Awakening...

I'm so angry I can't even see straight today. Not only is the ex unemployed for the third year in a row this time of year, but he's informed me he can not pay child support and does not see why he should if he isn't earning an income. Um, well, maybe you should because they are your children, and they still eat whether or not you are gainfully employed.

I may seem cold-hearted to even publically post this, but it's my cheap therapy tonight.  I can not take even one more heart-broken phone call home from my girls. I will not continue to convince them that they should go with their dad when they don't want to.

Those of you who know me well know that, despite my outgoing nature, I shrink from conflict. And today was ripe with it. But something inside me finally really broke. It had been hanging by a thread, but I let lose like I've never done before and said exactly what I felt about the situation. I fought back. Sure, it didn't really do any good, but damn it felt great.
During a resulting telephone conversation (read 'fight), the ex told me to take a look in the mirror tonight and see if I'm happy with what I saw. He's always been the master of controlling these situations, of making me feel like less than what I am. He knows my mortal weakness... that I have a poor self image. Let's be honest - I'm overweight, I hate my fine hair, I don't like how I look without makeup.

But you know what? I took him up on his dare - I looked in the mirror. And for the first time in years, I'm not disappointed like I normally am. Call me a nut, but when I looked into my own eyes (yes, true story - sat on my bathroom countertop and looked at myself, right in the eye) I saw a fierce determination, a strength to get through yet another uphill battle and someone who looks much healthier and happier than she has in years.

The ex's move to try to break me even further brought about an unexpected moment of awakening and happiness, and it's unleashed a fury of emotion. I have cried harder than I ever have in the past six months today. I feel like I'm finally able let myself be immersed in the hurt that I'd bottled up for so many years. These tears feel like a sweet relief from the drought of shame over a failed marriage and denial of self.

Nevermore.

Because of James

A few days ago a friend posted a random article about organ donation on Facebook. It's odd, but the innocent news article triggered a flurry of emotion for me. It reminded me of James.

I know that James had dark hair. I know he had a moustache. I have a picture of him, with his pet German Shepherd. He was from Virginia. And he died too young. I never knew James, and I never will. But James is an integral part of my family and my every day life.

James saved my daughter's life, though. He was an organ donor, and a piece of the body he left behind is now so integrally a part of my daughter's every heart beat that it is, quite literally, the reason she is alive today.

Three Months Later...

Wow. Three months since I've logged in and written anything. There are many reasons why. But the primary reason is work - I spend all day on the phone and on the computer. The last thing I want to do when I come home is spend more time on there (except when working at home, which I've been doing a lot in the evenings). I love my current role right now, but as all contractors know, the good ones always end too soon. I roll off soon, and while I'm disappointed that I don't get to see this particular project through warranty, I've learned more than I imagined I could about my client and healthcare in general in the last few months. It's been an incredible opportunity. But a ton of work.

So let's see, three months worth of updates in one blog entry. I'll keep it simple and bulleted. It seems that's the only way I write these days anyways...

Katie:

• Straight As, perfect behavior at school, my little perfectionist clone. God help her.
• Got her first bra. Not that she needed it. She doesn't. But it's her most prized possession. And a Christmas gift from my mom. Which I find ironic since my mom wouldn't let me wear a bra until I was waaaaayyyy past due.
• Coping a bit better with the separate households these days, though it's still a struggle for her more so than anyone I think. She wants to be here all the time, yet misses her dailiy interactions with her dad. My heart breaks for her, though on the flip side, I know we are all better off than we were before.
• Took violin lessons and rocked at them. Unfortunately, however, she hates practice. And I don't have the time or energy to push her to do so daily. Or drive for an hour for each practice twice a week. And so we're taking a haitus this semester.

Sadie

• Funniest 4-year old ever. Ever. The kid keeps me in stitches 24-7. Right now most of her stand-up focuses on potty humor. She does have quite a few other themes, however, the most painful of which is, of course, knock-knocks that end in whatever the subject was and "butt!" A prime example was tonight's bedtime joke (she tells me one each night after stories and snuggles) - "Knock, knock" "who's there?" "unicorn" "unicorn who?" "unicorn butt!".
• Has taken to gnashing her teeth at night when she's over tired. Not grinding. Gnashing. If you have never heard someone do this, it has to be the worst sound ever heard by mankind. Now I understand all those biblical verses that talk about the wailing and gnashing of teeth. Um yeah. That's a typical night in my household lately.
• Has the cutest way of speaking, but it's more and more apparent that her pallet issues need to be addressed (she has a raised pallat that resulted from intubation as a baby). We're working on r's and g's and l's at home,  but we are going to need some help as I'm finding more and more people have a tough time understanding her. It's kind of sad, though. It's so darn cute. But of course I don't want her to speak this way when she's 13. Not as cute then.

