexes and fulfill his duties of the weighed balance scale without counterbalancing it... now that is strength.

A man or a woman can be great by themselves; however, the two together can unleash all types of power and passion on every level…physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Just my two cents, but remember, I'm insane! LOL!

Thursday August 31, 2006 - 12:33pm (CDT)

Orgasmic Earwax

2009-02-27T12:52:00.000-08:00

okay, so i'm stumped on what to write about, i was requested to write something funny… and all i can think about is this hilarious conversation i had the other day with a friend about cleaning ears with q-tips. how many times have we been told not to shoove a q-tip into our ears to clean them? i've been shoving q-tips into my ears for nearly 40 years now and i've had no problems...

but ya know what's really great? it brings such ultimate pleasure to get a really good clean in! it's practically orgasmic! going a few days and then using a q-tip … oh i feel like maggie when i hit her tickle spot on her belly... my leg gets to quivering and oh...oh...it is like an orgasmic experience. oh yes, i love my q-tips!

What makes your heart hurt?

2009-02-26T12:57:00.000-08:00

My heart hurts tonight… what’s that quote… “A mother is only as happy as her happiest child.”? Well…do stepchildren count?

Let me introduce you to my stepdaughter. She is 12 years old, but looks like she’s 16. She’s at that awkward age for every girl. She started her period last year, found out about her parent’s divorce when she was 7, thinks she knows everything, but is the most lonely, searching, desolate little girl I’ve ever met.

She has very low self esteem, she’s overweight, she’s self conscience, moody, a manipulator, and will do whatever it takes to get attention…good or bad. When she gets into one of her moods, which can change in less than a split second, it’s miserable.

I know she’s like this… I know this about her. Many times she makes me angry as she attempts to play me to get what she wants. At first I was ‘daddy’s girlfriend’…. Daddy’s girl friend was cool and fun to be around because she got a ‘friend’ not a mom. Once I became step mom, things change… I think she was afraid I was going to take her daddy away from her. Little girls are protective of their daddies. Then, she plays her dad…who will let her get away with whatever she wants. I think it’s the guilt men with children feel when they go through a divorce…

His daughter has issues…lots of them. He won't face them, and neither will her mother. A couple of weekends ago she got into one of her funks while we were driving in the car. Enough was enough... I wouldn't tolerate this behavior from my children, I won't tolerate it from my step children either.

So... I called her on it. She told me she didn’t have to talk to me…and refused to speak. She clammed up, stared out the car window into her own little world. I stopped the car, grabbed her chin and made her look at me. I told her, “You know what Cara? You are right! You ARE right! YOU DON’T have to talk to me. You don’t have to talk to anyone…but just remember…that goes TWO ways! And if you want ANY kind of friendship or relationship with ANYONE…me…kids at school…even your dad… you better open it up, because it’s not a one way relationship here. I may not be your mother, but I love you like you were one of my own.” (tears are welling up in the eyes of this little hardened heart I am talking to). I went on to say, “and if you decide you only want to talk to me when it’s convenient…when you want something or need something… I may decide that I DON'T want to talk to you…I may shut you out…that’s the way it works in your little world…isn’t it?”

Well…like I’ve been told before…I don’t always have a knack for tack. However, even though she pouted out of the car and slammed the door when I dropped her off at her moms house… I got through. Even though I don’t always see it, Joe tells me Cara will talk to me before she will even talk to her own mom sometimes…

So…that brings us to today. And my heart hurts for Cara. She asked me a couple of weeks ago if she could have an End of Summer Swim party at my mom’s house. I was a little shocked, but say sure. I’m all about parties…of all kinds…but I’ve been told that her mom is just not that kind of person… So…I embraced the event. I even told my own girls that this was not a time for them…it was a ‘big girl party’. I was just so ecstatic that Cara was actually inviting some girls over to hang out…this is something she has NEVER done before. We made invitations, passed them out. We ordered Little Caesar’s Pizza (nastiest stuff I ever tasted), cokes, etc. My dad cleaned the pool this morning and my mom put out new pool cushions and fluffed them up. Everything was ready…everything was prepared.

It was every young girl’s nightmare…

No one showed up. No one. No one called. No one came. She handled it with grace…that little heart of stone. I put my arm around her and asked if she was okay. ‘Yep’ was all I got. I asked if she was mad… no answer…she just held up her thumb and index finger to signal a gauge of, ‘just a little’. I asked if she was sad…and the flood gates opened. Bless her little heart.

