This one speaks for itself

Somewhere in between who I am and who I believe I should be
In the midst of pain and growth and renewal of the spirit
Often there comes an urge to reach out and find someone who will listen and recognize and reciprocate on some level
A past of reaching for those not yet ready to breech those monumental fears leaves me hesitant to reach anymore at all
The result is longing drenched in loneliness
Is it quiet desperation?
Tired of wondering and seeking affirmation that this is the norm
Desiring instead to believe that whatever it is, it is ok, because it is mine and I want to own it
Liberating and so fulfilling to be where I am
Draining to embark on this journey
Down paths that have become overgrown and hidden
Becoming set apart in a new way
A way that promises not to leave me huddled in fear and shame
I’ll be standing instead in Truth
This is when brokenness becomes beauty

Complete randomness

1 a.m. and I am still awake. Creature of the night, I am. I relish the time after kids have fallen asleep. Sure, my bed calls. However solitude calls louder. Something beautiful about piddling around the house by myself. The baby wakes for his first of at least 2 nightly feedings. Ah, yes; 16 months old and still not sleeping through the night. My days of rolling my eyes at mothers who whine of no sleep are over. My first child might have been pleasant and sleepy all the time, but not this one. I step outside armed with my laptop, energy drink, and a pack of smokes. Cool breeze, dark skies, and every so often the sound of a bird that has forgotten that everyone else is sleeping. It’s been a good week. My mind drifts with random thoughts. Thunder rolls in the distance. It’s been one of those days where the future does not nag me to make plans. Instead I am at peace right where I am. Sure the occasional struggles with the pre-teen, or fleeting thoughts about finances arise, but today peace wins. The world is as it should be and I am left to dream. I did notice my jeans were fitting more snug through the hips this afternoon, but thoughts of a gym membership are a couple of months away. Today I didn’t fret. Today I know that tomorrow will take care of itself. Today I encouraged myself to think of how much worse things could be the next time I feel darkness setting in. Will it work? I’m not sure, but today I have a plan. I used to pray all the time. Sometimes I even dropped to my knees in earnest, heartfelt prayer. I don’t really find myself doing that anymore, but today I prayed. Small quiet prayers in the face of possible melt downs. I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring, but I do know that if I don’t get some sleep soon it might be miserable for sure.

The value of regifting

A good friend of mine calls. We chit chat about her latest guy crush and realize it’s been too long since we have last talked. Both broke, dinner seems out of the question. Then I remember the $50 Olive Garden gift card my father gave me for mother’s day. Perfect! We decide it’s a fabulous idea and agree to meet there in half an hour or so. After we are seated our oh so cute waiter comes to take our drink orders. As he does so I’m noticing his cute brown curls, not too long, not too short. Just right. My friend and I toss around ideas of sharing meals as our girls visit and my busy son tries to dismantle everything within reach at the table. What a lovely dinner and conversation! As the waiter comes back to check on us I notice the silver bar that pierces the top of his ear and stretches down and out the bottom lobe. Sexy. He is becoming more and more attractive by the minute, although I’m sure he can hardly be a day over 20. My friend and I joke. You know the line from Dazed and Confused? “I keep getting older, they stay the same age.” Oh yeah. Why does this seem to be a problem for me? I turn 30 and all of a sudden I can’t spot the difference between a 20 year old and a 30 year old? Or perhaps it’s just that those baby faces have always been such a weakness of mine? At any rate, the waiter comes with the tab and I, in my suave demeanor hand him my gift card and say, “Oh I’m ready.” Suave demeanor my ass. I’m not wearing a touch of make up, my son is tired of being strapped to a chair, and I’m quite certain he’s fairly soggy at this point. His britches I mean. The waiter brings back the tab and the card and mentions something about having only $5 left. Geez! $45 for the dinner? I was hoping to have some left over to come back for lunch some time! I look at the ticket and gasp as I realize he means the $50 gift card only had $5 on it! Is this some kind of sick joke? Well, this is not right. I explain to the angel face waiter that I just received the card for mother’s day, assuring him that it is worth all of $50. He comes back with a ticket that shows the history on the card. Purchased months earlier it was used almost 2 months ago and shows a $5 balance. As he rushes off to track down the manager I ask my girlfriend, “Are you going to try and resolve this or do you want to wipe my baby’s hiney?” I would love to be in 2 places at once, but have yet to master the art. She rushes to the potty and I dial my father. “You did just purchase the gift card you gave me for mother’s day, correct.” “Well, no I….” Ding. Ding. Ding. He continues talking but the bells are already ringing. “….team gave it to me as a gift at the end of the season.” Ding. Ding. Ding. “You mean the season that ended some time in February?” “Well, yeah.” “Dad, you took myself, my daughter, and your mother out to dinner with that gift card.” I try and shake up his memory, but he has no recollection. I do. I remember that gift card. I remember his making jokes about how the $5 that remained wouldn’t buy anything at the Olive Garden. The manager is here now with the waiter, the one with the bulging biceps. Or has he just become more attractive as I begin to feel more like an ass? I tell my father we’ll finish the conversation later, hurriedly hang up the phone, and turn to face them and admit my error. “I’m sorry,” I say with my best smile. “You are right. No worries, I’ll just use my debit card.” Analyzing their faces I can’t tell if they think it’s all in truth or if I have been trying to scam them for a $5 meal. Forget it. I pay the tab as random thoughts of “cheap bastard” and “freakin’ mother’s day regift” and such ring in my ears. We hurry past the waiter and out the door. Oh yeah, did I mention HE WAS HOT? Outside at last I mutter, “I’m definitely blogging about this.” So, at least now I have some fresh material to speak of, right?