Me

• Wake. Kids/dogs. Work. Kids/dogs. Work. Sleep. That's basically my life these days. Unless it's a weekend and you double the number of kids running through my home. If you haven't seen or heard from me, it's not that I don't like you any more. I do. I'm just too tired to be a very good friend these days. Or do much besides clean up after the hoards of children running rampant through my home.
• The divorce is final and a done deal. My only feeling when it was over was relief. A tinge of sadness, sure, over what might have been, but we all knew that ship sailed long ago, so I'm glad to be moving on with life, officially.
• Dating. Ugh. The thing about dating when you're in your 30s and you've been married for over 13 years (would have been 15 in December, but we decided that neither of us really counted the last two... sadly), is that the ENTIRE thing has changed. You have to remember - last time I was a free agent was a brief fleeting moment in my freshman year of college. I had no cell phone yet. I'd just set up my very first email account. Now? Everything is done by text, email. Chivalry and basic dating manners seem to be for the most part extinct. I was shocked when I went on a date the other day and the guy walked me to my car afterward. And then opened my door for me. Then I thought - wait, didn't this used to be the norm?! Ah well. I'm just now settling into my new routines (yes, apparently it takes about a year for me to do so) and actually learning to just breathe, relax and enjoy being single and not having to take care of or worry about anyone beyond my kids. It's selfish, sure, but nice all the same.
• My place. So, I rent now. Which I haven't done in years and have a hard time with. I want to change this and that, and it's not mine, so there's no point. I don't even know if I'll renew yet in May given the state of the repairs here. But I love the floorplan and even more so, the neighborhood. The kids and I feel safe, supported, and it's definitely a great community with kids running from door to door. I never fancied myself as a neighborhood type, but at this point in my life, it's perfect. I finally got through all the boxes, divided up all the remaining things that needed to be divided, organized and got rid of carloads of 'stuff' that had accumulated through the years. It feels good to be back to the basics, restarting life and rediscovering the things I'd been skimping on so long. I even started a new canvas over the girls winter break. When I'll find time to finish... who knows, but I'm at peace and content for the first time in many years.

So, that's our life in a nutshell. We keep on skipping down the winding path of life, never quite sure what's around the next bend, but we're definitely enjoying the scenery much more these days. Last year was a tough year - probably the hardest of my life. So much pain, change, loss and grief. But 2011 looks promising and full of hope. I finally am starting to see myself again when I look in the mirror, the girls seem to be fitting into their new lives a little more comfortably and we're going to be OK. Scratch that. We're going to thrive this year. Here's to 2011, and to you, my friends. May it be the best year of your lfie thus far!

Survivor's Guilt

A few months ago, I met a lovely lady who came to visit my dad in the hospital. A couple months later, I found myself reaching out to her after her son had been diagnosed with Transposition of the Greater Arteries. The same heart defect Sadie has. I tried to think of comforting things to say. Tried to encourage her and avoid mentioning the horrors of surgery. Tried to assure her that the surgery was usually successful (it is).

Tonight, as I watched Sadie sachéing across the floor in her first-ever ballet class, I found myself perplexed by the tears that were in my eyes. When I stopped to think about the emotion inside, it was easy to pinpoint its source. Four years ago I would have never fathomed that she would be the happy, healthy, hilarious little girl she has become. I wouldn't dare dream of it. Four years ago I sat in the hospital and was told she was the sickest TGA baby they had ever seen, that her kidneys may be failing, that it was so, so serious. But Sadie survived. Not only surivived, but thrived. And here she was, tonight, the cutest ballerina in the class in her bright orange tutu. And graceful to boot. How could I keep those happy/sad tears at bay on such a momentous occassion?

And then I looked down and saw the text message. Baby Zachary had passed. Only 10 days old. The same heart defect as Sadie. Our same town. At the very same moment I felt tragically sad, unbelievably grateful and incredibly guilty that my child survived yet another did not. It's hard to put words around. I looked back up at Sadie, beaming at me as she learned to plié, and smiled through the no-longer held in tears. I'm sure the instructor thinks I am insane.

I don't know what to do with myself tonight. So, I'm going to go snuggle and give thanks for my beautiful soccer-playing violinist and the prettiest little ballerina ever.  It's the only thing I can think of to do right now. Snuggle and breathe in every moment with them.

This New Life...

It's hard to believe a whole month has gone by since my last post. Life seems to move at warp speed these days. Being a single mom takes so much more time and effort than I ever imagined! I have a whole new respect for my fellow single moms to say the least.

Since the last post, Katie turned 8. EIGHT!!! It's hard to believe. I celebrated with my usual tear-fest over her baby pictures, wishing I could turn back time, or at least reduce the speed at which it goes by. I'm so very proud of her - she is an awesome kid. So kind and compassionate, an awesome little artist, very determined and very, very strong. I think people who are close to her forget how very strong she is, in fact. She has gone through a ton of change in the past year - the loss of her favorite pet and a favorite uncle. A family split apart, a grandmother with very grave medical conditions, a grandfather who took a near fatal fall, a daddy who isn't around as much, a new school, a mommy who works outside of the home for long hours. That's a LOT of change in a short period of time, and while others think she's not doing well, I think she's doing fantastic. It's ok to cry, it's ok to question and it's ok to be angry - all natural parts of dealing with change. I still worry and fret over what this all does to her self esteem and self worth, but I think she's getting there and accepting more of it all with every passing day.


