Teetering

It’s been another one of those days. One where it’s only half over and you find yourself already glancing at the clock wondering if it’s bedtime yet. The kind where you leave the house to go somewhere and ask yourself as soon as you arrive why you ever left in the first place. Romeo is teething. I’m not sure if that’s his problem or not, but in any case he has these days where everything seems to upset him. 17 months old and he’s already mastered the art of throwing himself onto the floor, arching his back, and screaming at the top of his lungs. Then there’s Juliet who has this thing about playing games with him, but taking it so far that he begins to get upset and scream, and she seems to find this all the more amusing. Here comes the point where I begin to feel as if I am a witch as I find myself asking her yet again why she would take joy out of making a baby cry? She hollers and stomps off. I am left with screaming baby. The day goes on, one incident after another. Finally, not able to take it anymore we load into the car and head to my grandmother’s house. Here I listen to my daughter ask repeatedly if it’s late enough to begin doing fireworks. It’s clearly still daylight outdoors, but she wants to go anyways. I tell her she’s free to go on her own, but she insists that I should come out with her. I insist that I will be staying indoors until it’s dark enough to do fireworks. I leave to pick up dinner to go for all of us, and relish every bit of the 20 minutes that I am alone. Dear God, I need a break. See, I’m not just a single mom. I also work from home. During the summer the children stay home with me and it begins to take a toll on me. Even more frustrating is the amount of family that all live within 10-30 minutes of me. However no one offers to help out with the kids in any way. Well, rarely anyways. My mother, not the grandmotherly type, is generally too caught up in her own endeavors to stop and think much about being a grandmother. She’s on the go constantly, and physically can hardly keep up anymore with the ideas that are flying through her head. Besides, if my mother sensed I was having a hard time she would stay far away from me, as I’ve been told that I’m just too moody. Truthfully, I believe she’s just always wanted to see only the good in life, and doesn’t want to take the chance of allowing another’s sadness to seep into her happy bubble. My father, well, for obvious reasons I wouldn’t want to ask for his help. I’m longing for the night to come. When it does it’s still just a tease, because I know that in order to have time to myself I will have to stay up late. If I do that I will be exhausted when Romeo wakes at 7:30 am. I also do most of my work after he goes to sleep. So many nights it’s the familiar tug between knowing I need to get work done, but starving for some time to relax. What do you do? I muddle through I guess. It feels sloppy, as if we could somehow have a better routine than this, but I haven’t figured one out yet. Instead I move forward, trying to keep up the balancing act.

Just broken

Sometimes in my moments of weakness I wish someone would walk around the corner and ask how things are going. Then I might be able to cry out or just cry in the midst of the tough times how much I feel like I am truly falling apart on the inside. Forget the strong front. Forget the masquerade. Here it is. Here I am. The real me. The one who finds herself feeling like stepping out on life looks so appetizing at times. Looks so good I can almost taste it. What has done this to me? What has brought me to this place? And why? When did I become this person? And if I make it through the night who will I be tomorrow? And where will I go with my life?
The questions seem endless at times. It’s not always like this. Otherwise I wouldn’t call myself beautifully broken. Sometimes you feel beautiful in your brokenness. Sometimes you just feel broken. So where do you go when you find yourself here? I find myself crying out for God. Crying out to be held. You can’t hear it. But I can feel it. And as words pour onto paper my heart is already feeling lighter. Release. Is this because He hears me? I suppose I just long for someone to hear me. And you can stare at me like you are horrified. Or you can cast me off as if I am out of my mind. But I look into the eyes of others every day who feel the same. My soul is screaming for a world where truth is accepted. Where people are allowed to feel every feeling given to mankind, and express it, and be loved just the same.