Escape

All day I’ve felt alone

Caged

Running from work

Retreating to the comfort of the sofa

This anxiety that sometimes builds

How often do I honestly give in to it?

And why?

For then when I do rise the rest of my day is spent in guilt and loathing

So often not accepting of myself.

Mother comes to deliver an article I have left at her house

More sadness as I am reminded that she does not see me

Tell-tell traces of my depression if only she would glance around the house

But she doesn’t

Or maybe she does, but she would rather not be brought down by this darkness that has plagued me for years.

I search my mind for purpose in this day.

Where is it?

What is it?

I step outside armed with coffee and a cigarette

Oh sweet release!

Shining sun, freshly cut lawns, birds chirping

I dream of lying on a blanket, arms stretched wide, basking in the sun, taking it all in

Free of interruptions

Wish my neighbor would step outside

I’d love another distraction from my work

Coffee

Yesterday morning I wake and start a pot of coffee. Then I trudge up the stairs to get the kids up. After making sure Juliet is getting ready I head down with Romeo, only to find my coffee filter has folded over, thus making coffee and grounds pour all over the kitchen counter and floor. Cleaning up the sopping mess I growl as I have already slept in past my alarm and now this. I finish my cleaning and proceed to ready another pot of coffee. Push the button. Red light comes on. Leave the kitchen. Finishing dressing Romeo. Trudge back to the kitchen for coffee. No coffee. Damn coffee maker has quit making! Oh lovely day! I decide I deserve Starbucks in light of my crappy morning. Take my daughter to school. Late. Drop Romeo off. Head to Starbucks. I decide to try something new. After all, today I am treating myself. Get in the car. Head home. Get halfway through the cup before I decide it is pretty unbearable. Damn. Now where shall my motivation to start the day come from? I could by a new coffee pot, but I’d rather let mine dry out first to be sure it is truly broken. Besides, I’m still resentful that it crapped out on me. Noon rolls around. I’ve accomplished a large stack of nothing. Mother calls. “Let us take you to lunch dear! You deserve a nice cup of coffee!” Off to lunch. Order the coffee. Prepare myself for a piece of heaven. It’s the crappiest cup of coffee I have ever had I believe. Ordinarily I may finish it anyways, just to relish the pick-me-up. Not today. Bitter thoughts and stubbornness have set in. Drive home. Screw it, I’m taking a nap. While lying on the couch I hear a funky, nasty sound. I peer up just in time to witness my cat vomiting all over the freshly laundered pile of clothes tossed next to the sofa. Nice. I hiss at him, “That’s wonderful!”
The day goes on. Midnight is approaching and I know my neighbor will be home from work soon. I gather my book and smokes and head to the porch where I read in wait. He pulls up and I shout, “I’m hoping you’ll be my savior!” I relay the story and beg of him to make me a pot of coffee. No, I don’t care that it’s midnight. I haven’t had a damn cup of decent coffee all day. He fills my carafe and we sit and visit until I am sure I’ll wet myself after 2 cups of dreamy coffee. I relieve myself and head to bed. Where my body is crying for sleep but my heart is pounding and my mind racing. Damn. Stinkin’ coffee.