To celebrate Sadie's 4th birthday and Katie's 8th, the girls chose to once again have a joint birthday party. This one was held in our home (Dear God!) with more than 20 kids present. I lost track at 20... it's kind of counting guppies in a tank - they never stop moving and they're constantly moving from group to group so you can't get an accurate head count. It was fun for both the kids and adults I think, though as I do every year, I swear not to have another party in the home of that magnitude. Ah well, at least I didn't bring in live animals this year.


The girls' schedules this year are a bit insane. Katie has violin two nights a week, soccer one night and every Saturday and Sadie starts "bawaway" (ballet) tomorrow. Never a dull moment around here. I miss the younger years when activities did not take over our evenings. Our nights off are spent on homework, playing outside with the neighbors and the occassional walk to the park.


In other news, I've started to date a little bit. It's so weird to be back 'out there' at 30-something, and as a single mom. I'm enjoying it thus far, though there are no real connections to be found yet. It's more an opportunity to get out and meet new people, see new places, stuff like that. And it helps me, of all things, to put a focus back on what I want out of life, where I want to go next and who I might be interested in getting there with. If nothing else, I get some great stories out of the experiences, and it's a cheap form of therapy every time you meet a new person and get to tell your life story.

So, that's life in a nutshell at the moment. Work is going really well (I love it!), the girls are adjusting, once again to the latest change that the new school year brought about, I'm adjusting to single mommydom and life keeps ticking by. I'm working on some plans for a (gasp!) vacation early next year I hope - it's long overdue for the girls and I to get away and regroup. 

Here Comes the Sun

What an amazing weekend. My kids and I are so blessed to have so many people we love in our lives - their birthday party was this weekend and our house and yard were overflowing with friends and family. So. Much. Fun.

Since my post a few weeks ago when I felt like I was at rock bottom, so much has changed. My position at work transitioned - tonight I got awesome feedback from the client to top off the already perfect afternoon. The girls are back in school and we're on a schedule, which brings peace and process to our home that we had all been craving since the constant turmoil and change that persisted throughout this past summer. And it's fall. I smell the football in the air, and it's my absolute favorite time of the year. The girls birthdays have been a wonderful reminder of how truly blessed we are - healthy kids, happy home, and love abound.

So, I didn't quite get to the drugs. And I may still need them - I'm not counting it out. But I definitely feel like I'm starting to come out of the dark and it feels wonderful.

I'm dying to tell all about the girls birthdays, but will save it for another night when I have more energy and time to sum up their last year with any sort of justice. Suffice it to say, they're happy campers tonight, too.

Like a Good Book...

I love it when I read a really good book with an author’s voice and thoughts I identify with. In fact, if the author really touches a chord I find myself thinking in similar prose; analyzing my surroundings and every day events in that ‘voice.’

It’s not just books it happens with. My friends often rub off on me in that manner. Especially my gay guy friends who have the ‘valley boy’ lingo. Man, that sticks like glue to my brain.  I digress.

Anyway, my neighbor is also a single mom, going through some of the same angst and soul searching I find myself in. We went on a long walk the other day, talking about our shared hopes, spiritual longings, heartbreak and fears. And, of course, bitching about the Ex's. That is what we do best. As we got back to our cul-de-sac, she said, “Kim, you have GOT to read this book. It’s so you.” She went inside and came out with Eat Pray Love.

Now, a disclaimer. I had no intention of reading this book. I’d heard just enough about it to turn me off – it’s about a woman’s quest for God across countries, divorce and (the final nail in the coffin to turn me off to reading this it) it's now a major motion feature. Bah. I have no need for that drivel.

But, I was out of good books. So I opened it up Thursday evening and each night since, have anxiously awaited bed time so that I can read. I feel like the author is putting words to the feelings I didn’t even know existed, but when I read them I think, damn – THAT’s how I feel, I just hadn't gone deep enough to realize the source of my anxiety and sadness. Somehow, I just could not let myself recognize my sadness lately. I knew it was there, eating at me, screaming to be recognized, but I had convinced myself that, if I acknowledged it, I would fall to too pieces like those "spilt milk" puzzles that are all white with no edges and damn near impossible to ever put back together. And I just don't have time for that kind of jigsaw puzzle right now.

But as I got deeper in the book, I began to recognize more and more of myself. The author talks a lot about depression – even giving it a name and persona, coupling it with its old buddy loneliness. Oh, how I loved that imagery. I read that chapter twice in a row. I could so identify with those characters - they are frequents at my home lately. 

The book combined with other catalysts this weekend that led me to a moment of self-discovery. On Friday night a friend told me that I don't "sparkle" like I used to - a simple, harmless thing to say, one expressed truly out of concern, but it cut me to the core. On Saturday another friend mentioned that she’d been worried about me. I’ve fallen off the blogosphere, her way of keeping a barometer on my life. And she’s right. When I stop writing, I’m brooding. And not in a good way at all.