My heart truly aches for her tonight…

Originally Posted: Saturday August 5, 2006 09:42 pm

I'm addicted...

2009-02-26T12:45:00.000-08:00

I’m a mom…and I feel like I’m a pretty good mom at that. I love my kids and get so much joy out of them in all aspects… playing games, making arts and crafts, reading stories together, playing hide and go seek…and playing paintball!

Oh my…I never realized how much I would enjoy playing paintball.

My first experience was exhilarating…although I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs! As we walked in the lobby area to get our guns and gear, the testosterone level went up about 20 notches. There were groups of guys in camouflage, checking their ammo supply, strapping on extra rounds, wearing all the professional padding and gear…I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I was the only mom out there. This was not looking good. I had a sinking suspicion that I was gonna get creamed.

However, being the only female on the field has its advantages too.

If my gun jammed, instantly I could get one of those hunk of a guys to come over and assist me by unclogging it …laying his life down for poor little me. I could play the ‘female trump card' and get them to give me more paintballs for my gun should I run out. I had lots of protection from my fellow paintball teammates surrounding me, since I was so precious...and fragile. And when my fellow teammates realized my which family members of mine were on the other team, they didn’t hesitate to help me take them out.

I got nailed quite a few times, but that was okay…it was all part of the game. I left looking like a piece of graffiti art. It was fabulous and can’t wait to go again with my kiddos.

Ok Go!

2009-02-26T12:42:00.000-08:00

This has been around awhile, but I still love it!
I wish I could do this on my treadmill...I'd fall off and hit the floor and probably get my hair tangled up in the conveyer belt...
But it's fun to imagine it!

Enjoy!

I Believe in Miracles...

2009-02-25T14:45:00.000-08:00

Well, from yesterday's blog...you know I believe in fairytales. I believe in Miracles too...

ENJOY this....!

Hope it gets you through the week!!!

Originally posted: August 1, 2006 - 10:39 pm

25 years ago Princess Diana married Prince Charles…

2009-02-25T14:26:00.000-08:00

It’s every little girl’s fantasy. It truly was a magical moment. We’ve all seen the pictures. I even remember being mesmerized in front of the TV watching it with my parents. It was a fairy tale from the beginning…how a poor little spinster girl ends up marrying a prince. She arrived in a carriage, the train of her gown flowing out the cathedral… Princess Diana was the main event…all cameras and eyes were on her. She was beautiful and had everyone watching her …succumbed to her beauty and the beautiful life she was embracing… so we all thought.

But we also know how it ended…affairs, divorce, death…

So the question begs to be asked… do fairy tales really exist?

My youngest daughter (age 6) whose name is Sarah (which fittingly means “Princess”) truly believes she is a princess. At age 6 - everything is real - Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny…and Princes. Sarah captures everyone’s heart…she’s just got that girly personality. My mother says she is me made over…God bless her soul….

The first prince in her life was her dad. Every girl wants to be daddy’s little girl…the apple of his eye. Most girls want to marry their dad when they are little. Sarah’s dad plays the part well. He deserves a daytime Emmy for the performance he gives when he sees her.

Now some of you are thinking…Well, what’s the problem with that? Even my six year old through her innocent eyes wonders what is wrong with that...

Re-read the last four words of that paragraph… “when he sees her.”

Does he show up every other weekend like he is supposed to for his visitation time with his daughters? Survey Says, “No”.Does he call when he’s not going to show up? “No”.Does he call during the week just to say Hi? “No”.Does he call on her Birthday to say, “Happy Birthday!”? “No”.Did he watch her play ONE soccer game last season? “No”.Does he call on Christmas or Christmas morning to find out what Santa brought? “No”.Does he know her favorite color? Her best friends name? What her favorite book is? No. No. No. Does he know her teacher’s names at school? Does he know her favorite food? “No”.

Does he know she loves him anyway?

As her mother…it breaks my heart. The battles her father and I fought …the choices we made, the separate roads we decided to take need not concern her nor are her fault. I left her father for reasons I won’t go into (that’s for another blog…maybe). I refuse to be the bad guy and point these things out to her… I will not be the one to ‘dethrone’ her prince or ruin her fairytale, no matter how angry it makes me or how much it truly hurts to see her not have a father who loves her back the way she loves him.

How can I do this you ask???

My other daughter, Rachel (Age 9) is Miss Intellectual. She is straight A’s, brains, but no common sense…bless. She has had her first few doses of reality and does not always view the world with rose colored glasses She knows Santa is not real, nor the tooth fairy. She also knows that her dad has let her down; he has broken promises made directly to her. Does she love him anyway?

