big as the sky

Not Me

He say, "I know you, you know me"

One thing I can tell you is you got to be free

Come together.  Right now.  Over me.

~JL

Moving on from deep, thoughtful, downer posts, did I mention that one of my girlfriends shaved her head?  My awesome friend and her (almost) equally awesome husband were shorn like sheep to raise money and awareness for pediatric cancer.  Their son had rhabdomysarcoma and is in remission (yeah!) and we all celebrated at a pub, drinking beer and shaving our heads.  Their heads.  There's so much to tell about that evening, but what sticks in my mind was her tear-jerking speech about how she couldn't care less about her hair as long as she had her family, and how(surprisingly) beautiful she looked bald.  Everybody said so. 

Heres a few photos. 

  

D ate a juice box while we waited.  Fun evening.

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And, of course . . . D turned one last week.  We celebrated with a cupcake, food fight, and lots of loud sister singing.  I have video that I'll get later.  Happy birthday my little light.  We love you soooo much!

One more thing before we press on . . .

My girlhood among the outlaws,

Was salty, bittersweet,

The things I did I could just kick myself now, 

Through nights of lousy dreams.

As visions gather in my head, 

I find it hard to live with the things I did and said.

But for you my friend I'd give it all again,

To love you in the end.  

Anything for you, baby, anything for you.  

If it took those years to get me here,

I'd do it again for you.

~Maria McKee

My new son was two months old.  The kids and I were packed into the van driving home from an evening of swimming.  I was exhausted, I'll admit, but glad to have the bit of normalcy of hanging out with friends.  The Dude started crying in his infant seat, so at a stoplight I turned in my seat to give him a pacifier.  

In silhouette my girls were bouncing in the back seat.  And beyond them, was my husband.  He was in the car behind us clad in sunglasses and sternness.  Without changing his face, he lifted his fingers from the steering wheel to acknowledge me, and continued to stare at us with stony coldness.  The light turned green, and I did my best to lose him as I drove home.  Given the direction we were headed, I knew exactly where he was going.  And it wasn't home.  

This was a defining moment for me, if for nothing else, to act as a living, breathing, in-my-face metaphor of where my life was.  Actually where it had been for the last fifteen years.  Alone.  Humiliated.  Hurt.  Pushed away.  Avoided.  Degraded.  My life literally flashed before my eyes in fast forward until it landed on that moment.  Driving with my kids in my mini-van with my husband behind us on his way to his girlfriend's place.  

It was the period at the end of that sentence.  

Life was going to change.  Move in a different direction.  But what in the world had I done to get it here?  I've shed many, many tears with this question impaled in my chest.  In fact, I couldn't get away from the question.  How did this happen?  How did I get the dud husband who could do this?  Where did I go wrong?  What did I miss?  How did I miss it?

There's a long answer to those questions that's both tired and boring.  But a piece of it is simply standards.  For myself and for those around me.  My pastor once said we're all "acceptance magnets".  We migrate not toward those we admire, but toward those we think will accept us.  In a sad display of "please love me" I've spent a lot of years with people who did things I didn't admire and acted in shameful ways.  Crawling to the lowest common denominator that would, for sure, accept me, I ended up at that stop light that evening.

So . . . one day . . . I did it.  Life since my marriage was so dense with circumstances and history and people and schooling and jobs that it seemed impossible to undo.  But I did.    

I went to the moment he showed up at my door step all those year ago, and I closed the door and went back to bed. 

As soon as I did, though, my heart tightened and I caught my breath.  When I turned him away, I also turned my kids away.  I quickly opened the door back up to him so I could have them back.  And went down the same twisted path that led to the stoplight.  I'd do it again.  Just to have them.  Not just to have kids.  But to have these kids. 

And there it was.  I have truly wonderful children.  Each with their own unique and shockingly beautiful personality.  Are they why I went through those awful years?  I don't know.  But they are definitely the result of them, and I wouldn't trade them for the most perfect family on earth.  No regrets, at it turns out.  

With that, it's time to move on.

Love in the End

To the gypsy that remains
And faces freedom with a little fear
I have no fear, I have only love
And if I was a child
And the child was enough
Enough for me to love
Enough. to. love.

~Stevie Nicks

I remember lying in bed staring at the clock in November 2007.  It was 11:47 p.m., and I decided, after a pathetic torrent of denial and spastic hope, to end my marriage.  My real self put its arm around my my pretender self and told it to stop.  And it did.  I faced the truth and laid it down that night.  The next year was nothing short of hell.  Shedding all the lies I had told myself resembled a drug addict's withdrawal.  How will I live without this life sustaining poison?  To be frank, some days I wasn't sure I would survive.

But I did.