Combine all of this, and when Sunday morning came I awoke feeling bruised and battered, desperate for help that I, for so long, have tried to deny needing. My immediate reaction was not to call a doctor (well, it was Sunday, anyway, so wouldn't have done any good), but to lace up for a run. It helped me to step back and take a look at my life and my general psyche right now. Three miles flew by, and I decided to double my distance, which was really stupid since I only run about twice a week these days, IF that. In mile 4 my knee began to hurt. By mile six I was limping back toward home. And I felt more down than ever. I mean really, can't I make myself better? Can't I run it off, read it off, rationalize it, face it head on and conquer this anxiety, this depression on my own?! My knee yelled back at me that no, unless I wanted to get a knee replacement next time I awake feeling that way, I should not tackle this alone. My heart agreed wholeheartedly (ugh, I had to write it), and offered up a heart attack if I do not address this. Stupid body always trying to undermine me.

I hate depression. I hate to think of myself as being there. I’ve been surrounded in one way or another by loved ones who battle depression and other mental illnesses all my life, and to me, it’s terrifying. Long before the loss of so many people I loved in the recent past, before Sadie’s life-or-death battle at birth, before the end of my marriage I began my own epic battle with it. It really, I think, started even before high school, but was most prevalent in the year following, and never quite went away.

The worst of it came shortly after having Katie, when I found myself alone in a college town with an infant, a spouse who completely shut down, two jobs and a full-time student schedule. At that time, I felt a tightening in my chest, something that felt like a heart attack I thought. I could barely breathe. The pain was stabbing through my chest and abdomen when the episodes occurred. It was scary, and these feelings began to happen more and more frequently, at odd times. Usually when I laid down to sleep for 2-3 hours before starting the next day. When the searing pains and lack of breath were not present, I would have argued that I was content (perhaps more content than I am now?) in life. But when they came they would last anywhere from 5 minutes to 45, and they were excruciating. It took EKGs, a few scans and blood work before I landed in a psychologists office with the diagnosis of panic attacks. She told me in the very first session that I suffer from ‘generalized anxiety disorder.’ She suggested medication. I vehemently refused, but did agree to follow up appointments to work through the condition without the aid of drugs.

I left the office and armed myself with self-help books, vitamins and began a regimented diet and exercise routine. Within two months I had a handle on the panic attacks – I’d lost weight, I felt better, I was stronger and I was much more knowledgeable about GAD, postpartum depression (my self diagnosis that the psychologist never agreed on – she said it was current-marriage-in-crisis syndrome instead), panic attacks and self reflection. But I still couldn’t get past those blues. So I finally caved and took the minimum amount of medication to help me get over the edge. And it worked. I was calm and cool and... well, numb. And to be numb meant not to hurt. So that felt good.

But I was scared of the meds. They aren't natural, and the lack of emotions began to wig me out (the psychologist rationalized this as 'leveling my emotions.' Hardly human in my book - we have emotions for a very good reason, and sometimes, they should not be kept in such close check). I didn't like being numb and merely 'content.' I wanted to be 'happy.' So six months after starting the regemine of drugs, I weaned myself. I had been much faster to wean from the psychologist (who took less than three months. I still remember the last time I saw her, when she said she felt she was no longer of value to me because my marriage SHOULD fail because it was so unhealthy for me, and that if I was unwilling to admit it, then she could not help. How dare her, I thought?! Now I'd like to go back and hug her...). A year later I had even weaned myself from the self-help books, and I could manage a panic attack if I felt it coming - I'd address it, have a little mental conversation and tell it to f* off, which was really quite effective. And I was OK. I was better, really.

Fast forward about two years, and I found myself once again battling the same demons, minus the panic attacks. But the depression was so much worse this time. I was in a new city, again. I’d gained weight, again. My husband was further than ever from me, and the last marriage counselor we had been to analyzed our relationship to be “over the edge, barely clinging. There’s little, if any, hope of saving it, and to be honest, at this point, it’s best to just let go.” We both left in a huff. But we both knew he was right, even though we couldn't admit it then. 

Anyway, once again, the anxiety returned, but it chose this time to manifest itself in new ways – obsession with work, finding the right school for Katie, focusing on Sadie's survival, a crusade to help other families 'victimized' by heart disease, etc. Anything, ANYTHING to avoid paying attention to what was hurting. Anything to avoid the emptiness inside. Anything to avoid going back to a shrink’s office and getting on drugs.

A year later and I was back in on a chaise lounge, eager for a new 'script to make me numb. I wanted a magic pill to make it all better. I wanted a pill that would make me happy since I couldn’t seem to find happiness anywhere I turned. I took them for all the wrong reasons, which the shrink (who was fantastic) quickly realized and worked with me to address. She told me I shouldn't use the drugs as a crux (well, no DUH, that's why I avoid them until the last minute, I told her) and that numbness was not a state any human belongs in. And I agreed. I didn't want to be on them either. And talking to her made me feel better, gain some new self-help skills, and again, I was quickly off of them, off my need for her, back 'on track.' Kind of. 