Sure she does.

Have I led Rachel in her beliefs in any way about her dad? No. She’s learned it on her own…unprotected from Mama’s wing…or mouth. As a mother, instinct wants to warn them like crazy…tell them what kind of father they REALLY have. Let all the skeletons out of the closet!
But if you believe in fairytales, you can’t do that…

I still do love the fairytale…the white knight saves the princess…I’m in love with the fantasy of it… but I know what’s fantasy and what’s real. That doesn’t make me love it any less. Fairytales are what keep us motivated… they keep the dreams alive… the energy flowing… without them we die.

So even though I know how Princess Diana’s life ended up…I can still see a photograph taken 25 years ago of her on her wedding day and feel just as elated for her…even though I know the end…because, it’s "living for the moment" and in that moment, her fairytale was real!

Right now, the moment my kids are in, is a moment when they feel loved by their daddy. Every girl is entitled to it. They will grow up… they will be able to see the truth one day…but for the moment, it makes them happy…its part of their story….their fairytale.

Embrace the moment, enjoy the fairytale…don’t worry about the future…because the future will happen no matter what. At least you can say you had it for a time…

Originally posted: Monday July 31, 2006 - 06:42pm

Tsunami

2009-02-25T07:35:00.000-08:00

It’s insane really. Crazy how in an instant you can see someone and feelings come flooding back like a tsunami. As I was walking out of the gym today with my kids in tow, I ran into this guy. Instantly before I could even understand what was happening, feelings from years ago came caving in on me and took my breath away – literally. I have no idea who this guy was, nor did he know me…but I’ll be damned if he did not look just like someone I once had a thing for.... He must have thought I was insane as I took a double take and cracked out a weak, “Hi.” Wow what a resemblance! But even more shocking than the resemblance, were the feelings that I instantly started feeling in every cell of my body. We are not talking butterflies…it felt more like horses running wild... I was nervous and anxious... and this guy was a complete stranger!! He must have thought I was INSANE.

All of this happened in a mere split second, but the feelings…oh my gosh… the feelings hung on all night. I couldn’t get this guy off my mind. Why is that? I’m attempting to live life right, married, awesome kids, typical urban home, and even a member of the PTA. I’m not looking for anyone or anything to fill a ‘void’…so why is it that it hits like a ton of bricks and lingers? It’s insane. Has it ever happened to you? Do you see someone or hear an old song that takes you back in rush to memories that you thought were buried forever? It really is insane.

I wonder how he's doing?

Originally posted: Wednesday, July 19, 2006 11:47 pm

I Used To Shine...

2009-02-23T16:32:00.000-08:00

“I used to shine!” Sandra Bullock’s character said it in "Hope Floats" to her daughter as she reminisced what she thought to be the good ole days. The days when she won beauty pageants, was homecoming queen and dated, then married the star football player. Yeah, she used to shine.

And so did I.

I might not have been the homecoming queen, or even popular for that matter, but I had a great figure - long legs, small waist, big boobs, long brown curly hair and deep chocolate brown eyes. I modeled swimsuits and prom dresses for department stores, and even did perfume modeling…yeah that’s right… the annoying ladies that squirt perfume on you to ‘test’ without asking…

I was bold and fearless, ready to attack the world, make my mark and let everyone know who I was! Strong and stubborn, I would make my dreams come true no matter what!

I used to shine. I was known in high school and college as an awesome artist. I had dreams – big dreams! I was a girl with incredible talent. I planned to go to the Art Institute in Chicago. “Flash Dance” was my mantra. I dreamed of moving to New York, being a Coyote Ugly girl if I had too in order to make a living… now wouldn’t that make dad proud!

I used to shine. I used to be young, beautiful, bold and brash. I used to fill my world with acrylic color and shades of 2B lead. I didn’t have a care in the world, but the sun on cheeks, and dreams swirling in my head… yeah, I used to dream.

So why don’t I shine now? Good question. Did I tarnish the shine with bad choices? Choices to ‘party’ instead of get an education, choices to move out on my own and live the ‘flash dance’ life, only to fail? Did immaturity and a false sense of invincibility set me up for failure to reach my dreams? I did not finish college. I never went to the Art Institute in Chicago. I’ve never been to New York, I’ve never danced on a bar, but I did make dad proud.

The journey I’ve been on has been one of character building. It has not been an easy road. I’m at a point now in my life that I can appreciate the journey I’ve been on and I’m here to tell you, I don’t shine anymore…I used to shine… now I blaze!