No More Impulsive Me

So I am writing this with hopes that you will be reading it
I know you say that emails and text messages convey limited emotions
And I agree
But I am in love with words
I love their beauty and power
They are liberating and they are endless
With everything I write I long to capture the essence of my feelings
Sometimes I feel limited in the scope of my vocabulary
That feeling just impels me to write more
Caught in the frenzy of thoughts I am completely wandering off course
You called me tonight
As your name appeared on my caller ID my heart became full and calm all at once
Filled with relief just to hear your voice
You tell a story and I want to take it all in
Just the way you perceive things in life puts a smile in my heart
How do I describe this intense emotion that’s pounding through my being?
My body is so full of it I feel I must be radiant with energy
I keep reflecting on the time we spent together
The way you fit right in
The way we shared laughter
How you knew when and how to intervene
Your deep insight and reflections
Timing has been a key component for us
From conception to the present
I don’t know if anyone will understand that like you do
We didn’t know that in the beginning
However we both see it now
Even in the distance between us, or maybe especially in the distance between us
And I wonder now why I didn’t see this sooner
But there fits in the timing again
I suppose it was only just now the time and place for it
What beauty will time reveal to us next?
That question will be teaching me much about patience

Emmanuel....God with us

I feel a peace today
A calm reassurance
It began with a tidal wave of fear, confusion, and pain
Tears were shed
Then in a moment I walked away from another realizing my heart was held in limbo
I was upset
But I did not panic
Then you called
Hearing your voice I wished you were standing in front of me again
And I sensed your reservations were gone
The uncertainty of the future is still present
However it all feels well again
As it should be
And now I know that tonight I’ll sleep well
The fog has slipped away
Clarity in its place
No guarantees
But hope and confidence
My heart is smiling
As once again I remember that being vulnerable does not have to leave me drenched in fear
It’s a beautiful place to be as well
I’m thankful to you for that
I’m even more thankful that something more powerful than I will ever be is responsible for all of this

That little shit....

I have been trying to teach my son about poo. When he has a poopy I tell him “poo-poo,” and show it to him in hopes that this will make potty training go a bit smoother in the future. If it’s of the right consistency we go to the toilet and shake it out of the diaper. We wave and say “bye-bye” as I flush the nasty away. So I am giving Romeo a bath this morning. I laugh with him as he splashes around playfully. Suddenly he turns his face toward mine and I see that familiar look. Teeth gritted together, cheeks pinched, hunched over, face turning red, etc., etc. Oh boy, not again. Yep. Little pellets start floating all over the surface of the water. He begins to notice our new floating friends and lets out a couple of shouts of fear. I’m laughing, he’s on the verge of hysteria. I tell him, “Well yes! You made poo! It’s poo-poo!” At the mention of this he calms down and begins to watch the floaters as I reach to unplug the tub. He starts pointing and repeating, “poo-poo, poo-poo.” I agree with him as I reach for the towel to get him out of the septic bath. It’s then that he begins to reach for the largest poo that happens to be floating past. I shriek and tell him no, the poo is nasty. Don’t touch. He doesn’t want to get out though. And then the little stinker began to wave at all the turds drifting towards the drain as he said, “bye-bye, bye-bye.” I finally coax him from the water and we finish the morning process, forgetting all about the poo.
The best part? A close friend of mine was coming to stay over for the night. Around 9pm she said she needed to go up and shower. I say, “Oh yeah. I forgot Romeo shit in the tub today. There’s bleach next to the tub and washcloths by the sink. Sorry about that.” Gotta love good friends.