Fast forward two years to now, post failed marriage, post post-partum years, post allowable grieving period for losses of loved ones.  I find myself thinking, more often than not, if I just get through this hurtle I’ll be happy. If I can jump through that hoop, and the stars are aligned, and my winning lotto numbers come up that day (impossible, since I don’t play), then, THEN, I will feel better. I’ll be happier. I’ll be a better mom.I don't need drugs to get there. I'm meditating twice daily using the '10 minute miracle' method. I'm breathing, I'm eating organic lunches (mostly), I'm reading new self-help books (and apparently this self-help autobiography that spawned this post). I'm trying to focus on my kids, the great new things about my job, the lawn, the wide-open future ahead that I get to mold into whatever I want it to be.

Yet I'm sad. And anxious. And lonely. And I want to be whole again.

Truth is, I don’t know what whole is. I’ve been pieces and parts of everyone else for so long (at my own choice of course) that I have a hard time being alone and thinking about what I want, who I am, what I want to do next. Instead, I spend most of my time devising ways I can be so busy that I won’t be annoyed with my dwindling self. Kids! Bills! Lawn! Businesses! Volunteering! Friends, family, cleaning! But please, please don't make me sit alone for an hour with nothing to do, please!

Some of that goes with the territory – when you’re a mom, everything else comes second to your children. I get that, and I embrace it. But a big chunk of that is mental, and of that chunk a lion’s share can be directly my nemeses Anxiety and Depression. Screw them and the horse they rode in on.

It’s so hard to admit that there’s something broken within you. At least for me. I hate talking about it. I hate thinking about it. I hate that I can’t control it on my own. But I also don’t want to be unhealthy for my girls, unhealthy for myself.

My friends, bless their hearts, have not abandoned me during these times of turmoil. Well, a few have, or I have abandoned them perhaps, but they were peripheral. My core base of friends have held me up and supported me, bringing me soup when I’m sick, cheery messages, shared bottles of wine, commiserated and laughed over my recent misfortunes (some self-brought, others truly the roll of the dice). And I can not even begin to express in words how much they mean to me – actually, most of you that read this ARE my close friends, so to make it more personal, I can’t tell you how much YOU mean to me. And I have to apologize. I know I’m not myself lately.

So there it is - a long ramble about a book that I’ve halfway read that for some reason opened the floodgates I’d been holding barred shut for so long brings me to this – the crux of the post. I think it’s time to look into medication. I don’t think I need the psycho babble (though I did enjoy the mandala-drawing hypnotherapist I saw for a while a few years back and may seek him out if nothing else than for art therapy). I can easily identify my problems and potential solutions (non-drug) that will help me. But when you've gone this far off kilter, sometimes, I think, you need something to help you push the reset button. 

I hate the idea of drugs. I’m scared of them, actually, after the last round with Cymbalta, which left me in cold sweats for three weeks with migraine-like headaches when I was weaned off. But I also realize that I have to be better at life. I have to take control again – because I’m getting swept up in the hurricane of change without an achor, buffeting from one drama to the next, soaking up unnecessary rains of pain and sadness and spilling it, despite my best intention, on others along the way.

Even as I write this, as ashamed as I am to admit my shortcoming and need for help, I can feel the storm turning back toward sea. It’s time to dry off, pick up the pieces of my life and move to higher land.

An overdue, very fun, relaxing weekend!

I have to admit - I was really looking forward to the every-other weekend off from parenting thing when I first moved out. It was going to be AWESOME to have free weekends. Well, I quickly found out, not so much. The girls miss being home, I miss having them with me and I'm just, well, LAME. I don't want to do much but clean, work and unpack these days. If they're here, it forces me to stop and play.

This weekend was a fun reprieve from the go-go-go lifestyle we've been having. Yeah, I still worked, but only a few hours today. I had some one-on-one time with each girl on Saturday, which was a total blast - to multiple parks with Sadie (my back is killing, though, she was tiring and out of breath a lot out there in that humidity), and to get a (gasp) cell phone for Katie. That's another story for another day. Don't judge. Shut up.

We had a great time with Kerinda and Spencer, who chilled with us a good portion of the weekend. We went to an inflatable-jumpy place with friends, had a houseful of new friends over Friday night for an impromptu cul-de-sac party, spent a couple hours at the salon today to get new cuts and ate out way too much. It was fantastic. I feel so much more... me. Yay for free time with my babies!

Single Parenthood

I think I'm finally coming to terms with it. Well, kind of. I'm starting to assimilate at least.

Katie and Sadie, on the other hand... not so much. The single parent thing was fun for them the first month. New house. New friends. New lives. Less drama.

And then came Carl's death. Sadness. New dog. New drama.

And my new job.  Long hours. Stressed out mommy. Less quality time.

And less time with their dad.

So while I've begun to settle out and find a routine, they're only now feeling the full ramifications of divorce. They see their dad a few hours every week and every other weekend. They have less time with me than ever before. And, to be honest, I'm not half the mom I was. I'm tired, I'm stressed and I've forgotten how to play. Well, mostly.

Last week I really noticed it the most. One day I looked over at their pictures on my desk and realized I hate where I have let life lead me. I missed my babies. And it was everything in my power not to walk out of the office at 1:30 that day to get home to them. But I stayed.

On the way home I was in full meltdown mode. My life, I realized, was never going to be a white picket fence, fixing dinner for the family, hanging laundry on the clothes line with countless daytime hours with my children. And it's fine. I know. But it's not what I envisioned. This is not what I pictured at all. And I have to allow myself time to adjust, to let go of old dreams and to refocus and find new ones.