And today I stood in front of two complete strangers, an attorney and a judge, and legally ended my marriage.  I thought this day would bring either sadness or anger.  But it brought neither of these.  It brought only love.  

As the judge looked up at me and finished with a, "Good luck to you" I wanted to kiss him and everybody else there.  I walked out the double doors and felt myself for the first time in ages.  Actually, this feeling was for the first time ever.  I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.  

It was a gorgeous day.  As I walked to my car, I watched a train passing.  I've always loved trains and every single time I see one, I want to hop it.  The rhythmic rumble entices with freedom, the beauty of the unknown, and the eccentric gypsy life.  

As I drove to the corner, I saw, where the train had passed, a church, and dead center was a plain white cross.  The peace I wished for so many months ago is finally here.  I had wished for a quiet knowing that everything would be alright.  And even if it wasn't, it still was.  And as the cross beamed through my windshield, I felt God giving me a wink.  Everything is always okay.  Not only okay, but perfection.

Then, as I rounded the corner to u-turn home to my kids, I swear on my life, this marquee stood on a street with nothing else. 

The faith I have in myself today brings me tranquil stability.  The hope I have for my future brings me giddy joy.  And the love I have for everything gives me quiet peace.  Only love.  For the all the great and all the shitty.  The yin and the yang.  It's all there to be relished.  It's all perfection. 

Yes. We. Can.

Ruby Bridges on her first day of school in 1960 with Federal Marshals.  

Sasha Obama on her first day of school today with secret service.  

BSM

Here's to a lot of this in 2009.  Happy New Year!!

For more BSMondays, go here!

Green - Strike Two

You're a heartbreaker,

Dream maker,

Love taker,

Don't you mess around with me.

~Pat Benetar

Years ago, I welcomed into my home my grandmother's dining room set.  It's standout qualities were a well made solid wood physique.  It's eye averting flaw was it's banana yellow finish.  Six years later, I set out to help find it some dignity with a can of spray paint and a staple gun.

I chose a dark-almost-black-green color.  Light sanding (that got lighter and lighter with each chair) and many paint fumes later they were finally finished.  Some cheap heavy fabric from Joann's, a staple gun, and a can of Scotch Guard covered the yellow cushions that, by this point in the game, sported a thick layer of glitter glue and petrified yogurt (okay -- and some urine).  

Now, I should back up and tell you that green and I have a past.  I painted an entryway once in a promising historic collection color called Providence Olive.  Instead of the warm sage-y feel it was supposed to give the room, it managed to not only turn kelly green at night, but turn it's cream trim color partner from a never-fail color to an ugly bright garish yellow.  Not only did it mess up on it's own, but it didn't play well with others.  I had to repaint the entire room and vowed never to hire the likes of any green in my home ever again.  

How soon we go soft.

I was so pleased with the green color of my chairs.  They looked great outside being painted.  They looked great in the garage drying.  They looked . . . not so great with the fabric.  But, I ignored this in true DIY "I'm almost done with the project so I'm going to ignore that it looks like crap" fashion.  You know you've been there.   

When I finally brought my first completed chair into the breakfast room and ploped it down to admire it, I actually heard that "ree -- ree -- ree!!" horror movie music blare through the kitchen.  It had gone from this not so bad chair in the daylight.

  

 

To this monstrosity at night under the lights.

   

In case you can't tell by the picture, it looks like a chair about to be attached to a Mardi Gras float.  

Oh well.  Back to the paint store for some cans of BLACK, please.  Black is slimming anyway.

New Order

While surfing for "how to refinish a table top", I ran across this little OCD gem.  

Tangled up extension cords . . . meet empty toilet paper rolls*.

* Martha Stewart decorative "I have way too much time on my hands" embellishment optional.  (Okay, I admit it.  I admire the decorative embellishment.  Maybe envy it a little).  

It's time . . .

. . . to suck it up and go.  Oh, how I wish Irish-ash-brown-grey-on-top would become all the rave.   

Lost

Just because I'm losing,

Doesn't mean I'm lost. 

Doesn't mean I'll stop.

~Coldplay

I was at a holiday party last month, mingling, chatting, and surprisingly having a great time.  It had been a while since I had enjoyed myself among my peers and it felt good (thanks, Mom, for the motherly pressure to attend.  "Go!!  We're watching The Dude!!  Get out of here!!!").  While sipping my water and chatting with a friend, she asked if I had started dating yet.  The answer was a polite "no" while inside I envisioned myself at a hypothetical quiet bistro with an innocent man victim, my boot lodged squarely on his neck as he writhed on the floor.  No, I'm not ready to date.  

But it did beg the question.  If I can move past my voracious anger and soul sucking bitterness, what would a date look like?  Last time I dated was in college and it consisted of drinking from a keg and talking bohemian fantasies with your friend's friend's friend at the duplex party.  I'm an unemployed mother of three now.  What in the name of diaper duty would I talk about?  