Mother

Mother I haven’t been answering all your calls
Many times your name registers on the phone and I can’t bring myself to say hello
When we do talk I find myself very impatient and short with you
You seem to be falling short in every way
The other day you let my daughter down again and I was pissed
I drove away thinking I don’t care if you never see my children again
Perhaps this is what you deserve
I thought to hell if I will let you dismiss her the way you did me
As I drove home fuming I wondered again why I come back to visit
I know. I love you. But damn you!
I remember when you sat on the couch and didn’t stir as he beat the shit out of me
Yes, you put meals on the table. We never went hungry.
Not for food
I remember hiding in your closet, smelling your sweater and crying for you to come home from work
Yes, you never left us, but you did leave us there
I remember telling you I just wanted to live with Grandma, I couldn’t live that way anymore
You told me nice girls didn’t say such things about their family
I told you so much. Where did my words go? Were they ever heard? I never saw an impact.
I searched for understanding and decided sharing my feelings was a painfully awful idea
Remember when I showed you the cuts all over my wrists? You told me it was a silly thing to do, and turned back to the TV.
Why did you decide to listen when my sister spoke of his sexually abusing her? Had my experiences not been worthy?
You ripped us from our lives in less than 24 hours.
You told me to stop crying. So I did. And then I couldn’t start again.
Oh, what a blissful time that was after the initial shock of abruptness. Peace in our house like I had never known.
You promised not to look away anymore. You promised he had no more control over us.
So why did you bring him back to our home less than a year later? Nice Christmas present mom. Surprise! Your father lives here again!
You forgave him. We needed to do the same.
Why did it frustrate you that I would not agree? I would like to ask why it didn’t surprise you when I chose that time to start using drugs. But the truth is, you never really saw that either. Not until it was too late. Not until it almost killed me.
Picture a small child huddled in fear and shame and excruciating pain, in the same room with her mother. The child is screaming and crying and making a huge scene. The mother flits around finding things to do, humming songs. Every now and then she may even try to make the girl laugh or giggle with a silly tune or a funny face. She never offers any comfort though.
That was us mom.
Now when I am upset you want to tell me how your feelings are hurt when I am not incredibly pleasant to you?
YOU want ME to think of YOUR feelings before mine?
No mother. I am angry. I can hardly listen to your voice. Most the time I don’t want to look at you.
You never allowed us to be angry. I don’t need your permission anymore
My heart is screaming out that you are not allowed to make mistakes now
You owe me that
Wisdom tells me that’s not possible
A battle has been waged within
This time I will let the fires burn
This time I will learn how to restore the mess left by the flames
In the meantime, you may want to get used to the sound of my voicemail

On Dating

Someone asked me today if the reason I have picked the "bad guys" is because the "good guys" are too boring. I said maybe. Truthfully I just can't ever answer so quickly. I thought about it some more. I could give many reasons to support why I have dated assholes. I have dated some nice guys though. Why hasn't it lasted? Firstly, I have never been ready. The bigger reason though is fear. The very thing that cripples me in many arenas of my life. The fear that if they only knew the real me.....If they saw all the weaknesses I am so very aware of in myself....If they saw the awful person I can be....
So, I suppose I've never felt I could measure up. I've just always believed that they would run if they knew what I know about myself. So I run first. Sabotage.
Then there's this belief in my mind that perhaps none of them are really all that good either. Coming from a home filled with abuse I feel that I suspect it is everywhere. I'm not only aware of it, but I look for it. Everyone seems to be suspect. Just when I think I might begin to believe there are still good ones out there I hear another story of abuse. That's it. The walls go back up. Sometimes I also wonder if it is not more a lack of trust in myself and my own judgement rather than a lack of trust in men. Afraid I'll make the same mistakes twice. Ah, there's that word again. Fear. Terrified that I might be so vulnerable as to risk having my hopes up and my heart crushed.
Can a person feel as if they have been crushed so many times that the next time might be fatal? Next time I might not be able to pick up the pieces and move on. Truthfully if I had all the answers I might actually be dating. As it is I haven't been on a date in almost 4 years. Before that it had been almost 4 years. It feels more safe this way I guess. Although at times it just seems sad to me that I would allow my fears to become so overpowering that they hinder forward motion.
So, do I think I'll date again? I do. I can't say for sure when. Maybe when the opportunity slaps me in the face. Until then I'll continue to explore these fears, trying to make sense of them and their origins.