And with that last sniffle, I decided to start reclaiming and quit the pity party. If I spend the few hours I have with them drowning in regret and sadness, then I'll miss out on the best parts of now. And I feel like I've been missing out on a lot lately thanks to my pity party. So, pity party is officially over.

I'm a single mom. I work full time and then some. I have an insane schedule and demands. And I'm going to kick butt as a mom despite all of that. Time to put the big girl pants on and make the most of the time we have together.

My New Life

I should be settling in about now, adjusting to my new life. The new dog. The new house, new yard, new job. But to say I'm settled would be a bit, well, overboard.

I am starting to get more familiar though. I recognize a few faces at work. I finally located the box with my important files. I'm starting to set into a daily routine as a single mom.

My new life, in reality, resembles nothing of the old one beyond the same friends, family, kids and one of the dogs. Everything else is very different. While it's too early to feel totally comfortable in it, I feel better, despite the stress of the past couple of months. I feel more like, well, me I guess. I've gone without TV, conveniences such as trash service or an evening sitter, and while I miss those things, they have given me time to find a bit more of myself. And work harder than ever. But the work is somewhat gratifying - it means I'm on my way, I'm learning, I'm emerging from the shell of a life I've been living for so long.

In the past month I've done a few things I haven't done in years. Sketched a picture. Rode a bike. Ate dinner at midnight, broken out art supplies in anticipation of new projects, sat outside and just looked at the stars. I'm on my way, I think. Now to figure out where it is I'm going...

It will get better.

When, I'm not sure. But I'm ready for life to get better. Somewhat easier. Something's gonna give soon. And hopefully it's not my brain.

Another tough, tough day. Another long week of work ahead. A week away next week for more work in Denver, while I try to juggle the other job. Closing two businesses - who'd have thought it to be so stressful? New job? Still on a major learning curve. U. G. H. And don't get me started on the personal numbers I've been through the last month.

I heard it was over 100 today. I had no clue it was hot. I spent my day inside a cube or a business building downtown. I did drive, and I think it was hot, but I was on calls, so really didn't pay attention. I was gone 12 hours, and worked about 18 thus far. I should get in 2 more before calling it quits and gettig up at 5 to do it again. But I think I'll slack off, take the heat for not getting everything done tomorrow and get a few hours of sleep.

Sorry to those I'm ignoring/not responding to/missing. I hope to come up for air again one day soon. I miss you. I miss daylight. I miss laughter and fun. I hope to find it again soon.

Funeral Songs

I've had way too much time this year to contemplate funeral music. And so, to save others the time, here are a few I'd like at my own funeral, which I hope is not for 100 years. In case it's not, here's a head start. None of that Wind Beneath My Wings, Dust in the Wind crap for me.

- Enter Sandman - Metallica - I want my urn to be carried in ceremoniously to that. Hokie Stone optional. Oooh, ooh - an urn made from Hokie stone. There you go. Hopefully I don't go any time soon as this may scare the crap out of my children.

- Spirit in the Sky - Norman Greenbaum - goes nicely with the "mount on wings of eagles" scripture from the Bible.

- My Way - Frank Sinatra - a nice photo tribute piece

- Blackbird - Beatles - because it's my most favorite song ever

- Another One Bites the Dust - Queen - to go out to post-ceremony


- Down in a Hole - Alice in Chains  - as I'm lowered down or scattered wherever.



So there. Easy enough. Now you don't have to spend 10 hours searching the internet for the right songs for me. Not that that is what I've done all night...


Classic rock (late 60s early 70s) songs outside of the norm. Email me if you have suggestions. So far I've got "Long as I can See the Light" by CCR. Need 2 more. I love "Everything I Own" by Bread, or "Can't Cry Hard Enough" by the Williams Brothers (I know, not classic rock, but my God, can't get it out of my head right now), but find them to be too, too sad.

In a Phoenix Phase... again

I've battled with depression in the past. That hopeless feeling you get when you feel you're stuck in a situation you just can't get out of. I haven't dropped to that level yet, but good God, I'm having a rough time lately.

My sister put it into perspective for me this past week in an email. It was hard to look at, but so true. My entire life has changed - 95% from what it was less than six months ago. I'm burning again, and I know there's major rebirth - there's some hard seed deep within that's just beginning to crack open to new possibilities I've never considered. I get that. But philosophy aside, this period of my life sucks. It really, really hurts. And I don't feel like I can take much more. Here's a snippet of the changes:

- Single mom
- New house
- Loss of brother-in-law, who I loved dearly
- Major financial changes
- New job
- New job isn't what I'd hoped for
- Loss of a business, built from a dream
- Loss of steady child care thanks to the loss of the business
- Many, many upset families thanks to said business loss
- New dog, again. A puppy that chews, to boot.
- Health issues
- Closing down the second business
- Failing a client for the first time in my life
- Living in a house starting from scratch. No furniture. No cable. Constantly breaking appliances.
- No place to go to to relax, calm, renew
- Missing out on the time I had with the kids - narrowing from 5+ hours to 2 hours a day of free time with them, IF I'm lucky. I'm half the mom I was. Hell, not even half. I'm tired, I'm cranky and I don't friggin feel like playing Barbies. Sheesh.