So I did that thing that we all do and went on the first ten minutes of a date in my head.  "So, tell me about yourself"  he says.  And so I did.  Kind of like preparing for a job interview.  "Hmm, I can talk about where I'm from, skim over my childhood, college, jobs I hated, stuff I love, delete the part about how I can't cook and bring home stray dogs".  And so on.  

Sadly, at this point my hypothetical date was beginning to glaze over but I didn't care.  I asked for the hypothetical check and hypothetically excused myself.  Because in this silly exercise I had stumbled on something quite . . . disturbing?  Important?  Enlightening?  In going over my life in my mind's eye, in quick chunks, I could feel a deep connection with myself again.  I felt it when I went to my childhood, in college, in graduate school, and when I worked certain jobs.  

I didn't feel it in certain other jobs.  I didn't feel it when I was married.  I didn't feel it when I was a mother.

Now, hold your horses!!  Don't call CPS just yet!!  As anybody knows, I adore my children in an over-the-top somewhat obsessive monkey grooming kind of way.  "Are you okay?  Do you need anything?  Can you please do whatever you're doing in the same room I'm in?  I love you.  I love you.  I think I'm going to eat you."  

I love the look of my kids.  The smell of my kids.  The sound of my kids.  Watching my kids do anything.  Watching my kids do nothing.  I find my kids so engrossing that I tilt my rearview mirror down in my car so I can glance at them just staring out the window while I'm driving.  What are they thinking?  They're so beautiful.  

I'm not alone in these parental feelings.  Me and most every other parent feels this way.

But, when I think of myself over the past seven years, I see a body doing chores for other's lives.  A shadow in khaki shorts and t-shirt floating from task to task.  

When I think about other times in my life, I feel in my gut an excitement.  A buzz.  When I studied for my exams in college I loved my classes so much, I would pace the floor unable to sit still.  When I pulled into the barn for the five hundredth time to jump mine or anybody else's horse, my hiney would tingle.  On the five hundredth time.  When I drove to work in graduate school, I would sometimes tear up in joyous disbelief that I had found a paying job I would do for free.  In all these places, I had to restrain myself from grabbing the next person I saw by the lapels and screaming, "I love my life!!"  I felt alive.

But I got lost.  

I got married and fell into the role of following my husband around, deferring to his life, his interests, and his career.  I still managed to slip myself in a little.  Then I had children and that was all she wrote.  

I'm not blaming my ex (for this. small. detail.).  Or my kids.  Or even myself.  I didn't know any better.

But now I do.  This is so, so, so cliche, but the people you sacrifice yourself for -- and I mean sacrifice in the sense you kill yourself to serve them -- don't want you to.  My kids might complain as I'm walking out the door leaving them with a sitter, but in the end, they want a mom who feels alive.  They want a role model.  They want to be inspired.

For Christmas this year, my six year-old asked Santa for a list of stuff.  On the list was for "Mommy to be happy."  Wow.  

After fifteen years of a toxic relationship.  And seven years of falling into the oh, so common, mommy quicksand.  I'm going to find my way back to my path and grant her that wish.  

As I sit here thinking about it, my hiney is tingling:) 

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Photos!  

Bee 

The Dude

My Guru

A Brand New Song

Mister, trouble come walkin' this way,

Year gone past feels like one long day, 

Oh, but I'm alive.

And I'm feeling alright.

~BS

I'm not going to lie, I'm glad this year is over.  It's been . . . draining.  I now deeply understand so many cliches in ways that make me feel wise and, therefore, old.  Cliches such as "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."  Sometimes I feel strong.  Sometimes I don't.  But, I stand tonight, with the rest of humanity, looking forward to a brand new year.  A brand new chance.  A brand new way.  A brand new song.  

Don't you love New Year?!?!  The entire globe gets together and has a big party.  We celebrate the things and people and events that brought us light.  And mourn what did not.  And even the dullest reflect.  And the hardest renew.  It's like, for some reason, on this particular day when the sun comes up, you're fresh, reset, cleaned up.  You said your Hail Mary's and are ready for another round.  Another chance to fix all the things you messed up.  And a chance to separate yourself from the things that messed you up.

I love New Year.  Let's make this the best year of our lives.     

In the uncertainty of a new day

Opportunity may howl.
You hear the voice in a new way
In the past you didn't know how.
You're old enough to know the difference
Between an enemy and a friend.
With the eyes of knowledge upon you
You're able to stand up again.
Life is always in motion
And there's new people to count on.
Here you may find a purpose
And sing a brand new song.

~John Mellencamp

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The Dude at a New Year's party we crashed tonight.  He watched football with the guys and mingled with the ladies.  And chewed on a plate.  And stole my heart once again.