My therapist told me I should start a blog. So, here I am! In hopes that my blogging efforts will lead to discovery as my emotions spill onto the keys of this laptop, or perhaps even a position that pays me to do so? Ah, wishful thinking....
Now here I am, beautifully broken, mother of 2, entrepreneur, recovering addict, survivor, dreamer. That's me - Betty. Names will be changed, to protect the innocent of course. Single mother to....let's call them Romeo and Juliet. My oldest, Juliet just celebrated her 10th birthday a couple of months ago. She loves the colors pink and purple. What little girl doesn't, right? She comes home from school either happy that she got along well with friends, or sad because yet again they have fought and are not longer speaking. They'll make up tomorrow, no doubt. Yesterday I pulled in front of her school to pick her up only to see her limping to the car. As she saw me watching the limp became more pronounced. Honestly I couldn't tell which leg she was favoring, yet I could see where this was going. Now she threw in a little shoulder action, one rotating forward in time with the limp, then the other. I lean towards my window and whisper, "Oh Lord, here we go." Ah, the joys of raising a girl. I'll never forget the day a few months ago when she came bounding from the bathroom, squealing with glee as she exclaimed, "Oh my goodness I have a pimple! I'm an adult!" All in a moment my heart filled up with joy for her. The realization that my daughter is growing up, she'll be a woman before I know it. Her excitement was contagious. I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but it was not a pimple. And by the way, pimples are not something a person is generally fond of once they begin to take over the smooth beauty that once was. I laughed with her for a moment before a sadness drifted in. I pondered the unwelcome feelings and determined that the battles of child-rearing can be so overwhelming when single parenting. However the loneliness of having no one to share these little moments of joy with are often more unbearable.
When once I thought my days of experiencing a bigger family were drifting away, surprise! Along comes my little Romeo. Sixteen months old and such a boy in every way. Wow, it's been so long since there has been a man in the house. It just occurred to me the other day that soon my floors will no longer be filled with baby toys, but rather replaced with cars, drums, and various toys that growl and shoot missiles. My little angel whose face lights up when we pull in the drive as he says, "Ki-Ki, Ki-Ki." Poor kitty waits anxiously by the door for our return. Now he runs in terror as little Romeo chases him and slaps wildly, as he knows nothing yet about gentleness. Morning person that he is, he rises happily 5 minutes before my alarm rings every morning. The remainder of my day is spent in hot pursuit of this little creature that can light up a room with his smile and tear it apart in under 5 minutes in his curiosity and destructiveness. I chase him around with a diaper and clothes until I can finally wrestle him to the ground to clothe him. Several times I will shout up the stairs, asking Juliet if she is almost ready. While my back is turned Romeo has ripped 2 keys from my laptop. We finally set foot outside where I unlock the doors to the car and try to bend my son into his car seat as he arches his back, twists up his face, and hollers. Part of our daily routine, I'm not sure why he seems so surprised and angry that once again he must be strapped in before we can leave. I drop Juliet off, reminding her to have a good day at school and promising to be back to pick her up in 7 hours. Off to the sitter's house where my son proclaims, "Ruff,ruff, ruff." "Ah, yes. Ruff, ruff, ruff. You want to go see the puppy?" We walk in and he wrestles around on the floor with little fur ball. After visiting for a solid 20 minutes, possibly the only adult contact I will have all day, I set out the door. Free at last. Heading home, relishing the sound of music coming from the stereo. Uninterrupted by cries of, "Mom!" For a few brief moments I am free of titles and responsibilities until I pull up once again in my drive and walk in to my home/office.

Love Story

I watched a movie today….a love story.

I was reminded of why I quit watching those types of movies.

They depress me.

When I tried to probe within my feelings to find out why, all I could come up with is that I don’t believe in them any more.

Love stories that is.

When I correlated that thought with who Christ is, I became even more sad.

No wonder my relationship with Christ feels so empty.

Then I opened the blinds on the front window a bit to take a picture and hurriedly shut them when I was done.

My anxiousness bothered me.

I asked myself why.

I don’t want anyone to look in.

I love the light.

However if letting the light in means allowing others to see in as well, I believe I prefer to sit in the dark.

And so it is in my life.

I realized I was not just thinking about the window anymore.

I got some flowers today.

They were beautiful, and for a very short time they brightened my day.

And then it stopped.

And I’m not sure why, except they were from a boy.

I don’t like the idea that a guy will buy me flowers.

Or say something endearing or nice.

Because then he might not respond if I text.

He might not relate to how I feel.

He might not listen.

He might not understand.

So many mights become so mighty.

So heavy.

I’d rather not carry them I think.

So I’ll try and avoid them all together.