And so, yeah, I'm down in the dumps. I haven't been out with any of my friends in over a month. I haven't had my regular girlfriends over on our regular nights, who I never realized made me so much saner. I've made plans, but every time I do, I end up having the kids, dealing with a crisis or emergency or working a trillion hours that won't allow me to get away for a moment of peace.

So, I guess it's just a funk. My temptation is to go to the doctor, to ask for something to make it all feel better. To find an easier way out than getting up each day, battling through it, coming home defeated. But I won't. Not yet. Given that long laundry list of changes, i think it would be abnormal not to feel unhappy, unsatisfied, forlorn. I will get there, and I will mark each day off the calendar until I get to that day where I can once again wake up, knowing I can make it through the day and that it will, indeed, be a better day.

Until then, burning down to ashes, awaiting my reawakening.

He's Gone

Rest in Peace, Carl, free of pain at last.

I love you, brother.

In Awe of the Firefighting Brotherhood

I spent yet another weekend of my year at a hospital, this time with my brother-in-law Carl. For those that know him, he's been battling colon cancer for several years. This weekend, as the cancer moved with brutal force forward, I watched my friend and brother head toward the other side. He's still with us, but each breath takes him closer.

I was not alone in the vigil, of course. Carl's wonderful girlfriend, Cindy, and my sister-in-law, Kim were there right along side me. And they are still there, and I'm here at home, feeling awful that I had to leave, but knowing I had to come back to my babies and get to the new job tomorrow. Time, it seems, waits for no one.

Many others were there, too - family coming by to say goodbye for hours on end, friends galore. But what stood out to me, the most, was the brotherhood of firemen that stood by Carl's side, easing his way, easing his mind, sharing memories and openly crying over the impending loss of their colleague and friend. So many of them were trained by Carl, motivated by him, even saved by him. And they told their stories - ones full of oohs and aahhhs, others with lots of laughter, some that brought tears. I can not describe the beauty they brought to the desert landscape of death. They brought the story of Carl to life, and I know they will continue to do so for years to come for family and friends, for each other and for rookies who will doubtlessly be subjected to many of Carl's famed pranks.

The men and women of the fire departments of Dale City, DC, Occoquan/Woodbridge/Lakeridge (OWL), Fairfax and Manassas were all there to offer comfort in so many ways. Some came and simply quietly sat for hours at a time. Others brought goodies to share. Many spent time alone with Carl, saying goodbye. And many, many, many are planning his departure services, raising money to ensure his children are well cared for, ensuring all is in order when he passes and easing the burdens usually bore by immediate family alone. There is no better gift nor support that could be asked for.

Brotherhood can not be a more apt term for those in the fire departments that serve our communities. Thank you, brave men and women. For watching over your communities, for saving lives, for what you mean to Carl, and for what you mean to all of us who Carl is leaving behind. You. Are. Wonderful.

Survival Mode

A lot of times I write a blog, only to delete it all and post some sunshine covered piece of crap that doesn't really represent what is happening inside. Not tonight. I don't keep a journal anymore due to lack of time, so this is the only record I have of daily life, so I'm laying it out straight. Life, right now, is not easy.

The new job has required killer hours so far. I worked more than 70 last week, with more to go today. So. Very. Tired. I love the job, and the people, but hate the hours required to get my job done. I'm sure it will reduce as I get into things, but for now, I feel like I'm drinking from a fire hose during the days, and working at night to make up for my lack of productivity from that day.

And I'm extremely emotional right now. Closing down the school is harder than I imagined. I have no place for Sadie yet, and I'm heartbroken that the school I built for her - quite literally - will not be her base through first grade as planned. I'm really angry about it too - at myself for not seeing the writing on the wall with one staff member, and at that staff member. It sucks that one stupid incident and the lack of one's ability to control emotions resulted in a $40k loss for me over a two year period. Not to mention the hours I put in. And never, once, did I get paid. Not once. So I'm bitter, sad, melancholy and frustrated. That just kicked in last week, when I began to inventory the materials I love so much to sell off to pay back parent deposits. This. Sucks. I feel like I'm selling part of my heart.

I'm also struggling to keep up with the remaining client with my company, and not doing well with it. I brought in someone to take over, but it's not an easy transition, and many things fell between the cracks in the last few months. They haven't paid me in two months, so it's hard to want to work for them in my spare time after putting in 60+ hours on a job that pays.

And the transition to being able to choose my own hours has been a difficult one. While I'd love to just go to the office 9-5 or whatever, my days are never like that. I go from 8-7, or 7-6, or whatnot and that cuts into those precious hours with my girls that are oh-so important now that I'm a single mom. I hate that I see them a couple of hours a day. I have close to soul custody in terms of time with them, and it's very, very hard to be perky with the hours I'm putting in. I feel like I'm failing them, too.

It all makes me feel like the last 7 years were a waste. How hard I worked to be able to be with them, only to end up working ridiculously long hours away from them. How hard I tried to make that school work, so that Sadie could have the education Katie was afforded. I'm tired of working like a dog, and missing out at the bone at the end of the day.

So yeah, I try to keep it light and keep that smile on. But to be honest, between working a million hours, failing with the businesses and finding myself in the toughest financial situation I have ever imagined (hello ramen noodles, old friend), it's been a rough few weeks. I can't even come home and crash on the couch in front of the TV - I have no couch, no cable. I know, I know. So many have it worse than I do. I get it. And I know I just have to keep my nose to the grindstone and this will pass, and shortly for that matter. But that doesn't make the current sting of the mornings, when I wake up from 3-4 hours of sleep to do it all again any easier.  This is definitely one of the hardest times in my life. By far.

Irony

Not my picture, but too relevant not to share.

I'm working a bajillion hours a week, so will post when I have room to think again.

The New Gig

I've officially completed my first week at the new job, and have to say, so far, so good. I feel like I'm on a steep learning curve - especially in terms of health care reform, which is what my current contract covers - but I also feel like I'm already starting to get into a groove with the new schedule. I like the people I work with, and am loving all the West End has to offer for lunch options. Yum. Gotta get back to running before that takes its toll. Especially Jimmy Johns. Man, those subs are addicting...

I digress. So anyway, I'm loving the new job, and having an ok time transitioning from working flexible hours to doing the 8 to 5 kind of gig. I miss seeing the girls as much, but feel like our evenings are a nice smooth pattern, and we're all very happy in the new neighborhood.

This weekend I had a house full of kids (yet still, no furniture... which actually works out well when you have 7 kids in a house). The neighborhood kids come and go from yard to yard and house to house, and the parents all seem great so far. I didn't get much accomplished on my cleaning agenda, but it was a fun, relaxing weekend full of kids all the same.

So, things continue, for the most part, on the up and up. I've had some sadness crop up here and there for external reasons, but feel fairly peaceful with life at the moment and the direction I'm heading. Now to figure out what to do with the kids for the summer!

The Sac

So far since moving into the new house I've counted 4 seven-year olds, 2 4-year olds and, I don't know, about three or four 2-year olds that live in our cul de sac. The kids can't wait to get home from school because they are sure to be met by at least 2-3 eager friends just waiting to play. Katie's suddenly interested in learning how to ride her two-wheel bike she's always been fearful of, Sadie is enjoying the dogs that live in every single yard around the sac and I... well, I'm just trying to adjust. I love the friendliness of the neighborhood. I love the stories of the previous tenants where I lived (apparently they had 2 repos, 4 dogs and a good knock-out drag-down fight at least weekly - the neighbors were disappointed to find I was "normal" and ruined their Friday night entertainment). But wow, overwhelming after always being a fairly private person. Kids are at the door, in the yard, on the driveway, EVERY WHERE.

I'd been cordial thus far, but frankly, haven't felt very talkative this week. A lot has been going on and, dammit, I'm sick, I'm tired and I just need a minute to breathe/adjust. But tonight I couldn't resist the draw of "Thursday Ice Cream night" and headed out to the sac where a chair awaited my arrival. The zillion kids ran around the sac, laying in the middle of the street to outline each other in chalk. The adults meanwhile sit on the sidelines, chatting about lawns (or in my case, making fun of the weeds and overgrown trees), new beverage concoctions and sipping cool drinks while awaiting the arrival of The Ice Cream Guy. Not to be confused with The Ice Cream Man. This dude is definitely a Guy they tell me. Turns out it's my same Ice Cream Guy from the old house (and yeah, he's a nice guy).

 The neighbors are great, everyone's already offering to help out with this, that and the other and I feel at home, but I also feel that the privacy isn't what I'm used to. But the shear joy I see in the girls right now in the midst of all this change, well, it's worth it. They are already planning sleep overs, play dates, whose yard to meet at and how to use morse code from bedroom windows.

I am feeling good in the new house, and feel "home" already even though the boxes aren't unpacked and I cringe at the brass gleaming at me from every door fixture and cabinet. I've been down on the floors at night scrubbing baseboards with a toothbrush after putting in about 15 hours a day of work right now, but I feel at peace. And that, at the moment, is all I need.

Good News Round 2

I've officially moved! I ended up with a super nasty virus this weekend, but thanks to friends and family was able to get almost everything moved, the girls rooms set up and my sister and her fiance unpacked and put away the kitchen. My house is cute, but furniture bare at the moment. Can't wait to fill it in as we go with all the stuff I like. Yay me!

And on to the next round of good news - I've officially accepted an offer with a consulting company in our area. That's right folks, no more work-at-home three-trillion hours a week. Hello benefits, daily interaction with adults and a job I just can't wait to start! I'll be working on a health care reform strategy-based project, and can't wait to roll up my sleeves and get dirty - it's right up my ally.

So many changes so quickly. Last week there were definitely some bumps along the way that I can't mention but suffice it to say, I was reminded that small business ownership isn't all it's cracked up to me. I'll take it as a sign that I'm moving in the right direction - onward and upward!